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Billy Budd, Sailor has been called the best short novel ever written. In his brilliantly condensed prose, Herman Melville fashions a legal parable in which reason and intellect prove incapable of preserving innocence in the face of evil. For all those who feel themselves threatened by a hostile and inflexible environment, there is special significance in this haunting story of a handsome sailor who becomes a victim of man’s intransigence.
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About the Author
Herman Melville was born in 1819 in New York City. After his father's death he left school for a series of clerical jobs before going to sea as a young man of nineteen. At twenty-one he shipped aboard the whaler Acushnet and began a series of adventures in the South Seas that would last for three years and form the basis for his first two novels, Typee and Omoo. Although these two novels sold well and gained for Melville a measure of fame, nineteenth-century readers were puzzled by the experiments with form that he began with his third novel, Mardi, and continued brilliantly in his masterpiece, Moby-Dick. During his later years spent working as a customs inspector on the New York docks, Melville published only poems, compiled in a collection entitled Battle-Pieces, and died in 1891 with Billy Budd, Sailor, now considered a classic, still unpublished.
Date of Birth:August 1, 1819
Date of Death:September 28, 1891
Place of Birth:New York, New York
Place of Death:New York, New York
Education:Attended the Albany Academy in Albany, New York, until age 15
Read an Excerpt
In the time before steamships, or then more frequently than now, a stroller along the docks of any considerable seaport would occasionally have his attention arrested by a group of bronzed mariners, man-of-war's men or merchant sailors in holiday attire, ashore on liberty. In certain instances they would flank, or like a bodyguard quite surround, some superior figure of their own class, moving along with them like Aldebaran among the lesser lights of his constellation. That signal object was the "Handsome Sailor" of the less prosaic time alike of the military and merchant navies. With no perceptible trace of the vainglorious about him, rather with the offhand unaffectedness of natural regality, he seemed to accept the spontaneous homage of his shipmates.
A somewhat remarkable instance recurs to me. In Liverpool, now half a century ago, I saw under the shadow of the great dingy street-wall of Prince's Dock (an obstruction long since removed) a common sailor so intensely black that he must needs have been a native African of the unadulterate blood of Ham -- a symmetric figure much above the average height. The two ends of a gay silk handkerchief thrown loose about the neck danced upon the displayed ebony of his chest, in his ears were big hoops of gold, and a Highland bonnet with a tartan band set off his shapely head. It was a hot noon in July; and his face, lustrous with perspiration, beamed with barbaric good humor. In jovial sallies right and left, his white teeth flashing into view, he rollicked along, the center of a company of his shipmates. These were made up of such an assortment of tribes and complexions as would have well fitted them to be madly could have drawn the sort of honest homage the Handsome Sailor in some examples received from his less gifted associates.
Such a cynosure, at least in aspect, and something such too in nature, though with important variations made apparent as the story proceeds, was welkin-eyed Billy Budd -- or Baby Budd, as more familiarly, under circumstances hereafter to be given, he at last came to be called -- aged twenty-one, a foretopman of the British fleet toward the close of the last decade of the eighteenth century. It was not very long prior to the time of the narration that follows that he had entered the King's service, having been impressed on the Narrow Seas from a homeward-bound English merchantman into a seventy-four outward bound, H.M.S. Bellipotent; which ship, as was not unusual in those hurried days, having been obliged to put to sea short of her proper complement of men. Plump upon Billy at first sight in the gangway the boarding officer, Lieutenant Ratcliffe, pounced, even before the merchantman's crew was formally mustered on the quarter-deck for his deliberate inspection. And him only he elected. For whether it was because the other men when ranged before him showed to ill advantage after Billy, or whether he had some scruples in view of the merchantman's being rather short-handed, however it might be, the officer contented himself with his first spontaneous choice. To the surprise of the ship's company, though much to the lieutenant's satisfaction, Billy made no demur. But, indeed, any demur would have been as idle as the protest of a goldfinch popped into a cage.
Noting this uncomplaining acquiescence, all but cheerful, one might say, the shipmaster turned a surprised glanc e of silent reproach at the sailor. The shipmaster was one of those worthy mortals found in every vocation, even the humbler ones -- the sort of person whom everybody agrees in calling "a respectable man." And -- nor so strange to report as it may appear to be -- though a ploughman of the troubled waters, lifelong contending with the intractable elements, there was nothing this honest soul at heart loved better than simple peace and quiet. For the rest, he was fifty or thereabouts, a little inclined to corpulence, a prepossessing face, unwhiskered, and of an agreeable color -- a rather full face, humanely intelligent in expression. On a fair day with a fair wind and all going well, a certain musical chime in his voice seemed to be the veritable unobstructed outcome of the innermost man. He had much prudence, much conscientiousness, and there were occasions when these virtues were the cause of overmuch disquietude in him. On a passage, so long as his craft was in any proximity to land, no sleep for Captain Graveling. He took to heart those serious responsibilities not so heavily borne by some shipmasters.
Now while Billy Budd was down in the forecastle getting his kit together, the Bellipotent's lieutenant, burly and bluff, nowise disconcerted by Captain Graveling's omitting to proffer the customary hospitalities on an occasion so unwelcome to him, an omission simply caused by preoccupation of thought, unceremoniously invited himself into the cabin, and also to a flask from the spirit locker, a receptacle which his experienced eye instantly discovered. In fact he was one of those sea dogs in whom all the hardship and peril of naval life in the great prolonged wars of his time never impaired the natural instinct for sensuous enjoyment. His duty he always faithfully did; but duty is sometimes a dry obligation, and he was for irrigating its aridity, whensoever possible, with a fertilizing decoction of strong waters. For the cabin's proprietor there was nothing left but to play the part of the enforced host with whatever grace and alacrity were practicable. As necessary adjuncts to the flask, he silently placed tumbler and water jug before the irrepressible guest. But excusing himself from partaking just then, he dismally watched the unembarrassed officer deliberately diluting his grog a little, then tossing it off in three swallows, pushing the empty tumbler away, yet not so far as to be beyond easy reach, at the same time settling himself in his seat and smacking his lips with high satisfaction, looking straight at the host.
These proceedings over, the master broke the silence; and there lurked a rueful reproach in the tone of his voice: "Lieutenant, you are going to take my best man from me, the jewel of 'em."
"Yes, I know," rejoined the other, immediately drawing back the tumbler preliminary to a replenishing. "Yes, I know. Sorry."
"Beg pardon, but you don't understand, Lieutenant. See here, now. Before I shipped that young fellow, my forecastle was a rat-pit of quarrels. It was black times, I tell you, aboard the Rights here. I was worried to that degree my pipe had no comfort for me. But Billy came; and it was like a Catholic priest striking peace in an Irish shindy. Not that he preached to them or said or did anything in particular; but a virtue went out of him, sugaring the sour ones. They took to him like hornets to treacle; all but the buffer of the gang, the big sha ggy chap with the fire-red whiskers. He indeed, out of envy, perhaps, of the newcomer, and thinking such a "sweet and pleasant fellow," as he mockingly designated him to the others, could hardly have the spirit of a gamecock, must needs bestir himself in trying to get up an ugly row with him. Billy forebore with him and reasoned with him in a pleasant way -- he is something like myself, Lieutenant, to whom aught like a quarrel is hateful -- but nothing served. So, in the second dogwatch one day, the Red Whiskers in presence of the others, under pretense of showing Billy just whence a sirloin steak was cut -- for the fellow had once been a butcher -- insultingly gave him a dig under the ribs. Quick as lightning Billy let fly his arm. I dare say he never meant to do quite as much as he did, but anyhow he gave the burly fool a terrible drubbing. It took about half a minute, I should think. And, lord bless you, the lubber was astonished at the celerity. And will you believe it, Lieutenant, the Red Whiskers now really loves Billy -- loves him, or is the biggest hypocrite that ever I heard of. But they all love him. Some of 'em do his washing, darn his old trousers for him; the carpenter is at odd times making a pretty little chest of drawers for him. Anybody will do anything for Billy Budd; and it's the happy family here. But now, Lieutenant, if that young fellow goes -- I know how it will be aboard the Rights. Not again very soon shall I, coming up from dinner, lean over the capstan smoking a quiet pipe -- no, not very soon again, I think. Ay, Lieutenant, you are going to take away the jewel of 'em; you are going to take away my peacemaker!" And with that the good soul had really some ado in chec king a rising sob.
"Well," said the lieutenant, who had listened with amused interest to all this and now was waxing merry with his tipple; "well, blessed are the peacemakers, especially the fighting peacemakers. And such are the seventy-four beauties some of which you see poking their noses out of the portholes of yonder warship lying to for me," pointing through the cabin window at the Bellipotent. "But courage! Don't look so downhearted, man. Why, I pledge you in advance the royal approbation. Rest assured that His Majesty will be delighted to know that in a time when his hardtack is not sought for by sailors with such avidity as should be, a time also when some shipmasters privily resent the borrowing from them a tar or two for the service; His Majesty, I say, will be delighted to learn that one shipmaster at least cheerfully surrenders to the King the flower of his flock, a sailor who with equal loyalty makes no dissent. -- But where's my beauty? Ah," looking through the cabin's open door, "here he comes; and, by Jove, lugging along his chest -- Apollo with his portmanteau! -- My man," stepping out to him, "you can't take that big box aboard a warship. The boxes there are mostly shot boxes. Put your duds in a bag, lad. Boot and saddle for the cavalryman, bag and hammock for the man-of-war's man."
The transfer from chest to bag was made. And, after seeing his man into the cutter and then following him down, the lieutenant pushed off from the Rights-of-Man. That was the merchant ship's name, though by her master and crew abbreviated in sailor fashion into the Rights. The hard-headed Dundee owner was a staunch admirer of Thomas Paine, whose book in rejoinder to Burk e's arraignment of the French Revolution had then been published for some time and had gone everywhere. In christening his vessel after the title of Paine's volume the man of Dundee was something like his contemporary shipowner, Stephen Girard of Philadelphia, whose sympathies, alike with his native land and its liberal philosophers, he evinced by naming his ships after Voltaire, Diderot, and so forth.
But now, when the boat swept under the merchantman's stern, and officer and oarsmen were noting -- some bitterly and others with a grin -- the name emblazoned there; just then it was that the new recruit jumped up from the bow where the coxswain had directed him to sit, and waving hat to his silent shipmates sorrowfully looking over at him from the taffrail, bade the lads a genial good-bye. Then, making a salutation as to the ship herself, "And good-bye to you too, old Rights-of-Man."
"Down, sir!" roared the lieutenant, instantly assuming all the rigor of his rank, though with difficulty repressing a smile.
To be sure, Billy's action was a terrible breach of naval decorum. But in that decorum he had never been instructed; in consideration of which the lieutenant would hardly have been so energetic in reproof but for the concluding farewell to the ship. This he rather took as meant to convey a covert sally on the new recruit's part, a sly slur at impressment in general, and that of himself in especial. And yet, more likely, if satire it was in effect, it was hardly so by intention, for Billy, though happily endowed with the gaiety of high health, youth, and a free heart, was yet by no means of a satirical turn. The will to it and the sinister dexterity were alike wanting. To deal in double meanings and insinuations of any sort was quite foreign to his nature.
As to his enforced enlistment, that he seemed to take pretty much as he was wont to take any vicissitude of weather. Like the animals, though no philosopher, he was, without knowing it, practically a fatalist. And it may be that he rather liked this adventurous turn in his affairs, which promised an opening into novel scenes and martial excitements.
Aboard the Bellipotent our merchant sailor was forthwith rated as an able seaman and assigned to the starboard watch of the foretop. He was soon at home in the service, not at all disliked for his unpretentious good looks and a sort of genial happy-go-lucky air. No merrier man in his mess: in marked contrast to certain other individuals included like himself among the impressed portion of the ship's company; for these when not actively employed were sometimes, and more particularly in the last dogwatch when the drawing near of twilight induced revery, apt to fall into a saddish mood which in some partook of sullenness. But they were not so young as our foretopman, and no few of them must have known a hearth of some sort, others may have had wives and children left, too probably, in uncertain circumstances, and hardly any but must have had acknowledged kith and kin, while for Billy, as will shortly be seen, his entire family was practically invested in himself.
Copyright © 1999 by Simon & Schuster, Inc.
Most Helpful Customer Reviews
Before asking students to tackle 'Moby Dick,' we assign 'Billy Budd' as part of the freshman high school curriculum. This novella is true to Melville's style: not always easy reading, but enormously rewarding. The drama unfolds with the digressions and character analysis which those who love Melville relish and those who do not find annoying. This reader is solidly in the former group. Melville's digressions are chatty and informative, yet --in so many ways-- they add to the tone and enhance reader's understanding of the context of the action of the novel. Melville makes it so easy to imagine a salty, old, sea-dog, ruminating as he smokes his pipe and tells his story. This edition has much to recommend it. There is en extended reader's supplement which contains biographical information on the author, explanations of the nautical, military and naval terms and clarification of the biblical, mythological and historical allusions which fill its few pages. A good follow-up to the novella is viewing the film with Peter Ustinov as Captain Vere and Terrence Stamp as the title character. The opera by Benjamin Britten also follows the book very closely and is available on cd and in video. This book makes a good first introduction to Melville, and this edition is excellent.
I disliked this flatly written, inexpressive book. Every description and event seems very removed, and is recounted in a far off, stiffly written style. I also disliked Melville's depiction of the main character, Billy Budd "The Handsome Sailor" as painstakingly perfect. He is described as if the paragon of human nature and physical appearance. Billy's only flaw is that he develops a stutter when alarmed. I have never liked main characters like this, partly because they are boring to read about, and also partly because they always seem amazingly unrealistic.The storyline is about a perfectly honorable sailor - the hero Billy Budd - falsely accused of betraying his beloved captain, which ultimately ends in his execution.That was another thing I did not like about the plot - the evil character of Claggart is victorious in the end.I suppose that if you don't mind the haughtily excessive wording of needless descriptions, Melville's writing is admittedly detailed and well worded.It is very short - but don't expect on being able to breeze through it. Difficult reading due to a lack of dialogue and, as said, endless description and old fashioned wording.I would not recommend this book - read "Moby Dick" instead!
Reading Herman Melville's book for the second time, I found that it made an interesting perspective on the law and human judgment, and how they sometimes come into conflict.Throughout life and history, laws have been around to define the boundaries between right and wrong, and providing appropriate punishment for those who overstep these boundaries. Most would say that the definitions for these boundaries are reasonable and easy to abide to. Sometimes, though, these definitions come into question. In Billy Budd the law defining the firm criteria of what constituted mutiny--the martial law--was contested by one of the ship's officers, the virtuous and seemingly flawless Billy Budd. The punishment facing him was death by hanging.Billy Budd was well-loved by all his workmates (except Master-at-Arms Claggart) and was called the "Handsome Sailor". On the ship, the Bellipotent Billy finds himself in an interesting situation as an envious Claggar is intent on framing Billy for treason.What makes Billy's breaking of the law different is the unique circumstances surrounding it. One of the characters, Captain Vere, makes no apology for this and instead justifies the punishment by saying that law can sometimes contradict human nature, and one must always show allegiance to the king and their duties as crew members. Though he mentions human nature, established law takes precedence in conflicts. Still, because humans make these laws, there is the possibly of human error and judgment. The law in this novel shows how the leaders keep order in society. Crew members made half-hearted attempts to refute him, but none could deny the existence of that law, so plain in existence and so straightforward in content.As with all of Melville's work, this was not an easy reading. There are the author's distinctive character descriptions and his digressions, but that does not mean that the book is entirely inaccessible. Some editions of this book have other stories included, as well as readers' supplements and bibliographies. There are a couple of movie editions of this book, including one with Terence Stamp and Peter Ustinov, as well as an opera.
The first half of the book was very very slow. *Everything* had to be explained with a long allegory, it seemed. And then, sometimes the allegory needed explaining. But after the half-way point, things got a bit better. Their was some more action.
I know it's a classic. I don't care. Melville is just not to my taste. There's nothing wrong with the themes of the novel, nor the plot. I just don't like the writing.
The only reason I read this was because I was forced to by my English teacher, and for what reason, I don't know. It is tediously boring, and he continually makes a point of going off on naval history that has no real concrete relavence to the story line, which is the weakest I've ever seen. Even though it's 95 pages, it felt like 500.