Hello,
Re: Moby Dick by Herman Melville(I put the whole paragraph with the link in the end of my post.)
Would someone help me with the following questions on
Moby Dick, please? I'm very confused by the meaning of the paragraph Melville presents. Thank you!
Q = Question
Q1: What does "poor Paul’s tossed craft" refer to?
Q2: Would you paraphrase the following words for me, please?
And Melville indicates the window refers to his eyes and the house is his body. What does the metaphor of frost refer to?
it maketh a marvellous difference, whether thou lookest out at it from a glass window where the frost is all on the outside, or whether thou observest it from that sashless window, where the frost is on both sides, and of which the wight Death is the only glazier
Q3: Who is 'Old Dives'?
Euroclydon! says old Dives, in his red silken wrapper—(he had a redder one afterwards) pooh, pooh!
Q4: How are the stars relevant to the story? Are they metaphors?
how Orion glitters; what northern lights! Let them talk of their oriental summer climes of everlasting conservatories; give me the privilege of making my own summer with my own coals.
Q5: I've known 'Lazarus' was figure in the Bible, and was brought back to life by Jesus from my search on the Internet. What is the purpose of mentioning Lazarus here?
Poor Lazarus there, chattering his teeth against the curbstone for his pillow, and shaking off his tatters with his shiverings, he might plug up both ears with rags, and put a corncob into his mouth, and yet that would not keep out the tempestuous Euroclydon.
Q6: I think it is very necessary for me to read through the Bible in order to understand Western literatures, classic music. Do you think so?
https://standardebooks.org/ebooks/herma ... /chapter-2It was a queer sort of place—a gable-ended old house, one side palsied as it were, and leaning over sadly. It stood on a sharp bleak corner, where that tempestuous wind Euroclydon kept up a worse howling than ever it did about poor Paul’s tossed craft. Euroclydon, nevertheless, is a mighty pleasant zephyr to anyone indoors, with his feet on the hob quietly toasting for bed. “In judging of that tempestuous wind called Euroclydon,” says an old writer—of whose works I possess the only copy extant—“it maketh a marvellous difference, whether thou lookest out at it from a glass window where the frost is all on the outside, or whether thou observest it from that sashless window, where the frost is on both sides, and of which the wight Death is the only glazier.” True enough, thought I, as this passage occurred to my mind—old black-letter, thou reasonest well. Yes, these eyes are windows, and this body of mine is the house. What a pity they didn’t stop up the chinks and the crannies though, and thrust in a little lint here and there. But it’s too late to make any improvements now. The universe is finished; the copestone is on, and the chips were carted off a million years ago. Poor Lazarus there, chattering his teeth against the curbstone for his pillow, and shaking off his tatters with his shiverings, he might plug up both ears with rags, and put a corncob into his mouth, and yet that would not keep out the tempestuous Euroclydon. Euroclydon! says old Dives, in his red silken wrapper—(he had a redder one afterwards) pooh, pooh! What a fine frosty night; how Orion glitters; what northern lights! Let them talk of their oriental summer climes of everlasting conservatories; give me the privilege of making my own summer with my own coals.
Anyone who would like to correct my writing mistakes will be always greatly appreciated.