IOLÁNI by WILKIE COLLINS
Note on text and manuscript by Professor Ira B Nadel, with images of manuscript.
Background on Ioláni by Paul Lewis
Text of Ioláni
Introduction by Professor Ira B Nadel
Glenn Horowitz, bookseller extraordinaire, first alerted me to the existence of the Ioláni manuscript and put me on the track of studying the work. While he graciously tolerated my frequent intrusions, I have, in turn, always found constant delight in his friendship. Faith Clarke, the great-granddaughter of Wilkie Collins, and her husband, William M. Clarke, have generously supported the publication of the manuscript and encouraged, as well as corrected, my work from the beginning. Their assistance and support has been inestimable. Andrew Gasson has been a tireless champion of the work of Wilkie Collins, both as bibliographer and Chair of the Wilkie Collins Society (London); his aid in identifying various details has been immensely helpful. Catherine Peters, through her research and publication on Collins, has long established the principles of accuracy and clarity so essential for understanding his career and life. Norman Page also assisted through his critical and editorial work on Collins.
Robert Brown of Princeton University Press has waited patiently for this work and maintained his enthusiasm for the book ever since it was first proposed. A. Deborah Malmud has been an able editor directing the manuscript through to publication. Pamela Dalziel has guided me through the thickets of editorial theory and practice through her own distinguished work and personal encouragement. The University of British Columbia's Social Science and Humanities Awards Committee has also generously aided this edition. My children, Dara and Ryan, newly won fans to Wilkie Collins's sensation fiction, have been constant supporters, although like others they could never quite satisfactorily answer the question, "What's a Victorian novelist doing in Tahiti?" This edition provides a clue.
Wilkie Collins wrote his first novel while at tea. Only now, over a century and a half later, is it being published. He was in fact a twenty-year-old apprentice with the London tea merchants Antrobus & Company when he started the original manuscript in 1844 at their office in London's Strand. It was never accepted by a publisher and was rarely seen again until it suddenly surfaced in New York in 1991.
The story of the manuscript's existence is itself a mystery worthy of Collins. It begins with the 1845 rejection of the work first by Longmans and then Chapman and Hall. The manuscript then appears to have dropped out of sight until possibly 1870, when Collins recalled it in an interview for Appleton's Journal. The manuscript resurfaces in 1878 when he presumably presents it to Augustin Daly (1838-1899), an American theatrical impresario; it does not publicly appear, however, until the end of the century when it is offered for sale in March 1900 as lot 605* (there was an unasterisked lot 605) from Daly's library and acquired for $23.00 by George D. Smith, a young book dealer who would later become a principal agent for Henry Huntington. Smith soon offered the Collins manuscript in his catalogue for $100.00, noting that the novel "would well repay publication." (1)
Smith sold Ioláni to the Philadelphia collector Howard T. Goodwin, who had the Pfister binding made for it. Goodwin's sudden death in 1903, however, allowed the manuscript to appear at auction for a second time, in the Philadelphia rooms of Stan V. Henkels (as item 32 of the Goodwin sale), where it was purchased by Joseph M. Fox, a Philadelphia lawyer who became the first backer and partner of the Rosenbach Company. Until 1991, the manuscript remained in the Fox family. But despite its frequent transfer at auction, Iolani escaped the notice of literary scholars and biographers, who until recently have been unaware of its existence.
Why should Daly have been the recipient of Collins's earliest work? The answer is not difficult. A prominent New York theatre producer noted for his productions of Shakespeare in America, Daly was principally responsible for Collins's success on the American stage. In 1870, Daly commissioned Collins to adapt Man and Wife for the New York stage, but he was disappointed when he received the treatment and diplomatically urged Collins to make changes. When Collins ignored the request, Daly announced that he would adapt the novel himself. Collins was upset at this state of affairs and disliked trusting his reputation to the producer, urging Daly not to advertise the production as a collaboration.
Ironically, Daly's adherence to the novel was more faithful than Collins's. His adaptation was a hit, running for ten weeks, due in part to casting the popular American actress Clara Morris in her first starring role. In a grand gesture, Daly sent Collins a thousand dollars at the end of the run, despite Collins's withdrawal from the project. (2) In 1873, Collins embarked on a reading tour of the United States and that fall, coinciding with his visit to New York, Daly planned his own production of Collins's The New Magdalen, his novel about a reformed prostitute. Collins cooperated in a minimal way; in Manhattan, Collins attended only a few rehearsals, being too preoccupied with his readings and travels to give more time. However, he did attend the premiere on 10 November 1873 and took a celebratory bow after the second act. His enthusiastic reception set the tone for the remainder of his public appearances characterized by adulation, praise, and acceptance. (3) Following opening night, on 11 November 1873, Collins gave a much applauded New York reading and by the close of his tour, for which he earned approximately £2,500 (not even close to the £20,000 Dickens earned in 1867), he was venerated in America.
Other collaborations between Daly and Collins occurred or were proposed, especially in the fall of 1878, when Daly visited Collins several times in London. There is no evidence, however, to confirm whether Collins gave Daly the Ioláni manuscript or whether he simply lent it to him in the hope of future publication or adaptation for the stage. Although we know that Collins was particularly sensitive about the stealing of his copyright in the United States, my own belief is that in the fall of 1878 or in February-March 1879, just before Daly returned to the U. S. after a sojourn to Paris, Collins presented Daly with the manuscript of Ioláni in gratitude for his theatrical efforts. It is unlikely Collins gave him the manuscript earlier because he most assuredly did not take it with him to America for his reading tour in 1873; and if it had in some fashion reached Daly before 1878, he might have been tempted to auction it in October that year when he was forced, by business debts, to sell off his library in New York. The sale took five nights to complete, earning a precommission total of $9969.63 and profit of $8,500.00 after expenses, according to Daly's brother in his biography of the impresario. (4)
The transmission of the manuscript to America simultaneously insured its preservation and disappearance. When it suddenly appeared on the rare book market in 1991, the manuscript created something of a sensation; its purchase by a private collector in 1992 created something of a mystery.
An early work, Ioláni is nevertheless the embryo of Collins's later fiction. Thematically dramatizing the abuse of power—in this work, the victimization of women by patriarchal figures—the novel initiates a lifetime critique of corrupt authority and individual oppression. The construction of plot reflects Collins's understanding of suspense as a key device, while his use of dramatic scenes, forcefully depicting a variety of battles and encounters, skillfully integrates with the development of character and displays his ability with action. An exciting pursuit in Book III, concluding with a body cascading down a deep ravine, is but one thrilling example.
Vivid descriptive passages develop the exotic appeal of the Tahitian landscape, the setting of the novel, enlarged by lush descriptions and knowledge of Tahitian customs. A fascination with crime, especially in the paradoxes of the criminal mind, finds remarkable expression in the evil priest and eponymous hero, Ioláni. Throughout the novel, Collins probes the psychology of his villain and victim, anticipating his later absorption with the mind of such demonic figures as Robert Mannion of Basil, Count Fosco in The Woman in White, or Dr. Benjula in Heart and Science.
Complementing the complex presentation of evil in the novel is the complex presentation of women who are assertive, independent, and aggressive—but at a price. Idía, the mother of Ioláni's child, jeopardizes her life, as well as that of her friend, Aimáta, in her determination to escape from Ioláni and save her son from the Tahitian practice of infanticide. But despite her suffering, she does not weaken and becomes the first of Collins's many independent women who resist mistreatment by men. But Collins does not disguise her ambivalence. In spite of the constant threat of death from Ioláni, Idía laments her lost love: "her thoughts still wandered, mechanically, to the passionate lover of Vahíria; rather, than, to the inexorable tyrant of the Temple and the Field" (128). The ambiguity of Idía displays Collins's circumscription of the radical through a subversive doubleness of self. Yet the plot requires that Idía remain an outcast, eventually poisoned by Ioláni and a sorcerer.
Restraining the youthful, enthusiastic style of the novel is Collins's omniscient narrator, part moralist, part conversationalist. The voice, which will diminish in his later fiction, is here solicitous in its interruptions, seeking the reader's patience with his method, as in Book II Chapter VI, when he explains why he pauses to provide a lengthy physical description. Such a rhetorical strategy has the critical effect of encouraging reader sympathy. The novel relies strongly on such a narrator who elaborates descriptions, limits dialogue, and multiple plots.
Collins's organization of Ioláni into three books with individual chapters, a division many of his later novels will replicate, indicates his early conception of novelistic structure as a set of discrete episodes or scenes mirroring a theatrical model. Collins uses such divisions of the story, which lack transitions or bridging passages, to control suspense, disrupt events, shift chronology, and occasionally mislead readers. Such a structure in his first novel suggests Collins's early adaptation of dramatic principles to enhance his story-telling, developed, for example, in No Name, with its divisions into "Scenes" and "Between the Scenes." Of his more than twenty-five novels, only Antonina and Hide and Seek, in fact, have no divisions other than chapters. Collins's second published novel, Basil, contains an important declaration on the alliance between the novel and drama already enacted in Ioláni: "the Novel and the Play are twin-sisters in the family of Fiction; that the one is a drama narrated, as the other is a drama acted." (5)
The action, method, and theme of Ioláni illustrate elements Collins enlarges in his later work. From independent women and descriptive landscape detail, to the psychology of villains and the hypocrisy of moralists, Collins's first novel provides a glimpse of the method and materials he will later elaborate. Analysis of character—including the sympathetic treatment of the villain—while often revealing its contradictory nature, shown in the midst of triumph to be unsure and in the course of despair to be heroic, is evident. Courage and determination in the face of danger, which will define the tension between good and evil in his later work, is manifest in his first attempt at fiction, Ioláni.
Collins began the 160-page holograph manuscript of the novel in the autumn of 1844, some three years after leaving school. His situation at Antrobus & Company had been made possible through his father's friend, the banker Charles Ward of Coutts Bank; Antrobus was a relative of one of the Coutts directors and knew Ward, who recommended the young Collins. In 1842 Antrobus acknowledged his respect for the talent of Wilkie's father, the painter William Collins, by paying 200 guineas for a portrait of the three Antrobus daughters, which was exhibited at the Royal Academy.
Wilkie Collins's position at Antrobus & Company was most likely as an unpaid apprentice rather than a salaried clerk. (6) He remained there from January 1841 until May 1846, when his father, acknowledging his son's desultory labors, had him admitted as a law student at Lincoln's Inn. Not surprisingly, Collins did not take his work seriously at Antrobus & Company which Frank Clare's indifferent performance of his job at a London tea merchant in Chapter IX of No Name echoes. Zackery Thorpe, Jr., who spent three weeks at a tea broker in Hide and Seek, comically explains the problem: "they all say it's a good opening for me, and talk about the respectability of commercial pursuits. I don't want to be respectable and I hate commercial pursuits." (7) Collins preferred vacationing in Paris to working at a London desk and sought distraction through writing. Diligence was offset by composition, industriousness by creativity, although Collins defensively reported that whenever Mr. Antrobus "found me tale-writing, I was always able to show that I had finished everything I had been given to do." (8) His most important communication with Antrobus was often in the form of requests to extend his various trips to the continent and gain additional vacation time away from the office. As he explained to his friend Edmund Yates, most days at Antrobus were spent trying his hand at "tragedies, comedies, epic poems and the usual literary rubbish invariably accumulated about themselves by 'young beginners' "—all this instead of dealing with "invoices, bills of lading, and the state of Chinese tea markets." (9)
During this period, Collins also composed "a novel of the most wildly impracticable kind, on the subject of savage life in Polynesia, before the discovery of the group of islands composing that country by civilized men." (10) His father, already proud of his son's journalistic publications, submitted the manuscript of Ioláni on 25 January 1845 to Longmans, who kept the manuscript for two months, originally suggesting they would publish the work if William Collins would pay part of the costs. Despite a favorable reader's report, Longmans finally rejected the novel on financial grounds, adding, however, that if William Collins would bear the entire cost, they would consider publishing the work. William Collins, in a letter of 8 March 1845, declined. (11) The manuscript was later submitted to Chapman and Hall (at 186 The Strand), who also rejected it, although, on the basis of what he felt was its impending acceptance, Collins confidently asked his parents for a loan of £100 to extend a vacation in France to include Nice. "Could you not send me £100," he roguishly asks, "upon the strength of my M.S. and Chapman and Hall? . . . Life is short, — we should enjoy it. I am your affectionate son[,] W.Wilkie Collins.—you should humour me!——-." Later, on that same journey, Collins reminds his parents that he has not disobeyed their injunctions about economy: "You said you hoped I should make my Cheque last for my trip. It has lasted for my trip but not for my return." (12)
In an 1870 interview, Collins recalled Ioláni as an unsuccessful blend of Gothic romance and South Seas adventure: The scene of the story is the island of Tahiti, before the period of its discovery by European navigators! My youthful imagination ran riot among the noble savages, in scenes which caused the respectable British publisher to declare that it was impossible to put his name on the title page of such a novel. For the moment I was a little discouraged. But I got over it, and began another novel. (13)
When returning the work in 1845, the Longmans reader intimated, according to Collins, that "the story was hopelessly bad, and that in his opinion the writer had not the slightest aptitude for romance-writing."(14) Collins further recounted that he met "the worthy man years after at a dinner party, when The Woman in White was running through Household Words, and I remember that neither of us could forbear from bursting out and laughing at the rencontré." (15) Collins had, of course, been attracted to writing from early in his life, not only by meeting such authors as Wordsworth, Henry Crabb Robinson, and Coleridge, who visited the family in what was then rural Hampstead, but by his early readings in which he prized not only Scott (his mother's favorite) and Byron, but also Marryat and Cervantes. Curiously, Scott indirectly delayed the marriage of Collins's parents: the opportunity of William Collins to paint the arrival of George IV on his official visit to Scotland in July 1822 postponed his proposed marriage to Harriet Geddes, but the chance to paint memorable events in the company of Sir David Wilkie, Andrew Geddes and, briefly, J. M. W Turner could not be refused. On the trip, William Collins was thrilled to meet Scott. In order to hasten his marriage, however, William Collins had his fiancée join him from London and they were married in Edinburgh on 16 September 1822. Twenty years later, in the summer of 1842, the eighteen-year-old Wilkie took a leave from the tea company and joined his father on a return trip to Scotland, traveling to Edinburgh and the far north, eventually to Shetland, where William was to provide the illustrations for the Abbotsford Edition of Scott's novel The Pirate set in Orkney and Shetland. Memories of the wild and romantic scenery remained with Collins throughout his writing career, and one coastal hamlet gave him the title of a novel published more than twenty years after: Armadale.
On the surface, little explains Collins's choice of Polynesia as the setting of his first novel beyond a love of the unusual, which he would repeat in his second novel, Antonina, set in fifth-century Rome, and expand in works like Hide and Seek with Zackery Thorpe, Jr.'s voyage to the wilds of America, The Woman in White with Walter Hartright joining an expedition to search for ruins in Honduras, and The Moonstone with the storming of Seringapatam and the Indian jugglers. In 1877 Collins would recapture his interest in Polynesia in his short story, "The Captains Last Love," similar in setting, and character to, but not taken from, Ioláni. The plot of the story involves an English sea captain who falls in love with a priest's daughter on an isolated island. A volcanic eruption on the nearby main island, rather than a bitter war, destroys the idyllic Polynesian world and romance between the two. Aimáta, the young woman in Ioláni whose assertiveness saves the heroine and her child, reappears in the 1877 short story as the "Nymph of the Island," who captivates the sea captain at the threat of his life from her sorcerer-priest father. The captain's attempt to rescue his love from the sinking island fails, although not before he sees a vision of her beckoning to him. Distraught at his loss, the captain returns to England, "his heart dead to all new emotions; nothing lives in it but the sacred remembrance of his last love" the narrator solemnly declares. (16) The sorcery setting, descriptive detail, and name of Aimáta link "The Captain's Last Love" to Ioláni but do not explain why Collins should renew interest in Polynesia in the fall of 1876 when he wrote it. Possibly, he rediscovered the Ioláni manuscript, which revived his curiosity in the South Seas. His great love of sailing and the sea, which he thought diminished his bouts of rheumatic gout and which he enjoyed on his frequent trips to Ramsgate, may have also renewed his desire to tell a story of the sea. Or, it may be that at age fifty-two, Collins began to reminisce. In 1876 he published The Two Destinies, which uses background material from his 1842 trip to Scotland with his father, as well as detail from Sir Walter Scott's The Pirate, which his father illustrated. Such memories may have triggered his recall of Ioláni and its world of Tahitian romance.
Collins's inspiration was unlike that of Melville, who based his first novel, Typee, A Peep at Polynesian Life—first published in London by John Murray in l846—partly on his apparent captivity in the valley of the Typee in the Marquesas Islands of Polynesia in July 1842, during four years spent sailing in the South Pacific. Collins chose Polynesia for its exotic appeal only. Interest in the South Seas was fueled in London by the 1774 publication of John Hawkesworth's popular redaction of the logs of the Pacific voyagers, especially those of Captain James Cook, who explored Tahiti in 1769. The exploits of Captain Bligh and the mutineers of the Bounty in Tahiti in 1789 also absorbed the British. Bligh's Narrative (1790 folio ed.) stimulated such efforts as Mary Russell Mitford's narrative, Christina, the Maid of the South Seas (1811) and Byron's last completed poem, The Island (1823). Harriet Martineau's Dawn Island, a Tale (1845) and later works by Robert Louis Stevenson and Conrad highlight the vogue of the South Seas adventure story
Early discoverers of Tahiti originated an idealized view of the island. The reports of Captain Samuel Wallis, the first European to set eyes on Tahiti in June 1767, suggested parallels between the Tahitians and the ancient Greeks, viewed by the eighteenth century as gifted children who lived at the dawn of civilization. The French navigator Louis de Bougainville, who visited Tahiti in 1768, a year before Captain Cook, also compared the Tahitians to Greek gods. For the eighteenth century, the idea of the noble savage personified the belief in the nobility and simplicity of Nature, which deists believed would reveal God to man when properly understood. Consequently, the noble Tahitians were closely identified with the tropical luxury of the island, confirming the link between the noble savage and his natural setting. Bougainville and Joseph Banks, the scientist who accompanied Captain Cook, both associated the Tahitians with such primitives of classical mythology as the inhabitants of Elysium. By 1801, classicists were reversing the comparison. In that year the classical scholar Richard Payne Knight compared the Greeks to the Tahitians in his Analytical Enquiry into the Principles of Taste. Significantly, the classical world permeated the European imagination of the South Pacific. (17) Morally, the Tahitians exhibited a naturalness unseen in Europe. They became a deist's argument against the necessity of Revelation, since they possessed "a knowledge of right and wrong from the mere dictates of natural conscience," wrote John. Hawkesworth. (18) Morality for them was a matter of social custom, a quality often satirized in various eighteenth-century poems like "An Epistle from Oberea .. . to Joseph Banks" by John Scott. But others believed that natural virtue supplemented the paradise of landscape and human beauty suggested by the early accounts of travelers.
Tahiti was also a healing island, and seamen rotten with scurvy would regain their strength after several days there (largely because of the abundance of fresh fruit). Various travelers reported Tahiti as Paradise before the Fall with the inhabitants in a state of perpetual innocence intensified by stories of trees that grew bread (Tahitian breadfruit) and palms that supplied milk. Banks added that Tahiti was "the truest picture of an Arcadia of which we were going to be kings that the imagination can form" (in Smith, E.V, 26). Banks also envied the sexual freedom of the people and claimed that the Tahitian women were the most elegant in the world. The clothing in particular followed nature in design and color.
The arrival in England in July 1774 of Omai, the first Tahitian to visit Great Britain, created a sensation. Former guide and interpreter for Cook, Omai was received with honor and mingled with fashionable society Reynolds painted a full-length portrait of him, revealing an acceptable and even fashionable noble savage with a deep gaze and flowing robe set in an idealized exotic landscape and posed in a classical gesture with an outstretched right hand, suggesting affinities with antiquity. Satiric poets of the day, however, soon found Omai and the noble savage idea irresistible material. One work, in fact, called for Omai's return to England after his departure in 1776 because the English lacked natural men and Tahitian fashions must immediately displace those of Italy.
While the painter William Hodges was introducing Tahitian motifs in his Italianate landscapes, poets were adopting Tahitian customs to lampoon the veneration of anything Italian which they thought dominated stylish society But Tahiti also had a dark side, expressed through prostitution, infanticide, and licentiousness, especially as practiced by the Areios tribe. The British understood these developments as the passing of the Golden Age that Tahiti may have once possessed. The island suddenly became a symbol not of the ideal of human happiness but of its transience. Early engravings, as well as later European art, repeatedly emphasized this theme, which subsequent missionaries and anthropologists confirmed. Yet Bougainville called Tahiti "la Nouvelle Cythère" and the island became notorious in the European popular mind as a land of free love. Chapbooks and engravings, especially in France, frequently detailed the erotic attractions of Tahiti. The 1824 visit to England by King Kamehameha II of the Sandwich Islands (Hawaii) increased British fascination with Polynesia, intensified by the sudden death of the king and his queen within weeks of their arrival in Britain.
Of greater importance for Collins's interest in Tahiti, however, was the 1797 landing of members of the London Missionary Society. These Evangelicals, sent out to convert the "pagans" to the doctrine of Christ, faced civil wars in 1799 and 1809 that curtailed most of their activities; but by 1815, with Pomare II in power, peace returned and Christianity flourished. Between 1815 and 1837 the missionaries exerted great political, as well as social, control over the kingdom, replacing infanticide, polygamy, and violence with moral and religious order. A monotheistic theology centering on good deeds leading to salvation substituted for the omens, idols, and sorcery of the Tahitian gods, who promoted war as well as indulgence.
In 1816 William Ellis (1794-1872), an ordained missionary for the Society, left England for Tahiti, where he would serve for the next six years. He not only learned Tahitian, but introduced the first printing press to the South Pacific, taught the Tahitians to raise various fruits and plants and, most importantly, gained their trust. In 1822 he visited Hawaii and in 1823 became part of the first white men to circle the big island of Hawaii. By 1824 Ellis returned to England and enlarged his journal of Polynesian life by adding observations and comparisons to life in Hawaii. In 1825 it appeared as A Tour Through Hawaii and went through five editions in three years. In 1829 Ellis published this information with what he collected on other South Pacific Islands, notably Tahiti and New Zealand, under the title Polynesian Researches. This two-volume edition was enlarged and published as four volumes in 1832-34. This second edition, owned by Wilkie Collins, is the origin of the plot as well as the characters of Ioláni. (19)
The selection of Ellis by Collins as the source text for Ioláni has as much to do with religion as it does with travel. Ellis's Christian interpretation of Tahitian life both satisfied and disturbed the young Collins, whose awareness of Ellis most likely originated through the Evangelicalism of his parents, who believed churchgoing so pleasurable that they and the family often attended twice on Sundays. Harriet Collins converted to Evangelicalism in 1811, snatched as a young girl from beginning a perilous career as an actress by a clergyman and his wife, who prepared her to become a governess. William Collins was an enthusiastic Sabbatarian and Evangelist who tolerated no desecration of the Sabbath, which his friend, the artist John Linnell, tested when he tied up some peach trees on a Sunday to the horror of Collins. (20) Duty, earnestness, hard work, prayer; and belief in God were the attributes of Collins's faith. The portrait of the pious Zackeray Thorpe, Senior, and his enforcement of Evangelical precepts in Hide and Seek (beginning with the sadistic Sabbatarianism of the opening chapter) and the satiric presentation of Miss Clack's Evangelicalism in The Moonstone suggest the reaction of the young Wilkie Collins to evangelical strictures, which his parents promoted, and the London Missionary Society institutionalized through its goal of spreading the "knowledge of Christ among heathen and other unenlightened nations." (21) Nonetheless, Collins read Ellis's Polynesian Researches carefully and accepted its indictment of immoral Tahitian life. Yet, while he agreed with the orthodox Christian critiques of Tahiti, finding the child-killing, disrespect of marriage, and constant fighting reprehensible, Collins also found himself greatly attracted to the sensational, Gothic, and dramatic aspects of the Tahitian society Ellis recounted. Quite intentionally, Collins set his novel in "Tahiti, as it was," to quote the subtitle of Ioláni, the period of pre-Christian omens, sorcery, and talismans. This decision not only anticipates his rejection of the conservative Evangelicalism of his parents, but anticipates his focus on the sensational, which frames the domestic in his fiction.
Ironically, but significantly, Collins turned an Evangelical account of Polynesia on its head, using the irregular features of its culture as the very source material of his first book. Drawn to the London missionary's account, Collins bypasses the morality of Ellis to discover in its opposite the story of his novel. Additionally, Collins changes the character of the enlightened King Karnehameha II of Hawaii (who was sometimes called Ioláni), into a vicious and villainous priest, another example of the reversal or inversion of sources by Collins, a habit he repeats in many of his later novels.
Ellis becomes a conduit through which Collins finds not the programmatic view of the Evangelicals but the unfettered world of licentious action and emotional intensity that became the hallmarks of his more developed sensation fiction.
Ioláni elaborates the very qualities Ellis judges as pagan, turning them into the virtues of Collins's fiction. In a curious way, this reworking of sources parallels how Collins applied. his father's aesthetic of the "correctness of observation" (22): rather than use this technique mimetically, Collins alters it to stress the accurate presentation of sensational detail and emotional crises in his writing. Just as the religious is read as the dramatic in Ellis, so, too, is nature seen by Collins as sensational rather than natural.
The importance of Ellis for Collins begins with the protagonists' names each taken from Polynesian Researches: Idía, the woman who fathers Ioláni's child but escapes from the priest, Aimáta, her youthful friend and charge, and Mahíné, the rebel leader and later husband of Aimáta, are all borrowed from Ellis. Historically, Idía was the mother of Pomare, a Tahitian king exiled to the nearby island of Eimero, although he triumphantly returns; Aim&aacut;ta was a young princess, the only daughter of Pomare and his queen and introduced as a six-year-old in Ellis's history; at her marriage some years later, she possesses a "disposition volatile" yet "superior intellectual endowments." At the death of her brother in 1827, she became queen of Tahiti. Mahíné was the chief of the Eimeo and Huahine tribes of Tahitians. (23) Ioláni incorporates additional statements from Ellis concerning language and its oral, rather than written, tradition. For example, a note in Collins's hand appearing on page one of the manuscript, explaining that "the vowels of the Polynesian language are sounded in the same manner as in the Italian. Thus, the proper names at the head of the present chapter should be pronounced as if written—Eolahne and Edeah," derives from I:8-10 of Ellis's first volume, where he observes that "different Polynesian dialects abound in vowel sounds perhaps above any other language" and that they reject "all double consonants, possessing, invariably[,] vowel terminations, both of their syllables and words. Every final vowel is therefore distinctly sounded" (I:8-9). Furthermore, Ellis explains that "I-dí-a" is pronounced "E-dee-ah," "Ai-má-ta" sounds like "Eye-mah-ta," and "Ma-hí-ne" vocalized as "Mah-he-nay" (I:10). Ioláni's name is noticeably absent from the pronunciation list but appears later in the final volume of the history referring to a Hawaiian king rather than a Tahitian nobleman (IV:450-55, 471). Ellis adds that lani means heaven or sky.
Most interesting is Ellis's account of Kamehameha II (spelled Tamehameha by Ellis), the Hawaiian king who died in England in 1824. In describing his origins and names, Ellis notes that he was generally called Rihoriho, a contraction of Kalaninui-rihoriho from Ka lani, the heavens. He also had a variety of other names, adding that "the most common of which was Iolani. The word lani, heaven or sky, formed a component part in the name of most chiefs of distinction" (IV:446). The title of Collins's novel is, therefore, an ironic acknowledgment of the remarkable Hawaiian king whose journey to England ended tragically.
The character of the actual king and Ioláni, however, differ greatly. Ellis idealizes the king, calling him "good-natured, except when he was under the influence of ardent spirits"; he had an inquisitive mind, and knew much about the customs and society of North and South America, although he had never visited there (IV:446). Ellis and a Mr. Bingham were his teachers and witnessed his moral character develop into that of a fair-minded ruler whose one weakness was drink The reasons for his trip to England, Ellis offers, were to meet the king or the chief members of the government in order to confirm the secession of the Sandwich Islands, although he sought to place himself and his islands under British protection. Ellis then rebuts the suspicion of the Sandwich Islanders that their king might have been poisoned in England in revenge for the death of Captain Cook, part of a plot to regain control over the islands.
The Ioláni of Wilkie Collins's novel shares the same name but little else.
Collins's figure is the archetypal powerful and evil priest, head of a group of fanatical Tahitian followers who blindly accept his decisions and sacrifices. Vindictive, the priest pursues the independently minded Idía who has borne his child but escaped his reign to avoid committing infanticide. Accompanied by her young friend Aimáta, Idía flees to a neighboring village as a cascade of events follow, including wars, sorcery visions, and deaths. Even a wild man of the jungle appears.
In representing Tahiti, Collins discovered how he might blend the attractions of the Gothic romance (originating in his reading of Gothic fiction and Scott) with a fascination for the exotic. He could not resist engaging a world defined by the unknown and unexpected; in this the Tahitians excelled. "No place in the world," writes Ellis, "in ancient and modem times, appears to have been more superstitious than the South Sea Islanders, or to have been more entirely under the influence of dread from imaginary demons or supernatural beings" (I:361).
Ellis was the sourcebook of not only plot and character but theme, since he emphasized the unorthodox morality of the Tahitians and the immoral practice of infanticide, critical elements in Collins's story The history of Christianity in "civilizing" Polynesia is one of the key dimensions of Ellis's text, which in Volume I contains chapters with such subtitles as "Ch. X, Infanticide, Numbers destroyed; Universality of the crime—prevalence of polygamy"; "Ch. XIV, Polynesian idols,—Human sacrifices—Demons, incantations, sorcery." Ellis stresses the spiritual customs of the islands, notably their reliance on the will of' the gods: "if they were favourable, conquest was regarded as sure; but if they were unfavourable, defeat, if not death, was certain" (I:303). Enchantment was used to shape their ultimate decisions, while the supernatural became the means to learn their sanctions.
Criticism of Tahitian marriage practices, dislike of Tahitian indolence, offense at their violence, and disagreement over their treatment of women are the moral views Collins borrows from Ellis—as well as an appreciation of the picturesque landscape. The moral center of Ioláni, however, is its abhorrence of infanticide, which the young Collins found, as did Ellis, intolerable. Ellis provides details on its causes and acceptance in Tahitian culture, noting that it is the worst consequence of idolatry And although the almost universal practice was "one of the indispensable regulations of the Areoi society, enforced on authority of those gods whom they were accustomed to consider as the founders of their order," it was not limited to that group (I:252). However, Collins again alters his source to suit his ends. Ellis states that both parents agreed with the killing of their child, the mother performing the deed, the father preparing its grave (I:250). In Ioláni, the murderous savagery is the father's alone. And no less than two thirds of Tahitian children, writes Ellis, "were massacred" in the "generations immediately preceding the subversion of paganism" (I:251-52). Not a mother from those generations escaped responsibility — a condition that may have sparked Collins to create the unorthodox character of Idía, who refuses to commit such a deed.
Graphic details of the infanticide accompany Ellis's remarks (I:253-55), although he ironically points out that if the child lived ten minutes or half an hour, it was safe. And in a statement that provides the source for the plot of Ioláni, Ellis writes, "there were times, when a mother's love, a mother's feelings, overcame the iron force of pagan custom, and all the mother's influence and endeavours have been used to preserve her child" (I:255). Nonetheless, there were numerous "struggles between the mother to preserve, and the father and relatives to destroy, the infant. This has arisen from the motives of false pride," he adds (I:255). The reasons advanced for justifying this deed were (a) orders from the Areoi gods; (b) the transient duration of marriage where infidelity not allegiance, ruled (marriages could be .dissolved whenever either party desired it); and (c) unacceptable progeny from those of inferior rank (I:255-56). Ellis also observes the degradation of women in Tahitian society, admitting that "their sex was often, at their birth, the cause of their destruction" (I:257). The only purpose in rearing children was to fish, to fight and to serve at the temple, all male activities. Part of Collins's reason for writing Ioláni may have been a youthful protest against the mistreatment of women—a theme, of course, his later fiction both depicts and condemns.
Collins criticizes marriage in Tahiti—at best a temporary social arrangement — as early as page 7 in his novel, when the narrator observes that except for a few extreme situations, "Marriage was considered by the greater portion of the inhabitants, either, as a tie to be broken and reorganized at will, as a ceremonious pandar [sic] to the fleeting passion of the hour, or, as a privilege so circumscribed by the pride of rank and possessions, as to oppose every obstacle to the few desirous of using it aright" (7). The implied support of marriage by the narrator is ironic, however, given Collins's later disavowal of the institution while privately supporting Caroline Graves and Martha Rudd, the latter with whom he had three children. Polygamy, practiced more by the Tahitians than by the Hawaiians, Ellis relates, would later become strikingly appealing to Collins.
What Collins did object to was Tahitian indolence, a cliché enlarged by Ellis in his narrative. The phlegmatic behavior of the Tahitians becomes the source of a good deal of their problems. Or as Ellis explains, their "indolence . . . was the parent of many of their crimes, infant-murder not excepted, and was also a perpetual source of much of their misery." The balmy climate, the source of their "luxurious indulgence," "strengthened their natural love of ease" and "nurtured those habits of excessive indolence" (I:450). This was offset, however, by violence. Captives in battle were usually murdered instantly unless kept for slaves. The dead bodies were ritualistically pierced and jaw bones frequently removed. Others used the dead bodies as rollers over which they dragged their canoes. Perhaps the most gruesome application was that of cutting a hole in the dead body large enough for a warrior to thrust his head through to form a grotesque poncho "with the head and arms of the slain hanging down before and the legs behind him, he [the warrior] marched to renew the conflict (I:310) Collins describes no similar act but he does outline the grim treatment of dead bodies followed by a human sacrifice to secure the return of the "occupations and amusements of peace" (I:311). Other details taken from Ellis include descriptions of war canoes, defensive battlements, and the heiva or grand dance performed in the presence of the king to celebrate a victorious peace. Warriors danced while priests supplicated the gods and the war weapons were retired— until the next quarrel
One product of the Tahitian wars and sacrifices was the supposed wild men living on the interior mountains of Tahiti. Ellis reports that in 1821 he actually saw one of these men who was "comparatively tame," although his "aspect was agitated and wild" (I:305) Collins makes use of the wild-man motif in Ioláni but as a form of rescue and, in a reversal of plot, salvation. The independent Idía, who rebels against the powerful Ioláni, rejecting the practice of infanticide, reverses the conventional view of Tahitian women as subservient and malleable.
The energetic and active Aimáta, co-conspirator, sets the pattern for a series of forceful and unorthodox women in Collins, from the vengeful Goth, Goisvintha, in Antonina (whose children have been murdered by the Romans and who must hide from male persecutors, as does the heroine of Ioláni) to the aggressive Margaret Sherwin in Basil, the independent Marian Halcombe in The Woman in White, and the inquisitive Valeria Woodville in The Law and the Lady, possibly the first female detective in a full-length novel. The presentation of women in Ioláni anticipates what Mr. Pendril, the lawyer in No Name observes: "The women are few indeed, who cannot resolve firmly, scheme patiently and act promptly, where the dearest interests of their lives are concerned" (24) Other sources for names and incidents in Ioláni include Mary Russell Mitford's popular 332-page poem, Christina, the Maid of the South Seas. A verse tale of the mutinous Bounty leader Christian, who fathers a child with an island woman named "Iddeah," the book-length poem of four cantos stresses the lush environment of Tahiti, the fearful practice of ritual infanticide, and the constant threat of war. The narrator at one point in Canto 2 exclaims:
Iddeah,— O what frenzied tears!
A living pledge of love she bears,—
Slaves to their superstition wild,
The Arreoys will destroy my child!
With its first breath will seize their prize,
Unfathered, unrevenged it dies! (25)
Anticipating a device Collins would later use in his fiction, Mitford inserts actual documents to support her poetic interpretation of the adventures set on Pitcain's Island in the South Seas and includes numerous notes. "Fitzallan's Narrative" in Canto III, for example, appears as a counter to the improbable nature of the story. A detailed description of the canoes used by the natives, taken by Mitford from Captain Cook's First Voyage, appears on pages 206-7 and may be one source for Collins's information about the canoes used by Ioláni and others in his novel. Details from Bligh's Voyage to the South Seas and Cook's Last Voyage Round the World also appear in the poem, as well as references to human sacrifice, Tahitian women, and infanticide. The Narrative of the Bounty by Bligh, appearing in a folio edition of 1790, also mentions a character named Iddeah, with variant spellings including "Iddea," "Ideea," and "Itia." It also details the practice of killing the firstborn at birth. Sir John Barrow's Account of the Mutiny of the Bounty (1831) was another possible source, as well as Captain Basil Hall's Fragments of Voyages and Travels (3rd series in 9 vols., 1831), which was in Collins's library. (26)
More importantly, the use of these texts indicates how Collins built a foundation of the dramatic and sensational upon the factual, a characteristic of his later work as well. His subsequent reliance on textbooks, lawyers, physicians, and even scientists for the details that would be transformed into the fictional action of his novels begins with his research on the life and customs of Tahiti for Ioláni. His father's obsession for working with originals — noted in the son's memoir—is analogous to Collins's determination to ground his work on documentary sources such as Ellis's Polynesian Researches for Ioláni, Gibbon's Decline and Fall for Antonina, or The Fall of Rome, John Elliotson's Human Physiology for The Moonstone, or the case history of Madame de Douhault found in Maurice Méjan's Recueil des Causes Célèbres for the plot of The Woman in White.
The full title of Ioláni is Ioláni; or, Tahiti as it was. a Romance, the subtitle immediately disclosing the setting, time, and origin of the story. Having grown up with a thorough education in the work of Mrs. Radcliffe and Scott, Collins clearly understood and enjoyed the Romance. He quickly learned to appreciate the imaginative terror, focus on suspense, element of surprise, and frequent fear that characterized the Gothic romance. A letter from 1842 records his delight at reciting "the most terrible portions of The Monk and Frankenstein" to a horrified aunt and her family. (27) Mrs. Radcliffe was particularly central: Collins's mother, Harriet, was a fan of her work and copies of The Mysteries of Udolpho and The Italian were in her son's library. Interestingly, both works employ "Romance" in their full titles, signalling to the reader the character of the story before the first page.
Implicit in the phrase romance is a world of invention, not realism, akin to the definition Dr. Johnson supplied in his Dictionary: "a tale of wild adventure in war and love." But Radcliffe, and by extension Collins, use the term as Scott was to define it in his 1824 "Essay on Romance" for the Encyclopedia Britannica Supplement: "a fictitious narrative in prose or verse; the interest of which turns upon marvellous and uncommon incidents." (28) Incident, not character, the traditional formula of romance, highlights the texts of both Radcliffe and Collins where the improbable as well as the unexpected, the violent as well as the remote co-exist. Collins found the category useful and borrowed the term for such later titles as Antonina, or the fall of Rome: a romance of the fifth century (1850), The Moonstone: a Romance (1868), and The Two Destinies: A Romance (1876). And to his satisfaction, Bentley's Miscellany ended its review of Antonina with this statement: "The author, in his first work, has stepped into the first rank of romance writers." (29) Implied in the use of "Romance" in the title of Ioláni is the addition of the exotic through the reference to Tahiti in the title, linking the mystery of the South Pacific with the features of the Gothic romance. Disappearances, supernatural occurrences, the extreme presentation of feelings are all foreshadowed by the category of romance, which richly confuses the alien and the familiar, the natural and the unnatural. What Radcliffe's work accomplished, and what Collins in his early (as well as later) texts explores, is the separation of female desire into power and eros represented by the heroic Idía, in conflict with the masculine will to power, embodied by the violent priest of the war god Oro, Ioláni. One representation of this male power is that the title of the novel is the name of the villain, the only Collins work with that distinction. The Gothic romance sets the tone for Ioláni, with Mrs. Radcliffe the primary and Scott the secondary influences. Collins closely follows Radcliffe's pattern of a persecuted, beautiful, but solitary woman in a picturesque but threatening landscape, as he details the frantic escape into the wilderness of the lovely Idía with the child of Ioláni. Aided by her young friend and female charge, Aimáta, and later protected by a king, Mahíné, Idía nonetheless faces threats, attacks, and natural dangers in her escape from the vengeful and powerful priest. The idea of religion being associated with such behavior recalls The Italian; or, The Confessional of the Black Penitents: A Romance (1797), Radcliffe's late novel, where the imprisonment and escape of the heroine from the mountain convent of San Stefano and the exposure, of the tyranny of the Church, anticipate Collins's critique of the abuses of Tahitian religion and customs before the arrival of Christianity. Indeed, part of Collins's implicit theme is the value of Christianity for the Tahitians, a distinct emphasis in Ellis's history of the island. Beauty—of the landscape as well as the characters—plus terror—of the jungle as well as the villains – establish the atmosphere of both Mrs. Ratcliffe's fiction and that of Ioláni where passion inflames behavior.
Another parallel between Radcliffe and Collins is the heroine, importantly a mother, and one who resists, acts, and initiates. Idía, like Emily St. Aubert in Mysteries of Udolpho or Ellena in The Italian, displays the virtues of fortitude and endurance. But Collins also reveals the subjectivity of his heroine, sometimes at the expense of the plot. This subjectivity opposes the codes of morality and society which in Radcliffe and Collins is often made up of mysterious conspiracies and deceptive if not immoral actions. Idía, disempowered by the formal levels of society, nonetheless seeks her independence and freedom at any cost, rejecting sexual dominance and economic dependence, foregoing any element of social privilege or protection. This behavior sets a pattern for the major heroines of Collins's later fiction which a passage in Ioláni summarizes: In women, more universally than in men, the necessity for action generates the power. Their energies, though less various, are more concentrated and—by their position in existence—less over-tasked than ours; hence in most cases of extremity, where we deliberate, they act; and if, in consequence, their failures are more deplorable, their successes are, for the same reason, more triumphant and entire. (20)
In Ioláni, only the courageous King Mahání saves Idía from her nightmare fate; he defends her from the violence of Ioláni, whose future becomes enmeshed in a political battle with the king for land. Terror becomes a narrative device in Ioláni, driving the plot as it moves into the theme of pursuit and capture. Ioláni is a Tahitian Gothic romance, blending a documentary source text with the subjective imagination and supernatural elements of the Gothic.
For Collins, Scott represented the historical in fiction and the successful union of fact with imagination. In using Scottish history to fashion his stories, Scott showed Collins how to employ actual events in an imaginative construct. Hence, the reliance but not dependence by Collins on Tahitian history as represented by Ellis and the accounts of the "Bounty." But typically, Collins located a foundation for his imaginary adventures in the actual narratives of Tahitian life. By successfully emulating the technique of Scott through the incorporation of history in his story, Collins blended the improbable with the documentary and succeeded in uniting what would become the distinguishing feature of his later, sensational fiction: the domestication of the Gothic through the terror of the everyday.
Understandably, there have been until recently few accounts Ioláni and none that deal with the text. (30) But now, with the publication of the novel more than one hundred and fifty years after its composition, that will change. Ioláni stands as the important beginning of a writing career that spanned forty-seven years and more than thirty-five titles. It is the crucial first work of an author distinguished for his dramatic, sensational, and popular writing.
1. George D. Smith. in Wilkie Collins, Ioláni, The Original Autograph Manuscript (New York: Glenn Horowitz Bookseller, , 13.
2. Marvin Felheim, The Theatre of Augustin Daly (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1956), 102.
3. Clyde E. Hyder, "Wilkie Collins in America," University of Kansas Humanistic Studies 6 (1940):50-58.
4. Joseph Francis Daly, The Life of Augustin Daly (New York: Macmillan, 1917), 306.
5. Wilkie Collins, "Letter of Dedication," Basil, ed. Dorothy Goldman (1852; Oxford: Oxford World's Classics, 1990), xxxvii.
6. Catherine Peters, The King of Inventors: A Life of Wilkie Collins (London: Secker & Warburg, 1991), 55. All references to this edition unless otherwise noted.
7. Wilkie Collins, Hide and Seek, ed. Catherine Peters (Oxford: Oxford World's Classics, 1993), 45.
8. Wilkie Collins, Men and Women, 5 February 1887, in William M. Clarke, The Secret Life of Wilkie Collins, rev. edition (Stroud, Gloucestershire: Alan Sutton, 1996), 45. The location of Antrobus & Co. may have actually stimulated Collins's literary ambitions. Next door, at 445 The Strand, were the publishers of Saturday Magazine. Close by were Punch, the Illustrated London News, Bell's Life in London, the Observer; Chapman & Hall's various monthlies were at 186 The Strand. In August 1843 Douglas Jerrold's Illuminated Magazine (320 The Strand) published Collins's first signed article, "The Last Stage Coachman," a sure catalyst for the literary desires of a young writer shortly to begin his first novel.
9. Collins in Edmund Yates, "W. Wilkie Collins," The Train (June 1857), rpt. in Yates, Celebrities at Home, 3rd Series (London, 1879), 355.
10. Collins in Yates, Celebrities, 355.
11. William Collins to Longmans, 8 March 1845, British Library add. ms. 42575 f.158.
12. Wilkie Collins (WC) to Harriet Collins, 30 September 1845. Pierpont Morgan Library, MA 3150 19.
13. WC in George W. Towle, "Wilkie Collins," Appleton's Journal (3 September 1870), 279.
14. WC in Men and Women (5 February 1887), 281, cited in Peters, King of Inventors, 65.
15. WC in Men and Women (5 February 1887), quoted in Clarke, Secret Life, 47.
16. Wilkie Collins, "The Captain's Last Love," The Spirit of the Times [NY] (23 December 1876); Belgravia 31 (January 1877), 263, 274. Collins retitled the story "Mr. Captain and the Nymph" when he reissued it in Little Novels (1887). The story appears as "The Captain's Last Love," in Collins's Mad Monkton and Other Stories, ed. Norman Page (Oxford: Oxford World's Classics, 1994), 333-54, but as "Mr Captain and the Nymph," in Wilkie Collins: The Complete Shorter Fiction, ed. Julian Thompson (New York: Carroll & Graf, Inc., 1995), 563-77.
17. Bernard Smith, in European Vision and the South Pacific, 1768-1850 (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1960), henceforth referred to as E.V, and in his Imagining the Pacific (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1992), expertly surveys the method and importance of the European vision of Polynesia. Also useful is Neil Rennie, Far-Fetched Facts: The Literature of Travel and the Idea of the South Seas (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1995). The standard account of Tahiti, masterfully detailing the history of the islands, is Douglas L. Oliver's Ancient Tahitian Society, 3 vols. (Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press, 1974).
18. Hawkesworth in Smith, E.V., 27.
19. Melville, who also owned the book, refers to Ellis's Polynesian Researches in his "Preface" to Omoo, while Harriet Martineau's 1845 novel, Dawn Island, A Tale, similarly draws from Ellis. The name of the heroine is Idya, who flees to a remote part of the island to escape sacrifice with her lover and her protector, a priest of the island. Collins's copy of Ellis is recorded as item 39 in Catalogue of the Interesting Library ... of the Late Wilkie Collins sold at auction by Puttick and Simpson on 20 January 1890.
20. Peters, King of Inventors, 8; Dorothy L. Sayers, Wilkie Collins, ed. E. R. Gregory (Toledo, Ohio: Friends of the Toledo Library, 1977), 43.
21. Richard Lovett, The History of the London Missionary Society 1795-1895 (London: Henry Frowde, 1899), 30.
22. Wilkie Collins, Memoirs of the Life of William Collins, Esq. R.A. (1848; London: E. P. Publishing, 1978), II:316.
23. William Ellis, Polynesian Researches, 2nd ed. enlarged, 4 vols. (London: Fisher, Son and Jackson, 1831-32), II:560-62. All references to this edition unless otherwise noted. For information on Mahíné see I:246.
24. Wilkie Collins, No Name, ed. Virginia Blain (Oxford: World's Classics, 1986), 92.
25. Mary Russell Mitford, Christina, the Maid of the South Seas (London: Rivington, 1811), Canto 2, Verse XXIV:74.
26. Also listed as item 39 in Catalogue of the Interesting Library ... of the Late Wilkie Collins (1890).
27. Wilkie Collins to William Collins, postmarked 24 August 1842. Pierpont Morgan Library, MA 3155. The aunt was Catherine Gray.
28. Samuel Johnson cited in Sir Walter Scott, "Essay on Romance," Encyclopedia Britannica Supplement VI (Edinburgh, 1824), 435; Scott, ibid.
29. Bentley's Miscellany XXVII (April 1850), 378, in Wilkie Collins, the Critical Heritage, ed. Norman Page (London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1974), 42.
30. Among those who record the discovery of the text are Catherine Peters in the 1992 paperback reprint of her Collins biography, The King of Inventors (London: Minerva, 1992), and in Appendix C of the 1993 Princeton University Press American edition of the book; William M. Clarke, in his 1996 revision of The Secret Life of Wilkie Collins (Stroud, Gloucestershire: Allan Sutton, 1996); and Lillian Nayder in her 1997 introductory study, Wilkie Collins (New York: Twayne, 1997).
From: Ioláni, or Tahiti as it was: A Romance
by Wilkie Collins, edited and introduced by Professor Ira B. Nadel, University
of British Columbia, Princeton University
Press 1999 (ISBN 0-691-03446-X).
© 1999 Princeton University Press. Reprinted with permission of Princeton University Press and kind permission of Ira B Nadel.
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