We’ve looked and looked, but after all where are we?

Do we know any better where we are,

And how it stands between the night tonight

And a man with a smoky lantern chimney?

How different from the way it ever stood?

—Robert Frost, “The Star-Splitter”

The two of them spent a lot of time looking! But by the end of the poem, the speaker—presumably Brad’s neighbor—confesses:

I—and you, too, dear follower— have looked and looked and looked,  but where am I with my Alexander Gordon research! Do I know any more now that I did in 2013 when I identified him as the author of the Humourist essays?

Probably not, at least in terms of having discovered additional evidence to seal my already tight claim.

But I have found information that makes my knowledge of Alexander Gordon more rich and more robust.

Since last week, I have been looking at the two letters from “Chindonax Britanicus” (William Stukeley, antiquarian best known, perhaps, for his investigations of Stonehenge) to “Galgacus” (Alexander Gordon. Stukeley and Gordon were lifelong friends. And, indeed, it was Stukeley who, in his diary entry of May 28, 1758, credited  Alexander Gordon for a detailed account of the natural history of South Carolina that  had been read at the Royal Society that same day.  However, Stukeley was mistaken, as I discovered! The true author was the naturalist Alexander Garden, also of South Carolina. (See my A Correction to Alexander Gordon’s Canon, 256 Years after a Mistake Was Made!)

Be that as it may, the two letters that I have been looking at are intriguing to say the least. In the September 25, 1723, letter, Stukeley alludes to the fact that Gordon might have been on the “brink” of marriage:

Methinks I see the foundation of Chateaugordon a laying while Signior walks gravely among the workmen–measuring out the length of the gallery, disposing of the drawings, the basso relievos & the likes into the proper pannels.

Stukeley continues with:

Or perhaps his leading Lady spouse by the arm and drawing a ground line for a fountain, a shady walk, an alcove where he is to sit in a summer evening with Horace, Milton, Tasso & the like. I suppose there is to be a fine vista to some Grampian Mountain, Roman Camp, etc., & here the descendants of the Gordonian Race are to be depicted round the dining room like olive branchyes.

The above passages–short excerpts from the letter–are revealing because Stukeley knew Gordon’s interests: Italy, architecture, drawings, vistas, and writers such as Horace, Milton, and Tasso. These interests appear as well throughout The Humourist essays as well.

In the next letter to Gordon, dated November 30, 1723, Stukeley continues to talk about marriage, seemingly in an effort to dissuade Gordon from taking the leap, noting that marriage is not for everyone and that many who had “cast the dice” wished otherwise! Nonetheless, he says to Gordon:

May your spouse arise from the nuptial bed more lovely than the July sunbeams when they play upon the tops of the Caledonian mountains […]

Earlier in the letter, Stukeley also thanks Gordon for his drawings:

I commend you prodigiously for the pains you have taken in searching out & measuring & drawing such an immeasurable parcel of Antiquitys as you give me an account of.

Drawings of antiquities, as I am confident you will recall, play an important role in The Humourist essays.

And, even earlier in the letter, Stukeley makes a special-jewel comment:

Mr. Kirkel gives his service to you & wishes much he had your drawing of Raphael to make a print from.

While I knew that Gordon was an accomplished artist, I did not know until now about his drawing of Raphael. So that knowledge—allusion—may be helpful. I am reminded of a passage from The Humourist essay of December 24, 1753, in which he, too, speaks of Raphael:

If a sign-painter can imagine himself possessed of the finger of a Raphael, that his portraits are surprizing, his pencil bold and animating, and that his figures swell on the canvas and quicken into life, permit him to hug the blest idea, no one suffers for it, no one receives an injury;

While in the midst of looking at the letters, I ventured off into some more general research on Alexander Gordon. Remember: only in an ideal world does research move along smoothly and methodically from points A to B to C to D to Z!  In the real world, research—like writing—is recursive. We often find ourselves at what we believe to be the end of the task when we find ourselves circling back to an earlier point.

And I am glad that I circled back, trying to find out more about Alexander Gordon and William Stukeley. In doing so, I landed upon Iain Gordon Brown’s meticulously researched and well-documented article “Chyndonax to Galgacus: New Letters of William Stukeley to Alexander Gordon,” published in 1987 to commemorate the tercentenary of Stukeley’s birth. Brown includes the two letters that I have discussed briefly as well as a third one. His introduction to the letters is invaluable, especially for some new and detailed information about Alexander Gordon.

I knew—at least I think that I knew (and I may have mentioned it in an earlier post)—that Alexander Gordon had worked in a Custom House in Scotland. Brown’s article, however, provides Gordon’s own views of his “other” occupation. In a letter to his friend and benefactor Sir John Clerk, Gordon writes:

As to the Custome House, I confess if the question was putt to me sincerely, if these matteres sute exactly with my genious and taste, I could not so far hipocrese as not to confess that the keeping talies of Norwegian barrell skews on a bitt of stick or paper, and the retaining the nice number of hemp matts and Almagnia whistles in one’s head, is not the very noblest exercise that a rational creatour may be employd in these so precious hours. ‘Tis a sad thing not to have been born to few riggs … I am observant of Caesar’s due even to the methematicall division of pickled herring. The town is astonished to see one whom they thought un huomo di [Piazza] so far metamorphosed as all at once to drop into salmond barrels, matts of flax, ganging firkins, etc.

Who would have guessed? Alexander Gordon now joins the ranks of Nathaniel Hawthorne and Herman Melville, two other American writers who worked in a Custom House!

Therein lies one of the joys of research: sometimes—without even looking—we land on the unexpected!

“Where shall I begin, please your Majesty?” he asked.

“Begin at the beginning,” the King said gravely, “and go on till you come to the end: then stop.”

—Lewis Carroll, Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland (1865)

I confess—with some surprise but with great delight—that I am bowled over by the response to last week’s “Ricocheting Around Inside My Blog.” It engendered 119 views from all around the world: the United States, Germany, Japan, the United Kingdom, and Canada. I am buoyed up, spurred on, by the reverberation! Thank you!

However,  I had no sooner finished that blog and clicked on “Publish” than I started thinking about today’s blog. It’s been a week to the day, and, I haven’t stopped thinking about it, in much the same way that Louise Glück (former United States Poet Laureate) thinks about writing—especially poetry. She sees it as rather miraculous but reminds herself that not everyone wants to write.  But she does, and writing calls her. When she starts working on something, she finds herself thinking, “It’s waiting for me” (The Poet’s View: Intimate Film Profiles of Five Major American Poets). That’s how I’ve been feeling: “my miraculous blog’s waiting for me.”

In anticipation of today, I am more than a little surprised that I did not ready up my office for the occasion of opening the envelopes that have been waiting for so long.

Jokingly I emailed a good friend, “I’m feeling as if I need to ready up my office. For such an event, surely the press will appear!”

Her  rejoinder “Ha ha ha, you have to be your own press agent!” strengthened my resolve to keep the clutter (and perhaps my creativity) (“5 Reasons Creative Geniuses Like Einstein, Twain, and Zuckerberg Had Messy Desks—and Why You Should Too”).

And I am equally surprised that I have not peeked inside the two envelopes so that I could “orchestrate” the outcome of today’s blog. But I have not. In fact, I have not even touched them (“Integrity is what you do when no one is watching”), but I do know exactly where they are in the midst of my desk clutter.

Of this much you can be certain, for better or worse: what you are reading is what I am writing spontaneously! Other than knowing that I will open at least one of the envelopes today, I have no other plan!

What I hope to find in one or both of the envelopes is the linchpin that gives me conclusive evidence that Alexander Gordon, Esq. (Scottish antiquary, operatic singer, secretary to Colonial South Carolina Governor James Glen, and Clerk of His Majesty’s Council) is the author of our much-celebrated Humourist essays.

I identified Gordon as the author on August 8, 2013, at the Charleston Library Society in my presentation, “Colonial Charleston’s Biggest Literary Mystery Is Solved.”  I anchored my claim to a preponderance of evidence found in the essays after I had given them an ever-so-close reading. The evidence is laid out point by point in the presentation, but the main thrusts are as follows:

• The Humourist essays show extensive knowledge of the classics, of languages, of literature, and of drawing and painting. So, too, did Alexander Gordon.
• The Humourist essays show extensive knowledge of theater and drama. So, too, did Alexander Gordon.
• The Humourist essays show extensive knowledge of history and “the antients.” So, too, did Alexander Gordon.
• The Humourist essays disclose insider information about the workings of the South Carolina General Assembly. Gordon was the Clerk.
• The Humourist essays often mention “constables.” Gordon served as a constable.
• The Humourist essays include references to Egyptian mummies.  Gordon had written two essays on Egyptian mummies.

I could proceed easily and readily with a formal, scholarly publication of the Humourist essays and my work on Alexander Gordon, especially since the evidence that I have amassed—and the corollary authorial attribution that I have made—cannot be contradicted or refuted.

But my researcher conscience will not allow me to do so until I have explored everything that I know to explore that might give me conclusive, linchpin evidence! If it exists, I want to find it.

So that’s what I’m looking for in these envelopes.

I think that the envelopes contain copies of documents written by Alexander Gordon. The one—I am certain—contains his unpublished history and chronology of Egyptians. That has to be inside the envelope from England, measuring 6 x 3/4 inches and weighing a nearly weightless 1.16 ounce. I’m betting that it’s on a CD.

Of the other envelope—the one from Scotland measuring 14 x 10/16 inches and weighing a hefty 17.21 ounces—I am uncertain. Letters perhaps from Gordon to friends in Scotland? I hope! Drawings? Again, I hope.

In those envelopes, I hope to find a word. I hope to find a phrase. I hope to find an allusion. I hope to find something—anything—known to be by Alexander Gordon that matches precisely something—anything—in the Humourist essays that I have attributed to Alexander Gordon.

I realize, of course, that my quest is akin to looking for a needle in a haystack.

I realize, too, that I have more than a small degree of fear as I anticipate opening the envelopes. The fear is intense, in fact. What if I am wrong? What if those envelopes contain nothing more than ephemera?

Can I hold up to that blow? Let’s see. Right now—at this moment—I am certain that I have  myriad and sundry other things that I should be doing. I’ve biked my usual 30 miles indoors today. Wow! I’m betting that I would feel really ecstatic if I biked 20 more. Maybe later. Oh, I know. Breakfast! I haven’t had breakfast yet. I’ll bet that some broiled, thick-sliced cauliflower steaks drizzled with olive oil and sprinkled with sea salt, turmeric, and black pepper would be yummy.

Excuse me, please. I’ll be right back.

Twelve minutes later, and I’m back! Wow! The cauliflower is PHENOM. So easy. So quick. The turmeric adds color, and the slight char adds a really tasty crunch!

Okay. Now that breakfast is out of the way, maybe I should check out one of those adjustable, standable desks that I have been considering as a replacement for my far-too-low farm-table-desk.

Can you tell? I’m a master of avoidance. I suspect that other researchers and writers are, too.

Thank you, Natalie Goldberg, for yanking me right back to reality, right now: “Write. Just write” (Writing Down the Bones: Freeing the Writer Within).

Fine. I will write, as soon as I share my second fear. Well, it’s really more of a concern. Reading and transcribing eighteenth century handwritten documents is a formidable task even for someone who is experienced.  I have read and transcribed a good many of them, and every time, I do so with some trepidation.  Whole words and phrases don’t jump off the page. They require a letter-by-letter, character-by-character reading. Add to that the challenge that spelling was not standardized. The demands are so extensive that earlier this week I did a refresher by checking out the United Kingdom’s National Archives‘ article, “Palaeography.” (It includes several useful and fun tutorials. You might want to check it out, too.)

All right. Having spoken my fears, I’m past them. Understand, however, that I make no promises—absolutely no promises—about how far I will go today in terms of sharing the entire contents of the envelopes.

Today, all that I can promise is to open the envelopes and see what’s inside. If I hit quick and easily accessible pay dirt, you bet: I’ll share. If I don’t, I’ll share that with you, too, along with my action plan for moving ahead with my research.

So, without further adieu (and in response to all of the “Amen! It’s about time!” that I am hearing from my followers), might I have the envelopes, please?

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