This week, a set of hand-drawn postcards sent to Lovecraft. My thanks to the Brown University repository.

From 16th November 1926 Frank Belknap Long began to send a ‘comic-strip by postcards’ to his good friend H.P. Lovecraft. Having recently escaped the ‘pest zone’ of New York City, and recovered his wits, the master thus found one ‘episode’ per day being slipped through his letter-box in Providence from New York. While Long’s art is crude, the biographical and professional insights are of some interest. The final card is not addressed or stamped, so may have been delivered in person or enclosed inside a letter.

1. Randolph Carter and the Priests of Baal-Naplong. While attempting to escape Baal-Naplong (New York?), HPL is caught up on the city’s wall and hangs there ‘invert’ and upside down. He utters vital sentences which are cut in the sword battle between Frank Belknap Long (wielding the Scimitar of Sophistication) in battle against Weird Tales / Farnsworth Wright (wielding, curiously, the Sword of Modernism. Perhaps the irony was intended?).

2. Randolph Carter defies the daemons of Baal-Naplong. Having escaped the city of Baal-Naplong, HPL is perused by daemons from that city. He wields the sword of Puritan Ethics against various monsters, which represent literary, critical and artistic tendencies. He appears to wear a Puritan-style hat.

3. Randolph Carter pursued by an Octopus — that is more shoggoth than octopus. HPL had become rather plump during his early stay in New York, but later took to a ‘reducing’ diet and often this veered near to starvation.

4. Randolph Carter goes in for Genealogy. This may suggest family history as an activity that HPL found solace in when he first returned home from New York City, as he had in the mystery years after 1908. It may also hint that Long was aware that HPL’s family tree was not as blue-blooded as he might have wished for.

5. Randolph Carter indulges in a slight altercation. In Providence Cemetery he battles a “Dr. Calef” for possession of a manifesting spirit. The reference is to Robert Calef, author of More Wonders of the Invisible World (1700).

6. Top: The spirit of Ivan Lampisz, deemed a long-dead medieval poet by the gravestone inscription seen in the previous card, seems to engage in some sort of personality transference with Randolph Carter, which thus enables Lampisz to be released from the spirit world. Lampisz ascends and is welcomed by the higher poetic spirits of Baudelaire, Shelley and Swinburne.

Bottom: Randolph Carter defends the 18th Century. Revivified and rid of the spirit, Carter arises and defends himself and his ugly Georgian Cyclops (i.e. Georgian poetry) against another risen spirit of the graveyard, the Spirit of Eternal Loveliness.

7. Finally, Randolph Carter is seized by three ghouls (Flaming Youth / Victorianism / the 20th Century) and taken by them to the top of a church tower to be dismembered. Lesser horrors (ghost, winged hound or ‘The Hound’ or perhaps a gargoyle, large snake) appear to be circling the church.

A quote from Poe, “The Bells” concludes: “They that dwell up in the steeple, all alone … They are neither man nor woman”. This seems a rather curious choice of emphasis, from the original…

And the people -ah, the people –
They that dwell up in the steeple,
All alone,
And who tolling, tolling, tolling,
In that muffled monotone,
Feel a glory in so rolling
On the human heart a stone –
They are neither man nor woman –
They are neither brute nor human –
They are Ghouls

In Long’s choice is there a subtle inference that HPL risks becoming such a ‘third sex’ or ‘intersex’ type, “neither man nor woman”? Which was how homosexuality was vaguely understood and framed, in 1926, following the reception of the new Hirschfeldian sexology from Berlin. A few months earlier Lovecraft had referred to his close friend Samuel Loveman, a gay man, “if Samuelus isn’t a flaming youth still, for all his barren pole and uncertain equator”. The “pole” and “equator” here are presumably allusions to Loveman’s balding head and slightly expanding paunch. This was said in a June 1926 letter to Long. Had Long looked up the discreet allusion apparently being proffered (in a discussion on poetry) then he could only have found it in Shakespeare…

To flaming youth let virtue be as wax
And melt in her own fire. Proclaim no shame
When the compulsive ardour gives the charge

Perhaps then the apparent not-so-subtle warning offered by Long’s last card was the whole point of the comic strip? Did Long somehow fear that if Lovecraft remained “all alone” and yet also under the sway of the “flaming youth” (Loveman) by correspondence and poetry, then there was a risk that certain latent platonic tendencies might somehow be encouraged to flower in the master? And with “no shame”, too? That the final card had to be delivered in person or inside a letter, rather than risk one of the aunts seeing it in the morning mail, does seem to enhance the likelihood of “neither man nor woman” being intended to have a personal as well as poetic meaning.

Note that Lovecraft did refer to Long as a “flaming youth” a couple of times. But that was four years later, in 1930, and the context shifted the meaning much more toward ‘flaming young fool’. Lovecraft was at that point chiding Long for not having written a ‘dinosaur egg hatches’ story, back when Lovecraft had suggested it to him and no-one else had yet written one.

H. P. Lovecraft once wrote to Galpin in 1934…

How are the “yarbs” [medieval-style herb garden] coming along? I enclose something about a similar enterprise. These old cloisters are very familiar to me — indeed, Belnape, Mortonius, & I visited them for the first time not long after our memorable Cleveland sessions of ’22..

Here he alludes to a remarkable architectural assemblage of medieval art in Manhattan. The “Barnard Cloister” had opened to the public in 1914, and was a poetic presentation in a large church-like structure with landscape setting. Attendants were garbed in the habits of medieval monks. This unusual architectural museum then expanded its content in 1926, when taken over by New York’s Met museum. In circa 1927/28 the Met then began to plan a new and larger museum a little further north along the hill, and their new building only finally formally opened in 1938 after Lovecraft’s death. The Met’s new Cloisters presented the collection with a coherent scholarly and curatorial rigour. The place is still open today and a major tourist attraction.

Period map showing subway station for the Cloisters.

The 1938 Cloisters in its landscape context, January 1961, beside the frozen river with ice-floes and with modern housing projects clustering around its forest park. The original Cloisters seems to have been just off the left of the picture, on the same ridge.

Lovecraft’s initial Autumn (Fall) 1922 visit would thus have been to the 1914 Cloisters. Free entry encouraged visits from the Lovecraft Circle despite the very long and tedious subway ride under Manhattan. Lovecraft’s first visit was with a day there with Sonia in 1922, but another was vividly recalled by Frank Belknap Long in his Lovecraft memoir, albeit a memoir written some fifty years later. Long has it that he, Morton and Lovecraft approached the Cloisters in the gloaming dusk, presumably hoping for a night-time candle-light tour perhaps around Halloween-time. It was only in winter that the museum closed at dusk. The group were rather startled to see old crones in black ‘hats’, using giant witch’s besom-brooms to sweep the darkling paths of the wooded grounds…

… we approached over a narrow, winding footpath we were instantly struck by the long and chilling shadows which the trees were casting in the deepening dusk. Then we saw — the witches. Three bent and fragile-looking women, unmistakably well advanced in years, were sweeping up the fallen leaves surrounding the Cloisters with long-handled brooms. There was a twilight glimmer at their backs, and they were wearing what at least from a distance looked like jet-black, conically tapering hats.

12th century doors, a working doorway at The Cloisters.

[Inside…] It was just as impressive as any similar shrine in Europe, with goblin tapestries and illuminated manuscripts vying in interior splendor with wood-carved figures, gilded or unadorned, dating back to the Middle Ages. For the most part the figures were angelic in aspect, but a few were chillingly demoniac with gargoyled features.

Archival material reveals that there were special candlelight evenings at the 1914 Cloisters, and one assumes that it one of these that spurred Lovecraft’s 1922 visit. Regrettably Long’s memoir can’t inform us on that point, as he recalled only the time of day, the forest, the ‘witches’, and the general nature of the exhibits. But evidently there were candle-light nights for the public, and here we see a photograph of one such at the 1914 Cloisters…

Here are some of the more grotesque carvings Lovecraft would have been especially pleased to spot on his visits, as the Cloisters became “very familiar” to him…

While an elevated roof-garden and children-friendly ‘unicorn tapestry’ galleries were added for the 1938 opening of the new building, Lovecraft may have seen early medieval wall murals such as this. Note the figures below the dragon…

There were also illuminated manuscripts at the 1914 Cloisters, because one of the ‘witch’ crones seen by Lovecraft turned out to be the keeper of the illuminated manuscripts. She and her companions wore the habits of the museum attendants. Their ‘black hats’ proved to be old stockings worn over the hair to keep out dust, twigs and insects, while sweeping dry leaves with the giant brooms.

Lovecraft’s 1925 Diary also records a later visit on the evening of June 27th, after he had spent the afternoon exploring Inwood near Long Beach. At this point in time the Met had taken over the 1914 Cloisters, but the new 1926 south wing was not yet open and the Rockefeller collection of religious figurative sculpture was not yet installed. Nor does it appear that the Met’s building work on the 1938 version of the Cloisters was underway by summer 1925.

The Met, having decided to build the new Cloisters, wanted to record the old Cloisters. One of the ways they chose to do this was a short and rather creaky cinema film, which was released in 1928 and is now on YouTube. In this we see something of the original Cloisters as Lovecraft would have known the place…

[youtube https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8cH5T09cVd0?start=30&w=560&h=315]

Given his 1934 comment to Galpin that “These old cloisters are very familiar to me” we can assume other visits followed those of 1922 and 1925. Perhaps those with good access to Lovecraft’s letters can discover these dates, probably in the early 1930s, and also determine if Lovecraft later visited the (perhaps partly-built and partly-opened) ‘new’ Cloisters which formally opened in 1938. Though a few very scholarly sources say 1934, which may perhaps indicate a difference between a 1934 opening to the public and a 1938 ‘final official’ opening ceremony.

The Bernard Cloisters of New York were not the only cloisters Lovecraft experienced, as he also enjoyed those of Yale (forming from them some conception of the hushed quadrangles of the colleges of Oxford, in his beloved but never-visited England), and he also… “liked the cloistral hush of the Brown University campus, especially the inner quadrangle, where in the deserted twilight there seemed to brood the spirit of the dead generations.” (Lord of a Visible World). Yet, given the timings I’ve outlined above, it seems plausible to assume some influence of the 1914 Bernard Cloisters on elements of “The Lurking Fear” (written November 1922) and “The Rats in the Walls” (written August-September 1923).

This place and Lovecraft’s visits should remind us that Lovecraft was writing his most gothic work at the very tail end of the idea of the gloomy middle-ages. William Morris and Burne-Jones and others had of course done much to lift the idea of the medieval out of the mud, mostly in England, but it was not underpinned by the sort of heavy-duty scholarship needed to shift the idea of the medieval away from the old view of it. Even by the mid 1920s the consensus idea of the medieval in America was of a dark and rancid Church that hated industry and learning, and which shuffled the intelligent off into seclusion as shivering half-starved turnip-munching monks, mad sex-starved nuns, to be religious prisoners in dank dungeons, or (if they were lucky) they got to be ecclesiastic scholars who squabbled over religious trivialities such as the correct cut of a monk’s hair. There were no grand universities or thriving merchant towns, just dank castles lording it over lowly over-taxed peasants. There was no uniform set of traditions, sustained and nurtured across five centuries. There were no long distance trade or pilgrimage routes, no trade guilds, little law, no books and letters moving about Europe, and everyone was more or less stuck fast in their native clay speaking mutually incomprehensible dialects and languages. No-one could read and there was no cheap rush-lighting at night to read by anyway. There was no joyous art and music, yet at the same time people were emotionally incontinent, incapable of restraint. Dark Devilish heresy lurked behind every scraggly hedge, and an Inquisitor listened under every creaking bed. Kings and princes, if not completely mad religious zealots, were pompous, pig-ignorant and warlike.

That false view began to change with educative projects such as The Cloisters from 1914, and many other such efforts gathered steam in the USA by the mid 1920s, and thus we saw the first stirrings of a new and enlightened understanding of the medieval that the educated have today — though it can of course still be found in the gothic-horror vampire-and-werewolf end of popular culture. The counter-reaction may have gone too far, coming in the end to focus on and overly venerate the 12th and 13th centuries as a lost golden-age, but from that scholarly and literary over-correction came creative triumphs such as The Lord of the Rings and others which form the best works of high-fantasy.

Last week I looked at the corner of Joralemon St. and Clinton St., New York, which led me to look at the geography and demographics of Red Hook in the 1920s. Lovecraft got the demographics and mix of Red Hook right in his description of the place, except in one respect. Having an Irish protagonist in the story, he substituted “Spanish” for “Irish” in his opening description of the place and its people. According to my reading on Red Hook, there was to be a large Spanish-speaking population there, but that came later in time.

Following my look at Joralemon and Clinton St., here’s a ‘picture postal’ of another nearby scene which I’ve also newly colorised…

Again, we also see an evocative ‘H.P. Lovecraft stand-in’, this time as if walking toward the viewer. The man is not Lovecraft, but one could imagine he might be. We also see 320 and 322 Fulton Street on the left. This spot is thus close to Lovecraft’s dingy apartment on Clinton St., and the two points are marked on this extract from last week’s map…

The lady’s hat might date the picture some years earlier than the mid 1920s. One source says 1907, the other 1915. The scene here is one street over from the Montague Street technical and mercantile branch (1903) of the main Brooklyn Public Library, and I assume the Music Academy was still opposite this library (update, no it had burned down but there was an Art Club). This part of Fulton St. is obviously more salubrious than the adjacent Red Hook, despite the relative proximity to it. There’s a cleaners, an opticians, a hat-blocker, what seems to be an umbrella shop, a novelty shoe shop (according to Directories), the latter being next to “Asseys” (sp?). The “Asseys” sign and canopy might lead one to think it was a theatre or similar. But I can find no trace of such. Possibly it was a private club with large restaurant with dance-floor. Because there was a “Gentlemen’s Cafe and Grill Room” at 308 Fulton St. in 1910, with… “Accommodations for Balls, Banquets, Private Dining Parties and Lodges” and promising to provide the Royal Hungarian Orchestra. One has to wonder though, if this stretch of the street was quite so salubrious a place by 1925/26, given the way that the social status of New York neighbourhoods can rapidly shift over time. But one has to assume that the nearby Library continued to give the place a certain level and type of clientele, in the mid 1920s, which helped to maintain its standing.

The curious steel structure on the right of the picture is part of the famous and once much-loved elevated railway, “the El”. Lovecraft’s friend Rheinhart Kleiner celebrated Fulton Street and the El in this section of his Betjeman-esque poetic ditty “Brooklyn, My Brooklyn”…

   To hear the passing roar above
   Of elevated trains,
   That thrill me as they soar above
   Unnumbered marts and fanes.

   I’d miss the book so pleasingly
   Displayed on Fulton Street;
   The other wares that teasingly
   Remind of things to eat.

By book Kleiner presumably means a large bookshop shop-sign, hanging above the street and done in the shape of a book? In the photo above we see something similar in the shape of eye-glasses…

By fanes Kleiner indicates ‘temple or shrines’, and presumably the word is here used whimsically of the lunch eateries and soda palaces.

In one letter of 15th April 1929 Lovecraft talks of travelling into New York by rail on the… “elevated which I generally employ”, for a return visit. Here is a postcard and archive picture which shows the sort of elevated view he would have enjoyed along Fulton St. The second picture is a record-picture of the Elevated in the heart of Fulton St., Brooklyn, albeit from perhaps 20 years before Lovecraft’s time there.

Travelling in this manner is hugely enjoyable to the observant and keen-eyed type of person, provided one has a good window seat on the correct side of the carriage. One can thus become far more endeared to a place than otherwise, if one were only riding along in heavy traffic or trudging and dodging along at ground level on foot. Cities with elevated and double-decker transport are inherently more ‘likeable’ places.

Lovecraft’s good friend Frank Belknap Long also liked to browse an antiquarian shop on Fulton Street for curios, although (amazingly) it was Lovecraft who in 1922 had introduced Long to the second-hand bookshops of New York, not the other way around. Long went there at least once with Lovecraft…

[Roman coins and] baked-clay Roman lamps, and he [Lovecraft] once helped me pick out magnificent examples of both ‘coinage and lampage’ at an old-coin shop on Fulton Street.” (Dreamer on the Nightside)

Presumably this was the Brooklyn Fulton St., though it could have been its namesake over the river. That said, Long’s memory (of more than forty years prior) is not to be wholly relied on, and the store might even have been in some other street entirely. Scans of old coin-collector journals reveal the name of a well-respected curio and coin dealer dealer on Fulton St., but this name can lead me to no address or picture.

But the opening picture of this post is certainly of the Brooklyn Fulton St., the street in which Lovecraft successfully culminated his epic pursuit of a new suit at a cheap price after his clothes were stolen. That suit store was at 463 Fulton Street, Brooklyn, further up the street-numbering and around the bend from the spot pictured above. Lovecraft also patronised a restaurant off Fulton Street, this being sometimes visited by Lovecraft on Sundays for lunch. There were likely also some bookshops nearby, given the proximity of the technical and business Library, and more were coming — the bookshop of Isei Binkin at 252 Fulton Street may have been at that nearby address from 1932. This was the same Mr. Binkin of the amazing Grill/Binkin collection of Lovecraftania, which emerged in the early 1970s alongside Lovecraft’s reviving reputation.

Probably there are more mentions of ‘Fulton’ in print, but the two key books on Lovecraft in New York are not indexed to street-names. Once again I’m reminded that if one wanted to turbo-charge Lovecraft scholarship, a searchable database of all the letters would surely do that — even if it only supplied Google Books-like snippets in its search results. Surely such a thing would be fully crowd-funded within a day, if championed by Joshi and others?

But even without such a scholarly tool, I generally have the impression that the lower half of Fulton St. was ‘about’ something. It was about making the more aspiring people of this first great city of the modernity feel comfortable and easy, for a relatively-modest but fair price. Whether that was in affordable men’s accessories, cleaning and hat services, Sunday meals and soda/ice-cream palaces, or small items items such as spectacles, umbrellas, unusual shoes, cut-flowers, smoking pipes, and perhaps (later) books. In the upper half, as the streets rose into the 450s and 60s, the stores seemed to have become grander and there were several large and tall department stores.

I should note that there is another Fulton St. to be found just across the Brooklyn Bridge, passing through what is now the Financial District of New York. It was once connected to the Brooklyn Fulton St. by river ferries which had terminals at the foot of the famous Brooklyn Bridge. The ferry service seems to have been discontinued by the mid 1920s, thus severing the two streets. This means that when Lovecraft talks of visiting the Fulton St. Fish Market in a letter, he’s actually across the river and walking around the dockside at the foot of that other Fulton Street…

Some years ago Long and I attempted to explore the Fulton Fish Market section of New York — which is full of quaint scenes and buildings. I don’t know where I left the
lunch I had eaten an hour previously — for I was too dizzy to read the street signs! In the end I managed to stagger out of the stench without actually losing consciousness …” (letter of 1933, Selected Letters IV)

This brief mention implies that this daytime visit was hasty, yet according to Vrest Orton’s memoir of Lovecraft the area was a fairly frequent night-walk haunt of Lovecraft’s (see Lovecraft Remembered) in search of 18th century remains. Possibly the fish-smell was less so in the dead of night, when the boats were away and trawling and the disinfected warehouses awaiting their dawn-landed catch?

That Fulton St. appears to have subways rather than an “El” railway, and a subway entrance can be seen here in this 1933 picture…

Since we know Lovecraft was also in this other street too, we might again imagine the picture’s scene shifted a few years in time. And that the men looking excitedly in the display-window resemble Lovecraft and Belknap Long — perhaps just hopped up from the subway to visit the “50,000 magazines store” — and seeing familiar names on the cover of a brand-new edition of Weird Tales.