The RMS Titanic, that spectacular metaphor for nature’s ultimate rebuke to mankind and, along with World War I, the death of the rigid class system of the Edwardian era. Or, as The Onion puts it more succinctly:
Titanic’s hold on our imagination is undeniable and only seems to get stronger as time passes—in one year (1996-1997) no fewer than three major adaptations of the story came out!
- Maury Yeston's Broadway musical Titanic (the very first Broadway musical I ever saw!)
- a TV miniseries
- and of course James Cameron’s leviathan hit.
I first became interested in the disaster when, as a child, I read Richard Peck’s modern juvenile classic Ghosts I Have Been, a crucial plot point of which involves a heart-breaking (albeit fictional) incident wherein a young English boy’s parents have abandoned their son in his cabin to save themselves. Peck even has the father, Sir Poindexter, claim a spot in the lifeboats by dressing as a woman, in a clear reference to this Titanic legend. The book's eerie refrain of "iron against ice” and the tender moment between young Julian and the main character Blossom, summoned from the near-future to bear witness and comfort the boy, stayed with me.
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| And Peck’s scenario is not impossible--one child in First Class was known to have died on the Titanic. Sadly the children in steerage died in droves. |
I’ve written before about the special horror of dying in cold water—but Titanic's passengers had a somewhat different experience than those on Flight 90. They had time to prepare for their deaths--time to deny, to rationalize, to fear, to fight it, to come to grips, to greet it with dignity. Time to say goodbye, or to make a choice, as the Strausses did, to embrace death together. "Where you go, I go." And one more poetic, heart-breaking difference--they died at night, far from home, and most of their bodies were not recovered.
A few years after reading Ghosts I Have Been, I came across another book, this treasure, written by 2 experts who were used as consultants on the ’97 film. LOVE this volume—lots of photographs, marvelously detailed illustrations and, fascinatingly, a picture taken the next day of what may have been the actual iceberg that struck the ship.
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| Yes, that mark on the right is said to have been from the ship. Great article here looks at the evidence. |
As for that iceberg—why exactly did the great ship hit? The major human factor was hubris—the owner, J. Bruce Ismay, wanted publicity for the maiden crossing, and so pushed the captain to go faster. Even so this likely would not have been a problem had the weather conditions been slightly different. The musical's Act One finale sums it up neatly in one verse, as the lookout sings:
"No Moon" from Maury Yeston's Titanic
No moon, no wind
No light to spy things by
No wave, no swell
No line where sea meets sky
Stillness, darkness
Can't see a thing, says I
No reflection
Not a shadow
Not a glint of light
Meets the eye...
And we go sailing
Sailing
Ever westward on the sea…
No moonlight to see the 'bergs. And no wind, which would make the water break against the ice. They were flying blind, going at a breakneck pace [westward of course, which = death in Freudian symbolism] with no radar and almost no visibility, only their faith in the invincibility of Titanic’s design, in steel and ingenuity, in man's manifest supremacy over nature, to protect them.
There’s actually some disagreement on the band’s final song—originally some passengers remembered it as “Nearer, My God, to Thee” but Harold Bride recalled hearing “Autumn” across the water. But was it the Episcopalian hymn or the French tune, "Songe d'Autumne"? The musical takes this idea and runs with it—they composed a new song:
Autumn
Shall we all meet in the Autumn?
Golden and glowing by Autumn
Shall we still be best of friends?
Best of friends...
Whose melody is also heard in the background later in the second act, during the final scramble to the lifeboats.
I’m not crazy about Cameron’s film* although I enjoy a great deal of it (and parts of it are genuinely glorious). But one of my favorite moments is when the musicians, having been released from their duties, wordlessly regroup for one last time for “Nearer, My God, to Thee”—the violin sending out those sweet, familiar strains, comforting those about to die, bestowing a patina of grace over the panicked rush to survive at all costs, calling out to the lucky few in the boats Remember us.
Remember us.
These men were heroes—they gave their lives to help keep the passengers calm during the evacuation. Not one of them survived.
I have an affinity for those musicians, since I (and, interestingly, my grandfather) also served on board a liner as a musician—in my case it was a cruise ship in and around the western Mediterranean. [Not much problem with icebergs there, although there were earthquakes in the east to worry about--thanks, Poseidon Adventure!]. Titanic certainly had made its mark on the industry—apparently bookings went way up after the movie came out! The design of the liner on which I served, the R2 of Renaissance Cruise Lines (a victim of the post-9/11 travel recession), was even inspired by the great ship:
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| Titanic's famous stairway. |
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| The former R2, now the Regatta--yep, your favorite historian/singer/dancer used to traipse up and down these stairs! I have a picture of the Entertainment Department somewhere which I'll upload soon... |
I am finishing this up at exactly 2:20 am, when the great ship finally went under the waters.
Listen to their voices across the sea.
Remember us.
*For someone who clearly cares so much about the great ship, you’d think Cameron** would try a little harder for historical accuracy—the women of Lifeboat 6 most certainly DID want to go back to save their husbands, and were threatened by the clearly terrified Quartermaster Hichens. In fact his nastiness in the lifeboat got so bad that eventually Molly Brown threatened to throw him overboard. Gotta love a (post-) Edwardian woman kickin’ ass and takin’ names.
**However I love that Cameron threw in a small reference to Chief Baker Joughin, the tippling crew member whose gin-soaked bloodstream was able, somehow, to keep him warm enough to survive TWO HOURS in the 28-degree water! The. Hell?! Most people in that water died within minutes! WASP blood chemistry, I tell you.
