Though there is no life that I know more intimately and none that I have
known for so long a period as that of New York, the present story is the
first in which I have essayed to depict phases of the complex society of
the metropolis. I use the word society in its general, not in its narrow
sense, for in no country has the merely "society novel" less reason for
being than in ours.
The prevailing interest in mind-cure, faith-cure, Christian science, and
other sorts of aerial therapeutics has supplied a motive for this story,
and it is only proper that I should feel a certain gratitude to the
advocates of the new philosophy. But the primary purpose of this novel
is artistic, not polemical. The book was not written to depreciate
anybody's valued delusions, but to make a study of human nature under
certain modern conditions. In one age men cure diseases by potable gold
and strengthen their faith by a belief in witches, in another they
substitute animal magnetism and adventism. Within the memory of those of
us who are not yet old, the religious fervor of millenarianism and the
imitation science of curative mesmerism gave way to spirit-rappings and
clairvoyant medical treatment. Now spiritism in all its forms is passing
into decay, only to leave the field free to mind-doctors and
faith-healers. There is nothing for it but to wait for the middle ages
to pass; when modern times arrive, there will be more criticism and less
credulity, let us hope.
The propositions put into the mouth of Miss Bowyer, though they sound
like burlesque, are taken almost verbatim from the writings of those who
claim to be expounders of Christian science. While Miss Bowyer was drawn
more closely from an original than is usual in fictitious writing, I am
well aware that there are professors of Christian science much superior
to her. There are, indeed, souls who are the victims of their own
generous enthusiasm; and it grieves me that, in treating the subject
with fidelity and artistic truthfulness, I must give pain to many of the
best--to some whose friendship I hold dear.
For the idea of a novel on the present theme I am indebted to an
unpublished short story entitled An Irregular Practitioner, by Miss Anne
Steger Winston, which came under my eye three or four years ago. I
secured the transfer to me of Miss Winston's rights in the subject, and,
though I have not followed the lines of her story, it gives me pleasure
to acknowledge my obligation to her for the suggestion of a motive
without which this novel would not have had existence.
For the comfort of the reader, let me add that the name Phillida should
be accented on the first syllable, and pronounced with the second vowel
short.
JOSHUA'S ROCK ON LAKE GEORGE, _September, 1891_.