The author of this work, from the day he wrote its first page to the day
when he placed the happy word “End” at the bottom of the last page, was
a prey to the most absurd illusion. Fancying that a composition in four
parts deserved some consideration, he wasted his time in seeking a
fundamental idea, in working it out, well or ill, according to a plan
good or bad, as the case may be, in arranging scenes, combining effects,
studying manners and customs as best he might,--in a word, he took his
work seriously.
It is only now, when, as it is the wont of authors to end where the
reader begins, he was about to elaborate a long preface, which should be
the shield of his work, and contain, together with a statement of the
moral and literary principles upon which his conception rests, a more or
less hasty sketch of the various historical events which it embraces,
and a more or less clear picture of the country in which the scene is
laid,--it is only now, I say, that he perceives his error; that he
recognizes all the insignificance and all the frivolity of the species
of work in behalf of which he has so solemnly spoiled so much paper, and
that he feels how strangely he was misled when he persuaded himself that
this romance was indeed, up to a certain point, a literary production,
and that these four fragments formed a book.
He therefore sagely resolved, after making a proper apology, to say
nothing at all in this so-called preface, which the publisher will
consequently be careful to print in large letters. He will not tell the
reader his name or surname, whether he be old or young, married or a
bachelor; whether he has written elegies or fables, odes or satires;
whether he means to write tragedies, dramas, or comedies; whether he be
the patrician member of some great literary association, or whether he
holds a position upon some newspaper,--all things, however, which it
would be very interesting to know. He confines himself to stating that
the picturesque part of his story has been the object of his especial
care; that K’s, Y’s, H’s, and W’s abound in it, although he uses these
romantic letters with extreme temperance, witness the historic name of
Guldenlew, which some chroniclers write Guldenloewe,--a liberty which he
has not ventured to allow himself; that there will also be found
numerous diphthongs varied with much taste and elegance; and finally,
that each chapter is preceded by a strange and mysterious motto, which
adds singularly to the interest and gives more expressiveness to each
part of the composition.