1822-1826.
Cooper would have been more or less than mortal if the unexpected
success achieved by "The Spy" had not incited him to renewed effort.
It definitely determined his career, though at the time he did not
know it. As yet he was not sure in his own mind whether the favor his
book had met was the result of a lucky hit or was due to the display
of actual power. There can be no question as to the honesty of his
assertion when he published his third novel, that it depended upon
certain contingencies whether it would not be the last. But from this
time on he wrote incessantly. From 1820 to 1830, including both years,
he brought out eleven works. In many respects this was the happiest
period of his literary life as well as the most successful. During it
he produced many of his greatest creations. One decided failure he
made; but with this exception if each new story did not seem to exhibit
any new power, it at least gave no sign of weakness, or misdirection
of energy. This period is in fact so supremely the creative one of
Cooper's life as regards the conception of character and scene that
nearly all he did demands careful examination.
He first set about a task that lay near his heart. This was to describe
the scenes, the manners and customs of his native land, especially of
the frontier life in which he had been trained. In 1823, (p. 040)
accordingly, appeared "The Pioneers," itself the pioneer of the five
famous stories, which now go collectively under the name of the
"Leather-Stocking Tales." It was a vivid and faithful picture of the
sights he had seen and the men he had met in the home of his childhood,
where as a boy he had witnessed the struggles which attend the conquest
of man over nature. In it appear in comparatively rude outlines the
personages whose names and exploits his pen was afterwards to make
famous throughout the civilized world. They are in this work of a far
less lofty type than in those which followed. "The Pioneers," in
truth, though not a poor story, is much the poorest of the series of
which it forms a part. The almost loving interest he took in the
matter about which he was writing tempted the author to indulge his
recollections at the expense of his judgment. His first novel, he said
in the prefatory address to the publisher which appeared in this one,
had been written to show that he could write a grave tale, and it was
so grave that no one would read it; the second was written to overcome
if possible the neglect of the public; but the third was written
exclusively to please himself. The story as a story suffered in
consequence from the very fascination which the subject had for his
mind. So subordinate was it made, especially in the first half, to the
description of the scenes, that the details at times become wearisome
and the interest often flags.
The expectation with which the appearance of this work was awaited is
a striking proof of the impression that the previous novel had made.
It was to have been brought out as early as the autumn of 1822. But
during the summer of that year the yellow fever ravaged New York (p. 041)
and largely broke up for a time all kinds of business, including
printing. Causes beyond control still further delayed the publication,
and it was not until the first of February, 1823, that the book appeared.
The public curiosity, however, had been fully excited. Extracts from
it--according to a custom then prevalent in England--had been
furnished in advance to some of the newspapers, and though these were
not the most striking passages, they served to direct attention and
awaken expectation. At the close of January, announcement of the
precise date of publication was made. Success was certain from the
start; but the degree of it outran all anticipation. The evening
papers of the first of February were able to state that up to twelve
o'clock that day there had been sold three thousand five hundred
copies. Even at this period, with a population more than five times as
numerous, such a half day's sale, under similar circumstances, would
be remarkable. It is little wonder, therefore, that the newspapers of
that period felt that only largeness of type and profusion of
exclamation points could suitably record such a success.
"The Pioneers" was the first work to display a peculiarity of the author's
character, which came afterwards into marked prominence. Cooper in a
sense belonged to the school of Scott; and he was so far from denying
it that in one place he speaks of himself as being nothing more than a
chip from the former's block. But his life would have been far happier
and his success much greater had he followed in one respect the example
of him he called his master. Scott ordinarily did not read criticisms
upon his own writings; and when he did, he was careful not to let his
equanimity be seriously disturbed even by the severest attacks. (p. 042)
of this was no doubt due to prudence; but a good deal of it to contempt.
For of all the rubbish that time shoots into the wallet of oblivion,
contemporary criticism runs about the least chance of being rescued
from the forgetfulness into which it has been thrust. This is a result
entirely independent of its goodness or badness. If the criticism is
both destructive and just, the very death of the subject against which
it is directed causes it to perish in the ruin it has brought about.
If it is unjust, it is certain to be speedily forgotten, unless he who
suffers from it takes the pains to perpetuate its memory, or some later
investigator drags it from its obscurity for the sake of pointing out
its absurdity. The creative literature of the past is the utmost the
present can be expected to read. Its critical literature, however
celebrated in its day, is looked upon with contempt, or at best with a
patronizing approval, by the following age, which is always confident
that it at least has reached the supreme standard of correct taste,
and asks no aid in making up its judgments from those who have gone
before. But the philosophy which shows this to be true never lessened
one iota the pain which the man of sensitive nature suffers. The
extent to which Cooper was affected by hostile criticism is something
remarkable, even in the irritable race of authors. He manifested under
it the irascibility of a man not simply thin-skinned, but of one whose
skin was raw. Meekness was never a distinguishing characteristic of
his nature; and attack invariably stung him into defiance or
counter-attack. Unfriendly insinuations contained in obscure journals
could goad him into remarks upon them, or into a reply to them, which
at this date is the only means of preserving the original charge. (p. 043)
It was in his prefaces that he was apt to express his resentment most
warmly, for he well knew that this was the one part of a book which
the reviewer is absolutely certain to read. In these he frequently
took occasion to point out to the generation of critical vipers the
various offenses of which they were guilty, the stupidities that
seemed to belong to their very nature, and that utter lack of literary
skill which prevented them from giving a look of sense to the most
plausible nonsense they concocted. By Cooper, indeed, the preface was
looked upon not as a place to conciliate the reader, but to hurl scorn
at the reviewer. In his hands it became a trumpet from which he blew
from time to time critic-defying strains, which more than made up in
vigor for all they lacked in prudence. This characteristic was early
manifested. In the short preface to the second edition of "The Spy,"
he could not refrain from referring to the friends who had given him
good advice, and who had favored him with numberless valuable hints,
by the help of which the work might be made excellent. But it is the
letter to the publisher, with which "The Pioneers" originally opened,
that was the first of his regular warlike manifestoes. Though not very
long, two thirds of it was devoted to the men who had publicly found
fault with his previous works. He pointed out their discrepancies in
taste and the metaphysical obscurity of their opinions. At the
conclusion he wrote a sentence which some of them never forgot. He
told his publisher that to him alone he should look for the only true
account of the reception of his book. "The critics," said he in
continuation, "may write as obscurely as they please, and look much
wiser than they are; the papers may puff and abuse as their (p. 044)
changeful humors dictate; but if you meet me with a smiling face I
shall at once know that all is essentially well."
Little notice, however, was taken at the time of Cooper's preference
of the public opinion which showed itself in buying his books, to that
which made it its chief aim to teach him how they ought to be written.
The country was too pleased with him and too proud of him to pay any
special attention to these momentary ebullitions of dissatisfaction.
On his part so great had now become his literary activity, that before
"The Pioneers" was published he had set to work upon a new novel, of a
kind of which he can justly be described as the creator, and in which
he was to be followed by a host of imitators.
At a dinner party in New York in 1822, at which Cooper was present,
the authorship of the Waverley Novels, still a matter of some
uncertainty, came up for discussion. In December of the preceding year
"The Pirate" had been published. The incidents in this story were
brought forward as a proof of the thorough familiarity with sea-life
of him, whoever he was, that had written it. Such familiarity Scott
had never had the opportunity to gain in the only way it could be
gained. It followed, therefore, that the tale was not of his composition.
Cooper, who had never doubted the authorship of these novels, did not
at all share in this view. The very reasons that made others feel
uncertain led him to be confident. To one like him whose early life
had been spent on top-gallant yards and in becketing royals, it was
perfectly clear that "The Pirate" was the work of a landsman and not
of a sailor. Not that he denied the accuracy of the descriptions so
far as they went. The point that he made was that with the same (p. 045)
materials far greater effects could and would have been produced,
had the author possessed that intimate familiarity with ocean-life
which can be his alone whose home for years has been upon the waves.
He could not convince his opponents by argument. He consequently
determined to convince them by writing a sea-story.
We who are familiar with the countless hosts of novels of this nature
that have swarmed and are still swarming from the press, cannot realize
the apparent peril which at that time existed in this undertaking. No
work of the kind, such as he now projected, had ever yet been
published. Sailors, indeed, had been introduced into fiction, notably
by Smollett, but in no case had there been exhibited the handling and
movements of vessels, and the details of naval operations. During the
last half-century we have been so surfeited with the sea-story in
every form, that most of us have forgotten the fact of its late
origin, and that it is to Cooper that it owes its creation. That he
created it was not due to any encouragement from others. He had plenty
of judicious friends to warn him from the undertaking. Sailors, he was
told, might understand and appreciate it, but no one else would.
Minute detail, moreover, was necessary to render it intelligible to
seamen, and to landsmen it would be both unintelligible and
uninteresting on account of the technicalities which must inevitably
be found in minute detail. A reputation already well established would
be sunk in the treacherous element he was purposing to describe.
Cooper persisted in his purpose, but he could not fail to be disturbed
by the unfavorable auguries that met him on every side. These naturally
had the more weight, as they came from men who were attached to (p. 046)
him personally, and who were honestly solicitous for his fame. He was at
one time almost inclined to give up the project. But a critical English
friend to whom he submitted a portion of the manuscript was delighted
with it. In this man's judgment and taste Cooper felt so great confidence
that he was induced to persevere. Moreover, to try the effect upon the
more peculiar public of seamen, he read an extract to one of his old
shipmates, who was also a relative. This was the account of the
war-vessel working off shore in a gale. The selection was certainly a
happy one. The literature of the sea presents no more thrilling chapter
than that which, describing the passage of the great frigate through
the narrow channel, gives every detail with such vividness and power
that the most unimaginative cannot merely see ship, shore, and foaming
water, but almost hear the roaring of the wind, the creaking of the
cordage, and the dashing of the waves against the breakers. As he read
on the listener's interest kept growing until he was no longer able to
remain quiet. Rising from his seat he paced up and down the room
furiously until the chapter was finished. Then half ashamed of the
excitement into which he had been betrayed, he avenged himself just as
if he were a professional reviewer by indulging in a bit of special
criticism: "It's all very well," he burst out, "but you have let your
jib stand too long, my fine fellow." For once Cooper heeded advice. "I
blew it out of the bolt-rope," said he, "in pure spite;" and blown out
of the bolt-rope the jib appears in the tale.
He now felt reasonably confident of success, and any doubt that might
have lingered in his mind was at once swept away by the favorable
reception the work met when it came out. Its publication was for (p. 047)
a while delayed. Early in the summer of 1823 the first volume had been
finished and a portion of the second, but any further progress was checked
for the time by an affliction that then befell the author. On the 5th of
August his youngest child, Fenimore, then little less than two years old,
died at the family residence in Beach Street, New York, and this calamity
was followed by illness of his own. "The Pilot," in consequence, though
bearing the date of 1823, was not actually furnished to the trade until
the 7th of January, 1824. Its success, both in this country and in
Europe, was instantaneous. Far-sighted men saw at once that a new
realm had been added to the domain of fiction. "The Pilot" is indeed
not only the first of Cooper's sea-stories in point of time, but if we
regard exclusively the excellence of detached scenes, it may perhaps
be justly styled the best of them all. At any rate its place in the
highest rank of this species of fiction cannot be disputed, and in
spite of the multitude of similar works that have followed in its wake
and which have had their seasons of temporary popularity, its hold
upon the public has never been lost.
Cooper was without question exceptionally fortunate in the materials
with which he had to deal. He was never under the necessity of getting
up with infinite toil what the modern novelist terms his local coloring.
This existed for him ready made. He had only to call to mind the men he
had himself met, the hazards he had run, the life he had lived, to be
furnished with all the incidents and scenes and characters that were
capable of being wrought into romance. His descriptions both of forest
and of sea have all that vividness and reality which cannot well be given
save by him who has threaded at will every maze of the one and (p. 048)
tossed for week after week upon the billows of the other. Moreover, in
this particular case, while he satisfied his patriotic feeling in the
choice of the time, he displayed great judgment in the selection of
the hero. The pilot, though never named, we know to be the extraordinary
and daring adventurer, John Paul Jones, and the period is of course
the American Revolution. In his literary art, likewise, Cooper has never
been equaled by his imitators. Provided he could create the desired
effect, he dared to let the reader remain in ignorance of the details
he introduced. Enough of technicality was brought in to satisfy the
professional seaman, but not so much as to distract the attention of
the landsman from the main movement of the story. Contented with this
the author did not seek to explain to the latter what he could not
well understand without having served personally before the mast. From
this rule he never varied, save in the few cases where the interest of
the tale could be better served by imparting information than by
withholding it. He had a full artistic appreciation of the impressiveness
of the unknown. For, in stories of this kind, the vagueness of the
reader's knowledge adds to the effect upon his mind, because, while he
sees that mighty agencies are at work in perilous situations, his very
ignorance of their exact nature deepens the feeling of awe they are of
themselves calculated to produce. The wise reticence of Cooper in this
respect can be seen by contrasting it with the prodigality of information,
contained in more than one modern sea-novel, in which the whole action
of the story is arrested to explain a technical operation with the result
that the ordinary reader finds the explanation more unintelligible than
the technical operation itself.
Still, in spite of the excellence of the tales which had followed (p. 049)
it, "The Spy" continued with the majority of readers to be the most popular
of his works. This fact, coupled with his intense love of country, led
him to turn once more for a subject to his native land and to the period
in the description of which he had won his first fame. He formed, in
fact, a plan of writing a series of works of fiction, the scenes of
which should be laid in the various colonies that had shared in the
Revolutionary struggle. In pursuance of this scheme, his next work was
projected. In February, 1825, appeared "Lionel Lincoln, or the Leaguer
of Boston." The first edition had a preliminary title-page, which
contained the inscription, "Legends of the Thirteen Republics,"
followed by this quotation from Hamlet--
"I will fight with him upon this theme
Until my eyelids will no longer wag."
When the plan he had conceived was given up, this addition naturally
disappeared with it. Nothing that industry could do was spared by Cooper
to make this work a success. On this account as well as for its
reception by the public it stands in marked contrast to "The Spy." In
the preparation of it he studied historical authorities, he read state
papers, he pored over official documents of all kinds and degrees of
dreariness. To have his slightest assertions in accordance with fact,
he examined almanacs, and searched for all the contemporary reports as
to the condition of the weather. He visited Boston in order to go over
in person the ground he was to make the scene of his story. As a result
of all this labor he has furnished us an admirable description of the
engagement at Concord Bridge, of the running fight of Lexington, (p. 050)
and of the battle of Bunker's Hill. Of the last, it is, according to
the sufficient authority of Bancroft, the best account ever given. At
this point praise must stop. New England was always to Cooper an
ungenial clime, both as regards his creative activity and his critical
appreciation. The moment he touched its soil, his strength seemed to
abandon him. Whatever excellencies this particular work displayed,
they were not the excellencies of a novel. Accuracy of detail, even in
historical romance, is only a minor virtue. The modern reader is,
indeed, often inclined to doubt whether it is a virtue at all now that
modern research is constantly showing that so much we have been wont
to look upon as fact is nothing more than fable. So superior is the
imagination of man turning out to his memory that one is tempted to
fancy that instead of going to history for our fiction we shall yet
have to turn about and go to fiction for our history.
"Lionel Lincoln" is certainly one of Cooper's most signal failures. In
writing it he had attempted to do what it did not lie in the peculiar
nature of his powers to accomplish. It is the story of crime long hidden
from the knowledge of men, but dogging with unceasing activity the
memories of those concerned in it. But the secret chambers of the soul
into which the guilty man never looks willingly, Cooper could neither
enter himself nor lay bare to others. Remorse that gnaws incessantly at
every activity of the spirit, the consciousness of sin that haunts the
heart and hangs like a burden upon the life, can never well be depicted
save by him whose words suggest more than they reveal. Cooper was not
a writer of this kind. He belonged to that class of literary artists
who convey their precise meaning by exactness and fullness of (p. 051)
detail. The vagueness and indefiniteness with which this story abounds
is not, therefore, that impressive obscurity which springs from the
mysterious; it is, on the contrary, the obscurity of the unintelligible
and absurd. In all of Cooper's novels, it is a fault that the
characters are often represented as acting without sufficient motive.
In the story of adventure this can be pardoned, or at least overlooked;
for freak plays an important part in determining the movements of many
of us. It is not so, however, in tales containing a plot similar to
that of "Lionel Lincoln." The mind revolts at finding the actors in
the drama represented as having committed monstrous crimes, without
any reason that is worth mentioning. This radical defect in the plan
is not counterbalanced by any felicity in the execution. Many of the
incidents are more than improbable, they are impossible. The style,
likewise, is labored, and the conversations combine the two undesirable
peculiarities of being both stilted and dull. The characters, female
or male, are in no case successfully drawn. The inferior ones, introduced
to amuse, serve only to depress the reader. The hero in the course of
the tale does several absurd things; but he finally surpasses himself
by hurrying away from the woman he loves, without her knowledge,
immediately after he has been joined to her in marriage. The
representation of the half-witted Job--a character upon which the
author clearly labored hard--neither arouses interest nor touches the
heart. It is, indeed, impossible to feel much sympathy with one
particular imbecile, no matter how patriotic, in a story where most of
the actors are represented as acting like idiots.
Nevertheless, his reputation and the real excellence of the battle (p. 052)
battle scenes, saved this work from seeming at the time so much of a
failure as it actually was. Certainly whatever loss of credit he may
have sustained as the result of writing "Lionel Lincoln," was much
more than made up by the success of the tale that followed. In 1824 he
had gone on an excursion to Saratoga, Lake George, and Lake Champlain,
with a small party of English gentlemen. One of these was Mr. Stanley,
the future Lord Derby. As they reached Glens Falls and were examining
the caverns made by the river at that spot, Mr. Stanley told Cooper
that here ought to be laid the scene of a romance. In reply, the
novelist assured him that a book should be written in which these
caverns should have a place. The promise was fulfilled. On the 4th of
February, 1826, "The Last of the Mohicans" made its appearance. It was
composed the previous year in a little cottage then situated in a
quiet, open country, on which now stands the suburban village of
Astoria. A severe illness attacked Cooper during its progress; but
whatever effect it had upon his physical frame, it certainly did not
impair in the slightest his intellectual force. The success of the
work was both instantaneous and prodigious. Owing, perhaps, to the
novelty of the scenes and characters, it was even greater in Europe
than in America. But there was no lack of appreciation in his own
land. In the estimation of his countrymen, the novel at once took its
place at the head of his productions. An incidental fact will not only
make clear its success, but the state of the book trade at that time.
The demand for the work soon became so great and so persistent, that
in April it was decided to stereotype it.
It deserved fully the success it gained. Of all the novels written (p. 053)
by Cooper, "The Last of the Mohicans" is the one in which the interest
not only never halts, but never sinks. It is, indeed, an open question,
whether a higher art would not have given more breathing-places in this
exciting tale, in which the mind is hurried without pause from
sensation to sensation. But this is a fault, if it be a fault, which
the reader will always forgive, whatever the critic may say. The
latter, indeed, can see much to blame if he look at the work purely as
an artistic creation. He can find improbability of action,
insufficiency of motive, and feebleness of outline in many of the
leading characters. But these are minor drawbacks. They sink into
absolute insignificance when compared with the wealth of power
displayed. As they are unable to retard the unflagging interest with
which the story is read, so they do not essentially modify the
estimation of it after it has been read.
In this work two great achievements were accomplished by Cooper. The
first was the idealization of the white hunter whom he had described
in "The Pioneers." No one can read the two novels in succession without
seeing at once how much Leather-Stocking has gained in dignity. In
thought and feeling and habits he is essentially the same; but there
was given to his character a poetic elevation which raised it at once
to the front rank of the creations of the imagination, and will make
it imperishable with English literature. As he appears in "The Pioneers"
he is merely an old man who has made his home in the hills in advance
of the tide of settlement. He is the solitary hunter who views with
dislike clearings and improvements, who cannot breathe freely in streets,
who hates the sight of masses of men, who looks with especial loathing
upon the civilization whose first work is to fell the trees he has (p. 054)
learned to love, whose first exercise of power is to draw the network
of the law around the freedom and irresponsibility of forest life.
Though full of a simple and somewhat sententious morality, he is
querulous, irritable, ignorant. But in "The Last of the Mohicans,"
while the man continues the same, the aspect he presents is wholly
different. All that is weak in his character is in the background; all
that is best and strongest comes to the front. He is in the prime of
life. Ignorant he still remains of the ways of the world as found in
the settlements; but there is no trace of discontent or fretfulness.
He has full room for the exercise of his native virtues, and in the
character of the acute and daring scout he finds no superior. To him
forest and sky are an open book. Knowledge is conveyed to his ears in
every sound that breaks the stillness of the summer woods; and to his
eyes scarred rock and riven pine and the deserted nest of the eagle
have made the paths of the wilderness as plain as the broadest highway.
Nor are his moral qualities inferior to his purely professional. His
coolness never deserts him, his resources never fail him, and along
with the versatility that is never at a loss in the presence of the
unexpected is the resolution that never flinches at the approach of
the perilous.
This delineation has always met with unqualified praise. But the
idealization of the Indian character as seen in Chingachcook and Uncas
has been the subject of much controversy. This is not the place to
express an opinion upon the truth of the representation. It is enough
to say here that the view Cooper took was not hastily formed, nor was
it the result of accidental prejudices. He studied all the sources of
information accessible at that time which threw light upon the (p. 055)
Indian character. He visited the deputations from the various tribes
that passed through the state of New York on their way to the national
capital. In some instances he followed them to Washington. It is
obvious that to a man of his poetic temperament they may have appeared
in a different light from what they did to the ordinary government
agent. Certainly he never found reason to modify his views, though he
was familiar with the criticism made upon them. Toward the close of
his life he took occasion to reaffirm them. It is also to be added
that if he gave especial prominence to certain virtues, real or
imaginary, of the Indian race, he was equally careful not to pass over
their vices. Most of the warriors he introduces are depicted as
crafty, bloodthirsty, and merciless. But whether his representation be
true or false, it has from that time to this profoundly affected
opinion. Throughout the whole civilized world the conception of the
Indian character, as Cooper drew it in "The Last of the Mohicans" and
still further elaborated it in the later "Leather-Stocking Tales," has
taken permanent hold of the imaginations of men. Individuals may cast
it off; but in the case of the great mass it stands undisturbed by
doubt or unshaken by denial. This much can be said in its favor
irrespective of the question of its accuracy. If Cooper has given to
Indian conversation more poetry than it is thought to possess, or to
Indian character more virtue, the addition has been a gain to
literature, whatever it may have been to truth.