As this Story is of a species which, though not new, is out of
the common track, it has been thought necessary to point out some
circumstances to the reader, which will elucidate the design, and, it is
hoped, will induce him to form a favourable, as well as a right judgment
of the work before him.
This Story is the literary offspring of The Castle of Otranto, written
upon the same plan, with a design to unite the most attractive and
interesting circumstances of the ancient Romance and modern Novel, at
the same time it assumes a character and manner of its own, that differs
from both; it is distinguished by the appellation of a Gothic Story,
being a picture of Gothic times and manners. Fictitious stories have
been the delight of all times and all countries, by oral tradition in
barbarous, by writing in more civilized ones; and although some persons
of wit and learning have condemned them indiscriminately, I would
venture to affirm, that even those who so much affect to despise them
under one form, will receive and embrace them under another.
Thus, for instance, a man shall admire and almost adore the Epic poems
of the Ancients, and yet despise and execrate the ancient Romances,
which are only Epics in prose.
History represents human nature as it is in real life, alas, too often
a melancholy retrospect! Romance displays only the amiable side of the
picture; it shews the pleasing features, and throws a veil over the
blemishes: Mankind are naturally pleased with what gratifies their
vanity; and vanity, like all other passions of the human heart, may be
rendered subservient to good and useful purposes.
I confess that it may be abused, and become an instrument to corrupt the
manners and morals of mankind; so may poetry, so may plays, so may
every kind of composition; but that will prove nothing more than the
old saying lately revived by the philosophers the most in fashion, “that
every earthly thing has two handles.”
The business of Romance is, first, to excite the attention; and
secondly, to direct it to some useful, or at least innocent, end: Happy
the writer who attains both these points, like Richardson! and not
unfortunate, or undeserving praise, he who gains only the latter, and
furnishes out an entertainment for the reader!
Having, in some degree, opened my design, I beg leave to conduct my
reader back again, till he comes within view of The Castle of Otranto;
a work which, as already has been observed, is an attempt to unite the
various merits and graces of the ancient Romance and modern Novel.
To attain this end, there is required a sufficient degree of the
marvellous, to excite the attention; enough of the manners of real life,
to give an air of probability to the work; and enough of the pathetic,
to engage the heart in its behalf.
The book we have mentioned is excellent in the two last points, but
has a redundancy in the first; the opening excites the attention
very strongly; the conduct of the story is artful and judicious; the
characters are admirably drawn and supported; the diction polished and
elegant; yet, with all these brilliant advantages, it palls upon the
mind (though it does not upon the ear); and the reason is obvious, the
machinery is so violent, that it destroys the effect it is intended to
excite. Had the story been kept within the utmost verge of probability,
the effect had been preserved, without losing the least circumstance
that excites or detains the attention.
For instance; we can conceive, and allow of, the appearance of a ghost;
we can even dispense with an enchanted sword and helmet; but then they
must keep within certain limits of credibility: A sword so large as
to require an hundred men to lift it; a helmet that by its own weight
forces a passage through a court-yard into an arched vault, big enough
for a man to go through; a picture that walks out of its frame; a
skeleton ghost in a hermit’s cowl:--When your expectation is wound up
to the highest pitch, these circumstances take it down with a witness,
destroy the work of imagination, and, instead of attention, excite
laughter. I was both surprised and vexed to find the enchantment
dissolved, which I wished might continue to the end of the book; and
several of its readers have confessed the same disappointment to me: The
beauties are so numerous, that we cannot bear the defects, but want it
to be perfect in all respects.
In the course of my observations upon this singular book, it seemed to
me that it was possible to compose a work upon the same plan, wherein
these defects might be avoided; and the keeping, as in painting, might
be preserved.
But then I began to fear it might happen to me as to certain
translators, and imitators of Shakespeare; the unities may be preserved,
while the spirit is evaporated. However, I ventured to attempt it; I
read the beginning to a circle of friends of approved judgment, and by
their approbation was encouraged to proceed, and to finish it.