Preface
[1821]
THERE ARE several reasons why an American, who writes a novel, should choose his own country for the scene of his story—and there are more against it. To begin with the—pros—the ground is untrodden, and will have all the charms of novelty; as yet but one pen of celebrity has been employed among us in this kind of writing; and as the author is dead, and beyond the hopes and fears of literary rewards and punishments, his countrymen are beginning to discover his merit—but we forget, the latter part of the sentence should have been among the—contras. The very singularity of the circumstance, gives the book some small chance of being noticed abroad, and our literature is much like our wine—vastly improved by travelling. Then, the patriotic ardor of the country, will insure a sale to the most humble attempts to give notoriety to any thing national, as we have the strongest assurances our publishers’ account of profit and loss will speedily show. Heaven forbid, that this don’t prove to be like the book itself—a fiction. And lastly, an Author may be fairly supposed to be better able to delineate character, and to describe scenes, where he is familiar with both, than in countries where he has been nothing more than a traveller. Now for the contras—we will begin by removing all the reasons in favour of the step. As there has been but one writer of this description hitherto, a new candidate for literary honours of this kind, would be compared with that one, and unfortunately he is not the rival that every man would select. Then, although the English critics not only desire, but invite works that will give an account of American manners, we are sadly afraid they mean nothing but Indian manners; we are apprehensive that the same palate which can relish the cave scene in “Edgar Huntly,” because it contains an American, a savage, a wild cat, and a tomahawk, in a conjunction that never did, nor ever will occur—will revolt at descriptions in this country, that portray love as any thing but a brutal passion—patriotism as more than money-making—or men and women without wool. We write this with all due deference to our much esteemed acquaintance, Mr. Caesar Thompson, a character we presume to be well known to the few who read this introduction; for nobody looks at a preface until he is at a loss to discover from the book itself, what it is the author means. Then touching the reason, which is built on the hope of support from patriotic pride, we are almost ashamed to say, that the foreign opinion of our love of country, is nearer the truth than we affected to believe in the foregoing sentence. As for the last reason in favour of an American scene, we are fearful that others are as familiar with their homes as we are ourselves, and that consequently the very familiarity will breed contempt; besides, if we make any mistakes every body will know it. Now we conceive the moon to be the most eligible spot in which to lay the scene of a fashionable modern novel, for then there would be but very few who could dispute the accuracy of the delineations; and could we but have obtained the names of some conspicuous places in that planet, we think we should have ventured on the experiment. It is true, that when we suggested the thing to the original of our friend Caesar, he obstinately refused to sit any longer if his picture was to be transported to any such heathenish place. We combatted the opinions of the black with a good deal of pertinacity, until we discovered the old fellow suspected the moon to be somewhere near Guinea, and that his opinion of the luminary was something like European notions of our States—that it was not a fit residence for a gentleman. But there is still another class of critics, whose smiles we most covet, but whose frowns we most expect to encounter—we mean our own fair. There are those who are hardy enough to say that women love novelty; and a proper respect to our own reputation for discernment, compels us to abstain from controverting this opinion. The truth is, that a woman is a bundle of sensibilities, and these are qualities which exist chiefly in the fancy. Certain moated castles, draw-bridges, and a kind of classic nature, are much required by these imaginative beings. The artificial distinctions of life also have their peculiar charms with the softer sex, and there are many of them who think the greatest recommendation a man can have to their notice, is the ability to raise themselves in the scale of genteel preferment. Very many are the French valets, Dutch barbers, and English tailors, who have received their patents of nobility from the credulity of the American fair; and occasionally we see a few of them, whirling in the vortex left by the transit of one of these aristocratical meteors, across the plane of our confederation. In honest truth, we believe, that one novel with a lord in it, is worth two without a lord, even for the nobler sex—meaning us men. Charity forbids our insinuating that any of our patriots respond to the longings of the other sex, with an equal desire to bask in the sunshine of royal favour; and least of all, may we venture to insinuate, that the longing generally exists in a ratio exactly proportioned to the violence with which they lavish their abuse on the institutions of their forefathers.—There is ever a reaction in human feelings, and it was only when he found them unattainable, that Æsop makes the fox call the grapes sour!
We would not be understood as throwing the gauntlet to our fair countrywomen, by whose opinions it is that we expect to stand or fall; we only mean to say, that if we have got no lords and castles in the book, it is because there are none in the country. We heard there was a noble within fifty miles of us, and went that distance to see him, intending to make our hero look as much like him as possible; when we brought home his description, the little gipsey, who sat for Fanny, declared she would’nt have him if he were a king. Then we travelled a hundred miles to see a renowned castle to the east, but, to our surprise, found it had so many broken windows, was such an out-door kind of a place, that we should be wanting in Christian bowels to place any family in it during the cold months: in short, we were compelled to let the yellow haired girl choose her own suitor, and to lodge the Whartons in a comfortable, substantial, and unpretending cottage. We repeat we mean nothing disrespectful to the fair—we love them next to ourselves—our book—our money—and a few other articles. We know them to be good-natured, good-hearted—ay, and good-looking hussies enough: and heartily wish, for the sake of one of them, we were a lord, and had a castle in the bargain.
We do not absolutely aver, that the whole of our tale is true; but we honestly believe that a good portion of it is; and we are very certain, that every passion recorded in the volumes before the reader, has and does exist; and let us tell them that is more than they can find in every book they read. We will go farther, and say that they have existed within the county of West-Chester, in the State of New-York, and United States of America, from which fair portion of the globe we send our compliments to all who read our pages—and love to those who buy them.