The Old English Baron
By Clara Reeve.
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Dedication
To
Mrs. Bridgen
Madam,
This new edition of The English Baron begs permission to acknowledge your patronage and protection, of which it has long since felt the advantages.
You cast an eye of favour upon his first appearance, under all the disadvantages of an incorrect and very faulty impression; You took him out of this degrading dress, and encouraged him to assume a graceful and ornamental habit.
You did still more for him. You took upon yourself the trouble to revise and correct the errors of the first impression; and, in short, you gave him all the graces necessary to solicit and obtain the notice and approbation of the Public.
The author cannot fully enjoy her success without acknowledging from whence she in great measure derives it.
You, Madam, as becomes the daughter of Richardson, are more solicitous to deserve the acknowledgements of a grateful heart, than to receive them. You have no reason to suspect me of flattery, but of vanity you may, in wishing to mention your name thus publicly as the patroness and friend of,
Preface
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 shows 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
