PREFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION.
The following work was found in the library of an ancient Catholic familyin the north of England. It was printed at Naples, in the black letter,in the year 1529. How much sooner it was written does not appear. Theprincipal incidents are such as were believed in the darkest ages ofChristianity; but the language and conduct have nothing that savours ofbarbarism. The style is the purest Italian.
If the story was written near the time when it is supposed to havehappened, it must have been between 1095, the era of the first Crusade,and 1243, the date of the last, or not long afterwards. There is noother circumstance in the work that can lead us to guess at the period inwhich the scene is laid: the names of the actors are evidentlyfictitious, and probably disguised on purpose: yet the Spanish names ofthe domestics seem to indicate that this work was not composed until theestablishment of the Arragonian Kings in Naples had made Spanishappellations familiar in that country. The beauty of the diction, andthe zeal of the author (moderated, however, by singular judgment) concurto make me think that the date of the composition was little antecedentto that of the impression. Letters were then in their most flourishingstate in Italy, and contributed to dispel the empire of superstition, atthat time so forcibly attacked by the reformers. It is not unlikely thatan artful priest might endeavour to turn their own arms on theinnovators, and might avail himself of his abilities as an author toconfirm the populace in their ancient errors and superstitions. If thiswas his view, he has certainly acted with signal address. Such a work asthe following would enslave a hundred vulgar minds beyond half the booksof controversy that have been written from the days of Luther to thepresent hour.
This solution of the author’s motives is, however, offered as a mereconjecture. Whatever his views were, or whatever effects the executionof them might have, his work can only be laid before the public atpresent as a matter of entertainment. Even as such, some apology for itis necessary. Miracles, visions, necromancy, dreams, and otherpreternatural events, are exploded now even from romances. That was notthe case when our author wrote; much less when the story itself issupposed to have happened. Belief in every kind of prodigy was soestablished in those dark ages, that an author would not be faithful tothe manners of the times, who should omit all mention of them. He is notbound to believe them himself, but he must represent his actors asbelieving them.
If this air of the miraculous is excused, the reader will find nothingelse unworthy of his perusal. Allow the possibility of the facts, andall the actors comport themselves as persons would do in their situation.There is no bombast, no similes, flowers, digressions, or unnecessarydescriptions. Everything tends directly to the catastrophe. Never isthe reader’s attention relaxed. The rules of the drama are almostobserved throughout the conduct of the piece. The characters are welldrawn, and still better maintained. Terror, the author’s principalengine, prevents the story from ever languishing; and it is so oftencontrasted by pity, that the mind is kept up in a constant vicissitude ofinteresting passions.
Some persons may perhaps think the characters of the domestics too littleserious for the general cast of the story; but besides their oppositionto the principal personages, the art of the author is very observable inhis conduct of the subalterns. They discover many passages essential tothe story, which could not be well brought to light but by their_naïveté_ and simplicity. In particular, the womanish terror and foiblesof Bianca, in the last chapter, conduce essentially towards advancing thecatastrophe.
It is natural for a translator to be prejudiced in favour of his adoptedwork. More impartial readers may not be so much struck with the beautiesof this piece as I was. Yet I am not blind to my author’s defects. Icould wish he had grounded his plan on a more useful moral than this:that “the sins of fathers are visited on their children to the third andfourth generation.” I doubt whether, in his time, any more than atpresent, ambition curbed its appetite of dominion from the dread of soremote a punishment. And yet this moral is weakened by that less directinsinuation, that even such anathema may be diverted by devotion to St.Nicholas. Here the interest of the Monk plainly gets the better of thejudgment of the author. However, with all its faults, I have no doubtbut the English reader will be pleased with a sight of this performance.The piety that reigns throughout, the lessons of virtue that areinculcated, and the rigid purity of the sentiments, exempt this work fromthe censure to which romances are but too liable. Should it meet withthe success I hope for, I may be encouraged to reprint the originalItalian, though it will tend to depreciate my own labour. Our languagefalls far short of the charms of the Italian, both for variety andharmony. The latter is peculiarly excellent for simple narrative. It isdifficult in English to relate without falling too low or rising toohigh; a fault obviously occasioned by the little care taken to speak purelanguage in common conversation. Every Italian or Frenchman of any rankpiques himself on speaking his own tongue correctly and with choice. Icannot flatter myself with having done justice to my author in thisrespect: his style is as elegant as his conduct of the passions ismasterly. It is a pity that he did not apply his talents to what theywere evidently proper for—the theatre.
I will detain the reader no longer, but to make one short remark. Thoughthe machinery is invention, and the names of the actors imaginary, Icannot but believe that the groundwork of the story is founded on truth.The scene is undoubtedly laid in some real castle. The author seemsfrequently, without design, to describe particular parts. “The chamber,”says he, “on the right hand;” “the door on the left hand;” “the distancefrom the chapel to Conrad’s apartment:” these and other passages arestrong presumptions that the author had some certain building in his eye.Curious persons, who have leisure to employ in such researches, maypossibly discover in the Italian writers the foundation on which ourauthor has built. If a catastrophe, at all resembling that which hedescribes, is believed to have given rise to this work, it willcontribute to interest the reader, and will make the “Castle of Otranto”a still more moving story.