Lady Caroline Lamb’s Preface to the Second Edition of Glenarvon
Glenarvon was written and committed to the press without permission, communication, advice, or assistance[1] – this may account for, though it cannot excuse all the slighter, and many, it is trusted, of the more serious errors of the composition. But if indeed the charge of immoral tendency, which some have preferred against these volumes, be well-founded, what palliation can in any degree extenuate so great an offence, or what praise can compensate for so odious an imputation? The Author must bow with submission to the adverse judgment of the public, if that judgment be once pronounced decidedly, and upon due consideration; but the flattering hope had been indulged, that the general tendency of the work was favourable to the interests of virtue. It is too late, it is presumed, to enquire whether those interests are, or are not, injured by the description of desperate characters, depraved conduct, and daring crimes? Such have been from the earliest to the most recent times, the subjects of fiction; and such ever have been the themes of tragedians of all countries; of the writers of novels, romances, and romantic poems; and the present period presents us with almost daily examples, which at least equal, if they do not surpass their prototypes of old, in the horrors, and atrocities, which they describe.
The scene of the following pages is laid, for the most part, in Ireland, in the time of the Irish Rebellion. The events have no foundation in fact, and with respect to the characters, the painter well knows, that, when he is sketching the personages of history, or the creatures of his imagination, the lineaments, with which he is most familiar, will sometimes almost involuntarily rise beneath the touch of his pencil. The same cause has perhaps produced in this work, those resemblances, if resemblances they be, which have been recognized, admitted, claimed with so much eagerness, and then condemned with so much asperity. Yet a distinction is always to be drawn between the attempt at painting human nature as it is, and the base desire of deforming, and degrading it. The crimes related in these volumes are evidently imaginary; the situations fictitious; much of the ridicule which has received a personal application, is harmless in itself, and directed against trifling peculiarities; some imputations there are, no doubt of a heavier nature, and these were conceived to have been justified by injury and provocation. The language of resentment is generally more violent, than the occasion demands, and he who uses it, is of all mankind the least qualified to judge impartially of its propriety; but those who suffer deeply, will express themselves strongly; those who have been cruelly attacked, will use the means of resistance, which are within their reach; and observations, which appear to a general observer, bitter and acrimonious, may perhaps wear another character to him who is acquainted with the circumstances, which occasioned them. This work is not the offspring of calm tranquillity, and cool deliberation, it does not bear the marks of such a temper, or of such a situation. It was written under the pressure of affliction, with the feelings of resentment which are excited by misrepresentation, and in the bitterness of a wounded spirit, which is naturally accompanied by a corresponding bitterness both of thought and expression.
‘The blood will follow, where the knife is driven;
‘The flesh will quiver, where the pincer tears,
‘And sighs and tears by nature grow on pain.’[2]
These avowals being fairly, and distinctly made, an appeal is still confidently urged to those, who have read impartially, whether, whatever may be the character of the more general reflections, the features of the few supposed portraits are overcharged and distorted, as if by the hand of malevolence, or whether their beauties, are not studiously heightened and brought forth, and their defects in some measure thrown into shade and concealed.
When we cast a glance around us upon the frailty of human nature, and the errors and follies of the world, we must, it is to be feared, confess that malignity, had malignity guided the pen, might, without departing from truth, or in the slightest degree infringing the sacred confidence of friendship, have found it easy to expose foibles far more ridiculous, and to cast aspersions far more ill natured and injurious. – One observation further there is an anxiety to press upon the consideration of the public. The Author cannot be accused of having sought the favour of those who are generally admired, and courted, of those who are powerful in influence and popularity, who are surrounded by friends and supporters, and who give, in a great measure, the tone and turn to the conversation of society, and the opinions of the world; nor on the other hand, is the shaft of satire in any one instance directed against the weak, the fallen, or the defenceless.
In the vain, frivolous and unrestrained character of Calantha, and in the kind, the generous, the noble one of Avondale, it was intended to enforce the danger of too entire liberty either of conduct, or of opinion; and to shew that no endowments, no advantages, can ensure happiness and security upon earth, unless we adhere to the forms, as well as to the principles of religion and morality. Nor will it be held by the truly wise, or the truly pious, to be too heavy an imputation upon the character of Lord Avondale, that he is represented as having in early youth suffered his mind to be overpowered, and his judgment in some measure misled by the vain wisdom, and false philosophy, which have distinguished and disturbed the times, in which it has been our fortune to live. The error attributed, is one which unhappily has been in our day neither unusual, nor unnatural; it is one, into which have fallen men of the most powerful talents, and the warmest hearts, betrayed often by a confidence in their own strength; and with the candid and tolerant the question will ever be, not whether the delusion has prevailed for a time, but whether it has been afterwards shaken off by the returning rectitude of the feelings, and the growing vigour of the understanding, if this character had been represented, (as would have been easy) without blame or blemish, it would also have been without probability, without interest, without admonition. This transient error, which darkens for a moment the splendor of Avondale’s virtues, is adduced not as forming an apology for the misconduct of Calantha, but as accounting for the tenderness and mercy, her husband afterwards evinced, when remembering that perhaps he had too little sought to strengthen and confirm in her, those principles, which none more deeply venerated, or more strictly observed than himself. He commiserated her fate and wept upon her grave.
The character of Calantha, of the Miss Seymours, of Lady Dartford, may be in part applied to many—they are not out of nature, nor overstrained; those of Miss St.-Clare and Lady Margaret Buchanan are more entirely fictitious.[3] Their situation, their disposition, their vices, their projects have not the remotest allusion to any person who ever existed, or to any event that ever took place. Designing ill-will and erring curiosity, may exert themselves to discover realities in murders, intrigues, marriages and separations, which have been only introduced for the sake of giving some interest to the narrative; but good sense, and discernment, will easily distinguish between such ill-founded applications, and those observations in which, it is trusted, the fair freedom of remark, and censure, which belongs to the British press, has neither been exceeded, nor abused.
It is needless further to explain the plan, and object of each particular passage, or character, which is introduced into the composition. Unless that object be delineated with such clearness, as to exhibit itself to the mind of the reader in the moment of perusal, it is vain to suggest and point it out in the preface. The whole has been written with the general design of inculcating the necessity of seeing both actions and opinions, in their true light, and as they really are; of founding religion, not like Calantha, upon enthusiasm, but upon reason and faith; of founding morality, upon principle and experience, not upon ignorance of evil. If in any part of the work, any deviation from this prescribed course can be discovered: if any sentiment throughout these volumes, appears even to approach to the toleration of vice and immorality, it is vain now to say, how from the heart it is wished unwritten; but in censures, which spring from very different motives, in misconstructions, misrepresentations, and, above all, in the charge of malevolence, the author never will silently and tamely acquiesce.
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Notes
[1] without permission, communication, advice, or assistance: This is the public position of Lamb and her husband, but the evidence suggests that William Lamb knew quite a lot about Glenarvon before its publication.
[2] ‘The blood will follow . . .by nature grow on pain.’: From The Revenge (1788) by Edward Young (1683-1765), Act V, scene ii.
[3] Miss St.-Clare and Lady Margaret Buchanan. . . entirely fictitious: Lamb apparently seeks here to distance herself from any perception of these characters as founded upon persons of her acquaintance. Elinor St. Clare is a rebel and a defiant sinner whose suicide punctuates the main plot, and Lady Margaret Buchanan is a schemer who condones homicide. Resemblances between Lady Margaret and Lamb’s mother-in-law, Lady Melbourne, would have been particularly painful to acknowledge.