University of Virginia Library

Simms's First Published Fiction
by
James E. Kibler

Among the personal papers of American novelist and poet William Gilmore Simms (1806-1870) is a pencilled list of cryptic jottings of initials, names, and dates ranging from July 1824 to February 1825.[1] Investigation reveals that this page is a chart in the author's own hand of his publications in the Charleston Courier for this period—when he was but eighteen years old. There are seventeen entries which turn out to be for poems published under the initials or pseudonyms, "W. G. S.," "S. G. W.," "S.," "W******,"

"Altamont," and "Mortimer." With the exception of "W******," all of these pseudonyms and the poems to which they are attached have already been identified.[2] Simms had been publishing poetry in the local Charleston newspapers since the age of fifteen;[3] his first proved verses date from early 1823 when they appeared in the Charleston City Gazette under the pseudonym "16."[4] The seventeen poetry listings in Simms's note, with the one exception, thus serve merely for corroboration.

An eighteenth very significant entry, however, is the line: "Octavian myself 27 July." This refers to a contribution to the Courier for 27 July 1824, signed "Octavian," and entitled "Light Reading." The "myself" identifies the piece as by Simms and thus provides yet another Simms pseudonym, number 230, to be exact. Even more importantly, it makes known for the first time Simms's earliest prose work, thus pushing back by a year the date accepted as the beginning of his career as fiction writer.[5]

"Light Reading" is a satiric prose sketch told from the first-person point of view. Its youthful narrator, in a Byronic manner typical of the early Simms, is a loner, a proud lad who goes his own way, having no "interest in the affairs of mankind." Though men have always treated him with disdain, he has at least been successful with the ladies, who have been his major solace. After the sad events detailed in this sketch, he forswears them also and becomes the "Eremite," particularly scorning the "pride of wealth" of the "purse-proud" and "the regular time-plodding mechanics of existence, whose only object in life is the attainment of . . . wealth." The contempt for materialism shown here in this first known prose work is directly in line with a theme in his recently discovered earliest letters of 1826, where he similarly expresses his scorn for the greed which he witnesses on the frontier, thus foreshadowing his mature work's concern over the destructive force of materialism on character, individual wholeness, and the formation of high culture.[6] In valuing wealth over the things of the spirit, mankind loses the things of most worth, a truth expressed as a major theme of much of the mature poetry and fiction. Thus, in this sketch in the Courier of 1824, he is already voicing (two years

in advance of his first letters) his unrelenting criticism of American materialism, which he was later to discern as the cardinal evil of his age.

Much of the sketch, however, satirizes the speaker himself. His aloofness and highmindedness lead to both a literal and figurative "fall" involving considerable discomfort and embarrassment. First his fiancée deserts him for a "rich, clod-hopping burgher." Then his next intended inspires him to try to elope with her. His rope ladder at her third-story window breaks, and he falls into a Charleston sewer, much humbled. His "fair" but superficial mate then breaks off the match, realizing that he is not the man of the "many and superior qualities" of which he had at least temporarily convinced her. The narration reveals that the speaker's highmindedness might stem from vanity and arrogance. His artificial language characterizes him as foppish and superficial. While his values and actions seem honorable, the motives for them are definitely subject to question. In telling his story, the speaker shows more about himself than he knows; and his character becomes more important than the story he tells. What saves him from being an insufferable prig is his sense of humor and his ability finally to realize about himself at least something of what the reader already knows. It is interesting to note that "Light Reading" has some affinities with Simms's verse monologues of 1825-1835[7] in that both

prose and poetry share first-person narrators who reveal their own character through their narrations. In this first prose work, the eighteen-year-old author is thus experimenting with an effective form of which he would later make good use. Here follows the text from the Courier of 27 July 1824, without emendation. Octavian's parting statement that "You shall hear again from me anon" suggests that Simms intended writing a series of such sketches which would trace Octavian in his progress. No other sketches, however, have as yet been found in any of the Charleston papers.

[For the Courier]

LIGHT READING

Mr. Editor.

—I am one of that unfortunate class of beings, whom Nature, in a sportive mood, has created apparently for her own amusement—a species of non descript, differing from the rest of the world; their superior, considering myself, and by them considered, an object of alternate scorn and pity. I have no interest in the affairs of mankind—alone—an Eremite amid the pressure of thousands. Such a character

can hardly be supposed to have any intimate connection with the regular time-plodding mechanics of existence, whose only object in life is the attainment of that wealth, which it is my only object to circulate. I was alone, while in company gay and reserved; cold, yet familiar. I felt myself independent of the world, and therefore scorned the opinions which I was confident would either originate in their selfishness of character, or exude from the feigned humility of aristocratic pride of wealth. I consoled myself for the want of riches by my contempt and scorn of its possessors. I considered the poor man, the animal who conquers the prey, whilst the purseproud I likened to the kite who pilfers it. With such opinions it is hardly likely that my associates could be numerous, and it was, therefore, necessary that I should find some remedy for that lack of society without which, life is a void, and enjoyment pain. Possessing naturally an amorous constitution, I necessarily turned to the fair; and, to do justice to their taste, they seemed pretty generally to view me with a favorable eye. Although my comrades would attribute their kindness to the variety of woman's taste, perpetually changing, ever fickle and eager in the pursuit of the curious and eccentric. But this Mr. Editor, I considered sheer envy, resulting from my almost unparalleled success. I however, my dear sir, did not long remain untroubled with the contingencies of this species of pleasure. I experienced various degrees of alloy, extremely galling to one, so irritable and susceptible as myself. For instance: one lady, who had given me considerable encouragement, and whom I calculated in a short time to bring to my own terms, evaporated with a rich, clod-hopping burgher. Mrs. Pride, timely came to my assistance, and consoled me with the reflection, that I should congratulate myself on escaping from a connection with one so mercenary. But alas! Mr. Editor, that pride of soul, was soon to be humbled! That mind soon trampled upon—those hopes abortive. One fair who had seized my heart by surprise, and whom my amorous fancy had pictured divine, was, after a little perseverance, made acquainted with my many and superior qualifications, and had consented to smile. The time was fixed; the rope ladder prepared, and duly attached to her third story window, and I on its summit; my fancy exulting in the prospect of complete success. When, oh! most murderous hemp! one twist became undone, the others followed the neck-breaking example, and I was precipitated like another Phæton from the acme of enjoyment to the gloom and depth of Acheron, without even embracing the fair, who in consequence of my failure and subsequent appearance, refused to ratify her former vows. I had almost forgotten to state, that but for the polite foresight of her sire, who no doubt had some inkling of the future, I should not now be scrawling this epistle; nor recur with trembling to the twists of hemp! My fall was broken and my neck saved unbroken, by my descent to the pliable foundation of a sewer recently erected by her father. You shall hear again from me anon.

OCTAVIAN.

Notes