 | The wing-and-wing, or, Le Feu-follet |  |
PREFACE.
The question, of how much of the following legend
is severely true, and how much fiction, is left in
doubt, with the express intention, that such historians,
as having nothing useful to do, may employ
their time in drawing the lines for their own amusement.
As to the scene chosen for this tale, no apology is
deemed necessary. To invent excuses for carrying
a man, either physically or in the imagination, into a
sea like the Mediterranean, and on a coast like that
of Italy, would be an affectation of which we have
no idea of being guilty. It is true—nay, it is probable
— that we may render the execution unequal to
the design, but there can be no great harm in nobly
daring, except to him who is injured by his own
failure. We hope that they who have ever beheld the
scenes we have faintly and so imperfectly described,
will pardon our defects, for the good we have intended
them; and that those who have never been so fortunate,
will find even our tame pictures so much
superior to the realities they have elsewhere witnessed,
as to fancy we have succeeded.
Of Raoul Yvard, Ghita Caraccioli, and the Little
Folly, we have no more to say than is to be found in
the body of the work. As Sancho told the knight, they
class a vessel among animals—said they were so certain,
that we might safely swear they were absolutely
true. If we are in error, it is a misfortune we share
in common with honest Panza, and that, too, on a
subject about equal, in moment, to the one in which
he was misled.
After all, the world hears little, and knows less, of
the infinity of details that make up the sum of the
incidents of the sea. Historians glean a few prominent
circumstances, connected perhaps with battles,
treaties, shipwrecks, or chases, and the rest is left
a blank to the great bulk of the human race. It has
been well said, that the life of every man, if simply
and clearly related, would be found to contain a fund
of useful and entertaining information; and it is
equally true, that the day of every ship would furnish
something of interest to relate, could the dry
records of the log-book be given in the graphic language
of observation and capacity. A ship, alone,
in the solitude of the ocean, is an object for reflection,
and a source of poetical, as well as of moral feeling;
and as we seldom tire of writing about her, we have
more than a sympathetic desire, that they who do us
the honour to form a sort of literary clientelle, will
never tire of reading.
Our chief concern, on the present occasion, is on
the subject of the contrast we have attempted to
draw between profound belief and light-hearted infidelity.
We think both pictures true to the periods
to draw both with due relief, and totally without
exaggeration. That strong natural sympathies can
exist between those who are widely separated on such
a subject, every day's experience proves; and that
some are to be found in whom principle is stronger
than even the most insinuating and deceptive of all
our passions, we not only hope, but trustfully believe.
We have endeavoured to assign the higher and most
enduring quality to that portion of the race, in which
we are persuaded it is the most likely to be found.
This is the seventh sea-tale we have ventured to
offer to the public. When the first was written, our
friends confidently predicted its failure, on account
of the meagreness of the subject, as well as of its
disagreeable accompaniments. Not only did that prediction
prove untrue, as to our own humble effort,
but the public taste has lasted sufficiently long to
receive, from other quarters, a very respectable progeny
of that parent of this class of writing. We
only hope that, in the present instance, there may be
found a sufficient family resemblance, to allow of this
particular bantling to pass in the crowd, as one of a
numerous family.
| The wing-and-wing, or, Le Feu-follet | |