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
