Hours in a Library, Volume I | Page 4

magic. The secret may really be simple enough. The
complete success of such a book as 'Robinson' implies, it may be, the
precise adaptation of the key to every ward of the lock. The felicitous
choice of situation to which Lamb refers gave just the required fitness;
and it is of little use to plead that 'Roxana,' 'Colonel Jack,' and others
might have done the same trick if only they had received a little filing,
or some slight change in shape: a shoemaker might as well argue that if
you had only one toe less his shoes wouldn't pinch you.
To leave the unsatisfactory ground of metaphor, we may find out, on
examination, that De Foe had discovered in 'Robinson Crusoe'
precisely the field in which his talents could be most effectually applied;
and that a very slight alteration in the subject-matter might change the
merit of his work to a disproportionate extent. The more special the
idiosyncrasy upon which a man's literary success is founded, the
greater, of course, the probability that a small change will disconcert
him. A man who can only perform upon the drum will have to wait for
certain combinations of other instruments before his special talent can
be turned to account. Now, the talent in which De Foe surpasses all
other writers is just one of those peculiar gifts which must wait for a
favourable chance. When a gentleman, in a fairy story, has a power of
seeing a hundred miles, or covering seven leagues at a stride, we know
that an opportunity will speedily occur for putting his faculties to use.
But the gentleman with the seven-leagued boots is useless when the
occasion offers itself for telescopic vision, and the eyes are good for
nothing without the power of locomotion. To De Foe, if we may imitate
the language of the 'Arabian Nights,' was given a tongue to which no
one could listen without believing every word that he uttered--a
qualification, by the way, which would serve its owner far more
effectually in this commonplace world than swords of sharpness or
cloaks of darkness, or other fairy paraphernalia. In other words, he had
the most marvellous power ever known of giving verisimilitude to his

fictions; or, in other words again, he had the most amazing talent on
record for telling lies. We have all read how the 'History of the Plague,'
the 'Memoirs of a Cavalier,' and even, it is said, 'Robinson Crusoe,'
have succeeded in passing themselves off for veritable narratives. The
'Memoirs of Captain Carleton' long passed for De Foe's, but the
Captain has now gained admission to the biographical dictionary and is
credited with his own memoirs. In either case, it is as characteristic that
a genuine narrative should be attributed to De Foe, as that De Foe's
narrative should be taken as genuine. An odd testimony to De Foe's
powers as a liar (a word for which there is, unfortunately, no equivalent
that does not imply some blame) has been mentioned. Mr. M'Queen,
quoted in Captain Burton's 'Nile Basin,' names 'Captain Singleton' as a
genuine account of travels in Central Africa, and seriously mentions De
Foe's imaginary pirate as 'a claimant for the honour of the discovery of
the sources of the White Nile.' Probably, however, this only proves that
Mr. M'Queen had never read the book.
Most of the literary artifices to which De Foe owed his power of
producing this illusion are sufficiently plain. Of all the fictions which
he succeeded in palming off for truths none is more instructive than
that admirable ghost, Mrs. Veal. Like the sonnets of some great poets,
it contains in a few lines all the essential peculiarities of his art, and an
admirable commentary has been appended to it by Sir Walter Scott.
The first device which strikes us is his ingenious plan for
manufacturing corroborative evidence. The ghost appears to Mrs.
Bargrave. The story of the apparition is told by a 'very sober and
understanding gentlewoman, who lives within a few doors of Mrs.
Bargrave;' and the character of this sober gentlewoman is supported by
the testimony of a justice of the peace at Maidstone, 'a very intelligent
person.' This elaborate chain of evidence is intended to divert our
attention from the obvious circumstance that the whole story rests upon
the authority of the anonymous person who tells us of the sober
gentlewoman, who supports Mrs. Bargrave, and is confirmed by the
intelligent justice. Simple as the artifice appears, it is one which is
constantly used in supernatural stories of the present day. One of those
improving legends tells how a ghost appeared to two officers in Canada,
and how, subsequently, one of the officers met the ghost's twin brother

in London, and straightway exclaimed, 'You are the person who
appeared to