The event on which this fiction is founded has been
supposed, by Dr. Darwin, and some of the physiological
writers of Germany, as not of impossible occurrence. I
shall not be supposed as according the remotest degree of
serious faith to such an imagination; yet, in assuming it
as the basis of a work of fancy, I have not considered
myself as merely weaving a series of supernatural terrors.
The event on which the interest of the story depends is
exempt from the disadvantages of a mere tale of spectres
or enchantment. It was recommended by the novelty of
the situations which it developes; and, however impossible
as a physical fact, affords a point of view to the imagina~
tion
for the delineating of human passions more com~
prehensive and commanding
than any which the ordinary
relations of existing events can yield.
I have thus endeavoured to preserve the truth of the
elementary principles of human nature, while I have not
scrupled to innovate upon their combinations. The Iliad,
the tragic poetry of Greece—Shakspeare, in the Tempest
and Midsummer Night's Dream — and most especially
Milton, in Paradise Lost, conform to this rule; and the
most humble novelist, who seeks to confer or receive
amusement from his labours, may, without presumption,
apply to prose fiction a licence, or rather a rule, from the
adoption of which so many exquisite combinations of
human feeling have resulted in the highest specimens of
poetry.
The circumstance on which my story rests was suggested
in casual conversation. It was commenced partly as a