THE Castle of Otranto was written by The Honourable Horace
Walpole, son of Sir Robert
Walpole, who at the close of his life became Earl of Orford. It was printed
at Strawberry Hill, and composed, the author tells us in one of his letters, in eight
days or rather evenings. Though a slight performance, it is calculated to make a
great impression upon those who relish the fictions of the Arabian Tales, and similar performances. It was one of the first of the modern productions
founded on appearances of terror.
Since this author's time, from the perusal of Mrs. Radcliffe's productions and some of the
German tales, we may be said to have "supped full with horrors,"2 but none of those compositions
have a livelier play of fancy than The Castle of Otranto. It is the sportive effusion of a man of genius, who throws the reins loose
upon the neck of his imagination. The large limbs of the gigantic figure which
inhabits the castle, and which are visible at intervals; the plumes of the helmet,
which rise and wave with ominous meaning; and the various enchant-
vol. xxii.b[Page ii]ments of the place, are imagined with the richness and wildness of poetic
fancy. A sufficient degree of interest is thrown into the novel part of the story;
but in the characters of some of the attendants there is an attempt at humour which
has not succeeded.
The works of Horace Walpole are well
known. He was a gentleman author, and wrote and printed for his own amusement, living
in literary ease at his elegant seat of Strawberry Hill, in the architecture and
furniture of which he has also shown a predilection for the romantic ideas connected
with gothic and chivalrous times. He always moved in the highest circles of company,
and joined the man of fashion and man of wit to the elegant scholar. Mr. Walpole was fond of French literature,
and few Englishmen have more imbibed the spirit and taste of the writers of that
nation. His little jeu d'esprit upon Rousseau is well known.3
The Castle of Otranto is much in the spirit of the tales of Count Hamilton. In one of those tales
we meet with a vast leg of a giant, which probably suggested the prodigy in the
former. Horace Walpole wrote, A Catalogue of royal and noble Authors; Anecdotes of Painting, enlarged from Vertue; An Essay on modern Gardening, in which there is a good deal of taste; and The Mysterious Mother, a tragedy. The last work was much spoken of while it was handed about with a
certain air of secrecy,4 but sunk into neglect soon after it was published. Not but
that there are some fine lines, and some strong moral sentiment in the piece; but
no
play[Page iii]could be expected to support itself under a subject so
disgustingly repulsive. The story itself is in the Gesta Romanorum,5 and in Taylor's Cases of Conscience; and as in a play it never could be acted, it had better have remained in
the form of a story.
Lord Orford's works have been published
since his death, in a pompous edition,6 with his letters and some
posthumous fragments, in both of which there is a good deal of light easy wit and
entertaining court anecdote; but what is new in them has not been made very
accessible to the public in general, as it is not to be had without purchasing works
which they were long before in possession of.