Preface
This study is the result of a longstanding affection for Melville coupled with hesitation in accepting the role of a Melville-ist. Or a Hawthorne-ist or a Twain-ist. In my own case, I have found a lack of congeniality in the usual relationship between the critic and the author whom he adopts for the purposes of a temporaryor a lifelongexercise of scholarship. The result of this kind of association is normally the scholarship of reconstituted reality, based on the facts of the real world in which Melville, Hawthorne, and Twain coexist. Without this kind of investigation, of course, literary criticism would be bankrupt; furthermore, the debts that one owes such scholars are beyond calculation. This work, however, is an attempt at what might be called the scholarship of reconstituted fiction, based on the qualities of the fictional world in which, for example, Ishmael and Coverdale coexist. It is obvious that such a fictional world is neither that of Moby-Dick nor that of The Blithedale Romance; rather, it is a hypothesis that comes into being for a short time as a result of the projection of the critics mind over, let us say, the field of nineteenth-century American literature.
Perhaps the ideal, of which this study is only a first approximation, is the sustaining of a critical perspective within a narrative context in which the personae are the fictional characters of a period or a fashion of literary endeavor. The relationship thus established between critic and author would be a less formal one. It would seem to have the potential for mediating more successfully between the appreciative interest of the fiction lover and the private world of the fiction maker.
The differences between the two kinds of scholarship are perhaps less apparent in the subject matter than in the approach to it, although it has indeed seemed to me that the confidence man invites one to deal with him as a coconspirator. He is a fictional character who deals in fictions, and it is easy to respond in kind by inducing a quintessential confidence man and endowing him with a real existence as a literary phenomenon. And in fact I have come to accept some such hypothetical character as my protagonist. I have seen him as playing a number of roles, as being reincarnated in various forms which reveal the special qualities of each author who tricks him out in a new disguise. I have found that his equivocal nature places him at the right hand of creators who face their own moral and aesthetic dilemmas in handling the art of illusion. Thus, despite my tendency to treat the con man with the familiarity of a creator toward his creation, he has always chastened me with the vigor of his claim to be taken seriously and the proof of his appeal to the nineteenth-century American imagination. After all, he has been taken seriously by Hawthorne, Melville, Howells, Twain, and James. In the end I have had to accept him on his own terms as an oracular figure, although not forgetting that he is, after all, a fiction.
Among those who have read and shown interest in the initial stages of this project, I should like to thank William M. Gibson for his advice and encouragement. At the same time, I wish to free him from the imputation of consent to all of the later twists that have been given to the original conception. I should also like particularly to acknowledge the help of the librarians in charge of the sections on American literature in the New York Public Library and the special collections of the New York University Library.
Knave, Fool, and Genius
The Confidence Man
Under other names, the confidence man is an old subject in English literature, appearing in the form of certain characters so familiar and so inseparable from the kind of villainy they practice that their names are almost synonyms for it. Indeed, so early is the confidence man that he arrives on horseback in the fourteenth century. In one instance he is a devious Canon, preying on the gold lust and alchemy fever of a simpleminded priest. By means of a rigged experiment and protestations of good faith, Chaucers Canon induces the priest to pay good money for a worthless formula, guaranteed to turn lesser metals into gold. A crabbed and eager fiend, he is one type of confidence man who has counterparts in the mining country of the American West. But Chaucer also gives us another kind, a genial, beardless teller of tales and vendor of relics, with a fixed aversion to manual labor. He is amusingly and contemptuously superior in his knowledge of human nature, and frankly enjoys his power to please the ear, the eye, and the credulous soul. The Pardoner is a good-humored rogue who is excellent company. His gifts become the inheritance of crowd-pleasing hypocrites on New England platforms, on backwoods stumps, in prairie tents, and in gambling dens.
But the confidence man is not merely venial, not always shallow. There are great precedents for the falsifiers of trust who are corruptive by nature and whose trickery is an expression of an abstract evil. There is of course the smiling villain Iago, breathing a malignancy so essential to his being that he has been thought to resemble the Vice in a morality play. Yet as an archhypocrite he is second to the Archfiend. Confidence won on false pretenses and in the lapse of better judgment is the Devils achievement in Paradise. The Fall is in fact an archetype of the confidence game, and thus any successful game reminds us of congenital folly. In Miltons Satan, the Adversary of God, there is precedent for the use of the confidence man in the most serious of moral contexts. Thus, when an observer in Melvilles Confidence-Man asks pointedly, How much money did the devil make by gulling Eve? he recognizes the existence of gratuitous eviland puts the confidence man back into a primordial drama of man and his gods.