The Fortunes of Nigel | Page 6

and employed in reading a. blotted _revise_,
[Footnote: The uninitiated must be informed, that a second proof-sheet
is so called.] the person, or perhaps I should rather say the Eidolon, or
representative Vision of the AUTHOR OF WAVERLEY! You will not
be surprised at the filial instinct which enabled me at once to
acknowledge the features borne by this venerable apparition, and that I
at once bended the knee, with the classical salutation of, _Salve, magne
parens!_ The vision, however, cut me short, by pointing to a seat,
intimating at the same time, that my presence was not expected, and
that he had something to say to me.
I sat down with humble obedience, and endeavoured to note the
features of him with whom I now found myself so unexpectedly in
society. But on this point I can give your reverence no satisfaction; for,
besides the obscurity of the apartment, and the fluttered state of my
own nerves, I seemed to myself overwhelmed by a sense of filial awe,
which prevented my noting and recording what it is probable the
personage before me might most desire to have concealed. Indeed, his
figure was so closely veiled and wimpled, either with a mantle,
morning-gown, or some such loose garb, that the verses of Spenser
might well have been applied--
"Yet, certes, by her face and physnomy, Whether she man or woman

only were, That could not any creature well descry."
I must, however, go on as I have begun, to apply the masculine gender;
for, notwithstanding very ingenious reasons, and indeed something like
positive evidence, have been offered to prove the Author of Waverley
to be two ladies of talent, I must abide by the general opinion, that he is
of the rougher sex. There are in his writings too many things
"Quae maribus sola tribuuntur,"
to permit me to entertain any doubt on that subject. I will proceed, in
the manner of dialogue, to repeat as nearly as I can what passed betwixt
us, only observing, that in the course of the conversation, my timidity
imperceptibly gave way under the familiarity of his address; and that,
in the concluding part of our dialogue, I perhaps argued with fully as
much confidence as was beseeming.
_Author of Waverley._ I was willing to see you, Captain Clutterbuck,
being the person of my family whom I have most regard for, since the
death of Jedediah Cleishbotham; and I am afraid I may have done you
some wrong, in assigning to you The Monastery as a portion of my
effects. I have some thoughts of making it up to you, by naming you
godfather to this yet unborn babe--(he indicated the proof-sheet with
his finger)--But first, touching The Monastery--How says the world--
you are abroad and can learn?
_Captain Clutterbuck._ Hem! hem!--The enquiry is delicate--I have not
heard any complaints from the Publishers.
_Author._ That is the principal matter; but yet an indifferent work is
sometimes towed on by those which have left harbour before it, with
the breeze in their poop.--What say the Critics?
_Captain._ There is a general--feeling--that the White Lady is no
favourite.
_Author._ I think she is a failure myself; but rather in execution than
conception. Could I have evoked an _esprit follet_, at the same time
fantastic and interesting, capricious and kind; a sort of wildfire of the
elements, bound by no fixed laws, or motives of action; faithful and
fond, yet teazing and uncertain----
_Captain._ If you will pardon the interruption, sir, I think you are
describing a pretty woman.
_Author._ On my word, I believe I am. I must invest my elementary
spirits with a little human flesh and blood--they are too fine-drawn for

the present taste of the public.
_Captain._ They object, too, that the object of your Nixie ought to have
been more uniformly noble--Her ducking the priest was no Naiad- like
amusement.
_Author._ Ah! they ought to allow for the capriccios of what is, after
all, but a better sort of goblin. The bath into which Ariel, the most
delicate creation of Shakspeare's imagination, seduces our jolly friend
Trinculo, was not of amber or rose-water. But no one shall find me
rowing against the stream. I care not who knows it--I write for general
amusement; and, though I never will aim at popularity by what I think
unworthy means, I will not, on the other hand, be pertinacious in the
defence of my own errors against the voice of the public.
_Captain._ You abandon, then, in the present work--(looking, in my
turn, towards the proof-sheet)--the mystic, and the magical, and the
whole system of signs, wonders, and omens? There are no dreams, or
presages, or obscure allusions to future events?
_Author._ Not a Cock-lane scratch, my son--not one bounce on the
drum of Tedworth--not so much