of all themes the most fascinating to a youthful imagination,
before the passions have roused themselves and demand
poetry of a more sentimental description. In this
respect his acquaintance with Italian opened him yet
a wider range. He had perused the numerous romantic
poems, which, from the days of Pulci, have been a
favourite exercise of the wits of Italy, and had sought
gratification in the numerous collections of novelle,
which were brought forth by the genius of that elegant
though luxurious nation, in emulation of the ‘Decameron.’
In classical literature, Waverley had made the usual
progress, and read the usual authors; and the French
had afforded him an almost exhaustless collection
of memoirs, scarcely more faithful than romances,
and of romances so well written as hardly to be distinguished
from memoirs. The splendid pages of Froissart,
with his heart-stirring and eye-dazzling descriptions
of war and of tournaments, were among his chief favourites;
and from those of Brantome and De la Noue he learned
to compare the wild and loose, yet superstitious,
character of the nobles of the League with the stern,
rigid, and sometimes turbulent disposition of the Huguenot
party. The Spanish had contributed to his stock
of chivalrous and romantic lore. The earlier
literature of the northern nations did not escape
the study of one who read rather to awaken the imagination
than to benefit the understanding. And yet, knowing
much that is known but to few, Edward Waverley might
justly be considered as ignorant, since he knew little
of what adds dignity to man, and qualifies him to
support and adorn an elevated situation in society.
The occasional attention of his parents might indeed
have been of service to prevent the dissipation of
mind incidental to such a desultory course of reading.
But his mother died in the seventh year after the
reconciliation between the brothers, and Richard Waverley
himself, who, after this event, resided more constantly
in London, was too much interested in his own plans
of wealth and ambition to notice more respecting Edward
than that he was of a very bookish turn, and probably
destined to be a bishop. If he could have discovered
and analysed his son’s waking dreams, he would
have formed a very different conclusion.
CHAPTER IV
CASTLE-BUILDING
I have already hinted that the dainty, squeamish,
and fastidious taste acquired by a surfeit of idle
reading had not only rendered our hero unfit for serious
and sober study, but had even disgusted him in some
degree with that in which he had hitherto indulged.
He was in his sixteenth year when his habits of abstraction
and love of solitude became so much marked as to excite
Sir Everard’s affectionate apprehension.
He tried to counterbalance these propensities by engaging
his nephew in field-sports, which had been the chief
pleasure of his own youthful days. But although
Edward eagerly carried the gun for one season, yet
when practice had given him some dexterity, the pastime
ceased to afford him amusement.