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History is generally only a magazine for my fantasy, and objects must be contented with whatever they may become under my hand." This declaration of Schiller satisfies me with respect to the nature of my own creations.
In the fragments of fiction which have come down to us from the days when books were not, odd chapters from the Fieldings and Smollets of the age of Noah, remnants of the verbal libraries which men repeated one to the other, squatting round "the savage camp-fire," when the hunt was over and night had gathered, the stroke of fantasy predominates and tends to comprise the whole.
As for Oliver Herford, he is an elf, a sprite, a creature of fantasy, who may be and, I rejoice to say, is in this world, but certainly is not of it. This Oliver is in the line of Puck and Mercutio and Lamb and Hood and other lovers and makers of nonsense, and it is we who ask for "more."
"Stay with me to the end!" If she only would! If he could find her find her in this warm, human world, away from that ghastly border-land where they two met. For in that hour he knew he loved what? A woman or a ghost? A creature of this world or a fantasy of the night? Wherever she was, whatever she was, he loved her and he wanted her.
With the daylight I could persuade myself that it was all a subjective hallucination, a fantasy of the night, a projection of the excited imagination.
I begun thus Vol. But in this clear climate of fantasy and perspiration, where every idea, sensible and insensible, gets vent in this land, my dear Eugenius in this fertile land of chivalry and romance, where I now sit, unskrewing my ink-horn to write my uncle Toby's amours, and with all the meanders of Julia's track in quest of her Diego, in full view of my study window if thou comest not and takest me by the hand
And this naturalism was shot through with streaks of pure fantasy, so that kangaroos suddenly bounded on in a masque for the edification of a Russian tyrant. But comedy and fantasy alike were subordinated to horror and tragedy: these refugees from the brutality of Russia and Rumania, these inheritors of the wailing melodies of a persecuted synagogue, craved morbidly for gruesomeness and gore.
I knew it was a dream, for of course I hadn't been in black water, I hadn't strained toward a light upon the flood, and of course, I hadn't really heard Nicholas Jelnik calling my name; and the kiss was part of the fantasy.
Now when these poor sun-burnt mariners, bare-footed, and with their trowsers rolled high up on their eely legs, had wearily hauled their fat fish high and dry, promising themselves a good 150 pounds from the precious oil and bone; and in fantasy sipping rare tea with their wives, and good ale with their cronies, upon the strength of their respective shares; up steps a very learned and most Christian and charitable gentleman, with a copy of Blackstone under his arm; and laying it upon the whale's head, he says "Hands off! this fish, my masters, is a Fast-Fish.
"That is true," answered Wolfe thoughtfully; "and yet a voice in my heart seems to tell me that I shall see those loved faces no more. It may be but the fantasy of a troubled and fevered brain; but in dreams I have seen them, tears in their eyes, weeping for one unworthy of such grief, who lies in a far-off grave beneath the frowning battlements of yon great city.
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