Washington Irving by Charles Dudley Warner

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"He has written. He has confessed to my mother, as to a true and
dear friend, his love for E----, and his conviction of its utter
hopelessness. He feels himself unable to combat it. He thinks he
must try, by absence, to bring more peace to his mind. Yet he
cannot bear to give up our friendship,--an intercourse become so
dear to him, and so necessary to his daily happiness. Poor Irving!"

It is well for our peace of mind that we do not know what is going down
concerning us in "journals." On his way to the Herrnhuthers, Mr. Irving
wrote to Mrs. Foster:--

"When I consider how I have trifled with my time, suffered painful
vicissitudes of feeling, which for a time damaged both mind and
body,--when I consider all this, I reproach myself that I did not
listen to the first impulse of my mind, and abandon Dresden long
since. And yet I think of returning! Why should I come back to
Dresden? The very inclination that dooms me thither should furnish
reasons for my staying away."

In this mood, the Herrnhuthers, in their right-angled, whitewashed
world, were little attractive.

"If the Herrnhuthers were right in their notions, the world would
have been laid out in squares and angles and right lines, and
everything would have been white and black and snuff-color, as they
have been clipped by these merciless retrenchers of beauty and
enjoyment. And then their dormitories! Think of between one and two
hundred of these simple gentlemen cooped up at night in one great
chamber! What a concert of barrel-organs in this great resounding
saloon! And then their plan of marriage! The very birds of the air
choose their mates from preference and inclination; but this
detestable system of _lot_! The sentiment of love may be, and is,
in a great measure, a fostered growth of poetry and romance, and
balderdashed with false sentiment; but with all its vitiations, it
is the beauty and the charm, the flavor and the fragrance, of all
intercourse between man and woman; it is the rosy cloud in the
morning of life; and if it does too often resolve itself into the
shower, yet, to my mind, it only makes our nature more fruitful in
what is excellent and amiable."

Better suited him Prague, which is certainly a part of the "naughty
world" that Irving preferred:--

"Old Prague still keeps up its warrior look, and swaggers about
with its rusty corselet and helm, though both sadly battered. There
seems to me to be an air of style and fashion about the first
people of Prague, and a good deal of beauty in the fashionable
circle. This, perhaps, is owing to my contemplating it from a
distance, and my imagination lending it tints occasionally. Both
actors and audience, contemplated from the pit of a theatre, look
better than when seen in the boxes and behind the scenes. I like to
contemplate society in this way occasionally, and to dress it up by
the help of fancy, to my own taste. When I get in the midst of it,
it is too apt to lose its charm, and then there is the trouble and
_ennui_ of being obliged to take an active part in the farce; but
to be a mere spectator is amusing. I am glad, therefore, that I
brought no letters to Prague. I shall leave it with a favorable
idea of its society and manners, from knowing nothing accurate of
either; and with a firm belief that every pretty woman I have seen
is an angel, as I am apt to think every pretty woman, until I have
found her out."

In July, 1823, Irving returned to Paris, to the society of the Moores
and the fascinations of the gay town, and to fitful literary work. Our
author wrote with great facility and rapidity when the inspiration was
on him, and produced an astonishing amount of manuscript in a short
period; but he often waited and fretted through barren weeks and months
for the movement of his fitful genius. His mind was teeming constantly
with new projects, and nothing could exceed his industry when once he
had taken a work in hand; but he never acquired the exact methodical
habits which enable some literary men to calculate their power and
quantity of production as accurately as that of a cotton mill.

The political changes in France during the period of Irving's long
sojourn in Paris do not seem to have taken much of his attention. In a
letter dated October 5, 1824, he says: "We have had much bustle in Paris
of late, between the death of one king and the succession of another. I
have become a little callous to public sights, but have,
notwithstanding, been to see the funeral of the late king, and the
entrance into Paris of the present one. Charles X. begins his reign in a
very conciliating manner, and is really popular. The Bourbons have
gained great accession of power within a few years."

The succession of Charles X. was also observed by another foreigner, who
was making agreeable personal notes at that time in Paris, but who is
not referred to by Irving, who for some unexplained reason failed to
meet the genial Scotsman at breakfast. Perhaps it is to his failure to
do so that he owes the semi-respectful reference to himself in Carlyle's
"Reminiscences." Lacking the stimulus to his vocabulary of personal
acquaintance, Carlyle simply wrote: "Washington Irving was said to be in
Paris, a kind of lion at that time, whose books I somewhat esteemed.
One day the Emerson-Tennant people bragged that they had engaged him to
breakfast with us at a certain _cafe_ next morning. We all attended
duly, Strackey among the rest, but no Washington came. 'Couldn't rightly
come,' said Malcolm to me in a judicious _aside_, as we cheerfully
breakfasted without him. I never saw Washington at all, but still have a
mild esteem of the good man." This ought to be accepted as evidence of
Carlyle's disinclination to say ill-natured things of those he did not
know.

The "Tales of a Traveller" appeared in 1824. In the author's opinion,
with which the best critics agreed, it contained some of his best
writing. He himself said in a letter to Brevoort, "There was more of an
artistic touch about it, though this is not a thing to be appreciated by
the many." It was rapidly written. The movement has a delightful
spontaneity, and it is wanting in none of the charms of his style,
unless, perhaps, the style is over-refined; but it was not a novelty,
and the public began to criticise and demand a new note. This may have
been one reason why he turned to a fresh field and to graver themes.
For a time he busied himself on some American essays of a semi-political
nature, which were never finished, and he seriously contemplated a Life
of Washington; but all these projects were thrown aside for one that
kindled his imagination,--the Life of Columbus; and in February, 1826,
he was domiciled at Madrid, and settled down to a long period of
unremitting and intense labor.

CHAPTER VII.

IN SPAIN.

Irving's residence in Spain, which was prolonged till September, 1829,
was the most fruitful period in his life, and of considerable
consequence to literature. It is not easy to overestimate the debt of
Americans to the man who first opened to them the fascinating domain of
early Spanish history and romance. We can conceive of it by reflecting
upon the blank that would exist without "The Alhambra," "The Conquest of
Granada," "The Legends of the Conquest of Spain," and I may add the
popular loss if we had not "The Lives of Columbus and his Companions."
Irving had the creative touch, or at least the magic of the pen, to give
a definite, universal, and romantic interest to whatever he described.
We cannot deny him that. A few lines about the inn of the Red Horse at
Stratford-on-Avon created a new object of pilgrimage right in the
presence of the house and tomb of the poet. And how much of the romantic
interest of all the English-reading world in the Alhambra is due to him;
the name invariably recalls his own, and every visitor there is
conscious of his presence. He has again and again been criticised almost
out of court, and written down to the rank of the mere idle humorist;
but as often as I take up "The Conquest of Granada" or "The Alhambra" I
am aware of something that has eluded the critical analysis, and I
conclude that if one cannot write for the few it may be worth while to
write for the many.

It was Irving's intention, when he went to Madrid, merely to make a
translation of some historical documents which were then appearing,
edited by M. Navarrete, from the papers of Bishop Las Casas and the
journals of Columbus, entitled "The Voyages of Columbus." But when he
found that this publication, although it contained many documents,
hitherto unknown, that threw much light on the discovery of the New
World, was rather a rich mass of materials for a history than a history
itself, and that he had access in Madrid libraries to great collections
of Spanish colonial history, he changed his plan, and determined to
write a Life of Columbus. His studies for this led him deep into the old
chronicles and legends of Spain, and out of these, with his own travel
and observation, came those books of mingled fables, sentiment, fact,
and humor which are after all the most enduring fruits of his residence
in Spain.

Notwithstanding his absorption in literary pursuits, Irving was not
denied the charm of domestic society, which was all his life his chief
delight. The house he most frequented in Madrid was that of Mr.
D'Oubril, the Russian Minister. In his charming household were Madame
D'Oubril and her niece, Mademoiselle Antoinette Bollviller, and Prince
Dolgorouki, a young _attache_ of the legation. His letters to Prince
Dolgorouki and to Mademoiselle Antoinette give a most lively and
entertaining picture of his residence and travels in Spain. In one of
them to the prince, who was temporarily absent from the city, we have
glimpses of the happy hours, the happiest of all hours, passed in this
refined family circle. Here is one that exhibits the still fresh
romance in the heart of forty-four years:--

"Last evening, at your house, we had one of the most lovely
tableaux I ever beheld. It was the conception of Murillo,
represented by Madame A----. Mademoiselle Antoinette arranged the
tableau with her usual good taste, and the effect was enchanting.
It was more like a vision of something spiritual and celestial than
a representation of anything merely mortal; or rather it was woman
as in my romantic days I have been apt to imagine her, approaching
to the angelic nature. I have frequently admired Madame A----as a
mere beautiful woman, when I have seen her dressed up in the
fantastic attire of the _mode_; but here I beheld her elevated into
a representative of the divine purity and grace, exceeding even the
_beau ideal_ of the painter, for she even surpassed in beauty the
picture of Murillo. I felt as if I could have knelt down and
worshiped her. Heavens! what power women would have over us, if
they knew how to sustain the attractions which nature has bestowed
upon them, and which we are so ready to assist by our imaginations!
For my part, I am superstitious in my admiration of them, and like
to walk in a perpetual delusion, decking them out as divinities. I
thank no one to undeceive me, and to prove that they are mere
mortals."

And he continues in another strain:--

How full of interest everything is connected with the old times in
Spain! I am more and more delighted with the old literature of the
country, its chronicles, plays, and romances. It has the wild vigor
and luxuriance of the forests of my native country, which, however
savage and entangled, are more captivating to my imagination than
the finest parks and cultivated woodlands.

"As I live in the neighborhood of the library of the Jesuits'
College of St. Isidoro, I pass most of my mornings there. You
cannot think what a delight I feel in passing through its
galleries, filled with old parchment-bound books. It is a perfect
wilderness of curiosity to me. What a deep-felt, quiet luxury there
is in delving into the rich ore of these old, neglected volumes!
How these hours of uninterrupted intellectual enjoyment, so
tranquil and independent, repay one for the _ennui_ and
disappointment too often experienced in the intercourse of society!
How they serve to bring back the feelings into a harmonious tone,
after being jarred and put out of tune by the collisions with the
world!"

With the romantic period of Spanish history Irving was in ardent
sympathy. The story of the Saracens entranced his mind; his imagination
disclosed its Oriental quality while he pored over the romance and the
ruin of that land of fierce contrasts, of arid wastes beaten by the
burning sun, valleys blooming with intoxicating beauty, cities of
architectural splendor and picturesque squalor. It is matter of regret
that he, who seemed to need the southern sun to ripen his genius, never
made a pilgrimage into the East, and gave to the world pictures of the
lands that he would have touched with the charm of their own color and
the witchery of their own romance.

I will quote again from the letters, for they reveal the man quite as
well as the more formal and better known writings. His first sight of
the Alhambra is given in a letter to Mademoiselle Bollviller:--

"Our journey through La Mancha was cold and uninteresting,
excepting when we passed through the scenes of some of the exploits
of Don Quixote. We were repaid, however, by a night amidst the
scenery of the Sierra Morena, seen by the light of the full moon. I
do not know how this scenery would appear in the daytime, but by
moonlight it is wonderfully wild and romantic, especially after
passing the summit of the Sierra. As the day dawned we entered the
stern and savage defiles of the Despena Perros, which equals the
wild landscapes of Salvator Rosa. For some time we continued
winding along the brinks of precipices, overhung with cragged and
fantastic rocks; and after a succession of such rude and sterile
scenes we swept down to Carolina, and found ourselves in another
climate. The orange-trees, the aloes, and myrtle began to make
their appearance; we felt the warm temperature of the sweet South,
and began to breathe the balmy air of Andalusia. At Andujar we were
delighted with the neatness and cleanliness of the houses, the
_patios_ planted with orange and citron trees, and refreshed by
fountains. We passed a charming evening on the banks of the famous
Guadalquivir, enjoying the mild, balmy air of a southern evening,
and rejoicing in the certainty that we were at length in this land
of promise....

"But Granada, _bellissima_ Granada! Think what must have been our
delight when, after passing the famous bridge of Pinos, the scene
of many a bloody encounter between Moor and Christian, and
remarkable for having been the place where Columbus was overtaken
by the messenger of Isabella, when about to abandon Spain in
despair, we turned a promontory of the arid mountains of Elvira,
and Granada, with its towers, its Alhambra, and its snowy
mountains, burst upon our sight! The evening sun shone gloriously
upon its red towers as we approached it, and gave a mellow tone to
the rich scenery of the vega. It was like the magic glow which
poetry and romance have shed over this enchanting place....

"The more I contemplate these places, the more my admiration is
awakened for the elegant habits and delicate taste of the Moorish
monarchs. The delicately ornamented walls; the aromatic groves,
mingling with the freshness and the enlivening sounds of fountains
and rivers of water; the retired baths, bespeaking purity and
refinement; the balconies and galleries, open to the fresh mountain
breeze, and overlooking the loveliest scenery of the valley of the
Darro and the magnificent expanse of the vega,--it is impossible to
contemplate this delicious abode and not feel an admiration of the
genius and the poetical spirit of those who first devised this
earthly paradise. There is an intoxication of heart and soul in
looking over such scenery at this genial season. All nature is just
teeming with new life, and putting on the first delicate verdure
and bloom of spring. The almond-trees are in blossom; the fig-trees
are beginning to sprout; everything is in the tender bud, the
young leaf, or the half-open flower. The beauty of the season is
but half developed, so that while there is enough to yield present
delight there is the flattering promise of still further enjoyment.
Good heavens! after passing two years amidst the sunburnt wastes of
Castile, to be let loose to rove at large over this fragrant and
lovely land!"

It was not easy, however, even in the Alhambra, perfectly to call up the
past:--

"The verity of the present checks and chills the imagination in its
picturings of the past. I have been trying to conjure up images of
Boabdil passing in regal splendor through these courts; of his
beautiful queen; of the Abencerrages, the Gomares, and the other
Moorish cavaliers, who once filled these halls with the glitter of
arms and the splendor of Oriental luxury; but I am continually
awakened from my reveries by the jargon of an Andalusian peasant
who is setting out rose-bushes, and the song of a pretty Andalusian
girl who shows the Alhambra, and who is chanting a little romance
that has probably been handed down from generation to generation
since the time of the Moors."

In another letter, written from Seville, he returns to the subject of
the Moors. He is describing an excursion to Alcala de la Guadayra:--

"Nothing can be more charming than the windings of the little river
among banks hanging with gardens and orchards of all kinds of
delicate southern fruits, and tufted with flowers and aromatic
plants. The nightingales throng this lovely little valley as
numerously as they do the gardens of Aranjuez. Every bend of the
river presents a new landscape, for it is beset by old Moorish
mills of the most picturesque forms, each mill having an embattled
tower,--a memento of the valiant tenure by which those gallant
fellows, the Moors, held this earthly paradise, having to be ready
at all times for war, and as it were to work with one hand and
fight with the other. It is impossible to travel about Andalusia
and not imbibe a kind feeling for those Moors. They deserved this
beautiful country. They won it bravely; they enjoyed it generously
and kindly. No lover ever delighted more to cherish and adorn a
mistress, to heighten and illustrate her charms, and to vindicate
and defend her against all the world than did the Moors to
embellish, enrich, elevate, and defend their beloved Spain.
Everywhere I meet traces of their sagacity, courage, urbanity, high
poetical feeling, and elegant taste. The noblest institutions in
this part of Spain, the best inventions for comfortable and
agreeable living, and all those habitudes and customs which throw a
peculiar and Oriental charm over the Andalusian mode of living may
be traced to the Moors. Whenever I enter these beautiful marble
_patios_, set out with shrubs and flowers, refreshed by fountains,
sheltered with awnings from the sun; where the air is cool at
noonday, the ear delighted in sultry summer by the sound of falling
water; where, in a word, a little paradise is shut up within the
walls of home, I think on the poor Moors, the inventors of all
these delights. I am at times almost ready to join in sentiment
with a worthy friend and countryman of mine whom I met in Malaga,
who swears the Moors are the only people that ever deserved the
country, and prays to Heaven that they may come over from Africa
and conquer it again."

In a following paragraph we get a glimpse of a world, however, that the
author loves still more:--

"Tell me everything about the children. I suppose the discreet
princess will soon consider it an indignity to be ranked among the
number. I am told she is growing with might and main, and is
determined not to stop until she is a woman outright. I would give
all the money in my pocket to be with those dear little women at
the round table in the saloon, or on the grass-plot in the garden,
to tell them some marvelous tales."

And again:--

"Give my love to all my dear little friends of the round table,
from the discreet princess down to the little blue-eyed boy. Tell
_la petite Marie_ that I still remain true to her, though
surrounded by all the beauties of Seville; and that I swear (but
this she must keep between ourselves) that there is not a little
woman to compare with her in all Andalusia."

The publication of "The Life of Columbus," which had been delayed by
Irving's anxiety to secure historical accuracy in every detail, did not
take place till February, 1828. For the English copyright Mr. Murray
paid him L3,150. He wrote an abridgment of it, which he presented to his
generous publisher, and which was a very profitable book (the first
edition of ten thousand copies sold immediately). This was followed by
the "Companions," and by "The Chronicle of the Conquest of Granada," for
which he received two thousand guineas. "The Alhambra" was not published
till just before Irving's return to America, in 1832, and was brought
out by Mr. Bentley, who bought it for one thousand guineas.

"The Conquest of Granada," which I am told Irving in his latter years
regarded as the best of all his works, was declared by Coleridge "a
_chef-d'oeuvre_ of its kind." I think it bears re-reading as well as any
of the Spanish books. Of the reception of the "Columbus" the author was
very doubtful. Before it was finished he wrote:--

"I have lost confidence in the favorable disposition of my
countrymen, and look forward to cold scrutiny and stern criticism,
and this is a line of writing in which I have not hitherto
ascertained my own powers. Could I afford it, I should like to
write, and to lay my writings aside when finished. There is an
independent delight in study and in the creative exercise of the
pen; we live in a world of dreams, but publication lets in the
noisy rabble of the world, and there is an end of our dreaming."

In a letter to Brevoort, February 23, 1828, he fears that he can never
regain

"That delightful confidence which I once enjoyed of not the good
opinion, but the good will, of my countrymen. To me it is always
ten times more gratifying to be liked than to be admired; and I
confess to you, though I am a little too proud to confess it to the
world, the idea that the kindness of my countrymen toward me was
withering caused me for a long time the most weary depression of
spirits, and disheartened me from making any literary exertions."

It has been a popular notion that Irving's career was uniformly one of
ease. In this same letter he exclaims: "With all my exertions, I seem
always to keep about up to my chin in troubled water, while the world, I
suppose, thinks I am sailing smoothly, with wind and tide in my favor."

In a subsequent letter to Brevoort, dated at Seville, December 26, 1828,
occurs almost the only piece of impatience and sarcasm that this long
correspondence affords. "Columbus" had succeeded beyond his expectation,
and its popularity was so great that some enterprising American had
projected an abridgment, which it seems would not be protected by the
copyright of the original. Irving writes:--

"I have just sent to my brother an abridgment of 'Columbus' to be
published immediately, as I find some paltry fellow is pirating an
abridgment. Thus every line of life has its depredation. 'There be
land rats and water rats, land pirates and water pirates,--I mean
thieves,' as old Shylock says. I feel vexed at this shabby attempt
to purloin this work from me, it having really cost me more toil
and trouble than all my other productions, and being one that I
trusted would keep me current with my countrymen; but we are making
rapid advances in literature in America, and have already attained
many of the literary vices and diseases of the old countries of
Europe. We swarm with reviewers, though we have scarce original
works sufficient for them to alight and prey upon, and we closely
imitate all the worst tricks of the trade and of the craft in
England. Our literature, before long, will be like some of those
premature and aspiring whipsters, who become old men before they
are young ones, and fancy they prove their manhood by their
profligacy and their diseases."

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