Washington Irving by Charles Dudley Warner

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When Irving reached Madrid the affairs of the kingdom had assumed a
powerful dramatic interest, wanting in none of the romantic elements
that characterize the whole history of the peninsula. "The future career
[he writes] of this gallant soldier, Espartero, whose merits and
services have placed him at the head of the government, and the future
fortunes of these isolated little princesses, the Queen and her sister,
have an uncertainty hanging about them worthy of the fifth act in a
melodrama." The drama continued, with constant shifting of scene, as
long as Irving remained in Spain, and gave to his diplomatic life
intense interest, and at times perilous excitement. His letters are full
of animated pictures of the changing progress of the play; and although
they belong rather to the gossip of history than to literary biography,
they cannot be altogether omitted. The duties which the minister had to
perform were unusual, delicate, and difficult; but I believe he
acquitted himself of them with the skill of a born diplomatist. When he
went to Spain before, in 1826, Ferdinand VII. was, by aid of French
troops, on the throne, the liberties of the kingdom were crushed, and
her most enlightened men were in exile. While he still resided there, in
1829, Ferdinand married, for his fourth wife, Maria Christina, sister of
the King of Naples, and niece of the Queen of Louis Philippe. By her he
had two daughters, his only children. In order that his own progeny
might succeed him, he set aside the Salique law (which had been imposed
by France) just before his death, in 1833, and revived the old Spanish
law of succession. His eldest daughter, then three years old, was
proclaimed Queen, by the name of Isabella II., and her mother guardian
during her minority, which would end at the age of fourteen. Don Carlos,
the king's eldest brother, immediately set up the standard of rebellion,
supported by the absolutist aristocracy, the monks, and a great part of
the clergy. The liberals rallied to the Queen. The Queen Regent did
not, however, act in good faith with the popular party: she resisted all
salutary reform, would not restore the Constitution of 1812 until
compelled to by a popular uprising, and disgraced herself by a
scandalous connection with one Munos, one of the royal body guards. She
enriched this favorite and amassed a vast fortune for herself, which she
sent out of the country. In 1839, when Don Carlos was driven out of the
country by the patriot soldier Espartero, she endeavored to gain him
over to her side, but failed. Espartero became Regent, and Maria
Christina repaired to Paris, where she was received with great
distinction by Louis Philippe, and Paris became the focus of all sorts
of machinations against the constitutional government of Spain, and of
plots for its overthrow. One of these had just been defeated at the time
of Irving's arrival. It was a desperate attempt of a band of soldiers of
the rebel army to carry off the little Queen and her sister, which was
frustrated only by the gallant resistance of the halberdiers in the
palace. The little princesses had scarcely recovered from the horror of
this night attack when our minister presented his credentials to the
Queen through the Regent, thus breaking a diplomatic dead-lock, in which
he was followed by all the other embassies except the French. I take
some passages from the author's description of his first audience at the
royal palace:--

"We passed through the spacious court, up the noble staircase, and
through the long suites of apartments of this splendid edifice,
most of them silent and vacant, the casements closed to keep out
the heat, so that a twilight reigned throughout the mighty pile,
not a little emblematical of the dubious fortunes of its inmates.
It seemed more like traversing a convent than a palace. I ought to
have mentioned that in ascending the grand staircase we found the
portal at the head of it, opening into the royal suite of
apartments, still bearing the marks of the midnight attack upon the
palace in October last, when an attempt was made to get possession
of the persons of the little Queen and her sister, to carry them
off.... The marble casements of the doors had been shattered in
several places, and the double doors themselves pierced all over
with bullet holes, from the musketry that played upon them from the
staircase during that eventful night. What must have been the
feelings of those poor children, on listening, from their
apartment, to the horrid tumult, the outcries of a furious
multitude, and the reports of fire-arms echoing and reverberating
through the vaulted halls and spacious courts of this immense
edifice, and dubious whether their own lives were not the object of
the assault!

"After passing through various chambers of the palace, now silent
and sombre, but which I had traversed in former days, on grand
court occasions in the time of Ferdinand VII., when they were
glittering with all the splendor of a court, we paused in a great
saloon, with high-vaulted ceiling incrusted with florid devices in
porcelain, and hung with silken tapestry, but all in dim twilight,
like the rest of the palace. At one end of the saloon the door
opened to an almost interminable range of other chambers, through
which, at a distance, we had a glimpse of some indistinct figures
in black. They glided into the saloon slowly, and with noiseless
steps. It was the little Queen, with her governess, Madame Mina,
widow of the general of that name, and her guardian, the excellent
Arguelles, all in deep mourning for the Duke of Orleans. The little
Queen advanced some steps within the saloon and then paused. Madame
Mina took her station a little distance behind her. The Count
Almodovar then introduced me to the Queen in my official capacity,
and she received me with a grave and quiet welcome, expressed in a
very low voice. She is nearly twelve years of age, and is
sufficiently well grown for her years. She had a somewhat fair
complexion, quite pale, with bluish or light gray eyes; a grave
demeanor, but a graceful deportment. I could not but regard her
with deep interest, knowing what important concerns depended upon
the life of this fragile little being, and to what a stormy and
precarious career she might be destined. Her solitary position,
also, separated from all her kindred except her little sister, a
mere effigy of royalty in the hands of statesmen, and surrounded by
the formalities and ceremonials of state, which spread sterility
around the occupant of a throne."

I have quoted this passage not more on account of its intrinsic
interest, than as a specimen of the author's consummate art of conveying
an impression by what I may call the tone of his style; and this appears
in all his correspondence relating to this picturesque and eventful
period. During the four years of his residence the country was in a
constant state of excitement and often of panic. Armies were marching
over the kingdom. Madrid was in a state of siege, expecting an assault
at one time; confusion reigned amid the changing adherents about the
person of the child Queen. The duties of a minister were perplexing
enough, when the Spanish government was changing its character and its
_personnel_ with the rapidity of shifting scenes in a pantomime. "This
consumption of ministers," wrote Irving to Mr. Webster, "is appalling.
To carry on a negotiation with such transient functionaries is like
bargaining at the window of a railroad car: before you can get a reply
to a proposition the other party is out of sight."

Apart from politics, Irving's residence was full of half-melancholy
recollections and associations. In a letter to his old comrade Prince
Dolgorouki, then Russian Minister at Naples, he recalls the days of
their delightful intercourse at the D'Oubrils:--

"Time dispels charms and illusions. You remember how much I was
struck with a beautiful young woman (I will not mention names) who
appeared in a tableau as Murillo's Virgin of the Assumption? She
was young, recently married, fresh and unhackneyed in society, and
my imagination decked her out with everything that was pure,
lovely, innocent, and angelic in womanhood. She was pointed out to
me in the theatre shortly after my arrival in Madrid. I turned with
eagerness to the original of the picture that had ever remained
hung up in sanctity in my mind. I found her still handsome, though
somewhat matronly in appearance, seated, _with her daughters,_ in
the box of a fashionable nobleman, younger than herself, rich in
purse but poor in intellect, and who was openly and notoriously her
_cavalier servante_. The charm was broken, the picture fell from
the wall. She may have the customs of a depraved country and
licentious state of society to excuse her; but I can never think of
her again in the halo of feminine purity and loveliness that
surrounded the Virgin of Murillo."

During Irving's ministry he was twice absent, briefly in Paris and
London, and was called to the latter place for consultation in regard to
the Oregon boundary dispute, in the settlement of which he rendered
valuable service. Space is not given me for further quotations from
Irving's brilliant descriptions of court, characters, and society in
that revolutionary time, nor of his half-melancholy pilgrimage to the
southern scenes of his former reveries. But I will take a page from a
letter to his sister, Mrs. Paris, describing his voyage from Barcelona
to Marseilles, which exhibits the lively susceptibility of the author
and diplomat who was then in his sixty-first year:--

"While I am writing at a table in the cabin, I am sensible of the
power of a pair of splendid Spanish eyes which are occasionally
flashing upon me, and which almost seem to throw a light upon the
paper. Since I cannot break the spell, I will describe the owner of
them. She is a young married lady, about four or five and twenty,
middle sized, finely modeled, a Grecian outline of face, a
complexion sallow yet healthful, raven black hair, eyes dark,
large, and beaming, softened by long eyelashes, lips full and rosy
red, yet finely chiseled, and teeth of dazzling whiteness. She is
dressed in black, as if in mourning; on one hand is a black glove;
the other hand, ungloved, is small, exquisitely formed, with taper
fingers and blue veins. She has just put it up to adjust her
clustering black locks. I never saw female hand more exquisite.
Really, if I were a young man, I should not be able to draw the
portrait of this beautiful creature so calmly.

"I was interrupted in my letter writing, by an observation of the
lady whom I was describing. She had caught my eye occasionally, as
it glanced from my letter toward her. 'Really, Senor,' said she, at
length, with a smile, 'one would think you were a painter taking my
likeness.' I could not resist the impulse. 'Indeed,' said I, 'I am
taking it; I am writing to a friend the other side of the world,
discussing things that are passing before me, and I could not help
noting down one of the best specimens of the country that I had met
with.' A little bantering took place between the young lady, her
husband, and myself, which ended in my reading off, as well as I
could into Spanish, the description I had just written down. It
occasioned a world of merriment, and was taken in excellent part.
The lady's cheek, for once, mantled with the rose. She laughed,
shook her head, and said I was a very fanciful portrait painter;
and the husband declared that, if I would stop at St. Filian, all
the ladies in the place would crowd to have their portraits
taken,--my pictures were so flattering. I have just parted with
them. The steamship stopped in the open sea, just in front of the
little bay of St. Filian; boats came off from shore for the party.
I helped the beautiful original of the portrait into the boat, and
promised her and her husband if ever I should come to St. Filian I
would pay them a visit. The last I noticed of her was a Spanish
farewell wave of her beautiful white hand, and the gleam of her
dazzling teeth as she smiled adieu. So there's a very tolerable
touch of romance for a gentleman of my years."

When Irving announced his recall from the court of Madrid, the young
Queen said to him in reply: "You may take with you into private life the
intimate conviction that your frank and loyal conduct has contributed to
draw closer the amicable relations which exist between North America and
the Spanish nation, and that your distinguished personal merits have
gained in my heart the appreciation which you merit by more than one
title." The author was anxious to return. From the midst of court life
in April, 1845, he had written: "I long to be once more back at dear
little Sunnyside, while I have yet strength and good spirits to enjoy
the simple pleasures of the country, and to rally a happy family group
once more about me. I grudge every year of absence that rolls by.
To-morrow is my birthday. I shall then be sixty-two years old. The
evening of life is fast drawing over me; still I hope to get back among
my friends while there is a little sunshine left."

It was the 19th of September, 1846, says his biographer, "when the
impatient longing of his heart was gratified, and he found himself
restored to his home for the thirteen years of happy life still
remaining to him."

CHAPTER IX.

THE CHARACTERISTIC WORKS.

The Knickerbocker's "History of New York" and the "Sketch-Book" never
would have won for Irving the gold medal of the Royal Society of
Literature, or the degree of D.C.L. from Oxford.

However much the world would have liked frankly to honor the writer for
that which it most enjoyed and was under most obligations for, it would
have been a violent shock to the constitution of things to have given
such honor to the mere humorist and the writer of short sketches. The
conventional literary proprieties must be observed. Only some laborious,
solid, and improving work of the pen could sanction such distinction,--a
book of research or an historical composition. It need not necessarily
be dull, but it must be grave in tone and serious in intention, in order
to give the author high recognition.

Irving himself shared this opinion. He hoped, in the composition of his
"Columbus" and his "Washington," to produce works which should justify
the good opinion his countrymen had formed of him, should reasonably
satisfy the expectations excited by his lighter books, and lay for him
the basis of enduring reputation. All that he had done before was the
play of careless genius, the exercise of frolicsome fancy, which might
amuse and perhaps win an affectionate regard for the author, but could
not justify a high respect or secure a permanent place in literature.
For this, some work of scholarship and industry was needed.

And yet everybody would probably have admitted that there was but one
man then living who could have created and peopled the vast and humorous
world of the Knickerbockers; that all the learning of Oxford and
Cambridge together would not enable a man to draw the whimsical portrait
of Ichabod Crane, or to outline the fascinating legend of Rip Van
Winkle; while Europe was full of scholars of more learning than Irving,
and writers of equal skill in narrative, who might have told the story
of Columbus as well as he told it and perhaps better. The
under-graduates of Oxford who hooted their admiration of the shy author
when he appeared in the theatre to receive his complimentary degree
perhaps understood this, and expressed it in their shouts of "Diedrich
Knickerbocker," "Ichabod Crane," "Rip Van Winkle."

Irving's "gift" was humor; and allied to this was sentiment. These
qualities modified and restrained each other; and it was by these that
he touched the heart. He acquired other powers which he himself may have
valued more highly, and which brought him more substantial honors; but
the historical compositions, which he and his contemporaries regarded as
a solid basis of fame, could be spared without serious loss, while the
works of humor, the first fruits of his genius, are possessions in
English literature the loss of which would be irreparable. The world may
never openly allow to humor a position "above the salt," but it clings
to its fresh and original productions, generation after generation,
finding room for them in its accumulating literary baggage, while more
"important" tomes of scholarship and industry strew the line of its
march.

I feel that this study of Irving as a man of letters would be
incomplete, especially for the young readers of this generation, if it
did not contain some more extended citations from those works upon which
we have formed our estimate of his quality. We will take first a few
passages from the "History of New York."

* * * * *

It has been said that Irving lacked imagination. That, while he had
humor and feeling and fancy, he was wanting in the higher quality, which
is the last test of genius. We have come to attach to the word
"imagination" a larger meaning than the mere reproduction in the mind of
certain absent objects of sense that have been perceived; there must be
a suggestion of something beyond these, and an ennobling suggestion, if
not a combination, that amounts to a new creation. Now, it seems to me
that the transmutation of the crude and theretofore unpoetical
materials, which he found in the New World, into what is as absolute a
creation as exists in literature, was a distinct work of the
imagination. Its humorous quality does not interfere with its largeness
of outline, nor with its essential poetic coloring. For, whimsical and
comical as is the "Knickerbocker" creation, it is enlarged to the
proportion of a realm, and over that new country of the imagination is
always the rosy light of sentiment.

This largeness of modified conception cannot be made apparent in such
brief extracts as we can make, but they will show its quality and the
author's humor. The Low-Dutch settlers of the Nieuw Nederlandts are
supposed to have sailed from Amsterdam in a ship called the Goede Vrouw,
built by the carpenters of that city, who always model their ships on
the fair forms of their countrywomen. This vessel, whose beauteous model
was declared to be the greatest belle in Amsterdam, had one hundred feet
in the beam, one hundred feet in the keel, and one hundred feet from the
bottom of the stern-post to the taffrail. Those illustrious adventurers
who sailed in her landed on the Jersey flats, preferring a marshy
ground, where they could drive piles and construct dykes. They made a
settlement at the Indian village of Communipaw, the egg from which was
hatched the mighty city of New York. In the author's time this place had
lost its importance:--

"Communipaw is at present but a small village pleasantly situated,
among rural scenery, on that beauteous part of the Jersey shore
which was known in ancient legends by the name of Pavonia,[1] and
commands a grand prospect of the superb bay of New York. It is
within but half an hour's sail of the latter place, provided you
have a fair wind, and may be distinctly seen from the city. Nay, it
is a well-known fact, which I can testify from my own experience,
that on a clear still summer evening, you may hear, from the
Battery of New York, the obstreperous peals of broad-mouthed
laughter of the Dutch negroes at Communipaw, who, like most other
negroes, are famous for their risible powers. This is peculiarly
the case on Sunday evenings, when, it is remarked by an ingenious
and observant philosopher who has made great discoveries in the
neighborhood of this city, that they always laugh loudest, which he
attributes to the circumstance of their having their holiday
clothes on.

"These negroes, in fact, like the monks of the dark ages, engross
all the knowledge of the place, and being infinitely more
adventurous and more knowing than their masters, carry on all the
foreign trade; making frequent voyages to town in canoes loaded
with oysters, buttermilk, and cabbages. They are great astrologers,
predicting the different changes of weather almost as accurately as
an almanac; they are moreover exquisite performers on
three-stringed fiddles; in whistling they almost boast the
far-famed powers of Orpheus's lyre, for not a horse or an ox in the
place, when at the plough or before the wagon, will budge a foot
until he hears the well-known whistle of his black driver and
companion. And from their amazing skill at casting up accounts upon
their fingers, they are regarded with as much veneration us were
the disciples of Pythagoras of yore, when initiated into the sacred
quaternary of numbers.

"As to the honest burghers of Communipaw, like wise men and sound
philosophers, they never look beyond their pipes, nor trouble their
heads about any affairs out of their immediate neighborhood; so
that they live in profound and enviable ignorance of all the
troubles, anxieties, and revolutions of this distracted planet. I
am even told that many among them do verily believe that Holland,
of which they have heard so much from tradition, is situated
somewhere on Long Island,--that _Spiking-devil_ and _the Narrows_
are the two ends of the world,--that the country is still under the
dominion of their High Mightinesses,--and that the city of New York
still goes by the name of Nieuw Amsterdam. They meet every Saturday
afternoon at the only tavern in the place, which bears as a sign a
square-headed likeness of the Prince of Orange, where they smoke a
silent pipe, by way of promoting social conviviality, and
invariably drink a mug of cider to the success of Admiral Van
Tromp, who they imagine is still sweeping the British channel with
a broom at his mast-head.

"Communipaw, in short, is one of the numerous little villages in
the vicinity of this most beautiful of cities, which are so many
strongholds and fastnesses, whither the primitive manners of our
Dutch forefathers have retreated, and where they are cherished with
devout and scrupulous strictness. The dress of the original
settlers is handed down inviolate, from father to son: the
identical broad-brimmed hat, broad-skirted coat, and broad-bottomed
breeches, continue from generation to generation; and several
gigantic knee-buckles of massy silver are still in wear, that made
gallant display in the days of the patriarchs of Communipaw. The
language likewise continues unadulterated by barbarous innovations;
and so critically correct is the village schoolmaster in his
dialect, that his reading of a Low-Dutch psalm has much the same
effect on the nerves as the filing of a handsaw."

[Footnote 1: Pavonia in the ancient maps, is given to a tract
of country extending from about Hoboken to Amboy.]

The early prosperity of this settlement is dwelt on with satisfaction by
the author:--

"The neighboring Indians in a short time became accustomed to the
uncouth sound of the Dutch language, and an intercourse gradually
took place between them and the new-comers. The Indians were much
given to long talks, and the Dutch to long silence;--in this
particular, therefore, they accommodated each other completely. The
chiefs would make long speeches about the big bull, the Wabash, and
the Great Spirit, to which the others would listen very
attentively, smoke their pipes, and grunt _yah, mynher_,--whereat
the poor savages were wondrously delighted. They instructed the new
settlers in the best art of curing and smoking tobacco, while the
latter, in return, made them drunk with true Hollands,--and then
taught them the art of making bargains.

"A brisk trade for furs was soon opened; the Dutch traders were
scrupulously honest in their dealings and purchased by weight,
establishing it as an invariable table of avoirdupois, that the
hand of a Dutchman weighed one pound, and his foot two pounds. It
is true, the simple Indians were often puzzled by the great
disproportion between bulk and weight, for let them place a bundle
of furs, never so large, in one scale, and a Dutchman put his hand
or foot in the other, the bundle was sure to kick the beam;--never
was a package of furs known to weigh more than two pounds in the
market of Communipaw!

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