B^^^^fflgSig^g^ pCLECTIC -:2_ '■O^ !^!SESSQZ^ /A-:<''CA.yvv ,s*A^>w r^\-■<>>>^ ?:^V!^^:^^^.^>-:^3j^>:^^l^i;;-^ TALES OF A TRAVELER WASHINGTON IRVING N^w'^rk • Cincinnati • ChicagjO- Amkrican-Book- Company- r ^a«"«a ai % < ii ' ^WAaa&BJ&wuwA>»kWA^^^'i^%8 aaB^ LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. Qlpiut..... GnpijngTjl fa. Shelf .aAI a3 + UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. A-i^ ^r ECLECTIC ENGLISH CLASSICS f TALES OF A TRAVELER ' BY V WASHINGTON IRVING i ^7^'"^^^ / NEW YORK • : . CINCINNATI • : . CHICAGO AMERICAN BOOK COMPANY 1894 (y^ .0^^ Copyright, 1865, by George P. Putnam. Copyright, 1894, by American Book Company. Published by permission of Messrs. G. P. Putnam's Sons, publishers of the complete and authorized editions of Irving's works. |^r{nte^ b? TIQlilUam Hvieon •ftew lioxk, XX. S. H. INTRODUCTION. Washington Irving was born in New York City on April 3^ 1783. He was the youngest son of William Irving, a Scotchman of excellent family, and Sarah Irving, a charming woman of Eng- lish descent. As a lad, Washington was noted for his fun-loving spirit, which developed later into that rich vein of humor which has become the admiration of the world. He entered school at the early age of four, and his school education extended to his sixteenth year. He was never an ambitious student, but he was a voracious reader, and drew from his father's well-stocked library the material for his literary training. At the age of eleven, books of travel became his delight, and he read and re-read " Robinson Crusoe," '' Sindbad the Sailor," and others of a like character. They awoke in him that great passion for traveling to which we owe much that is best in his works. At the age of sixteen he entered a law office, but he was a careless student, and never acquired a taste for the profession. He relieved the monotony of his work by continual reading, and by rambles in and about New York. In 1800 he made a mem- orable voyage up the Hudson, where he gathered man);' impres- sions which he later gave to the world in his ** Sketch Book." About this time, in 1802, he made his first literary venture by contributing to the *' Morning Chronicle " (a paper edited by his brother Peter) a series of sketches signed "Jonathan Oldstyle." 5 6 IXTRODUCTIOX. In 1804, at the instance of his brothers, he sailed for Europe. He traveled through France, Italy, Switzerland, Holland, and England, gathering a rich store of experiences and materials for future use. On his return to New York in 1806, with restored health, he resumed his study of law and was admitted to the bar ; but he still showed httle liking for his profession. In 1807 he was associated with his brother William and with James K. Pauld- ing in the pubhcation of a humorous and satirical serial, " Sal- magundi," somewhat on the style of the "Spectator." In 1808 the " Knickerbocker History of New York " was begun by Peter and Washington Irvang, as a burlesque on a handbook of New York City, which had just been published. Peter, however, was obliged to sail for Europe, and Washington finished and expanded the work into a different conception. It was published in 1809, and established the author's fame. In 1810 he became a silent partner in a commercial house established by his brothers in New York and Liverpool. At the same time he was connected with the "Analectic Magazine" of Philadelphia, to which he contributed a number of sketches. In 181 5 he sailed for England. Just about this time, financial troubles began to threaten the house, and his brother Peter being ill, much business of a commercial nature devolved upon Wash- ington. This was peculiarly irksome to him, but he reheved the tedium by traveling, by intercourse with his many literary friends, among whom were Sir Walter Scott and Thomas Moore, and by a careful observation of English life. In 1 818 the house became bankrupt, and Irving was obliged to seek some means of support. Nevertheless, a clerkship in the United States Navy Department, as well as an editorship offered him by Scott, were refused. He began to feel confidence in his IXTRODUCTION. 7 own literary powers, and cast himself upon the fortune of his pen. The "Sketch Book," published in New York in 1818 and in England in 1820, met with unqualified success. The charm of its beauty and freshness received universal recognition. This was followed by " Bracebridge HaU " in 1822, and "Tales of a Traveler " in 1824. In 1826 Irving went to Spain, for the purpose of making a translation of some important Spanish documents relating to the life of Columbus ; but he became so imbued with the subject that he abandoned the project, and produced instead his own " His- tory of the Life and Voyages of Columbus," a masterpiece, pub- lished in 1828. His travels through Spain, which were prolonged till 1829, resulted in some of the best work his pen has produced, — "The Conquest of Granada" (1829), "The Companions of Columbus " (1831), " Legends of the Conquest of Spain " (1835), and that most beautiful series of sketches, " The Alhambra " (1832). In 1829 Irving returned to London as Secretary of Legation in England. In 1831 the University of Oxford conferred on him the degree of LL.D. In 1832, after an absence of seventeen years, he returned to New York, where he was received with the utmost enthusiasm. An extended toiu: through the West resulted in the publication of a number of sketches which comprise part of " The Crayon Miscellany." Having bought Sunnyside on the Hudson, near Tarr)'town, he began to fit it up to suit his own taste. In 1836 appeared "Astoria," and in 1837, "The Adventures of Captain Bonneville." From 1839 to 1841 he wrote for the " Knicker- bocker Magazine " a series of essays, which were later collected and published under the title of " Wolfert's Roost." In 1846 8 IXTRODUCTIOX. In-ing reluctantly left home as Minister to Spain, which post he occupied for four years. In 1848 Mr. George Putnam undertook the republication of Innng's works, their sale ha\nng died out. An edition of fifteen volumes, completed in 1850, met with an unprecedented success, the sale reaching 250,000 volumes. The last years of Ir\-ing's life were spent on biographical sketches, — "The Life of Goldsmith" (1849), "The Life of Mahomet and his Successors" (1849), and his last and most extensive work, " The Life of Washington," in five volumes (1855—59), completed three months before his death. Irving died on Xov. 28, 1859, in his home at Sunnyside, surrounded by lo\nng nephews and nieces. As a fitting close to this notice of his hfe, we reproduce here a beautiful picture of In-ing, given us by Bryant in his " Me- morial Address " : " That amiable character which makes itself so manifest in the writings of Irving was seen in all his daily actions. He was ever ready to do kind offices, tender of the feehngs of others, care- fully just, but ever leaning to the merciful side of justice, averse from strife, and so modest that the world never ceased to wonder how it should have happened that one so much praised should have gained so little assurance. He envied no man's success, he sought to detract from no man's merits, but he was acutely sensitive both to praise and to blame. He thought so little of himself that he could never comprehend why it was that he should be the object of curiosity or reverence." With Irving began the literary activity of our country. Such works as were produced before his time were mere imitations of British models ; our hterar)- independence was yet to be declared. INTRODUCTION. 9 But Irving's originality was so marked as to gain him instant recognition on both sides of the Atlantic. Others followed thick and fast in his footsteps, representatives of every department of literature, — Cooper, Emerson, Lowell, Bryant, Hawthorne, Long- fellow, Whittier, Holmes, — and soon our literary reputation was established. When we stop to inquire what it was in Irving's works which thus took the world by storm, we find that it was his own person- ality infused into his writings. Simplicity, grace, sentiment, and humor in his lighter writings ; truth, earnestness, sympathy, and unbiased judgment in his graver works, — ^ these were the qualities which gained for Irving his position in the world of letters, and which endeared him to all with whom he came in contact. No subject was too light or trivial to be transmuted by his genius into a matter of absorbing interest, or to acquire through his pen a new and unsuspected charm. The " Tales of a Traveler " are in one sense especially charac- teristic of Irving, as he was essentially a traveler. They are frag- ments picked up from here, there, and everywhere, molded into a perfect whole by the art of a genius. The characters are wonder- fully true to life, and, considering their wide range and diversity, we cannot but marvel at the author's keen insight and penetra- tion. He himself considered these tales as by far the best work he had undertaken, an opinion which is apt to surprise us if we judge from the plots alone, for they certainly lack the fresh- ness and originality of those in the " Sketch Book." But these plots were undoubtedly written to meet what the author felt to be a popular demand. In " Buckthorne " the aspiring author is told that " poetry is a mere drug ; tales of pirates, robbers, and 1 o INTROD UCTIOX. bloody Turks might answer tolerably well, but then they must come from some established, well-known name, or the public would not look at them." Irving was the more willing to accede to this demand because he considered the plot as of minor im- portance. " For my part," he says, " I consider a story merely as a frame on which to stretch my materials. It is the play of thought and sentiment and language ; the weaving in of charac- ters, lightly yet expressly delineated ; the familiar and faithful exhibition of scenes in common life ; and the half -concealed vein of humor that is often playing through the whole, — these are among what I am at, and upon which I felicitate myself in pro- portion as I think I succeed." Viewed in this light, these tales will not be found wanting, for the faithful delineation of the characters, the easy, flowing style, the beautiful descriptions of scenery, and the rare touches of humor and pathos, are equal to anything the author has pro- duced. The stories are divided into four parts, each of which represents a distinct type of plot. Each part is composed of a number of stories, distinct in themselves, but having a connecting link which binds them together somewhat on the plan of the "Arabian Nights' Entertainment." Part I., or " Strange Stories by a Nervous Gentleman," com- prises tales of a ghostly character. The connecting link in this part is " The Hunting Dinner." The guests at this dinner, de- tained over night by the inclemency of the weather, tax the accommodations of the house to the utmost, so that every odd comer is put into service. This suggests the haunted chamber, and leads to the narration of a number of queer and ghostly stories by the guests assembled round the fireside. On retiring to their respective apartments, one of them meets with an unenvi- IiVTR on UC TION. 1 1 able experience with a picture. This calls for explanations from the host, and furnishes the material for the remaining stories. Irving does not spoil his tales by attempting to directly explain away the mystery which envelops them ; but there is in each some element which might escape the careless reader, but which is in itself the full explanation. Thus, in one case, the hero, having eaten heavily, retires to rest with a mind excited by the stories he has heard. The strange dance of the furniture is accounted for by the fact that the bold dragoon "was apt to make blunders in his travels about inns at night, which it would have puzzled him sadly to account for in the morning." In the story of " The German Student," who went mad as the result of his horrible experience, our doubts are set at rest by the inquisitive gentleman, " who never seemed satisfied with the whole of a story ; never laughed when others laughed, but always put the joke to the question ; never could enjoy the kernel of the nut, but pestered himself to get more out of the shell." " 'And is this really a fact ? ' said the inquisitive gentleman. ' A fact not to be doubted,' replied the other. ' I had it from the best authority. The student told it me himself. I saw him in a madhouse in Paris.' " In Part IL, " Buckthorne and his Friends," Irving introduces us to literary life as he had observed it in London. ** Buck- thorne " was written as a part of " Bracebridge Hall," but Irv- ing's friends advised him to retain it as the groundwork of a novel, and to supply something else in its place. This he did ; but later he abandoned the project of a novel, and published the tale as at first conceived, with a few additional passages intro- duced into Buckthorne's hfe. The " Literary Dinner," curious as it is, had a personal foundation. " He has given the descrip- 12 INTRODUCTION. tion of the booksellers' dinner," says Thomas Moore, " so exactly like what I told him of one of the Longmans' (the carving part- ner, the partner to laugh at the popular author's jokes, the twelve- edition writers treated to claret, etc.), that I very much fear my friends in Paternoster Row will know themselves in the picture." Subsequently Moore gave the author an opportunity to improve the picture by personal observation. The encounter of the poor- devil author with the man in green is one of the most humorous incidents in the book ; and the strolling manager who was to be brought out as a theatrical wonder, with his cracked voice as the chief attraction, and all other faults attributed to the irregularities of genius, enlists our sympathy to such an extent that we grie\-e with him at the downfall of his hopes. Part III. comprises "The Itahan Banditti." The tales are developed on the same plan as those in Part I. The travelers, detained over night at an inn in a region alive with the rumors of highway robberies, pass their time by relating incidents of robberies that have come within their experience. On resum- ing their journey, they themselves have an encounter, with which these stories end. Here we find some splendid character por- traits, — the little antiquary, with his anxiety about his treatise on the Pelasgian cities ; the pompous English alderman ; the self- conscious robber chieftain who has missed his vocation of philan- thropy ; the phlegmatic Englishman ; and the indignant landlord who, baffled in his attempt to relate the adventure of the Popkins family, retires from the room exclaiming, " Popkin — Popkin — Popkin — pop — pop — pop." Part IV., "The Money Diggers," comprises legends of pirates and the searches after their buried wealth. Like " Rip Van Winkle" and "The Legend of Sleepy Hollow," these tales have INTROD UCTION. 1 3 our own country for background, and its beauties gain an added charm through the deHcate touches of Irving's pen. The stories, hke others in the book, are commonplace enough ; but while idly- following the fortunes of Wolfert Webber, we pick up by the way such gems as the following : " In the mean time, the seasons gradually rolled on. The little frogs which had piped in the meadows in early spring, croaked as bullfrogs during the sum- mer heats, and then sank into silence. The peach tree budded, blossomed, and bore its fruit. The swallows and martins came, twitted about the roof, built their nests, reared their young, held their congress along the eaves, and then winged their flight in search of another spring. The caterpillar spun its winding sheet, dangled in it from the great buttonwood tree before the house, turned into a moth, fluttered with the last sunshine of summer, and disappeared ; and finally the leaves of the buttonwood tree turned yellow, then brown, then rustled one by one to the ground, and whirling about in little eddies of wind and dust, whispered that winter was at hand." There was a time, no doubt, in the history of our country, when the reading of tales like these, with promises of sudden wealth, was fraught with a certain danger ; but now we can con- fidently place them in the hands of our children and let them dream awhile, if they will, secure in the thought that, as they grow older and breathe the practical atmosphere which to-day pervades everything, they will realize that the only treasures still buried are such as earnest work and study alone can unearth, and that the signposts of these hidden treasures direct to the paths of truth and virtue and industry. CONTENTS. PART I. STRANGE STORIES BY A NERVOUS GENTLEMAN. PAGE The Great Unknown 22 The Hunting Dinner 24 The Adventure of my Uncle 29 The Adventure of my Aunt ....... 44 The Bold Dragoon; or, The Adventure of my Grandfather . 49 Adventure of the German Student 59 Adventure of the Mysterious Picture ..... 66 Adventure of the Mysterious Stranger .... 75 The Story of the Young Italian ...... 84 PART II. BUCKTHORXE AND HIS FRIENDS. Literary Life . . . . . . . . . .115 A Literary Dinner 118 The Club of Queer Fellows . . . . . . .122 The Poor-devil Author .128 Notoriety ........... 152 A Practical Philosopher . . . . . . . -154 BUCKTHORNE, OR THE YoUNG MaN OF GREAT EXPECTATIONS . 1 57 Grave Reflections of a Disappointed Man . . . .216 The Booby Squire 222 The Strolling Manager 227 T " i6 CONTENTS. PART III. THE ITALIAN BANDITTI. PAGE The Inn at Terracina ........ 247 Adventure of the Little x\ntiquary 260 The Belated Travelers 270 Adventure of the Popkins Family ...... 286 The Painter's Adventure 292 The Story of the Bandit Chieftain . » . . . . 301 The Story of the Young Robber 314 The Adventure of the Englishman ...... 325 PART IV. THE MONEY DIGGERS. Hell Gate 335 Kidd the Pirate 339 The Devil and Tom Walker 346 Wolfert Webber, or Golden Dreams 361 Adventure of the Black Fisherman 386 PART I STRANGE STORIES BY A NERVOUS GENTLEMAN. I'll tell you more : there was a fish taken, A monstrous fish, with a sword by 's side, a long sword, A pike in 's neck, and a gun in 's nose, a huge gun, And letters of mart in 's mouth from the Duke of Florence. Cleanthes. This is a monstrous lie. To7ty. I do confess it. Do you think I'd tell you truths? Fletcher's Wife for a Month. 17 TO THE READER. WORTHY AND Dear Reader f— Hast thou ever been way- laid in the midst of a pleasant tour by some treacherous malady ? thy heels tripped up, and thou left to count the tedious minutes as they passed, in the solitude of an inn chamber ? If thou hast, thou wilt be able to pity me. Behold me, interrupted in the course of my journeying up the fair banks of the Rhine, and laid up by indisposition in this old frontier town of Mentz.^ I have worn out every source of amusement. I know the sound of every clock that strikes, and bell that rings, in the place. I know to a second when to listen for the first tap of the Prussian drum, as it summons the garrison to parade, or at what hour to expect the distant sound of the Austrian military band. All these have grown wearisome to me ; and even the well-known step of my doctor, as he slowly paces the corridor, with healing in the creak of his shoes, no longer affords an agreeable interruption to the monotony of my apartment. For a time I attempted to beguile the weary hours by study- ing German under the tuition of mine host's pretty little daugh- ter, Katrine ; but I soon found even German had not power to charm a languid ear, and that the conjugating of ich liebe"^ might be powerless, however rosy the lips which uttered it. I tried to read, but my mind would not fix itself. I turned over volume after volume, but threw them by with distaste. " Well, then," said I at length, in despair, " if I cannot read a book, I will write one." Never was there a more lucky idea ; it 1 A city of Germany, the capital of Rhenish Hesse, situated on the left bank of the Rhine. It is a fortress, and has a garrison of eight hundred men. 2 German for " I love." 19 20 WASHINGTON IRVING. at once gave me occupation and amusement. The writing of a book was considered in old times as an enterprise of toil and difficulty, insomuch that the most trifling lucubration was de- nominated a " work," and the worid talked with awe and rever- ence of " the labors of the learned." These matters are better understood nowadays. Thanks to the improvements in all kinds of manufactures, the art of bookmaking has been made familiar to the meanest capac- ity. Everybody is an author. The scribbling of a quarto is the mere pastime of the idle ; the young gentleman throws off his brace of duodecimos in the intervals of the sporting season, and the young lady produces her set of volumes with the same facil- ity that her great- grandmother worked a set of chair bottoms. The idea having struck me, therefore, to write a book, the reader will easily perceive that the execution of it was no diffi- cult matter. I rummaged my portfolio, and cast about in my recollection for those floating materials which a man naturally collects in traveling ; and here I have arranged them in this little work. As I know this to be a story-telhng and a story-reading age, and that the world is fond of being taught by apologue, I have digested ^ the instruction I would convey into a number of tales. They may not possess the power of amusement which the tales told by many of my contemporaries possess ; but then I value myself on the sound moral which each of them contains. This may not be apparent at first, but the reader will be sure to find it out in the end. I am for 2 curing the world by gentle altera- tives, not by violent doses ; indeed, the patient should never be conscious that he is taking a dose. I have learnt this much from experience under the hands of the worthy Hippocrates ^ of Mentz. I am not, therefore, for those barefaced tales which carry their 1 Distributed. 2 " I am for," i.e., I am in favor of. 3 A Greek physician (468-367 B.C.), called the " Father of Medicine; " hence, the doctor. TALES OF A TRAVELER. 2i moral on the surface, staring one in the face ; they are enough to deter the squeamish reader. On the contrary, I have often hid my moral from sight, and disguised it as much as possible by sweets and spices, so that while the simple reader is listening with open mouth to a ghost or a love story, he may have a bolus ^ of sound morality popped down his throat, and be never the wiser for the fraud. As the public is apt to be curious about the sources whence an author draws his stories, doubtless that it may know how far to put faith in them, I would observe that the "Adventure of the German Student," or rather the latter part of it, is founded on an anecdote related to me as existing somewhere in French ; and, indeed, I have been told, since writing it, that an ingenious tale has been founded on it by an English writer ; but I have never met with either the former or the latter in print. Some of the circumstances in the " Adventure of the Mysterious Picture," and in " The Story of the Young Italian," are vague recollections af anecdotes related to me some years since ; but from what source derived, I do not know. The adventure of the young painter among the banditti is taken almost entirely from an authentic narrative in manuscript. As to the other tales contained in this work, and indeed to my tales generally, I can make but one observation : I am an old traveler, I have read somewhat, heard and seen more, and dreamt more than all. My brain is filled, therefore, with all kinds of odds and ends. In traveling, these heterogeneous mat- ters have become shaken up in my mind, as the articles are apt to be in an ill-packed traveling trunk ; so that when I attempt to draw forth a fact, I cannot determine whether I have read, heard, or dreamt it ; and I am always at a loss to know how much to beheve of my own stories. These matters being premised, fall to,2 worthy reader, with good appetite, and, above all, with good humor, to what is here set before thee. If the tales I have furnished should prove to 1 A large pill. 2 " p^ll to," i.e., begin. 2 2 WASHINGTON IRVING. be bad, they will at least be found short ; so that no one will be wearied long on the same theme. " Variety is charming," as some poet observes. There is a certain relief in change, even though it be from bad to worse ! As I have often found in travehng in a stagecoach, that it is often a comfort to shift one's position, and be bruised in a new place. Ever thine, Geoffrey Crayon. ^ Dated from the Hotel de Darmstadt, ci-divani' HoTEL DE Paris, Mentz, otherwise called Mayence. THE GREAT UNKNOWN. THE following adventures were related to me by the same nerv^^ous gentleman who told me the romantic tale of " The Stout Gentleman," "^ published in " Bracebridge Hall." It is very singular that, although I expressly stated that story to have been told to me, and described the very person who told it, still it has been received as an adventure that happened to myself. Now I protest I never met wath any adventure of the kind. I should not have grieved at this, had it not been intimated by the author of " Waverley," in an introduction to his novel of '' Peveril of the Peak," that he was himself the stout gentleman alluded to. I have ever since been importuned by questions and letters from 1 Washington Irving's pen name. 2 Formerly. 3 The Stout Gentleman is the name of one of Irving's most humorous sketches. The nervous gentleman above referred to amuses himself on a rainy Sunday in a country inn by conjectures as to the personality and char- acter of an unknown " stout gentleman," who remains during the day shut up in a room in the inn. After greatly arousing the curiosity of the reader, the nervous gentleman manages just to get a glimpse of the rear of a perst)n getting into a stagecoach, which was all he ever saw of the stout gentleman. TALES OF A TRAVELER. 23 gentlemen, and particularly from ladies without number, touch- ing what I had seen of the "Great Unknown." ^ Now all this is extremely tantahzing. It is like being con- gratulated on the high prize when one has drawn a blank; 2 for I have just as great a desire as any one of the public to pene- trate the mystery of that very singular personage, whose voice fills every corner of the world, without any one being able to tell whence it comes. My friend the nervous gentleman, also, who is a man of very shy, retired habits, complains that he has been excessively annoyed in consequence of its getting about in his neighborhood that he is the fortunate personage ; insomuch, that he has become a char- acter of considerable notoriety in two or three country towns, and has been repeatedly teased to exhibit himself at bluestocking ^ parties, for no other reason than that of being " the gentleman who has had a glimpse of the author of ' Waverley.' " Indeed, the poor man has grown ten times as nervous as ever since he has discovered, on such good authority, who the stout gentleman was ; and will never forgive himself for not having made a more resolute effort to get a full sight of him. He has anxiously endeavored to call up a recollection of what he saw of that portly personage ; and has ever since kept a curious eye on all gentlemen of more than ordinary dimensions, whom he has seen getting into stagecoaches. All in vain ! The features he had caught a glimpse of seem common to the whole race of stout gentlemen, and the " Great Unknown " remains as great an un- known as ever. 1 Sir Walter Scott (1771-1832), Scottish novelist and poet, author of the Waverley Novels. Some of Scott's novels were published anonymously, and their author was called the " Great Unknown." 2 A ticket in a lottery, on which no prize is indicated. 3 A term applied to literary ladies. The name is derived from Mr. Still- ingfleet, who was an indispensable attendant at certain meetings held in the eighteenth century by English ladies, for conversation with literary men, and who always wore blue stockings. Hence the names " bluestocking clubs " and " bluestockings." 24 WASHIXGTOX IRVING. Having premised these circumstances, I will now let the nerv- ous gentleman proceed with his stories. THE HUNTING DINNER. I WAS once at a hunting dinner, given by a worthy fox-hunt- ing old Baronet, who kept bachelor's hall in jovial style in an ancient, rook-haunted family mansion, in one of the middle counties. He had been a devoted admirer of the fair sex in his younger days ; but, having traveled much, studied the sex in various countries with distinguished success, and returned home profoundly instructed, as he supposed, in the ways of woman, and a perfect master of the art of pleasing, he had the mortification of being jilted by a little boarding-school girl, who was scarcely versed in the accidence ^ of love. The Baronet was completely overcome by such an incredible defeat ; retired from the world in disgust ; put himself under the government of his housekeeper ; and took to fox hunting like a perfect Nimrod.^ Whatever poets may say to the contrary, a man will grow out of love as he grows old ; and a pack of fox hounds may chase out of his heart even the memory of a board- ing-school goddess. The Baronet was, when I saw him, as merry and mellow an old bachelor as ever followed a hound ; and the love he had once felt for one woman had spread itself over the whole sex, so that there was not a pretty face in the whole coun- try round but came in for a share. The dinner was prolonged till a late hour ; for our host hav- ing no ladies in his household to summon us to the drawing- room, the bottle maintained its true bachelor sway, unrivaled by its potent enemy, the teakettle. The old hall in which we dined 1 Conjugation. 2 " A mighty hunter before tlie Lord " (see Gen. x. 8-12). The traditional notion of his character connects with it ideas of violence and insolence. TALES OF A TRAVELER. 25 echoed to bursts of robustious ^ fox-hunting merriment, that made the ancient antlers shake on the walls. By degrees, however, the wine and the wassail of mine host began to operate upon bodies, already a little jaded by the chase. The choice spirits which flashed up at the beginning of the dinner sparkled for a time, then gradually went out one after another, or only emitted now and then a faint gleam from the socket. Some of the briskest talkers, who had given tongue so bravely at the first burst,^ fell fast asleep ; and none kept on their way but certain of those long-winded prosers, who, like short-legged hounds, worry on unnoticed at the bottom ^ of conversation, but are sure to be in at the death.4 Even these at length subsided into silence ; and scarcely anything was heard but the nasal communications of two or three veteran masticators, who, having been silent while awake, were indemnifying the company in their sleep. At length the announcement of tea and coffee in the cedar parlor roused all hands from this temporary torpor. Every one awoke marvelously renovated, and while sipping the refreshing beverage out of the Baronet's old-fashioned hereditary china, began to think of departing for their several homes. But here a sudden difficulty arose. While we had been prolonging our re- past, a heavy winter storm had set in, with snow, rain, and sleet, driven by such bitter blasts of wind that they threatened to pene- trate to the very bone. ''It's all in vain," said our hospitable host, "to think of put- ting one's head out of doors in such weather. So, gentlemen, I hold you my guests for this night at least, and will have your quarters prepared accordingly." The unruly weather, which became more and more tempestu- 1 Hearty. 2 " Had given tongue," etc., i.e., had talked so well in the beginning. 3 Beginning. * " In at the death," a term used in fox hunting, meaning to come up with the game before it has been killed by the hounds ; hence, to be present at the end of anything. 26 WASHINGTON IRVING. ous, rendered the hospitable suggestion unanswerable. The only question was whether such an unexpected accession of company to an already crowded house would not put the housekeeper to her trumps ^ to accommodate them. " Pshaw ! " cried mine host ; " did you ever know a bachelor's hall that was not elastic, and able to accommodate twice as many as it could hold ? " So, out of a good-humored pique, the housekeeper was sum- moned to a consultation before us all. The old lady appeared in her gala suit of faded brocade, which rustled with flurry and agitation ; for, in spite of our host's bravado, she was a little per- plexed. But in a bachelor's house, and with bachelor guests, these matters are readily managed. There is no lady of the house to stand upon squeamish points about lodging gentlemen in odd holes and corners, and exposing the shabby parts of the establishment. A bachelor's housekeeper is used to shifts and emergencies ; so, after much worrying to and fro. and divers consultations about the red room, and the blue room, and the chintz room, and the damask room, and the little room with the bow window, the matter was finally arranged. When all this was done, we were once more summoned to the standing rural amusement of eating. The time that had been consumed in dozing after dinner, and in the refreshment and consultation of the cedar parlor, was sufficient, in the opinion of the rosy-faced butler, to engender a reasonable appetite for sup- per. A slight repast had therefore been tricked 2 up from the residue of dinner, consisting of a cold sirloin of beef, hashed venison, a deviled leg of a turkey or so, and a few other of those light articles taken by countiy gentlemen to insiure sound sleep and heavy snoring. The nap after dinner had brightened up every one's wit; and a great deal of excellent humor was expended upon the perplex- ities of mine host and his housekeeper, by certain married gen- tlemen of the company, who considered themselves privileged in 1 " Put to her trumps," i.e., test all her ingenuity. - Served. TALES OF A TRAVELER. 27 joking with a bachelor's estabHshment. From this the banter turned as to what quarters each would find, on being thus sud- denly billeted in so antiquated a mansion. "By my soul," said an Irish captain of dragoons, one of the most merry and boisterous of the party, "by my soul, but I should not be surprised if some of those good-looking gentle- folks that hang along the w^alls should walk about the rooms of this stormy night ; or if I should find the ghost of one of those long-waisted ladies turning into my bed in mistake for her grave in the chiu'chyard." " Do you beheve in ghosts, then ? " said a thin, hatchet-faced ^ gentleman, with projecting eyes like a lobster. I had remarked this last personage during dinner time for one of those incessant questioners, w^ho have a craving, unhealthy appetite in conversation. He never seemed satisfied with the whole of a story ; never laughed when others laughed ; but always put the joke to the question. He never could enjoy the kernel of the nut, but pestered himself to get more out of the shell. " Do you believe in ghosts, then ? " said the inquisitive gentleman. " Faith, but I do," replied the jovial Irishman. " I was brought up in the fear and behef of them. We had a Benshee in our own family, honey." "A Benshee — and what's that ? " cried the questioner. ** Why, an old lady ghost that tends upon your real Milesian 2 famihes, and waits at their window to let them know when some of them are to die." " A mighty pleasant piece of information ! " cried an elderly gentleman wath a knowing look, and with a flexible nose to which he could give a whimsical twist when he wished to be waggish. " By my soul, but I'd have you to know it's a piece of distinc- tion to be waited on by a Benshee. It's a proof that one has pure blood in one's veins. But i' faith, now we are talking of 1 With a face like the edge of a hatchet ; hence, sharp-faced. 2 Irish. 2S WASHINGTON IRVING. ghosts, there never was a house or a night better fitted than the present for a ghost adventure. Pray, Sir John, haven't you such a thing as a haunted chamber to put a guest in ? " "Perhaps," said the Baronet, smiHng, "I might accommodate you even on that point." " Oh, I should Hke it of all things, my jewel.i Some dark oaken room, with ugly, woe-begone portraits, that stare dismally at one, and about which the housekeeper has a power of ^ delight- ful stories of love and murder. And then a dim lamp, a table wdth a rusty sword across it, and a specter all in white, to draw aside one's curtains at midnight" — " In truth," said an old gentleman at one end of the table, " you put me in mind of an anecdote " — " Oh, a ghost stor\' ! a ghost stor}- I " was vociferated round the board, every one edging his chair a httle nearer. The attention of the whole company was now turned upon the speaker. He was an old gentleman, one side of whose face was no match for the other. The eyelid drooped and hung down like an unhinged window shutter ; indeed, the whole side of his head was dilapidated, and seemed like the wing of a house shut up and haunted. I'll warrant that side was well stuffed with ghost stories. There was a universal demand for the tale. " Nay," said the old gentleman, " it's a mere anecdote, and a very commonplace one ; but such as it is you shall have it. It is a story that I once heard my uncle tell as having happened to himself. He was a man very apt to meet with strange adven- tures. I have heard him tell of others much more singular." " What kind of a man was your uncle ? " said the questioning gentleman. " Why, he was rather a dr}'', shrewd kind of body ; a great traveler, and fond of telling his adventures." " Pray, how old might he have been when that happened ? " 1 A term of endearment. 2 "A power of," i.e., a great number of. TALES OF A TRAVELER. 29 " When what happened ? " cried the gentleman with the flexi- ble nose, impatiently. " Egad, you have not given anything a chance to happen. Come, never mind our uncle's age ; let us have his adventures." The inquisitive gentleman being for the moment silenced, the old gentleman with the haunted head proceeded. THE ADVENTURE OF MY UNCLE. MANY years since, some time before the French Revolution,^ my uncle passed several months at Paris. The English and French were on better terms in those days than at present, and mingled cordially in society. The Enghsh went abroad to spend money then, and the French were always ready to help them. They go abroad to save money at present, and that they can do without French assistance. Perhaps the traveling Eng- lish were fewer and choicer than at present, when the whole nation has broke 2 loose and inundated the continent. At any rate, they circulated more readily and currently in foreign society, and my uncle, during his residence in Paris, made many very in- timate acquaintances among the French noblesse.^ Some time afterwards, he was making a journey in the winter time in that part of Normandy called the Pays de Caux, when, as evening was closing in, he perceived the turrets of an ancient chateau rising out of the trees of its walled park ; each turret with its high, conical roof of gray slate, like a candle with an extin- guisher on it. 1 The great French Revolution (1789-94), a tremendous upheaval of so- ciety, caused by the revolt of the people against the abuses of the higher classes, and the despotism of the king. It resulted in the establishment of a demo- cratic republic, followed by an empire resting on military power. 2 Old form of " broken." 3 Persons of noble rank. 30 WASHINGTON IRVING. " To whom does that chateau belong, friend ? " cried my micle to a meager but fiery postihon, who, with tremendous jack boots and cocked hat, was floundering on before him. "To Monseigneuri the Marquis de ," said the postihon, touching his hat, partly out of respect to my uncle, and partly out of reverence to the noble name pronounced. My uncle recollected the Marquis for a particular friend in Paris, who had often expressed a wish to see him at his paternal chateau. My uncle was an old traveler, one who knew well how to turn things to account. He revolved for a few moments in his mind how agreeable it would be to his friend the Marquis to be surprised in this sociable way by a pop ^ visit ; and how much more agreeable to himself to get into snug quarters in a chateau, and have a relish of the Marquis's well-known kitchen, and a smack of his superior champagne and Burgundy, rather than put up wuth the miserable lodgment and miserable fare of a pro- vincial inn. In a few minutes, therefore, the meager postihon was cracking his whip like a very devil, or like a true Frenchman, up the long, straight avenue that led to the chateau. You have no doubt all seen French chateaus, as everybody travels in France nowadays. This was one of the oldest, stand- ing naked and alone in the midst of a desert of gravel walks and cold stone terraces, with a cold-looking, formal garden, cut into angles and rhomboids, and a cold, leafless park, divided geomet- rically by straight alleys, and two or three cold-looking, nose- less statues ; and fountains spouting cold water enough to make one's teeth chatter. At least such was the feeHng they imparted on the wintry day of my uncle's visit ; though, in hot summer weather, I'll warrant there was glare enough to scorch one's eyes out. The smacking of the postilion's whip, which grew more and more intense the nearer they approached, frightened a flight of pigeons out of a dovecot, and rooks out of the roofs, and finally a crew of servants out of the chateau, with the Marquis at their I A French title of rank. 2 Unexpected. TALES OF A TRA VELER. 3 1 head. He was enchanted to see my uncle, for his chateau, hke the house of our worthy host, had not many more guests at the time than it could accommodate. So he kissed my uncle on each cheek, after the French fashion, and ushered him into the castle. The Marquis did the honors of the house with the urbanity of his country. In fact, he was proud of his old family chateau, for part of it was extremely old. There was a tower and chapel which had been built almost before the memory of man ; but the rest was more modern, the castle having been nearly demolished during the wars of the league.^ The Marquis dwelt upon this event with great satisfaction, and seemed really to entertain a grateful feeling towards Henry IV. ^ for having thought his pa- ternal mansion worth battering down. He had many stories to tell of the prowess of his ancestors ; and several skullcaps, hel- mets, and crossbows, and divers huge boots and buff jerkins, to show, which had been worn by the leaguers. Above all, there was a two-handed sword, which he could hardly wield, but which he displayed as a proof that there had been giants in his family. In truth, he was but a small descendant from such gi-eat war- riors. When you looked at their bluff visages and brawny limbs, as depicted in their portraits, and then at the little Marquis, with his spindleshanks ^ and his sallow lantern visage,* flanked with a pair of powdered earlocks, or ailes de pigeon,^ that seemed ready to fly away with it, you could hardly believe him to be of the same race. But when you looked at the eyes that sparkled out like a beetle's from each side of his hooked nose, you saw at once that he inherited all the fiery spirit of his forefathers. In 1 " Wars of the league," i.e., civil wars in France (1562-98), caused orig- inally by the enmity between the Catholics and the Huguenots, but develop- ing later into a purely political strife in which most of the nations of Europe took part. 2 Henry IV. (1553-1610), King of France and Navarre, the first of the House of Bourbon. 3 Slender legs. * " Lantern visage," i.e., long, thin face. 5 Curls of hair near the ears ; literally, pigeon wings. 32 WASHINGTON IRVING. fact, a Frenchman's spirit never exhales, however his body may dwindle. It rather rarefies, and grows more irtflammable, as the earthly particles diminish ; and I have seen valor enough in a little fiery-hearted French dwarf to have furnished out a tolerable giant. When once the Marquis, as was his wont, put on one of the old helmets stuck up in his hall, though his head no more filled it than a dry pea its peascod, yet his eyes flashed from the bot- tom of the iron cavern with the brilliancy of carbuncles ; and when he poised the ponderous two-handed sword of his ances- tors, you would have thought you saw the doughty little David wielding the sword of Goliath,"^ which was unto him like a weaver's beam. However, gentlemen, I am dwelling too long on this descrip- tion of the Marquis and his chateau, but you must excuse me ; he was an old friend of my uncle, and whenever my uncle told the story, he was always fond of talking a great deal about his host. Poor httle Marquis ! He was one of that handful of gallant courtiers who made such a devoted but hopeless stand in the cause of their sovereign, in the chateau of the Tuileries,^ against the irruption of the mob on the sad loth of August. He displayed the valor of a preux ^ French chevalier to the last ; flourishing feebly his little court sword with a (a-ga ! ^ in face of a whole legion of sans-culottesj ^ but was pinned to the wall like 1 A giant leader of the Philistines, supposed to have flourished in the eleventh century B.C. He challenged the Israelites to single combat, but no one was found willing to meet him except David (Hebrew poet, prophet, and king, born about 1090 B.C.), who slew him with a stone from his sHng (see I Sam. xvii). 2 During the French Revolution, Louis XVI., King of France, took up his abode in the palace of the Tuileries in Paris. On Aug. 10, 1792, a mob, armed with weapons of every sort, rushed upon the Tuileries, battering its walls and destroying everything within reach. The King escaped, but was shortly after imprisoned, and executed in 1 793. 3 Brave. * A French exclamation; literally, "so, so." 5 Sans-culottes (" ragamuffms ") was a name applied in contempt to the TALES OF A TRAVELER. :^2t a butterfly, by the pike of a poissarde} and his heroic soul was borne up to heaven on his ailes de pigeon. But all this has nothing to do with my stoVy. To the point, then. When the hour arrived for retiring for the night, my uncle was shown to his room in a venerable old tower. It was the oldest part of the chateau, and had in ancient times been the don- jon or stronghold ; of course the chamber was none of the best. The Marquis had put him there, however, because he knew him to be a traveler of taste, and fond of antiquities ; and also be- cause the better apartments were already occupied. Indeed, he perfectly reconciled my uncle to his quarters by mentioning the great personages who had once inhabited them, all of whom were, in some way or other, connected with the family. If you would take his word for it, John Baliol, or, as he called him, Jean de Bailleul, had died of chagrin in this very chamber, on hearing of the success of his rival, Robert de Bruce, at the battle of Bannockburn ; 2 and when he added that the Duke de Guise '^ had slept in it, my uncle was fain to felicitate himself on being honored with such distinguished quarters. democrats of the French Revolution, who were styled the " ragamuffins of society." They, however, glorying in the name, affected a negligence of dress, and went about in blouses, red caps, and wooden shoes. 1 A woman of the lowest class. 2 Towards the end of the thirteenth century a great feud arose in Scotland over the succession to the throne. The chief claimants were Robert Bruce (1210-95) ^"<^ John Baliol (1249-1315). Edward I. of England, claiming the right of decision, handed the government over to Baliol, subject to his command. After a while, however, the Scots, desiring perfect freedom, re- belled, with Baliol as their leader. The English conquered, Baliol resigned and was taken prisoner, and the King of England ruled Scotland through a council of regency till 1305. Then Scotland again sprang to arms under Robert Bruce (1274-1329), grandson of the original claimant. The English were badly defeated in the battle of Bannockburn, June 24, 1314, and the Scotch independence was regained, though not formally recognized by Eng- land till 1328. 3 There are several men famous in French history who bear the name of " Duke de Guise." This probably refers to Henry I. of Lorraine (1550-8S), 34 WASHINGTON IRVING. The night was shrewd ^ and windy, and the chamber none of the warmest. An old, long-faced, long-bodied servant, in quaint livery, who attended upon my uncle, threw down an armful of wood beside the fireplace, gave a queer look about the room, and then wished him bon repos^ with a grimace and a shrug that would have been suspicious from any other than an old French servant. The chamber had indeed a wild, crazy look, enough to strike any one who had read romances with apprehension and forebod- ing. The windows were high and narrow, and had once been loopholes, but had been rudely enlarged, as well as the extreme thickness of the walls would permit ; and the ill-fitted casements rattled to every breeze. You would have thought, on a windy night, some of the old leaguers were tramping and clanking about the apartment in their huge boots and ratthng spurs. A door which stood ajar, and, like a true French door, would stand ajar in spite of every reason and effort to the contrary, opened up- on a long, dark corridor, that led the Lord knows whither, and seemed just made for ghosts to air themselves in, when they turned out of their graves at midnight. The wind would spring up into a hoarse murmur through this passage, and creak the door to and fro, as if some dubious ghost were balancing in its mind whether to come in or not. In a word, it was precisely the kind of comfortless apartment that a ghost, if ghost there were in the chateau, would single out for its favorite lounge. My uncle, however, though a man accustomed to meet with strange adventures, apprehended none at the time. He made several attempts to shut the door, but in vain. Not that he ap- prehended anything, for he was too old a traveler to be daunted by a wild-looking apartment ; but the night, as I have said, was cold and gusty, and the wind howled about the old turret pretty much as it does round this old mansion at this moment, Duke de Guise, surnamed " Balafr6 the Scarred," on account of a wound received in battle. 1 Keen. 2 Good night- TALES OF A TRAVELER. 35 and the breeze from the long dark corridor came in as damp and as chilly as if from a dungeon. My uncle, therefore, since he could not close the door, threw a quantity of wood on the fire, which soon sent up a flame in the great wide-mouthed chimney that illumined the whole chamber, and made the shad- ow of the tongs on the opposite wall look like a long-legged giant. My uncle now clambered on the top of the half score of mattresses which form a French bed, and which stood in a deep recess ; then, tucking himself snugly in, and burying himself up to the chin in the bedclothes, he lay looking at the fire, and lis- tening to the wind, and thinking how knowingly he had come over his friend the Marquis for a night's lodging — and so he fell asleep. He had not taken above half of his first nap when he was awak- ened by the clock of the chateau, in the turret over his chamber, which struck midnight. It was just such an old clock as ghosts are fond of. It had a deep, dismal tone, and struck so slowly and tediously that my uncle thought it would never have done. He counted and counted till he was confident he counted thir- teen, and then it stopped. The fire had burned low, and the blaze of the last fagot was almost expiring, burning in small blue flames, which now and then lengthened up into little white gleams. My uncle lay with his eyes half closed, and his nightcap drawn almost down to his nose. His fancy was already wandering, and began to mingle up the present scene with the crater of Vesuvius, the French Opera, the Coliseum ^ at Rome, Dolly's chophouse in London, and all the farrago of noted places with which the brain of a traveler is crammed, — in a word, he was just falHng asleep. Suddenly he was roused by the sound of footsteps, slowly pac- ing along the corridor. My uncle, as I have often heard him say himself, was a man not easily frightened. So he lay quiet, 1 A large Roman amphitheater, one of the most imposing structures in the world, finished in A. D. 80. When first built it was chiefly used for the com- bats of the gladiators. It is now in ruins. 36 WASHINGTON IRVING. « supposing this some other guest, or some servant on his way to bed. The footsteps, however, approached the door ; the door gently opened, — whether of its own accord, or whether pushed open, my uncle could not distinguish ; a figure all in white glided in. It was a female, tall and stately, and of a commanding air. Her dress was of an ancient fashion, ample in volume, and sweep- ing the floor. She walked up to the fireplace, without regarding my uncle, who raised his nightcap with one hand, and stared earnestly at her. She remained for some time standing by the fire, which, flashing up at intervals, cast blue and white gleams of light, that enabled my uncle to remark her appearance minutely. Her face was ghastly pale, and perhaps rendered still more so by the bluish hght of the fire. It possessed beauty, but its beauty was saddened by care and anxiety. There was the look of one accustomed to trouble, but of one whom trouble could not cast down nor subdue ; for there was still the predominating air of proud, unconquerable resolution. Such, at least, was the opinion formed by my uncle, and he considered himself a great physiog- nomist. The figure remained, as I said, for some time by the fire, put- ting out first one hand, then the other ; then each foot alternately, as if warming itself ; for your ghosts, if ghost it really was, are apt to be cold. My uncle, furthermore, remarked that it wore high-heeled shoes, after an ancient fashion, with paste or diamond buckles that sparkled as though they were ahve. At length the figure turned gently round, casting a glassy look about the apartment, which, as it passed over my uncle, made his blood run cold, and chilled the very marrow in his bones. It then stretched its arms towards heaven, clasped its hands, and wringing them in a supplicating manner, ghded slowly out of the room. My uncle lay for some time meditating on this visitation, for (as he remarked when he told me the story), though a man of firmness, he was also a man of reflection, and did not reject a thing because it was out of the regular course of events. How- ever, being, as I have before said, a great traveler, and accus- TALES OF A TRAVELER. 37 tomed to strange adventures, he drew his nightcap resolutely over his eyes, turned his back to the door, hoisted the bedclothes high over his shoulders, and gradually fell asleep. How long he slept he could not say, when he was awakened by the voice of some one at his bedside. He turned round, and beheld the old French servant, with his earlocks in tight buckles on each side of a long, lantern face, on which habit had deeply wrinkled an everlasting smile. He made a thousand grimaces, and asked a thousand pardons for disturbing Monsieur, but the morning was considerable advanced. While my uncle was dress- ing, he called vaguely to mind the visitor of the preceding night. He asked the ancient domestic what lady was in the habit of rambling about this part of the chateau at night. The old valet shrugged his shoulders as high as his head, laid one hand on his bosom, threw open the other wnth every finger extended, made a most whimsical grimace which he meant to be complimentary, and replied that it was not for him to know anything of les bon?ies foj'times^ of Monsieur. My uncle saw there was nothing satisfactory to be learned in this quarter. After breakfast, he was walking with the Marquis through the modern apartments of the chateau, sliding over the well-waxed floors of silken saloons, amidst furniture rich in gild- ing and brocade, until they came to a long picture gallery, con- taining many portraits, some in oil and some in chalks. Here was an ample field for the eloquence of his host, who had all the pride of a nobleman of the ancien regime.^ There was not a grand name in Normandy, and hardly one in France, which was not, in some way or other, connected with his house. My uncle stood listening with inward impatience, resting some- times on one leg, sometimes on the other, as the little Marquis descanted, with his usual fire and vivacity, on the achievements of his ancestors, whose portraits hung along the wall ; from the 1 Adventures ; literally, the good fortune. 2 Ancient order of things, that obtained in France prior to the Revolution (see Note i, p. 29). 3S WASHIXCTOX IRVIXG. martial deeds of the stern warriors in steel, to the gallantries and intrigues of the blue-eyed gentlemen, with fair, smiling faces, pow- dered earlocks, laced ruffles, and pink and blue silk coats and breeches ; not forgetting the conquests of the lovely shepherdesses, with hooped petticoats, and waists no thicker than an hourglass, who appeared ruling over their sheep and their swains, with dainty crooks decorated M-ith fluttering ribbons. In the midst of his friend's discourse, my uncle vras startled on beholding a full-length portrait, the very counterpart of his visitor of the preceding night. " Methinks," said he, pointing to it, " I ha\'e seen the original of this portrait." " Fardon?iez fnoi,'"^ replied the Marquis politely, "that can hardly be, as the lady has been dead more than a hundred years. That was the beautiful Duchess de Longueville, who figured dur- ing the minority of Louis XIV." " And was there anything remarkable in her histor}- ? " Never was question more unlucky. The little Marquis immedi- ately threw himself into the attitude of a man about to tell a long story. In fact, my uncle had pulled upon himself the whole his- tory of the civil war of the Fronde, ^ in which the beautiful Duch- 1 Excuse me. 2 Louis XIV. (1638-1715) succeeded his father as King of France at the age of five, l)ut during his minority the management of the government was virtually left to Cardinal Jules Mazarin (1602-61), who had succeeded Car- dinal Richelieu as prime minister. The war of the Fronde was a rising of the nobles to throw off the yoke laid on them by Richelieu, who had brought them into subjection to the King. The immediate cause of the outbreak was the attempt of Mazarin to punish the Parliament of Paris for having brought about the dismissal of a favorite, but corrupt, agent of his. When Broussel, a member especially beloved by the people, was arrested, the mob rose in arms, seized whatever they could lay hands on, and barricaded the streets of Paris, Aug. 5, 1648. Broussel being released, quiet was for a time restored. Then it was that the discontented nobles united their cause with that of Paris and the Parliament, and a new war of the Fronde broke out. The chief instigator was the Duchess de Longueville (1619-79), daughter of Henri de Bourbon, Prince de Conde. She induced her husband, the Due de Longue- TALES OF A TRAVELER. 39 ess had played so distinguished a part. Turenne, Coligni, Maza- rin, were called up from their graves to grace his narration ; nor were the affairs of the barricaders nor the chivalry of the portes cocheres ^ forgotten. My uncle began to wish himself a thousand leagues off from the Marquis and his merciless memory, when suddenly the little man's recollections took a more interesting turn. He was relating the imprisonment of the Duke de Lon- gueville with the Princes Conde and Conti in the chateau of Vin- cennes,- and the ineffectual efforts of the Duchess to rouse the sturdy Normans to their rescue. He had come to that part where she was invested by the royal forces in the castle of Dieppe.^ "The spirit of the Duchess," proceeded the Marquis, "rose from her trials. It was astonishing to see so delicate and beauti- ful a being buffet so resolutely with hardships. She determined on a desperate means of escape. You may have seen the chateau in which she was mewed up, — an old ragged wart of an edifice, standing on the knuckle of a hill, just above the rusty little town of Dieppe. One dark, unruly night she issued secretly out of a small postern gate of the castle, which the enemy had neglected to guard. The postern gate is there to this very day ; opening ville (i 595-1663), who was a French general, to join the cause, and also her two brothers, Louis II. de Bourbon, the Great Conde (1621-86), and Armand de Bourbon, Prince Conti (1629-66). In 1650, Conde, Conti, and the Due de Longueville were arrested, but the Duchess de Longueville escaped and secured the aid of Turenne (Henri de la Tour d'Auvergne, 161 1-75), Marshal of France, who attempted to release the prisoners. Soon thereafter, all being weary of the war, Louis XIV. was invited back to Paris, Mazarin was recalled, and the leaders of the war were obliged to flee. 1 Twelve thousand men were raised to carry on the war of the Fronde. By act of Parliament each porte cochh'e (" carriage entrance") was taxed to furnish one mounted soldier. This cavalry was known as la cavalerie des portes cocheres; that is, the cavalry, or chivalry, of the carriage entrances. 2 A town of France near Paris. The castle of Vincennes, erected in the midst of a forest, at first used as a royal residence, was later made a state prison. 3 A seaport of France on the English Channel, at one time the principal port of France. 40 WASHIXGTOX IRVIXG. upon a narrow bridge over a deep fosse between the castle and the brow of the hill. She was followed by her female attendants, a few domestics, and some gallant cavahers, who still remained faithful to her fortunes. Her object was to gain a small port about two leagues distant, where she had privately provided a vessel for her escape in case of emergency. " The little band of fugitives were obliged to perform the dis- tance on foot. When they arrived at the port the wind was high and stormy, the tide contrary, the vessel anchored far off in the road, and no means of getting on board but by a fishing shallop which lay tossing like a cockle shell on the edge of the surf. The Duchess determined to risk the attempt. The seamen endeav- ored to dissuade her, but the imminence of her danger on shore, and the magnanimity of her spirit, urged her on. She had to be borne to the shallop in the arms of a mariner. Such was the violence of the wind and waves that he faltered, lost his foothold, and let his precious burden fall into the sea. " The Duchess was nearly drowned, but partly through her own struggles, partly by the exertions of the seamen, she got to land. As soon as she had a little recovered strength, she insisted on renewing the attempt. The storm, however, had by this time be- come so violent as to set all efforts at defiance. To delay was to be discovered and taken prisoner. As the only resource left, she procured horses, mounted with her female attendants, en croupe} behind the gallant gentlemen who accompanied her, and scoured the countr}^ to seek some temporary asylum. " While the Duchess," continued the Marquis, laying his fore- finger on my uncle's breast to arouse his flagging attention — " while the Duchess, poor lady, was wandering amid the tempest in this disconsolate manner, she arrived at this chateau. Her ap- proach caused some uneasiness ; for the clattering of a troop of horse at dead of night up the avenue of a lonely chateau, in those unsettled times, and in a troubled part of the country, was enough to occasion alarm. ^ On pillions, or pads, behind the saddle. TALES Of A TRAVELER. 41 " A tall, broad-shouldered chasseur, armed to the teeth, gal- loped ahead, and announced the name of the visitor. All un- easiness was dispelled. The household turned out with flam- beaux to receive her, and never did torches gleam on a more weather-beaten, travel-stained band than came tramping into the court. Such pale, careworn faces, such bedraggled dresses, as the poor Duchess and her females presented, each seated behind her cavalier; while the half drenched, half drowsy pages and attendants seemed ready to fall from their horses with sleep and fatigue. " The Duchess was received with a hearty welcome by my ancestor. She was ushered into the hall of the chateau, and the fires soon crackled and blazed, to cheer herself and her train ; and every spit and stewpan was put in requisition to prepare ample refreshment for the wayfarers. " She had a right to our hospitalities," continued the Marquis, drawing himself up with a slight degree of stateliness, "for she was related to our family. I'll tell you how it was. Her father, Henry de Bourbon, Prince of Conde " ^ — " But did the Duchess pass the night in the chateau ? " said my uncle rather abruptly, terrified at the idea of getting involved in one of the Marquis's genealogical discussions. " Oh, as to the Duchess, she was put into the very apartment you occupied last night, which at that time was a kind of state apartment. Her followers were quartered in the chambers open- ing upon the neighboring corridor, and her favorite page slept in an adjoining closet. Up and down the corridor walked the great chasseur who had announced her arrival, and who acted as a kind of sentinel or guard. He was a dark, stern, powerful- looking fellow ; and as the light of a lamp in the corridor fell upon his deeply marked face and sinewy form, he seemed capa- ble of defending the castle with his single arm. " It was a rough, rude night, about this time of the year — 1 Henry de Bourbon, Prince of Conde (1552-58), father of the Duchess de Longueville, and of the Grand Conde and the Prince of Conti. 42 WASHIXGTOX IRVIXG. apropos ! now I think of it, last night was the anniversary of her visit. I may well remember the precise date, for it was a night not to be forgotten by our house. There is a singular tradition concerning it in our family." Here the Marquis hesitated, and a cloud seemed to gather about his bushy eyebrows. "There is a tradition — that a strange occurrence took place that night, — a strange, mysterious, inexpHcable occurrence " — Here he checked himself, and paused. " Did it relate to that lady ? " inquired my uncle eagerly. " It was past the hour of midnight," resumed the Marquis, " when the whole chateau " — Here he paused again. My uncle made a movement of anxious curiosity. " Excuse me," said the Marquis, a slight blush streaking his sallow \^sage. " There are some circumstances connected with our family history which I do not like to relate. That was a rude period, a time of great crimes among great men ; for you know high blood, when it runs wrong, will not run tamely, like blood of the canaille y Poor lady ! But I have a little family pride, that — excuse me — we will change the subject, if you please." My uncle's curiosity was piqued. The pompous and magnifi- cent introduction had led him to expect something wonderful in the story to which it served as a kind of avenue. He had no idea of being cheated out of it by a sudden fit of unreasonable squeamishness. Besides, being a traveler in quest of informa- tion, he considered it his duty to inquire into ever}-thing. The Marquis, however, evaded every question. " Well," said my uncle, a little petulantly, " whatever you may think of it, I saw that lady last night." The Marquis stepped back and gazed at him with surprise. " She paid me a visit in my bedchamber." The Marquis pulled out his snuffbox with a shrug and a smile, taking this, no doubt, for an awkward piece of English pleasantry, which politeness required him to be charmed with. 1 Lowest class of people. TALES OF A TRAVELER. 43 My uncle went on gravely, however, and related the whole circumstance. The Marquis heard him through with profound attention, holding his snuffbox unopened in his hand. When the story was finished, he tapped on the lid of his box deliberately, took a long, sonorous pinch of snuff — " Bah ! " said the Marquis, and walked towards the other end of the gallery. Here the narrator paused. The company waited for some time for him to resume his narration ; but he continued silent. "Well," said the inquisitive gentleman, "and what did your uncle say then ? " " Nothing," rephed the other, " And what did the Marquis say further ? " " Nothing." " And is that all ? " " That is all," said the narrator, filling a glass of wine. " I surmise," said the shrewd old gentleman with the waggish nose, " I surmise the ghost must have been the old housekeeper, w^alking her rounds to see that all was right." *' Bah ! " said the narrator. " My uncle was too much accus- tomed to strange sights not to know a ghost from a housekeeper." There was a murmur round the table, half of merriment, half of disappointment. I was inclined to think the old gentleman had really an after part of his story in reserve ; but he sipped his wine and said nothing more ; and there was an odd expression about his dilapidated countenance which left me in doubt whether he were in drollery or earnest. " Egad," said the knowing gentleman with the flexible nose, " this story of your uncle puts me in mind of one that used to be told of an aunt of mine, by the mother's side ; though I don't know that it will bear a comparison, as the good lady was not so prone to meet with strange adventures. Btt at any rate you shall have it." 44 WASHIXGTON JRVIXG. THE ADVENTURE OF MY AUNT. MY aunt was a lady of large frame, strong mind, and great resolution. She was what might be termed a very manly woman. ]\Iy uncle was a thin, puny little man, ver\^ meek and acquiescent, and no match for my aunt. It was observed that he dwindled and dwindled gradually away, from the day of his marriage. His wife's powerful mind was too much for him ; it wore him out. My aunt, however, took all possible care of him ; had half the doctors in town to prescribe for him ; made him take all their prescriptions, and dosed him with physic enough to cure a whole hospital. All was in vain. ^ly uncle grew worse and worse the more dosing and nursing he underwent, until in the end he added another to the long list of matrimonial victims who have been killed with kindness. ** And was it his ghost that appeared to her ? " asked the in- quisitive gentleman, who had questioned the former story-teller. "You shall hear," rephed the narrator. — My aunt took on mightily for the death of her poor dear husband. Perhaps she felt some compunction at having given him so much physic, and nursed him into the grave. At any rate, she did all that a widow could do to honor his memory. She spared no expense in either the quantity or quality of her mourning weeds ; wore a miniature of him about her neck as large as a little sundial, and had a full- length portrait of him always hanging in her bedchamber. All the world extolled her conduct to the skies ; and it was deter- mined that a woman who behaved so well to the memory of one husband deserved soon to get another. It was not long after this that she went to take up her residence in an old countr\^ seat in Derbyshire,^ which had long been in the care of merely a steward and housekeeper. She took most of 1 Derbyshire, or Derby, is a county of England, whose capital, Derby, is thirty-five miles northeast of Birmingham. Q) TALES OF A TRAVELER. 45 her servants with her, intending to make it her principal abode. The house stood in a lonely, wild part of the country, among the gray Derbyshire hills, with a murderer hanging in chains on a bleak height in full view. The servants from town were half frightened out of their wits at the idea of living in such a dismal, pagan-looking place ; espe- cially when they got together in the servants' hall in the even- ing, and compared notes on all the hobgoblin stories picked up in the course of the day. They were afraid to venture alone about the gloomy, black-looking chambers. My lady's maid, who was troubled with nerves, declared she could never sleep alone in such a " gashly,i rummaging old building ;" and the foot- man, who was a kind-hearted young fellow, did all in his power to cheer her up. . My aunt was struck with the lonely appearance of the house. Before going to bed, therefore, she examined well the fastnesses of the doors and windows ; locked up the plate with her own hands, and carried the keys, together with a little box of money and jewels, to her own room ; for she was a notable woman, and always saw to all things herself. Having put the keys under her "pillow, and dismissed her maid, she sat by her toilet arranging her hair ; for being, in spite of her grief for my uncle, rather a buxom widow, she was somewhat particular about her person. She sat for a little while looking at her face in the glass, first on one side, then on the other, as ladies are apt to do when they would ascertain whether they have been in good looks ; for a roistering country squire of the neighborhood, with whom she had flirted when a girl, had called that day to welcome her to the country. All of a sudden she thought she heard something move behind her. She looked hastily round, but there was nothing to be seen. Nothing but the grimly painted portrait of her poor dear man, hanging against the wall. She gave a heavy sigh to his memory, as she was accustomed 1 Ghastly. 46 IVASHINGTOX IRVING. to do whenever she spoke of him in company, and then went on adjusting her nightdress, and thinking of the squire. Her sigh was reechoed, or answered, by a long-dra\\Ti breath. She looked round again, but no one was to be seen. She ascribed these sounds to the wind oozing through the rat holes of the old man- sion, and proceeded leisurely to put her hair in papers, when, all at once, she thought she perceived one of the eyes of the portrait move. " The back of her head being towards it I " said the story-teller with the ruined head, — " good ! " " Yes, sir," rephed dryly the narrator, " her back being towards the portrait, but her eyes fixed on its reflection in the glass." — Well, as I was saying, she perceived one of the eyes of the por- trait move. So strange a circumstance, as you may well suppose, ga\-e her a sudden shock. To assure herself of the fact, she put one hand to her forehead as if rubbing it ; peeped through her fingers, and moved the candle with the other hand. The light of the taper gleamed on the eye, and was reflected from it. She was sure it moved. Nay, more, it seemed to give her a wink, as she had sometimes known her husband to do when living ! It struck a momentary chill to her heart ; for she was a lone wo- man, and felt herself fearfully situated. The chill was but transient. My aunt, who was almost as reso- lute a personage as your uncle, sir [turning to the old story-teller], became instantly calm and collected. She went on adjusting her dress. She even hummed an air, and did not make even a single false note. She casually overturned a dressing box ; took a can- dle and picked up the articles one by one from the floor ; pursued a rolling pincushion that was making the best of its way under the bed ; then opened the door ; looked for an instant into the corridor, as if in doubt whether to go ; and then walked quietly out. She hastened downstairs, ordered the servants to arm them- selves with the weapons first at hand, placed herself at their head, and returned almost immediatclv. TALES OF A TRAVELER. 47 Her hastily levied army presented a formidable force. The steward had a rusty blunderbuss, the coachman a loaded whip, the footman a pair of horse pistols, the cook a huge chopping knife, and the butler a bottle in each hand. My aunt led the van with a red-hot poker, and in my opinion she was the most formidable of the party. The waiting maid, who dreaded to stay alone in the servants' hall, brought up the rear, smelling to a broken bottle of volatile salts, and expressing her terror of the " ghostesses." " Ghosts ! " said my aunt resolutely. " I'll singe their whiskers for them ! " They entered the chamber. All was still and undisturbed as when she had left it. They approached the portrait of my uncle. "Pull down that picture !" cried my aunt. A heavy groan, and a sound like the chattering of teeth, issued from the portrait. The servants shrunk back ; the maid uttered a faint shriek, and clung to the footman for support. " Instantly ! " added my aunt, with a stamp of the foot. The picture was pulled down, and from a recess behind it, in which had formerly stood a clock, they hauled forth a round- shouldered, black-bearded varlet, with a knife as long as my arm, but trembling all over like an aspen leaf. " Well, and who was he ? No ghost, I suppose," said the inquisitive gentleman. ''A knight of the post," ^ replied the narrator, "who had been smitten with the worth of the wealthy widow ; or rather, a maraud- ing Tarquin,2 who had stolen into her chamber to violate her purse, and rifle her strong box, when all the house should be asleep. In plain terms," continued he, " the vagabond was a loose, idle fellow of the neighborhood, who had once been a ser- vant in the house, and had been employed to assist in arranging 1 " Knight of the post," i.e., an offender who has been punished at the whipping post ; hence, a sharper in general. - Tarquin the Proud, Lucius Tarquinius Superbus, seventh and last king of Rome (died about B.C. 495). His reign was characterized by bloodshed, violence, and aggressive warfare. 4^ WASHINGTON IRVING. it for the reception of its mistress. He confessed that he had contrived this hiding place for his nefarious purpose, and had bor- rowed an eye from the portrait by way of a reconnoitering hole." "And what did they do with him ? Did they hang him ? " resumed the questioner. " Hang him ! How could they ? " exclaimed a beetle-browed ' barrister with a hawk's nose. " The offense was not capital. No robbery, no assault had been committed. No forcible entry or breaking into the premises " — " My aunt," said the narrator, " was a woman of spirit, and apt to take the law in her own hands. She had her own notions of cleanliness also. She ordered the fellow to be drawn through the horsepond, to cleanse away all offenses, and then to be well rubbed down with an oaken towel." - " And what became of him afterwards ? " said the inquisitive gentleman. " I do not exactly know, I believe he was sent on a voyage of improvement to Botany Bay."^ " And your aunt ? " said the inquisitive gentleman. " I'll war- rant she took care to make her maid sleep in the room with her after that." " No, sir, she did better ; she gave her hand shortly after to the roistering squire ; for she used to observe that it was a dismal thing for a woman to sleep alone in the country." " She was right," obserA^ed the inquisitive gentleman, nodding sagaciously ; "but I am sorry they did not hang that fellow." It was agreed on all hands that the last narrator had brought his tale to the most satisfactory conclusion, though a country clergyman present regretted that the uncle and aunt, who figured in the different stories, had not been married together ; they cer- tainly would have been well matched. 1 Having shaggy, overhanging eyebrows, like the antennx of beetles. 2 " An oaken towel," i.e., a cudgel. 3 A harbor on the eastern coast of Australia, where there is an English convict settlement. TALES OF A TRAVELER. 49 " But I don't see, after all," said the inquisitive gentleman, " that there was any ghost in this last story." " Oh, if it's ghosts you want, honey," cried the Irish Captain of Dragoons, " if it's ghosts you want, you shall have a whole regiment of them. And since these gentlemen have given the adventures of their uncles and aunts, faith, and I'll even give you a chapter out of my own family history." THE BOLD DRAGOON; OR, THE ADVENTURE OF MY GRANDFATHER, MY grandfather was a bold dragoon, for it's a profession, d'ye see, that has run in the family. All my forefathers have been dragoons, and died on the field of honor, except myself, and I hope my posterity may be able to say the same ; however, I don't mean to be vainglorious. Well, my grandfather, as I said, was a bold dragoon, and had served in the Low Countries. ^ In fact, he was one of that very army which, according to my uncle Toby,2 swore so terribly in Flanders. He could swear a good stick ^ himself ; and, moreover, was the very man that introduced the doctrine Corporal Trim * mentions of radical heat and radical moisture, or, in other words, the mode of keeping out the damps of ditch water by burnt brandy. Be that as it may, it's nothing 1 Another name for the Netherlands. 2 Uncle Toby, a character in Sterne's Tristram Shandy, was a captain who was wounded at the siege of Namur in Flanders, and was obliged to retire from the service, but who was always indulging in reminiscences about the battle (see Tristram Shandy, vol. iii., chap. xi. ). 3 " A good stick," i.e., a good deal. * Corporal Trim was Uncle Toby's attendant, and was represented as faith- ful, simple-minded, and affectionate. For his doctrine of radical heat and radical moisture, see Tristram Shandy, vol. v., chap, xxxviii. 4 ^ so IVASHIXGTON IRVING. to the purport of my story. I only tell it to show you that my grandfather was a man not easily to be humbugged. He had seen service, or, according to his own phrase, he had seen the devil, and that's saying everything. Well, gentlemen, my grandfather was on his way to England, for which he intended to embark from Ostend i — bad luck to the place ! for one where I was kept by storms and head winds for three long days, and the devil of a ^ joHy companion or pretty girl to comfort me. Well, as I was saying, my grandfather was on his way to England, or rather to Ostend — no matter which, it's all the same. So one evening, towards nightfall, he rode jollily into Bruges.^ Very like you all know Bruges, gentlemen ; a queer, old-fashioned, Flemish * town, once, they say, a great place for trade and money-making in old times, when the Mynheers were in their glory ; but almost as large and as empty as an Irishman's pocket at the present day. Well, gentlemen, it was at the time of the annual fair. All Bruges was crowded ; and the canals swarmed with Dutch boats, and the streets swarmed with Dutch merchants ; and there was hardly any getting along for goods, wares, and merchandises, and peasants in big breeches, and women in half a score of petticoats. My grandfather rode jollily along, in his easy, slashing way, for he was a saucy, sunshiny fellow, staring about him at the motley crowd, and the old houses with gable ends to the street, and storks' nests in the chimneys ; winking at the juffrouws ^ who showed their faces at the windows, and joking the women right and left in the street ; all of whom laughed, and took it in amaz- ing good part ; for though he did not know a word of the lan- guage, yet he had always a knack of making himself understood among the women. 1 A seaport town of Belgium in West Flanders. 2 " The devil of a," a phrase used to contradict a statement. 3 The capital of the province of West Flanders in Belgium. It owes its name to the number of bridges which cross its canals. 4 Pertaining to Flanders. ^ Young ladies. TALES OF A TRAVELER. 5 1 Well, gentlemen, it being the time of the annual fair, all the town was crowded, every inn and tavern full, and my grand- father applied in vain from one to the other for admittance. At length he rode up to an old rickety inn, that looked ready to fall to pieces, and which all the rats would have run away from if they could have found room in any other house to put their heads. It was just such a queer building as you see in Dutch pictures, with a tall roof that reached up into the clouds, and as many garrets, one over the other, as the seven heavens of Mahomet. 1 Nothing had saved it from tumbling down but a stork's nest on the chimney, which always brings good luck to a house in the Low Countries ; and at the very time of my grand- father's arrival, there were two of these long-legged birds of grace standing like ghosts on the chimney top. Faith, but they've kept the house on its legs to this very day, for you may see it any time you pass through Bruges, as it stands there yet, only it is turned into a brewery of strong Flemish beer, — at least it was so when I came that way after the battle of Waterloo.^ My grandfather eyed the house curiously as he approached. It might not have altogether struck his fancy, had he not seen in large letters over the door, " HIER VERKOOPT MAN GOEDEN DRANK." ^ My grandfather had learned enough of the language to know that the sign promised good liquor. '* This is the house for me," said he, stopping short before the door. The sudden appearance of a dashing dragoon was an event in 1 Mahomet, or Mohammed (570-632), the founder of Mohammedanism, a widely diffused religion. He believed in seven heavens, placed one above the other, to which, as alleged by his followers, he made a journey one night, ac- companied by the angel Gabriel. 2 The battle fought in 181 5 in which the English and Prussians, under the Duke of Wellington, defeated the French, under Napoleon Bonaparte, and rescued Europe from French domination. ^ Here cfood drink is sold. 52 WASHINGTOX IRVIXG. an old inn frequented only by the peaceful sons of traffic. A rich burgher of Antwerp, a stately, ample man in a broad Flemish hat, and who was the great man and great patron of the estabhsh- ment, sat smoking a clean, long pipe on one side of the door ; a fat little distiller of Geneva, ^ from Schiedam, 2 sat smoking on the other ; and the bottle-nosed ^ host stood in the door, and the comely hostess, in crimped cap, beside him ; and the hostess's daughter, a plump Flanders lass, with long gold pendants in her ears, was at a side window. " Humph ! " said the rich burgher of Antwerp, with a sulky glance at the stranger. " De duyvel ! ""* said the fat Httle distiller of Schiedam. The landlord saw, with the quick glance of a publican, that the new guest was not at all to the taste of the old ones ; and, to tell the truth, he did not like my grandfather's saucy eye. He shook his head. " Not a garret in the house but is full." " Not a garret ! " echoed the landlady. '' Not a garret ! " echoed the daughter. The burgher of Antwerp and the httle distiller of Schiedam con- tinued to smoke their pipes sullenly, eying the enemy askance from under their broad hats, but said nothing. My grandfather was not a man to be browbeaten. He threw the reins on his horse's neck, cocked his head on one side, stuck one arm akimbo. " Faith and troth! " said he, "but Til sleep in this house this very night." As he said this he gave a slap on his thigh, by way of emphasis. The slap went to the landlady's heart. He followed up the vow by jumping off his horse, and making his way past the staring Mynheers into the public room. Maybe you've been in the barroom of an old Flemish inn. Faith, but a handsome chamber it was as you'd wish to see ; with a brick 1 A strongly alcoholic liquor made in Holland; called also " Hollands." 2 A town of Holland famed for its gin. 3 Having a nose bottle-shaped, or large at the end. ' The devil. TALES OF A TRAVELER. 53 floor, and a great fireplace, with the whole Bible history in glazed tiles ; and then the mantelpiece, pitching itself head foremost out of the wall, with a whole regiment of cracked teapots and earthen jugs paraded on it ; not to mention half a dozen great Delft ^ platters, hung about the room by way of pictures, and the httle bar in one corner, and the bouncing barmaid inside of it, with a red calico cap, and yellow eardrops. My grandfather snapped his fingers over his head, as he cast an eye round the room. " Faith, this is the very house I've been looking after," said he. There was some further show of resistance on the part of the garrison ; but my grandfather was an old soldier, and an Irish- man to boot,2 and not easily repulsed, especially after he had got into the fortress. So he blarneyed the landlord, kissed the landlord's wife, tickled the landlord's daughter, chucked the bar- maid under the chin ; and it was agreed on all hands that it would be a thousand pities, and a burning shame into the bargain, to turn such a bold dragoon into the streets. So they laid their heads together — that is to say, my grandfather and the landlady — and it was at length agreed to accommodate him with an old chamber that had been for some time shut up. " Some say it's haunted," whispered the landlord's daughter ; "but you are a bold dragoon, and I dare say don't fear ghosts." "The devil a bit !" said my grandfather, pinching her plump cheek. " But if I should be troubled by ghosts, I've been to the Red Sea in my time, and have a pleasant way of laying^ them, my darling." And then he whispered something to the girl which made her laugh, and give him a good-humored box on the ear. In short, there was nobody knew better how to make his way among the petticoats * than my grandfather. In a little while, as was his usual way, he took complete pos- 1 Pottery made at the city of Delft in Holland. 2 " To boot," i.e., in addition. 3 Exorcising. 4 Women. 54 WASHINGTON IRVING. session of the house, swaggering all over it ; into the stable to look after his horse, into the kitchen to look after his supper. He had something to say or do with every one ; smoked with the Dutchmen, drank with the Germans, slapped the landlord on the shoulder, romped with his daughter and the barmaid. Never, since the days of Alley Croaker, had such a rattling blade ^ been seen. The landlord stared at him with astonishment ; the land- lord's daughter hung her head and giggled whenever he came near; and as he swaggered along the corridor, with his sword traihng by his side, the maids looked after him and whispered to one another, "What a proper- man!" At supper, my grandfather took command of the table d'hote as though he had been at home ; helped everybody, not forget- ting himself ; talked with every one, whether he understood their language or not ; and made his way into the intimacy of the rich burgher of Antwerp, who had never been known to be sociable with any one during his life. In fact, he revolutionized the whole establishment, and gave it such a rouse that the very house reeled with it. He outsat every one at table, excepting the little fat distiller of Schiedam, who sat soaking a long time before he broke forth ; but when he did, he was a very devil incarnate. He took a violent affection for my grandfather ; so they sat drink- ing and smoking, and telling stories, and singing Dutch and Irish songs, without understanding a word each other said, until the little Hollander was fairly swamped with his own gin and water, and carried off to bed, whooping and hiccoughing, and trolling the burden of a Low Dutch love song. Well, gentlemen, my grandfather was shown to his quarters up a large staircase composed of loads of hewn timber ; and through long rigmarole^ passages, hung with blackened paintings of fish and fruit and game, and country frolics, and huge kitchens, and portly burgomasters, such as you see about old-fashioned Flemish inns, till at length he arrived at his room. 1 " Rattling blade," i.e., reckless fellow. 2 Handsome. 3 Confusing. TALES OF A TRAVELER. 55 An old times chamber it was, sure enough, and crowded with all kinds of trumpery. It looked like an infirmary for decayed and superannuated furniture, where everything diseased or dis- abled was sent to nurse or to be forgotten. Or rather it might be taken for a general congress of old legitimate movables, where every kind and country had a representative. No two chairs were alike. Such high backs, and low backs, and leather bot- toms, and worsted bottoms, and straw bottoms, and no bottoms ; and cracked marble tables with curiously carved legs, holding balls in their claws, as though they were going to play at nine- pins. My grandfather made a bow to the motley assemblage as he entered, and, having undressed himself, placed his light in the fire- place, asking pardon of the tongs, which seemed to be making love to the shovel in the chimney corner, and whispering soft non- sense in its ear. TJie rest of the guests were by this time sound asleep, for your Mynheers are huge sleepers. The housemaids, one by one, crept up yawning to their attics ; and not a female head in the inn was laid on a pillow that night without dreaming of the bold dragoon. My grandfather, for his part, got into bed, and drew over him one of those great bags of down, under which they smother a man in the Low Countries ; and there he lay, melting between two feather beds, like an anchovy sandwich between two slices of toast and butter. He was a warm-complexioned man, and this smothering played the very deuce with him.^ So, sure enough, in a little time it seemed as if a legion of imps were twitching at him, and all the blood in his veins was in a fever heat. He lay still, however, until all the house was quiet, excepting the snoring of the Mynheers from the different chambers, who answered one another in all kinds of tones and cadences, like so many bullfrogs in a swamp. The quieter the house became the more unquiet became my grandfather. He waxed warmer and warmer, until at length the bed became too hot to hold him. 1 " Played the very," etc., i.e., annoyed him very much. 5^ IVASIIIXCroX JRVIXG. " Maybe the maid had warmed it too much ? " said the curi- ous gentleman inquiringly. " I rather think the contrary," rephed the Irishman. " But, be that as it may, it grew too hot for my grandfather." " Faith, there's no standing this any longer," says he. So he jumped out of bed, and went strolling about the house. " What for ? " said the inquisitive gentleman. ''Why, to cool himself, to be sure — or perhaps to find a more comfortable bed — or perhaps — But no matter what he went for; he never mentioned, and there's no use in taking up our time in conjecturing." Well, my grandfather had been for some time absent from his room, and was returning, perfectly cool, when just as he reached the door he heard a strange noise within. He paused and lis- tened. It seemed as if some one were trying to hum a tune in defiance of the asthma. He recollected the report of the room being haunted ; but he was no believer in. ghosts, so he pushed the door gently open and peeped in. Egad, gentlemen, there was a gambol carrying on within enough to have astonished St. Anthony ^ himself. By the light of the fire he saw a pale, weazen-faced fellow, in a long flannel gown and a tall white nightcap with a tassel to it, who sat by the fire with a bellows under his arm by way of bagpipe, from which he forced the asthmatical music that had bothered my grandfather. As he played, too, he kept twitching about with a thousand queer contortions, nodding his head, and bobbing about his tasseled nightcap. My grandfather thought this very odd and mighty presumptu- ous, and was about to demand what business he had to play his wind instrument in another gentleman's quarters, when a new cause of astonishment met his eye. From the opposite side of the room, a long-backed, bandy-legged chair, covered with leather, and studded all over in a coxcombical fashion with litde brass 1 St. Anthony (251-356) was the Egyptian founder of monachism, the doc- trine of a life of religious seclusion. ■J ALES OF A TRAVELER. 57 nails, got suddenly into motion, thrust out first a claw foot, then a crooked arm, and at length, making a leg, slid gracefully up to an easy-chair of tarnished brocade, with a hole in its bottom, and led it gallantly out in a ghostly minuet about the floor. The musician now played fiercer and fiercer, and bobbed his head and his nightcap about like mad. By degrees the dancing mania seemed to seize upon all the other pieces of furniture. The antique, long-bodied chairs paired off in couples and led down a country dance ; a three-legged stool danced a hornpipe, though horribly puzzled by its supernumerary limb ; while the amorous tongs seized the shovel round the waist, and whirled it about the room in a German waltz. In short, all the movables got in motion, pirouetting hands across, right and left, like so many devils ; all except a great clothespress, which kept courte- sying and courtesying in a corner, like a dowager, in exquisite time to the music, being rather too corpulent to dance, or per- haps at a loss for a partner. My grandfather concluded the latter to be the reason ; so being, like a true Irishman, devoted to the sex, and at all times ready for a frolic, he bounced into the room, called to the musician to strike up Paddy O'Rafferty,^ capered up to the clothespress, and seized upon the two handles to lead her out; when — whirr ! the whole revel was at an end. The chairs, tables, tongs, and shovel slunk in an instant as quietly into their places as if nothing had happened, and the musician vanished up the chimney, leaving the bellows behind him in his hurry. My grandfather found himself seated in the middle of the floor, with the clothespress sprawling before him, and the two handles jerked off, and in his hands. " Then, after all, this was a mere dream," said the inquisitive gentleman. " The divil a bit of a dream ! " replied the Irishman. ** There never was a truer fact in this world. Faith, I should have liked to see any man tell my grandfather it was a dream." Well, gentlemen, as the clothespress was a mighty heavy body, 1 An old popular Irish tune. 5« WASHINGTON IRVING. and my grandfather likewise, particularly in rear, you may easily suppose that two such heavy bodies coming to the ground would make a bit of a noise. Faith, the old mansion shook as though it had mistaken it for an earthquake. The whole garri- son was alarmed. The landlord, who slept below, hurried up with a candle to inquire the cause, but with all his haste his daughter had arrived at the scene of uproar before him. The landlord was followed by the landlady, who was followed by the bouncing barmaid, who was followed by the simpering chamber- maids, all holding together, as well as they could, such garments as they first laid hands on ; but all in a terrible hurry to see what the deuce was to pay in the chamber of the bold dragoon. My grandfather related the marvelous scene he had witnessed, and the broken handles of the prostrate clothespress bore testi- mony to the fact. There was no contesting such evidence ; par- ticularly with a lad of my grandfather's complexion, who seemed able to make good every word either with sword or shillalah.i So the landlord scratched his head and looked silly, as he was apt to do when puzzled. The landlady scratched — no, she did not scratch her head, but she knit her brow, and did not seem half pleased with the explanation. But the landlady's daughter corroborated it by recollecting that the last person who had dwelt in that chamber was a famous juggler, who died of St. Vitus's dance, 2 and had no doubt infected all the furniture. This set all things to rights, particularly when the chamber- maids declared that they had all witnessed strange carryings on in that room ; and as they declared this upon their honors, there could not remain a doubt upon this subject. " And did your grandfather go to bed again in that room ? " said the inquisitive gentleman. 1 A cudgel, so called from Shillelagh, a place in Ireland famous for its oaks. 2 St. Vitus's dance, or chorea, is a nervous disease marked by involuntary motions. It is called after St. Vitus, a Sicilian child martyr of the early part of the fourth century, who was believed to grant to his devotees relief from the dancing mania, which prevailed during the middle ages. TALES OF A TRAVELER. 59 " That's more than I can tell. Where he passed the rest of the night was a secret he never disclosed. In fact, though he had seen much service, he was but indifferently acquainted with geography, and apt to make blunders in his travels about inns at night, which it would have puzzled him sadly to account for in the morning." " Was he ever apt to walk in his sleep ? " said the knowing old gentleman. " Never that I heard of." There was a little pause after this rigmarole Irish romance, when the old gentleman with the haunted head observed that the stories hitherto related had rather a burlesque tendency. ** I recollect an adventure, however," added he, "which I heard of during a residence at Paris, for the truth of which I can under- take to vouch, and which is of a very grave and singular nature." ADVENTURE OF THE GERMAN STUDENT. ON a stormy night, in the tempestuous times of the French Revolution, a young German was returning to his lodg- ings, at a late hour, across the old part of Paris. The hghtning gleamed, and the loud claps of thunder rattled through the lofty narrow streets — but I should first tell you something about this young German. Gottfried Wolfgang was a young man of good family. He had studied for some time at Gottingen,i but being of a vision- ary and enthusiastic character, he had wandered into those wild and speculative doctrines which have so often bewildered Ger- man students. His secluded life, his intense application, and the singular nature of his studies, had an effect on both mind and body. His health was impaired, his imagination diseased. 1 A town of Hanover in Prussia. Its university, founded in 1734, was at one time the chief seat of learning in Germany. 6o WASHIXGTON IRVIXG. He had been indulging in fanciful speculations on spiritual essences, until, like Swedenborg,i he had an ideal world of his own around him. He took up a notion, I do not know from what cause, that there was an evil influence hanging over him ; an evil genius or spirit seeking to insnare him and insure his perdition. Such an idea working on his melancholy tempera- ment produced the most gloomy effects. He became haggard and desponding. His friends discovered the mental malady prey- ing upon him, and determined that the best cure was a change of scene ; he was sent, therefore, to finish his studies amidst the splendors and gayeties of Paris. AVolfgang arrived at Paris at the breaking out of the revolu- tion. The popular delirium at first caught his enthusiastic mind, and he was captivated by the political and philosophical theories of the day ; but the scenes of blood which followed shocked his sensitive nature, disgusted him with society and the world, and made him more than ever a recluse. He shut himself up in a solitary apartment in the Pays Latin^ the quarter of students. There, in a gloomy street not far from the monastic walls of the Sorbonne,^ he pursued his favorite speculations. Sometimes he spent hours together in the great libraries of Paris, those cata- combs of departed authors, rummaging among their hoards of dusty and obsolete works in quest of food for his unhealthy appetite. He ^vas, in a manner, a literary ghoul, feeding in the charnel house of decayed literature. Wolfgang, though solitary and recluse, was of an ardent tem- perament, but for a time it operated merely upon his imagina- 1 Emanuel Swedenborg (1688-1772), founder of the New Jerusalem Church, In his later life he lived entirely in a spiritual world, claiming to have direct intercourse with God, whose prophet he believed himself to be. 2 Latin Quarter ; the name of a district of Paris at one time occupied almost exclusively by students. 3 The Sorbonne, founded by Robert de Sorbon, confessor of Louis XL, was originally a theological college. The building is now occupied by the University of Paris. TALES OF A TRAVELER. 6i tion. He was too shy and ignorant of the world to make any advances to the fair, but he was a passionate admirer of female beauty, and in his lonely chamber would often lose himself in reveries on forms and faces which he had seen, and his fancy would deck out images of loveliness far surpassing the reality. While his mind w^as in this excited and sublimated state, a dream produced an extraordinary effect upon him. It was of a female face of transcendent beauty. So strong was the impres- sion made that he dreamed of it again and again. It haunted his thoughts by day, his slumbers by night ; in fine, he became passionately enamored of this shadow of a dream. This lasted so long that it became one of those fixed ideas which haunt the minds of melancholy men, and are at times mistaken for madness. Such was Gottfried Wolfgang, and such his situation at the time I mentioned. He was returning home late one stormy night, through some of the old and gloomy streets of the Marais} the ancient part of Paris. The loud claps of thunder rattled among the high houses of the narrow streets. He came to the Place de Greve,^ the sqtiare where public executions are performed. The lightning quivered about the pinnacles of the ancient Hotel de Ville,^ and shed flickering gleams over the open space in front. As Wolfgang was crossing the square, he shrank back with horror at finding himself close by the guillo- tine. It was the height of the reign of terror, when this dread- ful instrument of death stood ever ready, and its scaffold was continually running with the blood of the virtuous and the brave. 1 The Marais Quarter was a gloomy, old-fashioned square of Paris, part of what is now known as the Place de Vosges. 2 Place de Gr^ve, now known as the Place de 1' Hotel de Ville, has always been associated with dark cruelties. The stake, scaffold, and guillotine reigned there at various times. 3 The Hotel de Ville, a marvel of architectural beauty, was completed in 1628, and was the great townhall of Paris until destroyed by fire in 1871. It was the usual rallying place of the democratic party during the French re- volutions. 62 WASHINGTON IRVING, It had that very day been actively employed in the work of car- nage, and there it stood in grim array, amidst a silent and sleep- ing city, waiting for fresh victims. Wolfgang's heart sickened within him, and he was turning shuddering from the horrible engine, when he beheld a shadowy form, cowering as it were at the foot of the steps which led up to the scaffold. A succession of vivid flashes of lightning re- vealed it more distinctly. It was a female figure, dressed in black. She was seated on one of the lower steps of the scaffold, leaning forward, her face hid in her lap ; and her long disheveled tresses, hanging to the ground, streaming with the rain, which fell in torrents. Wolfgang paused. There was something awful in this solitary monument of woe. The female had the appearance of being above the common order. He knew the times to be full of vicissitude, and that many a fair head, which had once been pillowed on down, now wandered houseless. Perhaps this was some poor mourner whom the dreadful ax had rendered desolate, and who sat here heartbroken on the strand of exist- ence, from which all that was dear to her had been launched into eternity. He approached, and addressed her in the accents of sympathy. She raised her head and gazed wildly at him. What was his astonishment at beholding, by the bright glare of the hghtning, the very face which had haunted him in his dreams. It was pale and disconsolate, but ravishingly beautiful. Trembhng with violent and conflicting emotions, Wolfgang again accosted her. He spoke something of her being exposed at such an hour of the night, and to the fury of such a storm, and offered to conduct her to her friends. She pointed to the guillotine with a gesture of dreadful signification. " I have no friend on earth ! " said she. " But you have a home," said Wolfgang. " Yes — in the grave ! " The heart of the student melted at the words. " If a stranger dare make an offer," said he, " without danger TALES OF A TRAVELER. 63 of being misunderstood, I would offer my humble dwelling as a shelter; myself as a devoted friend. I am friendless myself in Paris, and a stranger in the land; but if my hfe could be of ser- vice, it is at your disposal, and should be sacrificed before harm or indignity should come to you." There was an honest earnestness in the young man's manner that had its effect. His foreign accent, too, was in his favor ; it showed him not to be a hackneyed inhabitant of Paris. Indeed, there is an eloquence in true enthusiasm that is not to be doubted. The homeless stranger confided herself implicitly to the protec- tion of the student. He supported her faltering steps across the Pont Neuf,i and by the place where the statue of Henry IV. had been overthrown by the populace. The storm had abated, and the thunder rum- bled at a distance. All Paris was quiet ; that great volcano of human passion slumbered for a while, to gather fresh strength for the next day's eruption. The student conducted his charge through the ancient streets of the Pays Latin^ and by the dusky walls of the Sorbonne, to the great dingy hotel which he inhabited. The old portress who admitted them stared with surprise at the un- usual sight of the melancholy Wolfgang with a female companion. On entering his apartment, the student, for the first time, blushed at the scantiness and indifference of his dweUing. He had but one chamber, an old-fashioned salon, heavily carved, and fantastically furnished with the remains of former magnifi- cence ; for it was one of those hotels in the quarter of the Lux- embourg Palace - which had once belonged to nobility. It was lumbered with books and papers, and all the usual apparatus of a student, and his bed stood in a recess at one end. 1 A bridge across the Seine. On it stands a statue of Henry IV., erected to replace one which had stood there from 1635 to 1791, when it was knocked down by the populace and converted into pieces of ordnance. 2 One of the most magnificent palaces in Paris, erected in 1615. During the French Revolution it was converted into a prison for the confinement of noble families. 64 WASHINGTON IRVING. When lights were brought, and Wolfgang had a better oppor- tunity of contemplating the stranger, he was more than ever in- toxicated by her beauty. Her face was pale, but of a dazzling fairness, set off by a profusion of raven hair that hung cluster- ing about it. Her eyes were large and brilliant, with a singular expression approaching almost to wildness. As far as her black dress permitted her shape to be seen, it was of perfect symme- try. Her whole appearance was highly striking, though she was dressed in the simplest style. The only thing approaching to an ornament which she wore was a broad black band round her neck, clasped by diamonds. The perplexity now commenced with the student how to dis- pose of the helpless being thus thrown upon his protection. He thought of abandoning his chamber to her, and seeking shelter for himself elsewhere. Still, he was so fascinated by her charms, there seemed to be such a spell upon his thoughts and senses, that he could not tear himself from her presence. Her manner, too, was singular and unaccountable. She spoke no more of the guillotine. Her grief had abated. The attentions of the student had first won her confidence, and then, apparently, her heart. She was evidently an enthusiast like himself, and enthusiasts soon understand each other. In the infatuation of the moment Wolfgang avowed his pas- sion for her. He told her the story of his mysterious dream, and how she had possessed his heart before he had even seen her. She was strangely affected by his recital, and acknowledged to have felt an impulse towards him equally unaccountable. It was the time for wild theory and wild actions. Old prejudices and superstitions were done away ; everything was under the sway of the *' Goddess of Reason." ^ i\mong other rubbish of the old times, the forms and ceremonies of marriage began to be consid- ered superfluous bonds for honorable minds. Social compacts 1 In the subversion of all existing institutions during the French Revolu- tion, the worship of human reason, personified as the Goddess of Reason, was instituted as a new religion. TALES OF A TRAVELER. 65 were the vogue. Wolfgang was too much of a theorist not to be tainted by the hberal doctrines of the day. " Why should we separate ? " said he. *' Our hearts are united ; in the eye of reason and honor we are as one. What need is there of sordid forms to bind high souls together ? " The stranger listened with emotion ; she had evidently received illumination at the same school. "You have no home nor family," continued he; "let me be everything to you ; or rather, let us be everything to one another. If form is necessary, form shall be observed, — there is my hand. I pledge myself to you forever." " Forever ? " said the stranger solemnly. " Forever ! " repeated Wolfgang. The stranger clasped the hand extended to her. " Then I am yours," murmured she, and sank upon his bosom. The next morning the student left his bride sleeping, and sallied forth at an early hour to seek more spacious apartments suitable to the change in his situation. When he returned, he found the stranger lying with her head hanging over the bed, and one arm thrown over it. He spoke to her, but received no reply. He advanced to awaken her from her uneasy posture. On taking her hand it was cold — there was no pulsation — her face was pallid and ghastly. In a word, she was a corpse. Horrified and frantic, he alarmed the house. A scene of con- fusion ensued. The police was summoned. As the oflScer of police entered the room, he started back on beholding the corpse. " Great heaven ! " cried he, " how did this woman come here ? " " Do you know anything about her ? "said Wolfgang eagerly. " Do I ? " exclaimed the officer; "she was guillotined yester- day." He stepped forward, undid the black collar round the neck of the corpse, and the head rolled on the floor ! The student burst into a frenzy. " The fiend ! the fiend has gained possession of me !" shrieked he. " I am lost forever." 5 66 WASHINGTON IRVING. They tried to soothe him, but in vain. He was possessed with the frightful behef that an evil spirit had reanimated the dead body to insnare him. He went distracted, and died in a madhouse. Here the old gentleman with the haunted head finished his narrative. " And is this really a fact ? " said the inquisitive gentleman. " A fact not to be doubted," replied the other. " I had it from the best authority. The student told it me himself. I saw him in a madhouse in Paris." ADVENTURE OF THE MYSTERIOUS PICTURE. AS one story of the kind produces another, and as all the ±\. company seemed fully engrossed with the subject, and dis- posed to bring their relatives and ancestors upon the scene, there is no knowing how many more strange adventures we might have heard, had not a corpulent old fox hunter, who had slept soundly through the whole, now suddenly awakened, with a loud and long-drawn yawn. The sound broke the charm ; the ghosts took to flight, as though it had been cockcrowing,i and there was a universal move for bed. " And now for the haunted chamber," said the Irish captain, taking his candle. *' Ay, who's to be the hero of the night ? " said the gentleman with the ruined head. " That we shall see in the morning," said the old gentleman with the nose. " Whoever looks pale and grizzly will have seen the ghost." " Well, gendemen," said the Baronet, " there's many a true thing said in jest ; in fact, one of you will sleep in the room to-night." " What! — a haunted room ? — a haunted room? I claim the 1 The time at which cocks begin to crow; i.e., the dawn of clay, when ghosts were always supposed to disappear. TALES OF A TRAVELER. by adventure — and I — and I — and I," said a dozen guests, talking and laughing at the same time. " No, no," said mine host, "there is a secret about one of my rooms on which I feel disposed to try an experiment ; so, gentle- men, none of you shall know who has the haunted chamber until circumstances reveal it. I will not even know it myself, but will leave it to chance and the allotment of the housekeeper. At the same time, if it will be any satisfaction to you, I will observe, for the honor of my paternal mansion, that there's scarcely a cham- ber in it but is well worthy of being haunted." We now separated for the night, and each went to his allotted room. Mine was in one wing of the building, and I could not but smile at its resemblance in style to those eventful apartments described in the tales of the supper table. It was spacious and gloomy, decorated with lampblack portraits, a bed of ancient damask, with a tester ^ sufficiently lofty to grace a couch of state, and a number of massive pieces of old-fashioned furniture. I drew a great claw-footed armchair before the wide fireplace ; stirred up the fire ; sat looking into it, and musing upon the odd stories I had heard, until, partly overcome by the fatigue of the day's hunting, and partly by the wine and wassail of mine host, I fell asleep in my chair. The uneasiness of my position made my slumber troubled, and laid me at the mercy of all kinds of wild and fearful dreams. Now it was that my perfidious dinner and supper rose in rebellion against my peace. I was hag-ridden ^ by a fat saddle of mutton ; a plum pudding weighed like lead upon my conscience ; the merry thought of a capon filled me with horrible suggestions ; and a deviled leg of a turkey stalked in all kinds of diabolical shapes through my imagination. In short, I had a violent fit of the nightmare. Some strange, indefinite evil seemed hanging over me, which I could not avert ; something terrible and loathsome op- pressed, me which I could not shake off. I was conscious of being 1 Canopy over a bed. 2 Ridden by a hag or witch ; hence, afflicted with nightmare. 68 WASHINGTON IRVING. asleep, and strove to rouse myself, but every effort redoubled the evil ; until gasping, struggling, almost strangling, I suddenly sprang bolt upright in my chair, and awoke. The light on the mantelpiece had burned low, and the wick was divided ; there was a great winding sheet made by the dripping wax on the side towards me. The disordered taper emitted a broad, flaring flame, and threw a strong light on a painting over the fireplace which I had not hitherto observed. It consisted merely of a head, or rather a face, staring full upon me, with an expression that was startling. It was without a frame, and at the first glance I could hardly persuade myself that it was not a real face thrusting itself out of the dark oaken panel. I sat in my chair gazing at it, and the more I gazed the more it disquieted me. I had never before been affected in the same way by anv painting. The emotions it caused were strange and indefinite. They were something like what I have heard ascribed to the eyes of the basilisk, or like that mysterious influence in reptiles termed fascination. I passed my hand over my eyes several times, as if seeking instinctively to brush away the illusion, — in vain. They instantly reverted to the picture, and its chilling, creeping influence over my flesh and blood was redoubled. I looked round the room on other pictures, either to divert my attention, or to see whether the same effect would be produced by them. Some of them were grim enough to produce the effect, if the mere grimness of the painting produced it. No such thing ; my eye passed over them all with perfect indifference, but the moment it reverted to this visage over the fireplace, it was as if an electric shock darted through me. The other pictures were dim and faded, but this one protruded from a plain background in the strongest rehef, and with wonderful truth of coloring. The expression was that of agony, — the agony of intense bodily pain ; but a menace scowled upon the brow, and a few sprinklings of blood added to its ghastliness. Yet it was not all these character- istics ; it was some horror of the mind, some inscrutable antipathy awakened by this pictiu-e, which harrowed up my feelings. TALES OF A TRAVELER. 69 I tried to persuade myself that this was chimerical ; that my brain was confused by the fumes of mine host's good cheer, and in some measure by the odd stories about paintings which had been told at supper. I determined to shake off these vapors of the mind ; rose from my chair ; walked about the room ; snapped my fingers ; rallied myself ; laughed aloud. It was a forced laugh, and the echo of it in the old chamber jarred upon my ear. I walked to the window, and tried to discern the landscape through the glass. It was pitch darkness, and a howhng storm without, and as I heard the wind moan among the trees, I caught a reflec- tion of this accursed visage in the pane of glass, as though it were staring through the window at me. Even the reflection of it was thrilling. How was this vile nervous fit — for such I now persuaded my- self it was — to be conquered? I determined to force myself not to look at the painting, but to undress quickly and get into bed. I began to undress, but in spite of every effort, I could not keep myself from stealing a glance every now and then at the pictiu^e ; and a glance was sufficient to distress me. Even when my back was turned to it, the idea of this strange face behind me, peep- ing over my shoulder, was insupportable. I threw off my clothes and hurried into bed, but still this visage gazed upon me. I had a full view of it in my bed, and for some time could not take my eyes from it. I had grown nervous to a dismal degree. I put out the Hght, and tried to force myself to sleep — all in vain. The fire, gleaming up a little, threw an uncertain light about the room, leaving, however, the region of the picture in deep shadow. What, thought I, if this be the chamber about which mine host spoke, as having a mystery reigning over it ? I had taken his words merely as spoken in jest ; might they have a real import ? I looked around. The faintly lighted apartment had all the quali- fications requisite for a haunted chamber. It began in my in- fected imagination to assume strange appearances ; the old por- traits turned paler and paler, and blacker and blacker ; the streaks of hght and shadow thrown among the quaint articles of furniture 70 WASHINGTON IRVING. gave them more singular shapes and characters. There was a huge, dark clothespress of antique form, gorgeous in brass and lustrous with wax, that began to grow oppressive to me. "Am I, then," thought I, "indeed the hero of the haunted room ? Is there really a spell laid upon me, or is this all some contrivance of mine host to raise a laugh at my expense ? " The idea of being hag-ridden by my own fancy all night, and then bantered on my haggard looks the next day, was intolerable ; but the very idea was sufficient to produce the effect, and to render me still more nen-ous. " Pish ! " said I, " it can be no such thing. How could my worthy host imagine that I, or any man, would be so worried by a mere picture ? It is my own diseased imagi- nation that torments me." I turned in bed, and shifted from side to side, to try to fall asleep ; but all in vain. When one cannot get asleep by lying quiet, it is seldom that tossing about wnll effect the purpose. The fire gradually went out, and left the room in total darkness. Still I had the idea of that inexplicable countenance gazing and keeping watch upon me through the gloom ; nay, what was worse, the very darkness seemed to magnify its terrors. It was like having an unseen enemv hanging about one in the night. Instead of having one picture now to worry me, I had a hun- dred. I fancied it in ever\' direction. " There it is," thought I, '' and there ! and there I with its horrible and mysterious expres- sion still gazing and gazing on me ! Xo ; if I must suffer the strange and dismal influence, it were better face a single foe than thus be haunted by a thousand images of it." Whoever has been in a state of nervous agitation must know that the longer it continues the more uncontrollable it grows. The very air of the chamber seemed at length infected by the baleful presence of this picture. I fancied it hovering over me. I almost felt the fearful visage from the wall approaching my face ; it seemed breathing upon me. " This is not to be borne," said I at length, springing out of bed. " I can stand this no longer ; I shall only tumble and toss about here all night, make TALES OF A TRAVELER. 71 a very specter of myself, and become the hero of the haunted chamber in good earnest. Whatever be the ill consequences, I'll quit this cursed room and seek a night's rest elsewhere. They can but laugh at me, at all events, and they'll be sure to have the laugh upon me if I pass a sleepless night, and show them a haggard and woe-begone visage in the morning." All this was half muttered to myself as I hastily slipped on my clothes, which having done, I groped my way out of the room and downstairs to the drawing-room. Here, after tumbling over two or three pieces of furniture, I made out to reach a sofa, and stretching myself upon it, determined to bivouac there for the night. The moment I found myself out of the neighborhood of that strange picture, it seemed as if the charm were broken. All its influence was at an end. I felt assured that it was confined to its own dreary chamber, for I had, with a sort of instinctive cau- tion, turned the key when I closed the door. I soon calmed down, therefore, into a state of tranquillity ; from that into a drowsiness ; and finally into a deep sleep, out of which I did not awake until the housemaid, with her besom ^ and her matin song, came to put the room in order. She stared at finding me stretched upon the sofa, but I presume circumstances of the kind were not uncommon after hunting dinners in her master's bachelor establishment, for she went on with her song and her work, and took no further heed of me. I had an unconquerable repugnance to return to my chamber ; so I found my way to the butler's quarters, made my toilet in the best way circumstances would permit, and was among the first to appear at the breakfast table. Our breakfast was a sub- stantial fox hunter's repast, and the company generally assembled at it. When ample justice had been done to the tea, coflfee, cold meats, and humming ale — for all these were furnished in abun- dance, according to the tastes of the different guests — the con- versation began to break out with all the liveliness and freshness of morning mirth. 1 Broom. 72 WASHINGTON IRVING. ** But who is the hero of the haunted chamber ? who has seen the ghost last night ? " said the inquisitive gentleman, rolling his lobster eyes about the table. The question set every tongue in motion ; a vast deal of ban- tering, criticising of countenances, of mutual accusation and re- tort, took place. Some had drunk deep, and some were unshaven, so that there were suspicious faces enough in the assembly. I alone could not enter with ease and vivacity into the joke ; I felt tongue-tied, embarrassed. A recollection of what I had seen and felt the preceding night still haunted my mind. It seemed as if the mysterious picture still held a thrall upon me. I thought also that our host's eye was turned on me with an air of curi- osity. In short, I was conscious that I was the hero of the night, and felt as if every one might read it in my looks. The joke, however, passed over, and no suspicion seemed to attach to me. I was just congratulating myself on my escape, when a ser\-ant came in, saying that the gentleman who had slept on the sofa in the drawing-room had left his watch under one of the pillows. My repeater was in his hand. " What ! " said the inquisitive gentleman, " did any gentleman sleep on the sofa ? " " Soho, soho ! a hare, a hare ! " ^ cried the old gentleman with the flexible nose. I could not avoid acknowledging the watch, and was rising in great confusion, when a boisterous old squire who sat beside me exclaimed, slapping me on the shoulder, " 'Sblood, lad, thou art the man as has seen the ghost ! " The attention of the company was immediately turned on me. If my face had been pale the moment before, it now glowed almost to burning. I tried to laugh, but could only make a grimace, and found the muscles of my face twitching at sixes and sevens,^ and totally out of all control. It takes but httle to raise a laugh among a set of fox hunters. 1 A sportsman's cry on the discovery of a hare. 2 "At sixes and sevens," i.e., in confusion. TALES OF A TRA\'ELEK. 73 There was a world of merriment and joking on the subject, and as I never relished a joke overmuch when it was at my own ex- pense, I began to feel a little nettled. I tried to look cool and calm, and to restrain my pique ; but the coolness and calmness of a man in a passion are confounded ^ treacherous. " Gentlemen," said I, with a shght cocking of the chin and a bad attempt at a smile, "this is all very pleasant — ha, ha ! — very pleasant ; but I'd have you know, I am as little superstitious as any of you — ha, ha ! — and as to anything like timidity — you may smile, gentlemen, but I trust there's no one here means to insinuate that — as to a room's being haunted — I repeat, gentlemen [growing a little warm at seeing a cursed grin break- ing out round mej, as to a room's being haunted, I have as little faith in such silly stories as any one. But, since you put the matter home to me, I will say that I have met with something in my room strange and inexplicable to me. [A shout of laugh- ter.] Gentlemen, I am serious ; I know well what I am saying ; I am calm, gentlemen [striking my fist upon the table], by Heaven, I am calm ! I am neither trifling, nor do I wish to be trifled with. [The laughter of the company suppressed, and with ludicrous attempts at gravity.] There is a picture in the room in which I was put last night that has had an effect upon me the most singular and incomprehensible." "A picture ? " said the old gentleman with the haunted head. " A picture I " cried the narrator with the nose. " A picture ! a picture ! " echoed several voices. Here there was an ungovern- able peal of laughter. I could not contain myself. I started up from my seat, looked round on the company with fiery indigna- tion, thrust both of my hands into my pockets, and strode up to one of the windows as though I would have walked through it. I stopped short, looked out upon the landscape without dis- tinguishing a feature of it, and felt my gorge- rising almost to suffocation. Mine host saw it was time to interfere. He had maintained an 1 Confoundedly ; extremely. 2 Indignation. 74 WASHINGTON IRVING. air of gravity through the whole of the scene ; and now stepped forth, as if to shelter me from the overwhelming merriment of my companions. " Gentlemen," said he, " I dislike to spoil sport, but you have had your laugh, and the joke of the haunted chamber has been enjoyed. I must now take the part of my guest. I must not only vindicate him from your pleasantries, but I must reconcile him to himself, for I suspect he is a little out of humor with his own feehngs ; and, above all, I must crave his pardon for hav- ing made him the subject of a kind of experiment. Yes, gentle- men, there is something strange and peculiar in the chamber to w^hich our friend was shown last night ; there is a picture in my house which possesses a singular and mysterious influence, and with which there is connected a very curious story. It is a pic- ture to which I attach a value from a variety of circumstances ; and though I have often been tempted to destroy it, from the odd and uncomfortable sensations which it produces in every one that beholds it, yet I have never been able to prevail upon myself to make the sacrifice. It is a picture I never like to look upon myself, and which is held in awe by all my servants. I have therefore banished it to a room but rarely used, and should have had it covered last night, had not the nature of our conversa- tion, and the whimsical talk about a haunted chamber, tempted me to let it remain, by way of experiment, to see whether a stranger, totally unacquainted with its story, would be affected by it." The words of the Baronet had turned every thought into a different channel. All were anxious to hear the story of the mysterious picture ; and, for myself, so strangely were my feel- ings interested, that I forgot to feel piqued at the experiment my host had made upon my nerves, and joined eagerly in the general entreaty. As the morning was stormy, and denied all egress, my host was glad of any means of entertaining his com- pany ; so, drawing his armchair towards the fire, he began. M TALES OF A TRAVELER. 75 ADVENTURE OF THE MYSTERIOUS STRANGER. ANY years since, when I was a young man, and had just left Oxford, I was sent on the grand tour to finish my education. I beheve my parents had tried in vain to inoculate me with wisdom ; so they sent me to mingle with society, in hopes that I might take it the natural way. Such, at least, appears the reason for which nine tenths of our youngsters are sent abroad. In the course of my tour I remained some time at Venice. The romantic character of that place delighted me ; I was very much amused by the air of adventure and intrigue prevalent in this region of masks and gondolas ; and I was exceedingly smitten by a pair of languishing black eyes, that played upon my heart from under an Italian mantle ; so I persuaded myself that I was lingering at Venice to study men and manners ; at least I per- suaded my friends so, and that answered all my purposes. I was a little prone to be struck by peculiarities in character and conduct, and my imagination was so full of romantic asso- ciations with Italy that I was ahvays on the lookout for adven- ture. Everything chimed in with such a humor in this old mermaid of a city. My suite of apartments were in a proud, melancholy palace on the Grand Canal, formerly the residence of a magnifico,! and sumptuous with the traces of decayed gran- deur. My gondolier was one of the shrewdest of his class, active, merry, intelligent, and, like his brethren, secret as the grave ; that is to say, secret to all the world except his master. I had not had him a week before he put me behind all the curtains in Ven- ice.- I Hked the silence and mystery of the place, and when I 1 A nobleman or grandee of Venice, so called in courtesy. 2 " Put me behind," etc., i.e., told me all the secrets and private affairs of the people of Venice. 76 WASHINGTOX IRVJXG. sometimes saw from my window a black gondola gliding mysteri- ously along in the dusk of the evening, with nothing visible but its little glimmering lantern, I would jump into my own zendeletta,' and give a signal for pursuit. " But I am running away from my subject with the recollection of youthful follies," said the Baronet, checking himself. " Let us come to the point." Among my familiar resorts was a cassino under the arcades on one side of the grand Square of St. Mark.- Here I used fre- quently to lounge and take my ice, on those w^arm summer nights when, in Italy, everybody lives abroad until morning. I was seated here one evening when a group of Italians took their seats at a table on the opposite side of the saloon. Their conversation was gay and animated, and carried on with Italian ^■ivacity and gesticulation. I remarked among them one young man, how- ever, who appeared to take no share and find no enjoyment in the conversation, though he seemed to force himself to attend to it. He was tall and slender, and of extremely prepossessing appearance. His features were fine, though emaciated. He had a profusion of black glossy hair, that curled lightly about his head, and contrasted with the extreme paleness of his counte- nance. His brow was haggard ; deep furrows seemed to have been plowed into his visage by care, not by age, for he was evidently in the prime of youth. His eye was full of expression and fire, but wild and unsteady. He seemed to be tormented by some strange fancy or apprehension. In spite of every^ effort to fix his attention on the conversation of his companions, I noticed that every now and then he would turn his head slowly round, give a glance over his shoulder, and then withdraw it with a sudden jerk, as if something painful met his eye. This was repeated at intervals of about a minute, and he appeared hardly 1 Small boat. 2 The Square of St. Mark, or Piazza di San Marco, the principal promenade of Venice, is nearly surrounded by the sea. Magnificent churches and palaces occupy the square, and around it extends a vast gallery containing many elegant shops and cafes. TALES OF A TRAVELER. 77 to have recovered from one shock before I saw him slowly pre- paring to encounter another. After sitting some time in the cassino, the party paid for the refreshment they had taken, and departed. The young man was the last to leave the saloon, and I remarked him glancing behind him in the same way, just as he passed out of the door. I could not resist the impulse to rise and follow him ; for I was at an age when a romantic feehng of curiosity is easily awakened. The party walked slowly down the arcades, talking and laughing as they went. They crossed the Piazzetta,i but paused in the middle of it to enjoy the scene. It was one of those moonlight nights, so brilliant and clear in the pure atmosphere of Italy. The moonbeams streamed on the tall tower ^ of St. Mark, and lighted up the magnificent front and swelling domes of the cathedral.^ The party expressed their delight in animated terms. I kept my eye upon the young man. He alone seemed abstracted and self- occupied. I noticed the same singular and, as it were, furtive, glance over the shoulder which had attracted my attention in the cassino. The party moved on, and I followed. They passed along the walk called the BrogHo, turned the corner of the Ducal Palace,* and getting into the gondola, glided swiftly away. The countenance and conduct of this young man dwelt upon my mind, and interested me exceedingly. I met him a day or two afterwards in a gallery of paintings. He was evidently a connoisseur, for he always singled out the most masterly produc- tions, and a few remarks drawn from him by his companions showed an intimate acquaintance with the art. His own taste, 1 The Piazzetta (" small square") runs at right angles from the southeast corner of the Piazza of St. Mark to the Grand Canal. 2 The famous clock tower of the Square of St. Mark, which has on its face a dial resplendent with gold. It was built in 1494 and restored in 1859. 3 The St. Mark Cathedral, one of the most magnificent in the world. 4 The Ducal Palace, or Palace of the Doges, is a magnificent structure, first built in 800. It has been destroyed five times, and each time restored with greater splendor. The Broglio is the lower gallery, or piazza, under the Ducal Palace. 78 WASHINGTON IRVING. however, ran on singular extremes ; on Salvator Rosa,i in his most savage and soHtary scenes ; on Raphael, ^ Titian, ^ and Cor- reggio,^ in their softest delineations of female beauty ; on these he would occasionally gaze with transient enthusiasm. But this seemed only a momentary forgetfulness. Still would recur that cautious glance behind, and always quickly withdrawn, as though something terrible met his view. I encountered him frequently afterwards at the theater, at balls, at concerts ; at promenades in the gardens of San Georgio ;- at the grotesque exhibitions in the Square of St. Mark ; among the throng of merchants on the exchange by the Rialto.^ He seemed, in fact, to seek crowds ; to hunt after bustle and amuse- ment ; yet never to take any interest in either the business or the gayety of the scene. Ever an air of painful thought, of wTetched abstraction ; and ever that strange and recurring movement of glancing fearfully over the shoulder. I did not know at first but this might be caused by apprehension of arrest ; or, perhaps, from dread of assassination. But if so, why should he go thus continu- ally abroad ? Why expose himself at all times and in all places ? I became anxious to know this stranger. I was drawn to him by that romantic sympathy which sometimes draws young men towards each other. His melancholy threw a charm about him, no doubt heightened by the touching expression of his counte- 1 Salvator Rosa was a renowned Italian painter (1615-73) of the Nea- politan school. He had a special skill in depicting strange, wild, turbulent scenes. Sanzio Raphael (1483-1520), an eminent Italian painter, spent much time in decorating churches and altars, and is especially famed for his pic- tures of the Madonna and the Holy Family. Titian, or Tiziano Vecellio (1477-1576), a celebrated Venetian painter, called " the divine one," excelled chiefly in the depth and beauty of his coloring. Antonio Allegri da Correggio (1494-1534), a great Italian painter, painted many types of female loveliness. 2 One of the islands in the southern part of Venice, on which is situated the beautiful church of San Georgio Maggiore. 3 An island on one side of the Grand Canal of Venice. It is the site on which Venice as a city first existed. It is a central point of trade and commerce. TALES OF A TRAVELER. 79 nance, and the manly graces of his person ; for manly beauty has its effect even upon men. I had an Englishman's habitual diffi- dence and awkwardness to contend with ; but from frequently meeting him in the cassinos, I gradually edged myself into his acquaintance. I had no reserve on his part to contend with. He seemed, on the contrary, to court society ; and, in fact, to seek anything rather than be alone. When he found that I really took an interest in him, he threw himself entirely on my friendship. He clung to me like a drown- ing man. He would walk with me for hours up and down the Place of St. Mark ; or would sit, until night was far advanced, in my apartments. He took rooms under the same roof with, me ; and his constant request was that I would permit him, when it did not incommode me, to sit by me in my saloon. It was not that he seemed to take a particular delight in my conversa- tion, but rather that he craved the vicinity of a human being, and, above all, of a being that sympathized with him. " I have often heard," said he, " of the sincerity of Englishmen ; thank God I have one at length for a friend ! " Yet he never seemed disposed to avail himself of my sympathy other than by mere companionship. He never sought to unbosom himself to me. There appeared to be a settled, corroding anguish in his bosom that neither could be soothed " by silence nor by speaking." A devouring melancholy preyed upon his heart, and seemed to be drying up the very blood in his veins. It was not a soft melancholy, the disease of the affections, but a parching, wither- ing agony. I could see at times that his mouth was dry and feverish ; he panted rather than breathed ; his eyes were blood- shot ; his cheeks pale and livid, with now and then faint streaks of red athwart them, — baleful gleams of the fire that was consum- ing his heart. As my arm was within his, I felt him press it at times with a convulsive motion to his side ; his hands would clinch themselves involuntarily, and a kind of shudder would run through his frame. 8o WASHINGTON IRVING. I reasoned with him about his melancholy ; sought to drav/ from him the cause ; he shrunk from all confiding. "Do not seek to know it," said he ; " you could not reheve it if you knew it ; you would not even seek to relieve it. On the contrary, I should lose your sympathy, and that," said he, pressing my hand convulsively, "that I feel has become too dear to me to risk." I endeavored to awaken hope within him. He was young ; life had a thousand pleasures in store for him ; there was a healthy reaction in the youthful heart ; it medicines ^ all its own w^ounds. " Come, come," said I, " there is no grief so great that youth cannot outgrow it." " No ! no ! " said he, clinching his teeth, and striking repeatedly, wath the energy of despair, on his bosom, " it is here ! here ! deep rooted ; draining my heart's blood. It grows and grows, while my heart withers and withers. I have a dreadful monitor that gives me no repose — that follows me step by step — and will follow me step by step, until it pushes me into my grave ! " As he said this he involuntarily gave one of those fearful glances over his shoulder, and shrunk back with more than usual horror. I could not resist the temptation to allude to this move- ment, which I supposed to be some mere malady of the nerves. The moment I mentioned it, his face became crimsoned and convulsed ; he grasped me by both hands. " For God's sake," exclaimed he, with a piercing voice, " never allude to that again. Let us avoid this subject, my friend ; you cannot relieve me, — indeed you cannot relieve me, but you may add to the torments I suffer. At some future day you shall know all." I never resumed the subject ; for however much my curiosity might be roused, I felt too true a compassion for his sufferings to increase them by my intrusion. I sought various ways to divert his mind, and to arouse him from the constant meditations in which he was plunged. He saw my efforts, and seconded them as far as was in his power, for there was nothing moody 1 Cures. TALES OF A TRAVELER. 8 1 or wayward in his nature. On the contrary, there was something frank, generous, unassuming, in his whole deportment. All the sentiments he uttered were noble and lofty. He claimed no in- dulgence, asked no toleration, but seemed content to carry his load of misery in silence, and only sought to carry it by my side. There was a mute, beseeching manner about him, as if he craved companionship as a charitable boon ; and a tacit thankfulness in his looks, as if he felt grateful to me for not repulsing him. I felt this melancholy to be infectious. It stole over my spirits, interfered with all my gay pursuits, and gradually saddened my life ; yet I could not prevail upon myself to shake off a being who seemed to hang upon me for support. In truth, the gener- ous traits of character which beamed through all his gloom pene- trated to my heart. His bounty was lavish and open-handed ; his charity, melting and spontaneous, not confined to mere dona- tions, which humiliate as much as they relieve. The tone of his voice, the beam of his eye, enhanced every gift, and surprised the poor suppliant with that rarest and sweetest of charities, — the charity not merely of the hand, but of the heart. Indeed his liberahty seemed to have something in it of self-abasement and expiation. He, in a manner, humbled himself before the mendi- cant. " What right have I to ease and affluence," would he mur- mur to himself, " when innocence wanders in misery and rags ? " The carnival ^ time arrived. I hoped the gay scenes then presented might have some cheering effect. I mingled with him in the motley throng that crowded the Place of St. Mark. We frequented operas, masquerades, balls, — all in vain. The evil kept growing on him. He became more and more haggard and agitated. Often, after we had returned from one of these scenes of revelr^% I have entered his room and found him lying on his face on the sofa, his hands clinched in his fine hair, and his whole countenance bearing traces of the convulsions of his mind. The carnival passed away ; the time of Lent succeeded ; pas- 1 A festival celebrated with merriment and revelry in Roman Catholic countries during the week before Lent. 82 WASHINGTON IRVING. sion week arrived. We attended one evening a solemn service in one of the churches, in the course of which a grand piece of vocal and instrumental music was performed relating to the death of our Savior. I had remarked that he was always powerfully affected by music ; on this occasion he was so in an extraordinary degree. As the pealing notes swelled through the lofty aisles, he seemed to kindle with fervor ; his eyes rolled upwards, until nothing but the whites were visible ; his hands were clasped together, until the fingers were deeply imprinted in the flesh. When the music expressed the dying agony, his face gradually sank upon his knees ; and at the touching words resounding through the church, " Gesu 7nori,'" i sobs burst from him uncontrolled. I had never seen him weep before. His had always been agony rather than sorrow. I augured well from the circumstance, and let him weep on uninterrupted. When the ser\-ice was ended, we left the church. He hung on my arm as we walked homewards, with something of a softer and more subdued manner, instead of that nervous agitation I had been accustomed to witness. He alluded to the service we had heard. " Music," said he, "is indeed the voice of Heaven ; never before have I felt more impressed by the story of the atonement of our Savior. — Yes, my friend," said he, clasping his hands with a kind of transport, " I know that my Redeemer liveth ! " We parted for the night. His room was not far from mine, and I heard him for some time busied in it. I fell asleep, but was awakened before dayhght. The young man stood by my bedside, dressed for traveling. He held a sealed packet and a large parcel in his hand, which he laid on the table. " Farewell, my friend," said he, " I am about to set forth on a long journey ; but, before I go I leave with you these remem- brances. In this packet you will find the particulars of my story. When you read them I shall be far away. Do not remember me with aversion. You have been indeed a friend to me. You 1 Jesus died. TALES OF A TRAVELER. ^7, have poured oil into a broken heart, but you could not heal it. Farewell ! Let me kiss your hand — I am unworthy to embrace you." He sank on his knees, seized my hand in despite of my efforts to the contrary, and covered it with kisses. I was so sur- prised by all the scene that I had not been able to say a word. " But we shall meet again," said I, hastily, as I saw him hurry- ing towards the door. " Never, never, in this world ! " said he, solemnly. He sprang once more to my bedside, seized my hand, pressed it to his heart and to his lips, and rushed out of the room. Here the Baronet paused. He seemed lost in thought, and sat looking upon the floor, and drumming with his fingers on the arm of his chair. " And did this mysterious personage return ? " said the inquisi- tive gentleman. " Never ! " replied the Baronet, with a pensive shake of the head; ''I never saw him again." " And pray what has all this to do with the picture ? " inquired the old gentleman with the nose. "True," said the questioner; "is it the portrait of that crack- brained Itahan ? " " No," said the Baronet dryly, not half liking the appellation given to his hero ; " but this picture was inclosed in the parcel he left with me. The sealed packet contained its explanation. There was a request on the outside that I would not open it until six months had elapsed. I kept my promise in spite of my curiosity. I have a translation of it by me, and had meant to read it, by way of accounting for the mystery of the chamber ; but I fear I have already detained the company too long." Here there was a general wish expressed to have the manu- script read, particularly on the part of the inquisitive gentleman ; so the worthy Baronet drew out a fairly \vritten manuscript, and, wiping his spectacles, read aloud the following story : 84 WASHINGTON IRVING. THE STORY OF THE YOUNG ITALIAN. I WAS born at Naples. My parents, though of noble rank, were limited in fortune, or rather, my father was ostenta- tious beyond his means, and expended so much on his palace, his equipage, and his retinue, that he was continually straitened in his pecuniary circumstances. I was a younger son, and looked upon with indifference by my father, who, from a principle of family pride, wished to leave all his property to my elder brother. I showed, when quite a child, an extreme sensibility. Every- thing affected me violently. While yet an infant in my mother's arms, and before I had learned to talk, I could be wrought upon to a wonderful degree of anguish or delight by the power of music. As I grew older, my feelings remained equally acute, and I was easily transported into paroxysms of pleasure or rage. It was the amusement of my relations and of the domestics to play upon ^ this irritable temperament. I was moved to tears, tickled to laughter, provoked to fury, for the entertainment of company, who were amused by such a tempest of mighty passion in a pigmy frame. They httle thought, or perhaps httle heeded, the dangerous sensibilities they were fostering. I thus became a little creature of passion before reason was developed. In a short time I grew too old to be a plaything, and then I became a torment. The tricks and passions I had been teased into be- came irksome, and I was disliked by my teachers for the very lessons they had taught me. My mother died; and my power as a spoiled child was at an end. There was no longer any necessity to humor or tolerate me, for there was nothing to be gained by it, as I was no favorite of my father. I therefore experienced the fate of a spoiled child in such a situation, and was neglected, or noticed only to be crossed and contradicted. Such was the early treatment of a heart which, if I can judge of 1 " riay upon," i.e., make sport of. TALES OF A TRAVELER. 85 it at all, was naturally disposed to the extremes of tenderness and affection. My father, as I have already said, never liked me, — in fact, he never understood me ; he looked upon me as willful and way- ward, as deficient in natural affection. It was the statehness of his own manner, the loftiness and grandeur of his own look, which had repelled me from his arms. I always pictured him to myself as I had seen him, clad in his senatorial robes, rusthng with pomp and pride. The magnificence of his person daunted my young imagination. I could never approach him with the confiding affection of a child. My father's feelings were wrapped up in my elder brother. He was to be the inheritor of the family title and the family dignity, and everything was sacrificed to him, — I, as well as everything else. It was determined to devote me to the Church, that so my humors and myself might be removed out of the way either of tasking my father's time and trouble, or interfering with the interests of my brother. At an early age, therefore, before my mind had dawned upon the world and its delights, or known anything of it beyond the precincts of my father's palace, I was sent to a convent, the superior of which was my uncle, and was confided entirely to his care. My uncle was a man totally estranged from the world; he had never relished, for he had never tasted, its pleasiu-es ; and he re- garded rigid self-denial as the great basis of Christian virtue. He considered every one's temperament like his own, or at least he made them conform to it. His character and habits had an influence over the fraternity of which he was superior ; a more gloomy, saturnine set of beings were never assembled together. The convent, too, was calculated to awaken sad and solitary thoughts. It was situated in a gloomy gorge of those mountains away south of Vesuvius. All distant views were shut out by sterile volcanic heights. A mountain stream raved beneath its walls, and eagles screamed about its turrets. I had been sent to this place at so tender an age as soon to 86 WASH I XG TON IRl'JXC. lose all distinct recollection of the scenes I had left behind. As my mind expanded, therefore, it formed its idea of the world from the convent and its vicinity, and a dreary world it appeared to me. An early tinge of melancholy was thus infused into my character ; and the dismal stories of the monks, about devils and evil spirits, with which they affrighted my young imagination, gave me a tendency to superstition which I could never effectually shake off. They took the same dehght to work upon my ardent feel- ings, that had been so mischievously executed by my father's household. I can recollect the hon^ors with which they fed my heated fancy during an eruption of Vesuvius. We were distant from that volcano, with mountains between us ; but its convul- sive throes shook the solid foundations of nature. Earthquakes threatened to topple down our convent towers. A lurid, baleful light hung in the heavens at night, and showers of ashes, borne by the wind, fell in our narrow valley. The monks talked of the earth being honeycombed beneath us ; of streams of molten lava raging through its veins ; of caverns of sulphurous flames roaring in the center, the abodes of demons and the damned ; of fiery gulfs ready to yawn beneath our feet. All these tales were told to the doleful accompaniment of the mountain's thunders, whose low bellowing made the walls of our convent \ibrate. One of the monks had been a painter, but had retired from the world, and embraced this dismal life in expiation of some crime. He was a melancholy man, who pursued his art in the sohtude of his cell, but made it a source of penance to him. His employment was to portray, either on canvas or in waxen models, the human face and human form, in the agonies of death, and in all the stages of dissolution and decay. The fearful mysteries of the charnel house were unfolded in his labors ; the loathsome banquet of the beetle and the worm. I turn with shuddering even from the recollection of his works ; yet, at the time, my strong but ill-directed imagination seized with ardor upon his instructions in his art. Anything was a variety from the dry studies and monotonous duties of the cloister. In a lit- TALES OJ'' A TRAVELER. 87 tie while I became expert with my pencil, and my gloomy pro- ductions were thought worthy of decorating some of the altars of the chapel. In this dismal way was a creature of feeling and fancy brought up. Everything genial and amiable in my nature was repressed, and nothing brought out but what was unprofitable and ungra- cious. I was ardent in my temperament ; quick, mercurial, ^ impet- uous, formed to be a creature all love and adoration ; but a leaden hand was laid on all my finer qualities. I was taught nothing but fear and hatred. I hated my uncle ; I hated the monks ; I hated the convent in which I was immured ; I hated the world ; and I almost hated myself for being, as I supposed, so hating and hateful an animal. When I had nearly attained the age of sixteen, I was suffered, on one occasion, to accompany one of the brethren on a mission to a distant part of the country. We soon left behind us the gloomy valley in which I had been pent up for so many years, and after a short journey among the mountains, emerged upon the voluptuous landscape that spreads itself about the Bay of Naples. Heavens ! how transported was I when I stretched my gaze over a vast reach of delicious sunny country, gay with groves and vineyards ; with Vesuvius rearing its forked summit to my right, the blue Mediterranean to my left, with its en- chanting coast, studded with shining towns and sumptuous villas, and Naples, my native Naples, gleaming far, far in the distance. Good God ! was this the lovely world from which I had been excluded ! 1 had reached that age when the sensibilities are in all their bloom and freshness. Mine had been checked and chilled. They now burst forth with the suddenness of a re- tarded springtime. My heart, hitherto unnaturally shrunk up, expanded into a riot of vague but delicious emotions. The beauty of nature intoxicated — bewildered me. The song of the peasants, their cheerful looks, their happy avocations, the pic- 1 Changeable. 88 WASHING TOX IRVING. turesque gayety of their dresses, their rustic music, their dances, — all broke upon me like witchcraft. My soul responded to the music, my heart danced in my bosom. All the men appeared amiable, all the women lovely. I returned to the convent, that is to say, my body returned, but my heart and soul never entered there again. I could not forget this gHmpse of a beautiful and a happy world, — a world so suited to my natural character. I had felt so happy while in it ; so different a being from what I felt myself when in the convent, that tomb of the living. I contrasted the countenances of the be- ings I had seen, full of fire and freshness and enjoyment, with the palHd, leaden, lackluster visages of the monks ; the dance, with the droning chant of the chapel. I had before found the exercises of the cloister wearisome ; they now became intolerable. The dull round of duties wore away my spirit ; my nerves became irri- tated by the fretful tinkling of the convent bell, evermore ding- ing among the mountain echoes, evermore calling me from my repose at night, my pencil by day, to attend to some tedious and mechanical ceremony of devotion. I was not of a nature to meditate long without putting my thoughts into action. My spirit had been suddenly aroused, and was now all awake within me. I watched an opportunity, fled from the convent, and made my way on foot to Naples. As I entered its gay and crowded streets, and beheld the variety and stir of hfe around me, the luxury of palaces, the splendor of equipages, and the pantomimic animation of the motley popu- lace, I seemed as if awakened to a world of enchantment, and solemnly vowed that nothing should force me back to the monot- ony of the cloister. I had to inquire my way to my father's palace, for I had been so young on leaving it that I knew not its situation. I found some difficulty in getting admitted to my father's presence ; for the domestics scarcely knew that there was such a being as my- self in existence, and my monastic dress did not operate in my favor. Even my father entertained no recollection of my per- TALES OF A TRAVELER. 89 soil. I told him my name, threw myself at his feet, implored his forgiveness, and entreated that I might not be sent back to the convent. He received me with the condescension of a patron, rather than the fondness of a parent ; listened patiently, but coldly, to my tale of monastic grievances and disgusts, and promised to think what else could be done for me. This coldness bhghted and drove back all the frank affection of my nature, that was ready to spring forth at the least warmth of parental kindness. All my early feelings towards my father revived. I again looked up to him as the stately, magnificent being that had daunted my childish imagination, and felt as if I had no pretensions to his sympathies. My brother engrossed all his care and love ; he inherited his nature, and carried himself towards me with a pro- tecting rather than a fraternal air. It wounded my pride, which was great. I could brook condescension from my father, for I looked up to him with awe, as a superior being ; but I could not brook patronage from a brother, who I felt was intellectually my inferior. The servants perceived that I was an unwelcome in- truder in the paternal mansion, and, menial like, they treated me with neglect. Thus baffled at every point, my affections out- raged wherever they would attach themselves, I became sullen, silent, and desponding. My feelings, driven back upon myself, entered and preyed upon my own heart. I remained for some days an unwelcome guest rather than a restored son in my father's house. I was doomed never to be properly known there. I was made, by wrong treatment, strange even to myself, and they judged of me from my strangeness. I was startled one day at the sight of one of the monks of my convent gliding out of my father's room. He saw me, but pre- tended not to notice me, and this very hypocrisy made me sus- pect something. I had become sore and susceptible in my feel- ings ; everything inflicted a wound on them. In this state of mind, I was treated with marked disrespect by a pampered min- ion, the favorite servant of my father. All the pride and passion go WASH I XG TON IRVING. of my nature rose in an instant, and I struck him to the earth. My father was passing by ; he stopped not to inquire the reason, nor indeed could he read the long course of mental sufferings which were the real cause. He rebuked me with anger and scorn, summoning all the haughtiness of his nature and grandeur of his look to give weight to the contumely with which he treated me. I felt that I had not deserved it. I felt that I was not appreciated. I felt that I had that within me which merited better treatment. My heart swelled against a father's injustice. I broke through my habitual awe of him ; I repHed to him with impatience. My hot spirit flushed in my cheek and kindled in my eye ; but my sensiti\'e heart swelled as quickly, and before I had half vented my passion, I felt it suffocated and quenched in my tears. My father was astonished and incensed at this turn- ing of the worm, and ordered me to my chamber. I retired in silence, choking with contending emotions. I had not been long there when I overheard voices in an adjoining apartment. It was a consultation between my father and the monk, about the means of getting me back quietly to the convent. My resolution was taken. I had no longer a home nor a father. That very night I left the paternal roof. I got on board a vessel about making sail from the harbor, and abandoned myself to the wide world. No matter to what port she steered ; any part of so beautiful a world was better than my convent. No matter where I v/as cast by fortune ; any place would be more a home to me than the home I had left behind. The ves- sel was bound to Genoa. We arrived there after a voyage of a few days. As I entered the harbor between the moles which embrace it, and beheld the amphitheater of palaces, and churches, and splen- did gardens, rising one above another, I felt at once its title to the appellation of "Genoa the Superb." I landed on the mole, an utter stranger, without knowing what to do, or whither to direct my steps. No matter ; I was released from the thraldom of the convent and the humiliations of home. When I traversed the TALES OF A TRAVELER. 91 Strada Balbi ^ and the Strada Nuova,i those streets of palaces, and gazed at the wonders of architecture around me ; when I wandered at close of day amid a gay throng of the brilliant and the beautiful, through the green alleys of the Acquaverde,^ or among the colonnades and terraces of the magnificent Doria gardens,^ I thought it impossible to be ever otherwise than happy in Genoa. A few days sufficed to show me my mistake. My scanty purse was exhausted, and for the first time in my life I experienced the sordid distress of penury. I had never known the want of money, and had never adverted to the possibility of such an evil. I was ignorant of the world and all its ways ; and when first the idea of destitution came over my mind, its effect was withering. I was wandering penniless through the streets which no longer delighted my eyes, when chance led my steps into the magnificent Church of the Annunciata.* A celebrated painter of the day was at that moment superin- tending the placing of one of his pictures over an altar. The proficiency which I had acquired in his art during my residence in the convent, had made me an enthusiastic amateur. I was struck, at the first glance, with the painting. It was the face of a Madonna, so innocent, so lovely, such a divine expression of maternal tenderness ! I lost, for the moment, all recollection of myself in the enthusiasm of my art. I clasped my hands together, and uttered an ejaculation of delight. The painter perceived my emotion. He was flattered and gratified by it. My air and manner pleased him, and he accosted me. I felt too much the want of friendship to repel the advances of a stranger ; 1 A fine street in the newer part of Genoa, containing palaces of superb architecture. 2 The Piazza Acquaverde is a square in Genoa, now noted for the fine statue of Columbus, erected in 1862. 3 The gardens of the Palace of Doria, presented to Andrea Doria, a Gen- oese statesman, in 1522. These gardens are very beautiful, and are famous for their fine orange trees. 4 A church erected in 1487. In its interior it is the most magnificent in Genoa. The dome is richly decorated with works of art. 92 WASHINGTON IRVING. and there was something in this one so benevolent and winning, that in a moment he gained my confidence. I told him my story and my situation, concealing only mv name and rank. He appeared strongly interested by my recital, invited me to his house, and from that time I became his favorite pupil. He thought he perceived in me extraordinary talents for the art, and his encomiums awakened all my ardor. What a bliss- ful period of my existence was it that I passed beneath his roof ! Another being seemed created withm me, or rather, all that was amiable and excellent was drawn out. I was as recluse as ever I had been at the convent, but how different was my seclusion ! My time was spent in storing my mind with lofty and poetical ideas ; in meditating on all that was striking and noble in history and fiction ; in studying and tracing all that was sublime and beautiful in nature. I was always a visionary, imaginative being, but now my reveries and imaginings all elevated me to rapture. I looked up to my master as to a benevolent genius that had opened to me a region of enchantment. He was not a native of Genoa, but had been drawn thither by the solicitations of sev- eral of the nobility, and had resided there but a few years, for the completion of certain works. His health was dehcate, and he had to confide much of the filhng up of his designs to the pencils of his scholars. He considered me as particularly happy ^ in delineating the human countenance ; in seizing upon character- istic though fleeting expressions, and fixing them powerfully upon my canvas. I was employed continually, therefore, in sketching faces, and often, when some particular grace or beauty of expres- sion was wanted in a countenance, it was intrusted to my pencil. My benefactor was fond of bringing me forward ; and pardy, perhaps, through my actual skill, and pardy through his partial praises, I began to be noted for the expressions of my counte- nances. Among the various works which he had undertaken, was an historical piece for one of the palaces of Genoa, in which were 1 Successful. TALES OF A TRAVELER. 93 to be introduced the likenesses of several of the family. Among these was one intrusted to my pencil. It was that of a young girl, as yet in a convent for her education. She came out for the purpose of sitting for the picture. I first saw her in an apart- ment of one of the sumptuous palaces of Genoa. She stood before a casement that looked out upon the bay ; a stream of vernal sunshine fell upon her, and shed a kind of glory round her, as it lit up the rich crimson chamber. She was but sixteen years of age — and oh, how lovely ! The scene broke upon me hke a mere vision of spring and youth and beauty. I could have fallen down and worshiped her. She was like one of those fic- tions of poets and painters, when they would express the beait ideal that haunts their minds with shapes of indescribable perfec- tion. I was permitted to watch her countenance in various posi- tions, and I fondly protracted the study that was undoing me. The more I gazed on her, the more I became enamored ; there was something almost painful in my intense admiration. I was but nineteen years of age, shy, diffident, and inexperienced. I was treated with attention by her mother ; for my youth and my enthusiasm in my art had won favor for me, and I am inclined to think something in my air and manner inspired interest and respect. Still the kindness with which I was treated could not dispel the embarrassment into which my own imagination threw me when in the presence of this lovely being. It elevated her into something almost more than mortal. She seemed too exquisite for earthly use, too delicate and exalted for human attainment. As I sat tracing her charms on my canvas, with my eyes occa- sionally riveted on her features, I drank in delicious poison that made me giddy. My heart alternately gushed with tenderness, and ached with despair. Now I became more than ever sensible of the violent fires that had lain dormant at the bottom of my soul. You who were born in a more temperate climate, and under a cooler sky, have httle idea of the violence of passion in our southern bosoms. A few days finished my task. Bianca returned to her convent, 94 WASHINGTON IRVING. but her image remained indelibly impressed upon my heart. It dwelt in my imagination ; it became my pervading idea of beauty. It had an effect even upon my pencil. I became noted for my felicity in depicting female loveliness. It was but because I mul- tiplied the image of Bianca. I soothed and yet fed my fancy by introducing her in all the productions of my master. I have stood with delight in one of the chapels of the Annunciata, and heard the crowd extol the seraphic beauty of a saint which I had painted. I have seen them bow down in adoration before the painting. They were bowing before the loveliness of Bianca. I existed in this kind of dream — I might almost say delirium — for upwards of a year. Such is the tenacity of my imagination, that the image formed in it continued in all its power and fresh- ness. Indeed, I was a solitary, meditative being, much given to reverie, and apt to foster ideas which had once taken strong possession of me. I was roused from this fond, melancholy, delicious dream by the death of my worthy benefactor. I can- not describe the pangs his death occasioned me. It left me alone, and almost broken-hearted. He bequeathed to me his little property, which, from the liberality of his disposition, and his expensive style of living, was indeed but small ; and he most particularly recommended me, in dying, to the protection of a nobleman who had been his patron. The latter was a man Avho passed for munificent. He was a lover and an encourager of the arts, and evidently wished to be thought so. He fancied he saw in me indications of future ex- cellence ; my pencil had already attracted attention ; he took me at once under his protection. Seeing that I was overwhelmed with grief, and incapable of exerting myself in the mansion of my late benefactor, he invited me to sojourn for a time at a villa which he possessed on the border of the sea, in the picturesque neighborhood of Sestri di Ponente.^ I found at the villa the count's only son, Filippo. He was near- 1 A maritime town of Italy, four miles west of Genoa, having many country residences of the Genoese citizens. TALES OF A TRAVELEK. 95 ly of my age, prepossessing in his appearance, and fascinating in his manners ; he attached himself to me, and seemed to court my good opinion. I thought there was something of profession in his kindness, and of caprice in his disposition ; but I had nothing else near me to attach myself to, and my heart felt the need of something to repose upon. His education had been neglected ; he looked upon me as his superior in mental powers and acquire- ments, and tacitly acknowledged my superiority. I felt that I was his equal in birth, and that gave independence to my man- ners, which had its effect. The caprice and tyranny I saw some- times exercised on others over whom he had power, were never manifested towards me. We became intimate friends and fre- quent companions. Still, I loved to be alone, and to indulge in the reveries of my own imagination among the scenery by which I was surrounded. The villa commanded a wide view of the Mediterranean, and of the picturesque Ligurian coast. ^ It stood alone in the midst of ornamented grounds, finely decorated with statues and fountains, and laid out in groves and alleys and shady lawns. Everything was assembled here that could gratify the taste or agreeably occupy the mind. Soothed by the tranquil- lity of this elegant retreat, the turbulence of my feelings gradually subsided, and blending with the romantic spell which still reigned over my imagination, produced a soft, voluptuous melancholy. I had not been long under the roof of the count when our solitude w^as enlivened by another inhabitant. It was a daugh- ter of a relative of the count, who had lately died in reduced circumstances, bequeathing this only child to his protection. I had heard much of her beauty from Filippo, but my fancy had become so engrossed by one idea of beauty as not to admit of any other. We were in the central saloon of the villa when she arrived. She was still in mourning, and approached, leaning on the count's arm. As they ascended the marble portico, I was struck by the elegance of her figure and movement, by the grace 1 Liguria, a mountainous region of Italy, comprising the provinces of Genoa and Porto Maurizio. 96 WASHINGTON IRVING. with which the iiiczzaro^ the bewitching veil of Genoa, was folded about her slender form. They entered. Heavens ! what was my surprise when I beheld Bianca before me ! It was herself, pale with grief, but still more matured in loveliness than when I had last beheld her. The time that had elapsed had developed the graces of her person, and the sorrow she had undergone had diffused over her countenance an irresistible tenderness. She blushed and trembled at seeing me, and tears rushed into her eyes, for she remembered in whose company she had been accustomed to behold me. For my part, I cannot express what were my emotions. By degrees I overcame the extreme shyness that had formerly paralyzed me in her presence. We were drawn together by sympathy of situation. We had each lost our best friend in the world ; we were each, in some measure, thrown upon the kindness of others. When I came to know her intellectu- ally, all my ideal pictiu-ings of her were confirmed. Her newness to the world, her delightful susceptibility to everything beautiful and agreeable in nature, reminded me of my own emotions when first I escaped from the convent. Her rectitude of thinking delighted my judgment ; the sweetness of her nature wrapped itself round my heart ; and then her young, and tender, and bud- ding loveliness sent a delicious madness to my brain. I gazed upon her with a kind of idolatry, as something more than mortal ; and I felt humiliated at the idea of my comparative unworthiness. Yet she was mortal ; and one of mortality's most susceptible and loving compounds, — for she loved me ! How first I discovered the transporting truth I cannot recol- lect. I believe it stole upon me by degrees, as a wonder past hope or belief. We were both at such a tender and loving age, in constant intercourse with each other, mingling in the same elegant pursuits, for music, poetry, and painting were our mutual delights, and we were almost separated from society among lovely and romantic scenery. Is it strange that two young hearts thus brought together should readily twine round each other ? l^ALES OF A TRAVELER. 97 gods ! what a dream — a transient dream of unalloyed de- light — then passed over my soul ! Then it was that the world around me was indeed a paradise; for I had woman — lovely, delicious woman — to share it with me ! How often have I ram- bled along the picturesque shores of Sestri, or climbed its wild mountains, with the coast gemmed with villas, and the blue sea far below me, and the slender Faro ^ of Genoa on its romantic promontory - in the distance ; and as I sustained the faltering steps of Bianca, have thought there could no unhappiness en- ter into so beautiful a world ! How often have we listened together to the nightingale, as it poured forth its rich notes among the moonlight bowers of the garden, and have wondered that poets could ever have fancied anything melancholy in its song ! Why, oh why, is this budding season of life and tender- ness so transient ! Why is this rosy cloud of love, that sheds such a glow over the morning of our days, so prone to brew up into the whirlwind and the storm ! 1 was the first to awaken from this bhssful delirium of the affec- tions. I had gained Bianca's heart — what was I to do with it ? I had no wealth nor prospect to entitle me to her hand. Was I to take advantage of her ignorance of the world, of her confid- ing affection, and draw her down to my own poverty ? Was this requiting the hospitality of the count ? Was this requiting the love of Bianca ? Now first I began to feel that even successful love may have its bitterness. A corroding care gathered about my heart. I moved about the palace like a guilty being. I felt as if I had abused its hospitality, as if I were a thief within its walls. I could no longer look with unembarrassed mien in the counte- nance of the count. 1 accused myself of perfidy to him, and I thought he read it in my looks and began to distrust and despise me. His manner had always been ostentatious and condescend- 1 The lighthouse of Genoa; a beautiful structure, three hundred feet high. 2 Cape Faro, in the southern extremity of Genoa, on a slender piece of land. 7 9^ VVASHINGTOX IRVIXG. ing ; it now appeared cold and haughty. FiHppo, too, became re- served and distant, or at least I suspected him to be so. Heavens I was this the mere coinage of my brain ? Was I to become sus- picious of all the world ? a poor, surmising wretch, watching looks and gestures, and torturing myself with misconstructions ? Or, if true, w^as I to remain beneath a roof where I was merelv tol- erated, and linger there on sufferance ? " This is not to be en- dured I " exclaimed I. "I will tear myself from this state of self-abasement ; I will break through this fascination, and fly — Fly! — whither ? from the world? for where- is the world when I leave Bianca behind me ? " My spirit was naturally proud, and swelled within me at the idea of being looked upon with contumely. Many times I was on the point of declaring my family and rank, and asserting my equality in the presence of Bianca, when I thought her relations assumed an air of superiority. But the feeling was transient. I considered myself discarded and condemned by my family, and had solemnly vowed never to own relationship to them until they themselves should claim it. The struggle of my mind preyed upon my happiness and my health. It seemed as if the uncertainty of being loved would be less intolerable than thus to be assured of it, and yet not dare to enjoy the conviction. I was no longer the enraptured admirer of Bianca ; I no longer hung in ecstasy on the tones of her voice, nor drank in with insatiate gaze the beauty of her countenance. Her very smiles ceased to delight me, for I felt culpable in hav- ing won them. She could not but be sensible of the change in me, and inquired the cause with her usual frankness and simplicity. I could not evade the inquiry, for my heart was full to aching. I told her all the conflict of my soul, my devouring passion, my bitter self- upbraiding. "Yes," said I, " I am unworthy of you. I am an offcast from my family, — a wanderer, — a nameless, homeless wanderer, with nothing but poverty for my portion ; and yet I have dared to love you — liave dared to aspire to your love." TALES OF A TRAVELER. 99 My agitation moved her to tears, but she saw nothing in my situation so hopeless as I had depicted it. Brought up in a con- vent, she knew nothing of the world, — its wants, its cares; and indeed, what woman is a worldly casuist in the matters of the heart ? Nay, more, she kindled into sweet enthusiasm when she spoke of my fortunes and myself. We had dwelt together on the works of the famous masters. I related to her their histories, the high reputation, the influence, the magnificence to which they had attained, — the companions of princes, the favorites of kings, the pride and boast of nations. All this she apphed to me. Her love saw nothing in all their great productions that I was not able to achieve ; and when I beheld the lovely creature glow with fervor, and her whole countenance radiant with visions of my glory, I was snatched up for the moment into the heaven of her own imagination. I am dwelling too long upon this part of my story, yet I can- not help lingering over a period of my Hfe on which, with all its cares and conflicts, I look back with fondness, for as yet my soul was unstained by a crime. I do not know what might have been the result of this struggle between pride, delicacy, and passion, had I not read in a Neapolitan gazette an account of the sudden death of my brother. It was accompanied by an earnest inquiry for intelligence concerning me, and a prayer, should this meet my eye, that I would hasten to Naples to comfort an infirm and afflicted father. I was naturally of an affectionate disposition, but my brother had never been as a brother to me. I had long considered myself as disconnected from him, and his death caused me but little emotion. The thoughts of my father, infirm and suffering, touched me, however, to the quick, and when I thought of him, that lofty, magnificent being, now bowed down and desolate, and suing to me for comfort, all my resentment for past neg- lect was subdued, and a glow of filial affection was awakened within me. The predominant feeling, however, that overpowered all others, lOO WASHINGTON IRVING. was transport at the sudden change in my whole fortunes. A home, a name, rank, wealth, awaited me ; and love painted a still more rapturous prospect in the distance. I hastened to Bianca, and threw myself at her feet. " O Bianca I " exclaimed I, " at length I can claim you for my own. I am no longer a nameless adventurer, a neglected, rejected outcast. Look — read — be- hold the tidings that restore me to my name and to myself I " I will not dwell on the scene that ensued. Bianca rejoiced in the reverse of my situation, because she saw it lightened my heart of a load of care ; for her own part, she had loved me for myself, and had never doubted that my own merits would com- mand both fame and fortune. I now felt all my native pride buoyant within me. I no longer walked with my eyes bent to the dust ; hope elevated them to the skies ; my soul was lit up with fresh fires, and beamed from my countenance. I wished to impart the change in my circumstances to the count, to let him know who and what I was, and to make formal proposals for the hand of Bianca ; but he was absent on a dis- tant estate. I opened my whole soul to Filippo. Now first I told him of my passion, of the doubts and fears that had dis- tracted me, and of the tidings that had suddenly dispelled them. He overwhelmed me with congratulations, and with the warm- est expressions of sympathy. I embraced him in the fullness of my heart ; I felt compunctious for having suspected him of coldness, and asked his forgiveness for ever having doubted his friendship. Nothing is so warm and enthusiastic as a sudden expansion of the heart between young men. Filippo entered into our con- cerns with the most eager interest. He was our confidant and counselor. It was determined that I should hasten at once to Naples, to reestablish myself in my father's affections and my paternal home ; and the moment the reconcihation was effected, and my father's consent insured, I should return and demand Bianca of the count. Filippo engaged to secure his father's TALES OF A TRAVELER. loi acquiescence ; indeed he undertook to watch over our interest, and to be the channel through which we might correspond. My parting with Bianca was tender, dehcious, agonizing. It was in a httle pavilion of the garden which had been one of our favorite resorts. How often and often did I return to have one more adieu ; to have her look once more on me in speechless emotion ; to enjoy once more the rapturous sight of those tears streaming down her lovely cheeks ; to seize once more on that delicate hand, the frankly accorded pledge of love, and cover it with tears and kisses! Heavens! there is a delight even in the parting agony of two lovers worth a thousand tame pleasures of the world. I have her at this moment before my eyes, at the window of the pavilion, putting aside the vines which clustered about the casement, her form beaming forth in virgin light, her countenance all tears and smiles, sending a thousand and a thou- sand adieus after me, as, liesitating in a delirium of fondness and agitation, I faltered my way down the avenue. As the bark bore me out of the harbor of Genoa, how eagerly my eye stretched along the coast of Sestri till it discovered the villa gleaming from among the trees at the foot of the mountain. As long as day lasted I gazed and gazed upon it, till it lessened and lessened to a mere white speck in the distance ; and still my intense and fixed gaze discerned it, when all other objects of the coast had blended into indistinct confusion, or were lost in the evening gloom. On arriving at Naples, I hastened to my paternal home. My heart yearned for the long withheld blessing of a father's love. As I entered the proud portal of the ancestral palace, my emo- tions were so great that I could not speak. No one knew me ; the servants gazed at me with curiosity and surprise. A few years of intellectual elevation and development had made a pro- digious change in the poor fugitive stripling from the convent. Still, that no one should know me in my rightful home was over- powering. I felt like the prodigal son returned. I was a stranger in the house of my father, I burst into tears and wept aloud. 102 nASHIXG'JOX IRl'JXG. When I made myself known, however, all was changed. I, who had once been almost repulsed from its walls, and forced to fly as an exile, was welcomed back with acclamation, with servilit}'. One of the servants hastened to prepare my father for my recep- tion, ^ly eagerness to receive the paternal embrace was so great that I could not await his retmn, but hurried after him. What a spectacle met my eyes as I entered the chamber 1 My father, whom I had left in the pride of vigorous age, whose noble and majestic bearing had so awed my young imagination, was bowed down and withered into decrepitude. A paralysis had ravaged his stately form, and left it a shaking ruin. He sat propped up in his chair, with pale, relaxed visage, and glassy, wandering eve. His intellect had evidently shared in the ravages of his frame. The servant was endeavoring to make him comprehend that a visitor was at hand. I tottered up to him, and sank at his feet. All his past coldness and neglect were forgotten in his present sufferings. I remembered only that he was my parent, and that I had deserted him. I clasped his knee ; my voice was almost filled with convulsive sobs. " Pardon — pardon ! O my father ! " was all that I could utter. His apprehension seemed slowly to return to him. He gazed at me for some moments with a vague, inquiring look, a convulsive tremor quivered about his lips, he feebly extended a shaking hand, laid it upon my head, and burst into an infantine flow of tears. From that moment he would scarcely spare me from his sight. I appeared the only object that his heart responded to in the world ; all else was as a blank to him. He had almost lost the power of speech, and the reasoning faculty seemed at an end. He was mute and passive, excepting that fits of childhke weeping would sometimes come over him without any immediate cause. If I left the room at any time, his eye was incessantly fixed on the door till my return, and on my entrance there w^as another gush of tears. To talk with him of all my concerns, in this ruined state of mind, would have been worse than useless ; to have left him for TALES OF A TRAVELER. 103 ever so short a time would have been cruel, unnatural. Here, then, was a new trial for my affections. I wrote to Bianca an account of my return, and of my actual situation, painting in colors vivid, for they were true, the torments I suffered at our being thus separated ; for the youthful lover every day of absence is an age of love lost. I inclosed the letter in one to Filippo, who was the channel of our correspondence. I received a reply from him full of friendship and sympathy, from Bianca, full of assurances of affection and constancy. Week after week, month after month elapsed without making any change in my circum- stances. The vital flame which had seemed nearly extinct when first I met my father, kept fluttering on without any apparent diminution. I watched him constantly, faithfully, I had almost said patiently. I knew that his death alone would set me free, yet I never at any moment wished it. I felt too glad to be able to make any atonement for past disobedience ; and denied, as I had been, all endearments of relationship in my early days, my heart yearned towards a father who in his age and helplessness had thrown himself entirely on me for comfort. My passion for Bianca gained daily more force from absence ; by constant meditation it wore itself a deeper and deeper chan- nel. I made no new friends nor acquaintances, sought none of the pleastu"es of Naples which my rank and fortune threw open to me. Mine was a heart that confined itself to few objects, but dwelt upon them with the intenser passion. To sit by my father, administer to his wants, and to meditate on Bianca in the silence of his chamber, was my constant habit. Sometimes I amused myself with my pencil in portraying the image ever present to my imagination. I transferred to canvas every look and smile of hers that dwelt in my heart. I showed them to my father, in hopes of awakening an interest in his bosom for the mere shadow of my love ; but he was too far sunk in intellect to take any notice of them. When I received a letter from Bianca, it was a new source of soHtary luxury. Her letters, it is true, were less and less frequent, but they were always full of assurances of unabated I04 WASHINCTOA" IRVIXG. affection. They breathed not the frank and innocent warmth with which she expressed herself in conversation, but I accounted for it from the embarrassment which inexperienced minds have often to express themselves upon paper. Fihppo assured me of her unaltered constancy. They both lamented, in the strongest terms, our continued separation, though they did justice to the filial piety that kept me by my father's side. Nearly two years elapsed in this protracted exile. To me they were so many ages. Ardent and impetuous by nature, I scarcely know how I should have supported so long an absence had I not felt assured that the faith of Bianca was equal to my own. At length my father died. Life went from him almost imper- ceptibly. I hung over him in mute affliction, and watched the expiring spasms of nature. His last faltering accents whispered repeatedly a blessing on me. Alas ! how has it been fulfilled ! When I had paid due honors to his remains, and laid them in the tomb of our ancestors, I arranged briefly my affairs, put them in a posture to be easily at my command from a distance, and embarked once more with a bounding heart for Genoa. Our voyage was propitious, and oh, what was my rapture when first, in the dawn of morning, I saw the shadowy summits of the Apennines rising almost like clouds above the horizon ! The sweet breath of summer just moved us over the long waver- ing billows that were rolling us on towards Genoa. By degrees the coast of Sestri rose like a creation of enchantment from the silver bosom of the deep. I beheld the line of villages and pal- aces studding its borders. My eye reverted to a well-known point, and at length, from the confusion of distant objects, it singled out the villa which, contained Bianca. It was a mere speck in the landscape, but glimmering from afar, the polar star of my heart. Again I gazed at it for a livelong summer's day, but oh, how different the emotions between departure and return ! It now kept growing and growing, instead of lessening and lessening, on my sight. My heart seemed to dilate with it. I looked at it TALES OF A TRAVELER. 105 through a telescope. I gradually defined one feature after an- other. The balconies of the second saloon where first I met Bianca beneath its roof ; the terrace where we so often had passed the dehghtful summer evenings ; the awning which shaded her chamber window ; I almost fancied I saw her form beneath it. Could she but know her lover was in the bark whose white sail now gleamed on the sunny bosom of the sea ! My fond impa- tience increased as we neared the coast ; the ship seemed to lag lazily over the billows ; I could almost have sprung into the sea, and swum to the desired shore. The shadows of evening gradually shrouded the scene, but the moon arose in all her fullness and beauty, and shed the tender light so dear to lovers over the romantic coast of Sestri. My soul was bathed in unutterable tenderness. I anticipated the heavenly evenings I should pass in once more wandering with Bianca by the light of that blessed moon. It was late at night before we entered the harbor. As early next morning as I could get released from the formalities of land- ing, I threw myself on horseback, and hastened to the villa. As I galloped round the rocky promontory on which stands the Faro, and saw the coast of Sestri opening upon me, a thousand anxi- eties and doubts suddenly sprang up in my bosom. There is something fearful in returning to those we love, while yet uncer- tain what ills or changes absence may have effected. The tur- bulence of my agitation shook my very frame. I spurred my horse to redoubled speed ; he was covered with foam when we both arrived panting at the gateway that opened to the grounds around the villa. I left my horse at a cottage, and walked through the grounds, that I might regain tranquillity for the approaching interview. I chid myself for having suffered mere doubts and surmises thus suddenly to overcome me ; but I was always prone to be carried away by gusts of the feelings. On entering the garden, everything bore the same look as when I had left it; and this unchanged aspect of things reas- sured me. There were the allevs in which I had so often walked io6 WASHINGTOX IRVIXG. with Bianca, as we listened to the song of the nightingale ; the same shades under which we had so often sat during the noon- tide heat. There were the same flowers of which she was so fond, and w^hich appeared still to be under the ministry of her hand. Everything looked and breathed of Bianca ; hope and joy flushed in my bosom at every step. I passed a little arbor, in which we had often sat and read together ; a book and glove lay on the bench ; it was Bianca's glove ; it was a volume of the " Metastasio " ^ I had given her. The glove lay in my favorite passage. I clasped them to my heart with rapture. " All is safe ! " exclaimed I ; " she loves me, she is still my own I " I bounded lightly along the avenue down which I had fal- tered slowly at my departure. I beheld her favorite pavilion, which had witnessed our parting scene. The window was open, with the same vine clambering about it, precisely as when she waved and wept me an adieu. Oh, how transporting was the con- trast in my situation ! As I passed near the pavilion, I heard the tones of a female voice ; they thrilled through me with an appeal to my heart not to be mistaken. Before I could think, I felt they were Bianca's. For an instant I paused, overpowered with agitation. I feared to break so suddenly upon her. I softly ascended the steps of the pavilion. The door was open. I saw Bianca seated at a table ; her back was towards me ; she was warbling a soft, melancholy air, and was occupied in drawing. A glance sufficed to show me that she was copying one of my own paintings. I gazed on her for a moment in a delicious tumult of emotions. She paused in her singing : a heavy sigh, almost a sob, followed. I could no longer contain myself. " Bianca! " exclaimed I, in a half -smothered voice. She started at the sound, brushed back the ringlets that hung clustering about her face, darted a glance at me, uttered a piercing shriek, and would have fallen to the earth had I not caught her in my arms. 1 A famous Italian poet (1698-1782). His real name was Trapassi, which was changed to Metastasio ("a changing") on his adoption by the jurist Gravina. TALES OF A TRAVELER. 107 " Bianca ! my own Bianca !" exclaimed I, folding her to my bosom, my voice stifled in sobs of convulsive joy. She lay in my arms without sense or motion. Alarmed at the effects of my precipitation, I scarce knew what to do. I tried by a thousand endearing words to call her back to consciousness. She slowly recovered, and half opened her eyes. " Where am I ? " mur- mured she faintly. " Here ! " exclaimed I, pressing her to my bosom, "here — close to the heart that adores you — in the arms of your faithful Ottavio ! " " Oh, no ! no ! no !" shrieked she, starting into sudden life and terror. " Away ! away ! leave me ! leave me ! " She tore herself from my arms, rushed to a corner of the saloon, and covered her face with her hands, as if the very sight of me were baleful. I was thunderstruck. I could not believe my senses. I followed her, trembling, confounded. I endeavored to take her hand, but she shrunk from my very touch with horror. " Good heavens, Bianca ! " exclaimed I, " what is the meaning of this ? Is this my reception after so long an absence ? Is this the love you professed for me ? " At the mention of love, a shuddering ran through her. She turned to me a face wild with anguish. " No more of that — no more of that ! " gasped she ; " talk not to me of love ! I — I — am married ! " I reeled as if I had received a mortal blow ; a sickness struck to my very heart. I caught at a window frame for support. For a moment or two everything was chaos around me. When I recovered, I beheld Bianca lying on a sofa, her face buried in the pillow, and sobbing convulsively. Indignation for her fickle- ness for a moment overpowered every other feeling. " Faithless ! perjured ! " cried I, striding across the room. But another glance at that beautiful being in distress checked all my wrath. Anger could not dwell together with her idea in my soul. " Oh, Bianca ! " exclaimed I, in anguish, "could I have dreamed of this ? Could I have suspected you would have been false to me?" io8 WASHINGTON IRVING. She raised her face, all streaming with tears, all disordered with emotion, and gave me one appealing look. " False to you ? They told me you were dead ! " " What ! " said I, " in spite of our constant correspondence ? " She gazed wildly at me. " Correspondence ? what correspond- ence ? " ** Have you not repeatedly received and replied to my letters ? " She clasped her hands with solemnity and fervor. " As I hope for mercy — never ! " A horrible surmise shot through my brain. " Who told you I was dead ? " "It was reported that the ship in which you embarked for Naples perished at sea." " But who told you the report ? " She paused for an instant, and trembled ; — " Filippo ! " " May the God of heaven curse him ! " cried I, extending my clinched fists aloft. " Oh, do not curse him, do not curse him ! " exclaimed she ; " he is — he is — my husband I " This was all that was wanting to unfold the perfidy that had been practiced upon me. My blood boiled Hke liquid fire in my veins. I gasped with rage too great for utterance. I remained for a time bewildered by the whirl of homble thoughts that rushed through my mind. The poor victim of deception before me thought it was with her I was iftcensed. She faintly mur- mured forth her exculpation. I will not dwell upon it. I saw in it more than she meant to reveal. I saw with a glance how both of us had been betrayed. " 'Tis well," muttered I to myself in smothered accents of concentrated fun,-. " He shall render an account of all this." Bianca overheard me. New terror flashed in her coimtenance. " For mercy's sake, do not meet him ! say nothing of what has passed — for my sake say nothing to him. I only shall be the sufferer I " A new suspicion darted across my mind. " What I " exclaimed TALES OF A TRAVELER. 109 I, " do you then fear him ? Is he unkind to you ? Tell me," reiterated I, grasping her hand, and looking her eagerly in the face, " tell me — dares he to use you harshly ? " " No, no, no ! " cried she, faltering and embarrassed ; but the glance at her face had told volumes. I saw in her pallid and wasted features, in the prompt terror and subdued agony of her eye, a whole history of a mind broken down by tyranny. Great God ! and was this beauteous flower snatched from me to be thus trampled upon ? The idea roused me to madness. I clinched my teeth and hands ; I foamed at the mouth ; every passion seemed to have resolved itself into the fury that like a lava boiled within my heart. Bianca shiTink from me in speechless affright. As I strode by the window^ my eye darted down the alley. Fatal moment ! I beheld Filippo at a distance. My brain was in de- lirium. I sprang from the pavilion, and was before him with the quickness of lightning. He saw me as I came rushing upon him ; he turned pale, looked wildly to right and left, as if he would have fled, and trembhng, drew his sword, " Wretch ! " cried I, " well may you draw your weapon ! " I spoke not another word. I snatched forth a stiletto, put by the sword which trembled in his hand, and buried my poniard in his bosom. He fell with the blow, but my rage was unsated. I sprang upon him with the bloodthirsty feeling of a tiger, re- doubled my blows, mangled him in my frenzy, grasped him by the throat, until, with reiterated wounds and strangling convul- sions, he expired in my grasp. I remained glaring on the coun- tenance, horrible in death, that seemed to stare back with its protruded eyes upon me. Piercing shrieks roused me from my dehrium. I looked round and beheld Bianca flying distractedly towards us. My brain whirled ; I waited not to meet her, but fled from the scene of horror. I fled forth from the garden like another Cain, a hell within my bosom, and a curse upon my head. I fled without knowing whither, almost without knowing why. My only idea was to get farther and farther from the hor- rors I had left behind — as if I could throw space between myself no WASHING TOX IRVING. and my conscience. I fled to the Apennines, and wandered for days and days among their savage heights. How I existed I cannot tell ; what rocks and precipices I braved, and how I braved them, I know not. I kept on and on, trying to outtravel the cm-se that clung to me. Alas ! the shrieks of Bianca rung forever in my ears. The horrible countenance of my victim was forever before my eyes. The blood of Filippo cried to me from the ground. Rocks, trees, and torrents, all resounded with my crime. Then it was I felt how much more insupportable is the anguish of remorse than every other mental pang. Oh, could I but have cast off this crime that festered in my heart ! Could I but have regained the innocence that reigned in my breast as I entered the garden at Sestri ! Could I but have restored my victim to life, I felt as if I could look on with transport, even though Bianca were in his arms. By degrees this 'frenzied fever of remorse settled into a per- manent malady of the mind, — into one of the most horrible that ever poor wretch was cursed with. Wherever I went, the coun- tenance of him I had slain appeared to follow me. Whenever I turned my head, I beheld it behind me, hideous with the con- tortions of the dying moment. I have tried in every way to escape from this horrible phantom, but in vain. I know not whether it be an illusion of the mind, the consequence of my dis- mal education at the convent, or whether a phantom really sent by Heaven to punish me, but there it ever is, at all times, in all places. Nor has time nor habit had any effect in familiariz- ing me with its terrors. I have traveled from place to place, plunged into amusements, tried dissipation and distraction of every kind ; all, all in vain. I once had recourse to my pencil as a desperate experiment. I painted an exact resemblance of this phantom face. I placed it before me, in hopes that by con- stantly contemplating the copy I might diminish the effect of the original. But I only doubled instead of diminishing the misery. Such is the curse that has clung to my footsteps ; that has made mv life a burden, but the thought of death terrible. TALES OF A TRA VELER. i i i God knows what I have suffered, — what days and days, and nights and nights, of sleepless torment ; what a never-dying worm has preyed upon my heart ; what an unquenchable fire has burned within my brain ! He knows the wrongs that wrought upon my poor, weak nature ; that converted the tenderest of affections into the deadliest of fury. He knows best whether a frail, erring creature has expiated by long-enduring torture and measureless remorse the crime of a moment of madness. Often, often, have I prostrated myself in the dust, and implored that He would give me a sign of his forgiveness, and let me die Thus far had I written some time since. I had meant to leave this record of misery and crime with you, to be read when I should be no more. My prayer to Heaven has at length been heard. You were witness to my emotions last evening at the church, when the vaulted temple resounded with the words of atonement and re- demption. I heard a voice speaking to me from the midst of the music ; I heard it rising above the pealing of the organ and the voices of the choir ; it spoke to me in tones of celestial mel- ody ; it promised mercy and forgiveness, but demanded from me full expiation. I go to make it. To-morrow I shall be on my way to Genoa, to surrender myself to justice. You who have pitied my sufferings, who have poured the balm of sympathy into my wounds, do not shrink from my memory with abhorrence now that you know my story. Recollect that when you read of my crime I shall have atoned for it with my blood ! When the Baronet had finished, there was a universal desire expressed to see the painting of this frightful visage. After much entreaty, the Baronet consented on condition that they should only visit it one by one. He called his housekeeper, and gave her charge to conduct the gentlemen, singly, to the cham- ber. They all returned varying in their stories, some affected in one way, some in another, some more, some less, but all agreeing 112 WASHINGTON IRVING. that there was a certain something about the painting that had a very odd effect upon the feeHngs. I stood in a deep bow window with the Baronet, and could not help expressing my wonder. "After all," said I, "there are cer- tain mysteries in our nature, certain inscrutable impulses and in- fluences, which warrant one in being superstitious. Who can account for so many persons of different characters being thus strangely affected by a mere painting ? " " And especially when not one of them has seen it," said the Baronet, with a smile. " How ! " exclaimed I, " not seen it ? " " Not one of them ! " replied he, laying his finger on his lips, in sign of secrecy. " I saw that some of them were in a banter- ing vein, and did not choose that the memento of the poor Italian should be made a jest of. So I gave the housekeeper a hint to show them all to a different chamber ! " Thus end the stones of the Nervous Gentleman. PART II. BUCKTHORNE AND HIS FRIENDS. This world is the best that we live in, To lend, or to spend, or to give in ; But to beg, or to borrow, or get a man's own, 'Tis the very worst world, sir, that ever was known. Lines from an Inn Window. II > LITERARY LIFE. AMONG other subjects of a traveler's curiosity, I had at one ..^jL time a great craving after anecdotes of literary life, and being at London, one of the most noted places for the produc- tion of books, I was excessively anxious to know something of the animals which produced them. Chance fortunately threw me in the way of a literary man by the name of Buckthorne, an eccentric personage, who had lived much in the metropolis, and could give me the natural history of every odd animal to be met with in that wilderness of men. He readily imparted to me some useful hints upon the subject of my inquiry. "The literary world," said he, "is made up of little confeder- acies, each looking upon its own members as the lights of the universe, and considering all others as mere transient meteors, doomed soon to fall and be forgotten, while its own luminaries are to shine steadily on to immortality." " And pray," said I, " how is a man to get a peep into those confederacies you speak of ? I presume an intercourse with authors is a kind of intellectual exchange, where one must bring his commodities to barter, and always give a quid pro quo^ ^ " Pooh, pooh ! how you mistake I " said Buckthorne, smiling ; " you must never think to become popular among wits by shin- ing. They go into society to shine themselves, not to admire the brilliancy of others. I once thought as you do, and never went into literary society without studying my part beforehand ; the consequence was that I soon got the name of an intolerable proser, 1 Literally, " what for M-liat ;" hence, one thing for another, or an equiva- lent. 115 ii6 WASHINGTON IRVING. and should in a little while have been completely excommuni- cated, had I not changed my plan of operations. No, sir, no character succeeds so well among wits as that of a good hs- tener ; or if ever you are eloquent, let it be when tete-a-tete with an author, and then in praise of his own works, or, what is nearly as acceptable, in disparagement of the works of his contempo- raries. If ever he speaks favorably of the productions of a par- ticular friend, dissent boldly from him ; pronounce his friend to be a blockhead; never fear his being vexed. Much as people speak of the irritabihty of authors, I never found one to take offense at such contradictions. No, no, sir, authors are particu- larly candid in admitting the faults of their friends. " Indeed, I would advise you to be exceedingly sparing of remarks on all modern works, except to make sarcastic observa- tions on the most distinguished writers of the day." " Faith," said I, " I'll praise none that have not been dead for at least half a century," "Even then," observed Mr, Buckthorne, " I would advise you to be rather cautious, for you must know that many old writers have been enlisted under the banners of different sects, and their merits have become as completely topics of party discussion as the merits of living statesmen and politicians. Nay, there have been whole periods of literature absolutely tabooed, ^ to use a South Sea phrase. It is, for example, as much as a man's critical reputation is worth in some circles, to say a word in praise of any of the writers of the reign of Charles II.,- or even of Queen Anne, they being all declared Frenchmen in disguise." 1 Taboo (" to forbid ") is derived from tabu, the name of a religious inter- dict or ban of any kind among the races of the South Pacific. 2 In the age of Charles II., poetry was governed more by the rules of art than it had been in the Elizabethan age, and a colder, more correct style arose, attributed partly to the influence of the French writers of the time. The literature of Queen Anne's age was essentially a party literature. During this period, form was dwelt on more than matter, so that while the prose became simple and clear and the poetry reached a neatness of expression, nature, passion, and imagination were lacking. TALES OF A TRAVELER. 117 "And pray," said I, "when am I then to know that I am on safe grounds, being totally unacquainted with the Hterary land- marks, and the boundary line of fashionable taste ? " " Oh ! " replied he, " there is fortunately one tract of hterature which forms a kind of neutral ground, on which all the literary meet amicably, and run riot in the excess of their good humor ; and this is the reigns of Elizabeth ^ and James.^ Here you may praise away at random. Here it is ' cut and come again ' ;2 and the more obscure the author, and the more quaint and crabbed his style, the more your admiration will smack of the real relish of the connoisseur, whose taste, Hke that of an epicure, is always for game that has an antiquated flavor. "But," continued he, "as you seem anxious to know some- thing of literary society, I will take an opportunity to introduce you to some coterie, where the talents of the day are assembled. I cannot promise you, however, that they will all be of the first order. Somehow or other, our great geniuses are not gregari- ous ; they do not go in flocks, but fly singly in general society. They prefer minghng like common men with the multitude, and are apt to carry nothing of the author about them but the repu- tation. It is only the inferior orders that herd together, acquire strength and importance by their confederacies, and bear all the distinctive characteristics of their species." 1 The Elizabethan age, the most glorious era in English literature, dates from the accession of Elizabeth to her death (i 559-1603). The age of James formed a transition from that of Elizabeth to that of Charles 11. 2 " Cut and," etc., a hospitable phrase, or phrase of welcome, signifying that there is enough for all the guests. iiS WASHINGTON IRVING. A LITERARY DINNER. A FEW days after this conversation with Mr. Buckthorne, he called upon me, and took me with him to a regular literary- dinner. It was given by a great bookseller, or rather a company of booksellers, whose firm surpassed in length that of Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego.^ I was surprised to find between twenty and thirty guests assem- bled, most of whom I had never seen before. Mr. Buckthorne explained this to me by informing me that this was a business dinner, or kind of field day which the house gave about twice a year to its authors. It is true they did occasionally give snug dinners to three or four literary men at a time ; but then these were generally select authors, favorites of the public, such as had arrived at their sixth or seventh editions. " There are," said he, *' certain geographical boundaries in the land of literature, and you may judge tolerably well of an author's popularity by the wine his bookseller gives him. An author crosses the port hne about the third edition, and gets into claret ; and when he has reached the sixth or seventh, he may revel in champagne and Burgundy." "And pray," said I, "how far may these gentlemen have reached that I see around me ? Are any of these claret drink- ers ? " " Not exactly, not exactly. You find at these great dinners the common, steady run of authors, one or two edition men, or if any others are invited, they are aware that it is a kind of repub- lican meeting, — you understand me, — a meeting of the republic 1 Three men mentioned in the Bible, who, being cast by Nebuchadnezzar, King of Babylon, into a fiery furnace, because of their refusal to worship a golden image, rose and walked in the midst of the flames (see Daniel iii.). The allusion here is merely to the length of the names, being a pun upon " Longmans," the name of the booksellers mentioned. TALES OF A TRAVELER. 1 19 of letters, and that they must expect nothing but plain, substan- tial fare." These hints enabled me to comprehend more fully the arrange- ment of the table. The two ends were occupied by two partners of the house ; and the host seemed to have adopted Addison's ^ idea as to the literary precedence of his guests. A popular poet had the post of honor, opposite to whom was a hotpressed^ traveler in quarto with plates. A grave-looking antiquarian, who had produced several solid works, that were much quoted and little read, was treated with great respect, and seated next to a neat, dressy gentleman in black, who had written a thin, genteel, hotpressed octavo on political economy, that was get- ting into fashion. Several three-volumed duodecimo men, of fair currency, were placed about the center of the table, while the lower end was taken up with small poets, translators, and authors who had not as yet risen into much notoriety. The conversation during dinner was by fits and starts, break- ing out here and there in various parts of the table in small flashes, and ending in smoke. The poet, who had the confidence of a man on good terms with the world, and independent of his bookseller, was very gay and brilliant, and said many clever things which set the partner next him in a roar, and delighted all the company. The other partner, however, maintained his sedateness, and kept carving on, with the air of a thorough man of business, intent upon the occupation of the moment. His gravity was explained to me by my friend Buckthorne. He informed me that the concerns of the house were admirably dis- 1 Joseph Addison (1672-1719), English poet and essayist, was joint editor with Richard Steele (1671-1729) of two famous English periodicals, The Tatler and The Spectator, which discussed everything that went on in the world — political and literary disputes, fine gentlemen and ladies, the new book, the new play, etc. Addison's work is critical and literary, his humor is fine and tender, and his characters are true to life. 2 Pressed with heat, giving a smooth and glossy surface to paper. Hence, " hotpressed traveler," the author of a book on travels considered worthy of being printed on good paper. 120 WASH I XG TON IRVING. tributed among the partners. " Thus, for instance," said he, " the grave gentleman is the carving partner, who attends to the joints, and the other is the laughing partner, who attends to the jokes." The general conversation was chiefly carried on at the upper end of the table, as the authors there seemed to possess the great- est courage of the tongue. As to the crew at the lower end, if they did not make much figure in talking, they did in eating. Never was there a more determined, inveterate, thoroughly sus- tained attack on the trencher than by this phalanx of mastica- tors. ^ When the cloth was removed, and the wine began to cir- culate, they grew veiy merry and jocose among themselves. Their jokes, however, if by chance any of them reached the upper end of the table, seldom produced much effect. Even the laughing partner did not think it necessary to honor them with a smile, which my neighbor Buckthorne accounted for by informing me that there was a certain degree of popularity to be obtained before a bookseller could afford to laugh at an author's jokes. Among this crew of questionable gentlemen thus seated below the salt,2 my eye singled out one in particular. He was rather shabbily dressed, though he had evidently made the most of a rusty black coat, and wore his shirt frill plaited and puffed out voluminously at the bosom. His face was dusky, but florid, per- haps a httle too florid, particularly about the nose, though the rosy hue gave the greater luster to a twinkling black eye. He had a httle the look of a boon companion, with that dash of the poor devil in it which gives an inexpressible mellow tone to a man's humor. I had seldom seen a face of richer promise, but never was promise so ill kept. He said nothing, ate and drank with the keen appetite of a garreteer, and scarcely stopped to 1 " Phalanx of masticators," i.e., company of eaters. 2 In former times it was customary among people of rank to place a large saltcellar near the middle of a long table, and to assign to guests of distinc- tion the places above the salt, and to inferiors, those below it. Hence, " be- low the salt " means " in an inferior position." TALES OF A TRAVELER. 121 laugh, even at the good jokes from the upper end of the table. I inquired who he was. Buckthorne looked at him attentively. " Gad ! " said he, '' I have seen that face before, but where I can- not recollect. He cannot be an author of any note. I suppose some writer of sermons, or grinder of foreign travels." After dinner we retired to another room to take tea and coffee, where we were reenforced by a cloud of inferior guests, — authors of small volumes in boards, and pamphlets stitched in blue paper. These had not as yet arrived to the importance of a dinner in- vitation, but were invited occasionally to pass the evening in a friendly way. They were very respectful to the partners, and, indeed, seemed to stand a little in awe of them ; but they paid devoted court to the lady of the house, and were extravagantly fond of the children. Some few, who did not feel confidence enough to make such advances, stood shyly off in corners, talk- ing to one another, or turned over the portfolios of prints which they had not seen above five thousand times, or moused over ^ the music on the forte-piano.- The poet and the thin octavo gentleman^ were the persons most current and at their ease in the drawing-room, being men evidently of circulation in the West End.* They got on each side of the lady of the house, and paid her a thousand compli- ments and civilities, at some of which I thought she would have expired with delight. Everything they said and did had the odor of fashionable life. I looked round in vain for the poor-devil author in the rusty black coat ; he had disappeared immediately after leaving the table, having a dread, no doubt, of the glaring light of a drawing-room. Finding nothing further to interest my attention, I took my departure soon after coffee had been served, leaving the poet, and the thin, genteel, hotpressed octavo gentleman, masters of the field. 1 " Moused over," i.e., glanced slyly over. 2 Same as pianoforte. 3 Xhe author of the thin octavo book. 4 The fashionable quarter of London, containing the Palace and the man- sions of the aristocracy. 122 llA^J/J.\'C'JO\ JRl'IXG. THE CLUB OF QUEER FELLOWS. I THINK it was the very next evening that, in coming out of Covent Garden Theater with my eccentric friend Buckthorne, he proposed to give me another peep at hfe and character. Find- ing me wilHng for any research of the kind, he took me through a variety of the narrow courts and lanes about Covent Garden, until we stopped before a tavern, from which we heard the bursts of merriment of a jovial party. There would be a loud peal of laughter, then an interval, then another peal, as if a prime wag were telling a story. After a little while there was a song, and at the close of each stanza, a hearty roar and a vehement thump- ing on the table. "This is the place," whispered Buckthorne ; "it is the Club of Queer Fellows, a great resort of the small wits, third-rate actors, and newspaper critics of the theaters. Any one can go in on paying a sixpence at the bar for the use of the club," We entered, therefore, without ceremony, and took our seats at a lone table in a dusky corner of the room. The club was assembled round a table on which stood beverages of various kinds, according to the tastes of the individuals. The members were a set of queer fellows indeed ; but what was my surprise on recognizing, in the prime wit of the meeting, the poor-devil author whom I had remarked at the booksellers' dinner for his promis- ing face and his complete taciturnity. Matters, however, were entirely changed with him. There he was a mere cipher ; here he was lord of the ascendant, — the choice spirit, the dominant genius. He sat at the head of the table with his hat on, and an eye beaming even more luminously than his nose. He had a quip and a fillip for every one, and a good thing on every occa- sion. Nothing could be said or done without eliciting a spark from him, and I solemnly declare I have heard much worse wit even from noblemen. His jokes, it must be confessed, were rather wet, but they suited the circle over which he presided. TALES OF A TRAl'ELKR. 123 The company were in that maudhn mood when a Httle wit goes a great way. Every time he opened his lips there was sure to be a roar, and even sometimes before he had time to speak. We were fortunate enough to enter in time for a glee composed by him expressly for the club, and which he sung with two boon companions, who would have been worthy subjects for Hogarth's ^ pencil. As they were each provided with a written copy, I was enabled to procure the reading of it. '' Merrily, merrily push round the glass, And merrily troll the glee, For he who won't drink till he wink, is an ass ; So, neighbor, I drink to thee. '* Merrily, merrily fuddle thy nose, Until it right rosy shall be ; For a jolly red nose, I speak under the rose, Is a sign of good company." We waited until the party broke up, and no one but the wit remained. He sat at the table with his legs stretched under it, and wide apart, his hands in his breeches pockets, his head drooped upon his breast, and gazing with lackluster countenance on an empty tankard. His gayety was gone, his fire completely quenched. . My companion approached, and startled him from his fit of brown study, introducing himself on the strength of their having dined together at the booksellers'. ** By the way," said he, " it seems to me I have seen you before ; your face is surely that of an old acquaintance, though for the life of me I cannot tell where I have known you." 1 William Hogarth (i 697-1 764), an English artist, whose work is of a satirical character. He painted pictures in which he portrayed some great moral truth by satirizing the steps downward from the right path. 124 WASHING TOX IRVING. "Very likely," replied he, with a smile, "many of my old friends have forgotten me ; though, to tell the truth, my mem- ory in this instance is as bad as your own. If, however, it will assist your recollection in any w-ay, my name is Thomas Dribble, at your sen-ice." " What ! Tom Dribble, who was at old Birchell's school in Warwickshire ? " ^ " The same," said the other coolly. " Why, then, we are old schoolmates, though it's no wonder you don't recollect me. I was your junior by several years ; don't you recollect little Jack Buckthorne ? " Here there ensued a scene of schoolfellow recognition, and a world of talk about old school times and school pranks. Mr. Dribble ended by observing, with a hea\'y sigh, that times were sadly changed since those days. " Faith, Mr. Dribble," said I, " you seem quite a different man here from what you were at dinner. I had no idea that you had so much stuff in you. There you were all silence, but here you absolutely keep the table in a roar." " Ah ! my dear sir," replied he, with a shake of the head, and a shrug of the shoulder, "I am a mere glowworm. I never shine by dayhght. Besides, it's a hard thing for a poor devil of an author to shine at the table of a rich bookseller. Who do you think would laugh at anything I could say, when I had some of the current wits of the day about me ? But here, though a poor devil, I am among still poorer devils than myself, — men who look up to me as a man of letters, and a bel esprit^ and all my jokes pass as sterling gold from the mint." " You surely do yourself injustice, sir," said I ; " I have cer- 1 Warwickshire, or Warwick, is a county of England, whose capital, War- wick, is on the right bank of the Avon, twenty miles southeast of Birming- ham, and two and a half miles west of Leamington. Between the town of Warwick and the river, on a steep hill, is W^arwick Castle, one of the most perfect and magnificent feudal fortresses in England. 2 A man of wit or brilliant mind. TALES OF A TRAVELER. 125 tainly heard more good things from you this evening than from any of those beaux esprits by whom you appear to have been so daunted." " Ah, sir ! but they have luck on their side ; they are in the fashion. There's nothing hke being in fashion. A man that has once got his character up for a wit is always sure of a laugh, say what he may. He may utter as much nonsense as he pleases, and all will pass current. No one stops to question the coin of a rich man ; but a poor devil cannot pass off either a joke or a guinea without its being examined on both sides. Wit and coin are always doubted with a threadbare coat. " For my part," continued he, giving his hat a twitch a little more on one side, " for my part, I hate your fine dinners ; there's nothing, sir, like the freedom of a chophouse. I'd rather, any time, ha\'e my steak and tankard among my own set than drink claret and eat venison with your cursed civil, elegant company, who never laugh at a good joke from a poor devil for fear of its being vulgar. A good joke grows in a wet soil ; it flourishes in low places, but withers on your d — d high, dry grounds. I once kept high company, sir, until I nearly ruined myself, I grew so dull, and vapid, and genteel. Nothing saved me but being ar- rested by my landlady, and thrown into prison, where a course of catch-clubs,^ eightpenny ale, and poor-devil company, manured my mind, and brought it back to itself again." As it was now growing late, we parted for the evening, though I felt anxious to know more of this practical philosopher. I was glad, therefore, when Buckthorne proposed to have another meet- ing to talk over old school times, and inquired his schoolmate's address. The latter seemed at first a little shy of naming his lodgings, but suddenly, assuming an air of hardihood, " Green- arbor Court, sir," exclaimed he, " Number in Green-arbor Court. You must know the place. Classic ground, sir, classic 1 Clubs formed for singing catches, which are songs designed to give ludicrous effects to the different verses or parts. 126 WASHINGTON IRVING. ground ! It was there Goldsmith i wrote his ' Vicar of Wake- field.' I always like to live in literary haunts." I was amused with this whimsical apology for shabby quarters. On our way homewards, Buckthorne assured me that this Drib- ble had been the prime wit and great wag of the school in their boyish days, and one of those unlucky urchins denominated " bright geniuses." As he perceived me curious respecting his old schoolmate, he promised to take me with him in his proposed visit to Green-arbor Court. A few mornings afterwards he called upon me, and we set forth on our expedition. He led me through a variety of singular alleys, and courts, and bhnd passages, for he appeared to be per- fectly versed in all the intricate geography of the metropohs. At length we came out upon Fleet Market, and traversing it, turned up a narrow street to the bottom of a long, steep flight of stone steps, called Breakneck Stairs. These, he told me, led up to Green-arbor Court, and that down them poor Goldsmith might many a time have risked his neck. When we entered the court, I could not but smile to think in what out-of-the-way corners genius produces her bantlings ! And the Muses, those capricious dames, who, forsooth, so often refuse to visit palaces, and deny a single smile to votaries in splendid studies, and gilded drawing- rooms, — what holes and burrows will they frequent to lavish their favors on some ragged disciple ! This Green-arbor Court I found to be a small square, sur- rounded by tall and miserable houses, the very intestines of which seemed turned inside out, to judge from the old garments and frippery fluttering from every window. It appeared to be a 1 Oliver Goldsmith (1728-74), Irish poet, historian, and novelist. His verse is noted for its grace and simplicity. His best-known works are The Deserted Village, his novel, The Vicar of Wakefield, and a series of letters called The Citizen of the World. Goldsmith was always in straits of poverty and in pecuniary difficulties. Even when his popularity was at its height and his income greatly increased, his extravagance and lavish generosity kept him constantly in debt, for which he was frequently under arrest. TALES or A TRAVELER. 12'j region of washerwomen, and lines were stretched about the httle square, on which clothes were dangling to dry. Just as we entered the square, a scuffle took place between two viragoes about a disputed right to a washtub, and immedi- ately the whole community was in a hubbub. Heads in mob- caps popped out of every window, and such a clamor of tongues ensued that I was fain to stop my ears. Every amazon took part with one or other of the disputants, and brandished her arms, dripping with soapsuds, and fired away from her window as from the embrasure of a fortress, while the swarms of children, nestled and cradled in every procreant chamber of this hive, waking with the noise, set up their shrill pipes to swell the general concert. Poor Goldsmith ! what a time he must have had of it, with his quiet disposition and nervous habits, penned up in this den of noise and vulgarity ! How strange, that while every sight and sound was sufficient to imbitter the heart, and fill it with misanthropy, his pen should be dropping the honey of Hybla ! ^ Yet it is more than probable that he drew many of his inimitable pictures of low life from the scenes which surrounded him in this abode. The circumstance of Mrs. Tibbs ^ being obliged to wash her husband's two shirts in a neighbor's house, who refused to lend her washtub, may have been no sport of fancy, but a fact passing under his own eye. His landlady may have sat for the picture, and Beau Tibbs's scanty wardrobe have been a facsimile of his own. It was with some difficulty that we found our way to Dribble's lodgings. They were up two pairs of stairs, in a room that looked 1 A mountain in Switzerland famed for the sweetness of the honey pro- duced there. 2 Mrs. Tibbs was the wife of Beau Tibbs (a character in Goldsmith's Citizen of the World), a poor fellow who imagined that he knew the best society, that his garret was the choicest spot in London, and his wife (a slat- tern and coquette) a lady of distinction. On one occasion he brought to his garret a distinguished ambassador. " Where's my lady.-*" he asked of the Scotch servant. " She's a- washing your twa shirts at the next door, because they won't lend us the tub any longer," was the reply. 128 WASHINGTON IRVING. upon the court, and when we entered he was seated on the edge of his bed, writing at a broken table. He received tis, however, with a free, open, poor-devil air that was irresistible. It is true he did at first appear slightly confused, buttoned up his waistcoat a httle higher, and tucked in a stray frill of linen. But he recol- lected himself in an instant, gave a half swagger, half leer, as he stepped forth to receive us, drev/ a three-legged stool for Mr. Buckthorne, pointed me to a lumbering old damask chair that looked hke a dethroned monarch in exile, and bade us welcome to his garret. We soon got engaged in conversation. Buckthorne and he had much to say about early school scenes, and as nothing opens a man's heart more than recollections of the kind, we soon drew from him a brief outhne of his literary career. THE POOR-DEVIL AUTHOR. I BEGAN hfe unluckily by being the wag and bright fellow at school, and I had the further misfortune of becoming the great genius of my native village. My father was a country at- torney, and intended I should succeed him in business, but I had too much genius to study, and he was too fond of my genius to force it into the traces,^ so I fell into bad company, and took to bad habits. Do not mistake me. I mean that I fell into the company of village literati 2 and village blues,^ and took to writ- ing village poetry. It was quite the fashion in the village to be Hterary. There was a little knot of choice spirits of us, who assembled frequently together, formed ourselves into a Literary, Scientific, and Philo- sophical Society, and fancied ourselves the most learned Philos * 1 " Into the traces," i.e., into steady employment. - Literary men. ^ Same as bluestockings (see Note 3, p. 23). ^ Lovers of literature and the sciences. TALES OF A TRAVELER. 129 in existence. Every one had a great character assigned him, suggested by some casual habit or affectation. One heavy fellow- drank an enormous quantity of tea, rolled in his armchair, talked sententiously, pronounced dogmatically, and w^as considered a second Dr. Johnson ;i another, who happened to be a curate, uttered coarse jokes, wrote doggerel rhymes, and was the Swift - of our association. Thus we had also our Popes ^ and Gold- smiths, and Addisons, and a bluestocking lady, whose draw- ing-room we frequented, who corresponded about nothing with all the world, and wrote letters with the stiffness and formality of a printed book, was cried up as another Mrs. Montagu.'^ I was by common consent the juvenile prodigy, the poetical youth, the great genius, the pride and hope of the village, through whom it was to become one day as celebrated as Stratford-on-Avon.^ My father died, and left me his blessing and his business. His blessing brought no money into my pocket, and as to his business, 1 Samuel Johnson (1709-84), English miscellaneous writer, author of Dic- tionary of the English Language, Rasselas, and Lives of the English Poets, holds a unique place in English literature. He was noted for his wonderful conversational powers, and " talked as well as wrote literature." His passion for tea drinking was remarkable ; it is said that at one time he drank twenty cups at one sitting. 2 Jonathan Swift (1667-1775), English author. He was noted for his sarcasm and humor, but this humor was often of a very coarse nature. Gul- liver's Travels and the Battle of the Books are his most popular works. 3 Alexander Pope (1688-1744), an English poet of finished verse, but of no great originality. His most important poems are The Essay on Man and the Dunciad. * Lady Mary Wortley Montagu (1690-1762), a celebrated English writer. In 1 716 she accompanied her husband on his embassy to Constantinople, from which place she wrote to Pope, Addison, and other prominent men of the time, letters describing the scenes and customs of the East. These with others were published after her death, and rendered her name famous to posterity. 5 A town of England on the north bank of the Avon, famous as the birth- place of William Shakespeare. The Avon is a river which flows through Warwickshire County, England, and is rich in its associations with vShake- speare. 9 130 WASHINGTON IRVING. it soon deserted me, for I was busy writing poetry, and could not attend to law, and my clients, though they had great respect for my talents, had no faith in a poetical attorney. I lost my business, therefore, spent my money, and finished my poem. It was '' The Pleasures of Melancholy," and was cried up to the skies by the whole circle. The " Pleasures of Imagi- nation," ^ the "Pleasures of Hope," 2 and the "Pleasures of Memory," ^ though each had placed its author in the first rank of poets, were blank prose in comparison. Our Mrs. Montagu would cry over it from beginning to end. It was pronounced by all the members of the Literary, Scientific, and Philosophical Society the greatest poem of the age, and all anticipated the noise it would make in the great world. There was not a doubt but the London booksellers would be mad after it, and the only fear of my friends was that I would make a sacrifice by selling it too cheap. Every time they talked the matter over, they increased the price. They reckoned up the great sums given for the poems of certain popular writers, and determined that mine was worth more than all put together, and ought to be paid for accordingly. For my part, I was modest in my expectations, and determined that I would be satisfied with a thousand guineas. So I put my poem in my pocket, and set off for London. My journey was joyous. My heart was light as my purse, and my head full of anticipations of fame and fortune. With what swelling pride did I cast my eyes upon old London from the heights of Highgate ! ^ I was like a general looking down upon a place he expects to conquer. The great metropolis lay stretched before me, buried under a homemade cloud of murky smoke, that wrapped it from the brightness of a sunny day, and formed for it a kind of artificial bad weather. At the outskirts of the 1 By Mark Akenside, English poet (1721-70). 2 By Thomas Campbell, Scotch poet (i 777-1844). 3 By Samuel Rogers, English poet (1763-1855). 4 A village of Middlesex County, England, situated on a hill to the north of London, and commanding a fine view of the city. TALES OF A TRAVELER. 131 city, away to the west, the smoke gradually decreased until all was clear and sunny, and the view stretched uninterrupted to the blue hne of the Kentish hills. My eye turned fondly to where the mighty cupola of St. Paul's ^ swelled dimly through this misty chaos, and I pictured to myself the solemn realm of learning that lies about its base. How soon should " The Pleasures of Melancholy " throw this world of book- sellers and printers into a bustle of business and dehght ! How soon should I hear my name repeated by printers' devils through- out Paternoster Row, and Angel Court, and Ave Maria Lane, until Amen Corner'- should echo back the sound! Arrived in town, I repaired at once to the most fashionable publisher. Every new author patronizes him of course. In fact, it had been determined in the village circle that he should be the fortunate man. I cannot tell you how vaingloriously I walked the streets. ]\[y head was in the clouds. I felt the airs of heaven playing about it, and fancied it already encircled by a halo of lit- erary glory. As I passed by the windows of bookshops, I antici- pated the time when my work would be shining among the hot- pressed wonders of the day, and my face scratched on copper, or cut on wood, figuring in fellowship with those of Scott,^ and B}Ton,^ and Moore. ^ 1 St. Paul's Cathedral, which stands in the heart of London, is the third largest church in the world. Its dome is the finest in the world. 2 Before the Reformation, in the early part of the sixteenth century, the clergy walked annually in a procession to St. Paul's Cathedral on Corpus Christi Day. They mustered at the upper end of Cheapside, and there com- menced to chant the Paternoster, which they continued the Avhole length of the street, hence called Paternoster Row, pronouncing the Amen at the spot now called Amen Corner. Then commencing the Ave Maria, they turned down Ave Maria Lane. After crossing Ludgate, they chanted the Credo in Creed Lane. 3 See Note i, p. 23. 4 Lord George Gordon Byron (i 788-1824), English poet, author of Childe Harold. 5 Thomas Moore (i 780-1852), Irish poet, author of Irish Melodies, Lalla Rookh, Loves of the Angels, etc. 132 WASHINGTON IRVING. When I applied at the pubhsher's house, there was something in the loftiness of my air, and the dinginess of my dress, that struck the clerks with reverence. They doubtless took me for some person of consequence, probably a digger of Greek roots, or a penetrator of pyramids. A proud man in a dirty shirt is always an imposing character in the world of letters. One must feel intellectually secure before he can venture to dress shabbily ; none but a great genius, or a great scholar, dares to be dirty ; so I was ushered at once to the saiictiuii saiictonim ^ of this high priest of Minerva. 2 The publishing of books is a very different affair nowadays from what it was' in the time of Bernard Lintot.^^ I found the publisher a fashionably dressed man, in an elegant drawing-room, furnished with sofas, and portraits of celebrated authors, and cases of splendidly bound books. He was writing letters at an elegant table. This was transacting business in style. The place seemed suited to the magnificent publications that issued from it. I rejoiced at the choice I had made of a publisher, for I always liked to encourage men of taste and spirit. I stepped up to the table with the lofty poetical port I had been accustomed to maintain in our village circle, though I threw in it something of a patronizing air, such as one feels when about to make a man's fortune. The publisher paused with his pen in hand, and seemed waiting in mute suspense to know what was to be announced by so singular an apparition. I put him at his ease in a moment, for I felt that I had but to come, see, and conquer. I made known my name, and the name of my poem, produced my precious roll of blotted manu- script, laid it on the table with an emphasis, and told him at once, 1 Holy of holies, the most holy place in a Jewish temple ; hence, a place of retreat. 2 In classical mythology, the goddess of wisdom and the patroness of the arts and sciences. 3 A famous bookseller of the eighteenth century, the publisher of several of Alexander Pope's works. TALES OF A TRAVELER. 133 to save lime, and come directly to the point, — the price was one thousand guineas. I had given him no time to speak, nor did he seem so inchned. He continued looking at me for a moment with an air of whim- sical perplexity, scanned me from head to foot, looked down at the manuscript, then up again at me, then pointed to a chair, and whistling softly to himself, went on writing his letter. I sat for some time waiting his reply, supposing he was mak- ing up his mind ; but he only paused occasionally to take a fresh dip of ink, to stroke his chin, or the tip of his nose, and then re- sumed his writing. It was evident his mind was intently occupied upon some other subject ; but I had no idea that any other sub- ject could be attended to, and my poem lie unnoticed on the table. I had supposed that everything would make way for '' The Pleasures of Melancholy." My gorge at length rose within me.^ I took up my manu- script, thrust it into my pocket, and walked out of the room, making some noise as I went out, to let my departure be heard. The publisher, however, was too much buried in minor concerns to notice it. I was suffered to walk downstairs without being called back. I sallied forth into the street, but no clerk was sent after me, nor did the publisher call after me from the drawing- room window. I have been told since that he considered me either a madman or a fool. I leave you to judge how much he was in the wrong in his opinion. When I turned the corner my crest fell. I cooled down in my pride and my expectations, and reduced my terms with the next bookseller to whom I appHed. I had no better success, nor with a third, nor with a fourth. I then desired the booksellers to make an offer themselves, but the deuce an offer would they make. They told me poetry was a mere drug ; everybody wrote poetry ; the market was overstocked with it. And then they said the title of my poem was not taking ; that pleasures of all kinds were worn threadbare ; nothing but horrors did nowadays, and 1 " My gorge," etc., i.e., I was filled with indignation. 134 IVASHIKGTOX IRVIXG. even those were almost worn out. Tales of pirates, robbers, and bloody Turks, might answer tolerably well ; but then they must come from some established, well-known name, or the public would not look at them. At last I offered to leave my poem with a bookseller to read it and judge for himself. " Why, really, my dear Mr. a — a — I forget your name," said he, casting his eye at my rusty coat and shabby gaiters, "really, sir, we are so pressed with busi- ness just now, and have so many manuscripts on hand to read, that we have not time to look at any new productions ; but if you can call again in a week or two, or say the middle of next month, we may be able to look over your writings, and give you an answer. Don't forget, the month after next; good morning, sir; happy to see you at any time you are passing this way." So say- ing, he bowed me out in the civilest way imaginable. In short, sir, instead of an eager competition to secure my poem, I could not even get it read ! In the mean time I was harassed by letters from my friends, \vanting to know when the work was to appear, who was to be my publisher, and above all things warning me not to let it go too cheap. There was but one alternative left. I determined to publish the poem myself, and to have my triumph over the booksellers when it should become the fashion of the day. I accordingly pubhshed "The Pleasures of Melancholy," and ruined myself. Excepting the copies sent to the reviews, and to my friends in the country, not one, I believe, ever left the bookseller's ware- house. The printer's bill drained my purse, and the only notice that was taken of my work was contained in the advertisements paid for by myself. I could have borne all this, and have attributed it, as usual, to the mismanagement of the publisher, or the want of taste in the public, and could have made the usual appeal to posterity ; but my village friends would not let me rest in quiet. They were picturing me to themselves feasting with the great, communing with the literary, and in the high career of fortune and renown. TALES OF A TRAVELER. 135 Every little while some one would call on me with a letter of introduction from the village circle, recommending him to my attentions, and requesting that I would make him known in society, with a hint that an introduction to a celebrated literary nobleman would be extremely agreeable. I determined, there- fore, to change my lodgings, drop my correspondence, and dis- appear altogether from the view of my village admirers. Besides, I was anxious to make one more poetic attempt. I was by no means disheartened by the failure of my first. My poem w^as evidently too didactic. The public was wise enough. It no longer read for instruction. " They want horrors, do they ? " said I : " I' faith ! then they shall have enough of them." So I looked out for some quiet, retired place, where I might be out of the reach of my friends, and have leisure to cook up some delec- table dish of poetical "hellbroth." 1 had some difficulty in finding a place to my mind, when chance threw me in the way of Canonbury Castle. ^ It is an ancient brick tower hard by ^ "merry Islington," the remains of a hunting seat of Queen Elizabeth, where she took the pleasure of the country when the neighborhood was all woodland. What gave it particular interest in my eyes was the circumstance that it had been the residence of a poet. It was here Goldsmith resided when he wrote his " Deserted Village." I was shown the very apartment. It was a relic of the original style of the castle, with paneled wainscots and Gothic windows. I was pleased with its air of antiquity, and with its having been the residence of poor "Goldy." "Goldsmith was a pretty poet," said I to myself, "a very pretty poet, though rather of the old school. He did not think ^ Canonbury Castle is near Islington, a suburb of London, which was an occasional rural retreat of Queen Elizabeth. The castle is part of an old mansion erected by the canons of St. Bartholomew, and is rendered interesting from having been frequently the hiding place of Goldsmith when threatened with arrest. Here he wrote The Deserted Village and the Vicar of Wakefield. 2 " Hard bv," i.e., near. 136 WASHINGTON IRVING. and feel so strongly as is the fashion nowadays ; but had he lived in these times of hot hearts and hot heads, he would, no doubt, have written quite differently." In a few days I was quietly established in my new quarters, — my books all arranged, my writing desk placed by a window look- ing out into the fields ; and I felt as snug as Robinson Crusoe,^ when he had finished his bower. For several days I enjoyed all the novelty of the change, and the charms which grace new lodg- ings before one has found out their defects. I rambled about the fields where I fancied Goldsmith had rambled. I explored merry Islington, ate my solitary dinner at the Black Bull, which, according to tradition, was a country seat of Sir Walter Raleigh,^ and would sit and sip my wine, and muse on old times, in a quaint old room, where many a council had been held. All this did very well for a few days. I was stimulated by novelty, inspired by the associations awakened in my mind by these curious haunts, and began to think I felt the spirit of com- position stirring within me. But Sunday came, and with it the whole city world swarming about Canonbury Castle. I could not open my window but I was stunned with shouts and noises from the cricket ground ; the late quiet road beneath my window was alive with the tread of feet and clack of tongues, and, to com- plete my misery, I found that my quiet retreat was absolutely a "show house," the tower and its contents being shown to strangers at sixpence a head. There was a perpetual tramping upstairs of citizens and their families to look about the country from the top of the tower, and to take a peep at the city through the telescope, to try if 1 The hero of Daniel Defoe's story of the same name, who, being wrecked on an uninhabited island, led for many years a solitary existence, the monotony of which he relieved by many ingenious contrivances. The tale was founded on the adventures of Alexander Selkirk, who was left on the desolate island of Juan Fernandez for over four years. 2 English admiral and courtier (1552-1618), a favorite of Queen Eliza- beth. TALES OF A TRAVELER. 137 they could discern their own chimneys. And then, in the midst of a vein of thought, or a moment of inspiration, I was inter- rupted, and all my ideas put to flight, by my intolerable land- lady's tapping at the door, and asking me if I would "just please to let a lady and gentleman come in to take a look at Mr. Gold- smith's room." If you know anything of what an author's study is, and what an author is himself, you must know that there was no standing this. I put positive interdict on my room's being exhibited ; but then it was shown when I was absent, and my papers put in confusion, and, on returning home one day I abso- lutely found a cursed tradesman and his daughters gaping over my manuscripts, and my landlady in a panic at my appearance. I tried to make out ^ a little longer by taking the key in my pocket, but it would not do. I overheard mine hostess one day telling some of her customers on the stairs that the room was occupied by an author, who was always in a tantrum if inter- rupted, and I immediately perceived, by a slight noise at the door, that they were peeping at me through the keyhole. By the head of Apollo,^ but this was quite too much ! With all my eagerness for fame, and my ambition of the stare of the million, I had no idea of being exhibited by retail, at sixpence a head, and that through a keyhole. So I bade adieu to Canonbury Cas- tle, merry Islington, and the haunts of poor Goldsmith, without having advanced a single line in my labors. My next quarters were at a small, whitewashed cottage, which stands not far from Hampstead,^ just on the brow of a hill, look- ing over Chalk Farm ^ and Camden Town,^ remarkable for the 1 " To make out," i.e., to endure it. 2 The sun god among the Greeks and Romans, noted for his grace and manly beauty. 3 A village of England in Middlesex County, a favorite resort of Lon- doners on holidays. * Chalk Farm, at the foot of Primrose Hill (see Note i, p. 139), was a retired spot on which many duels were fought. 5 A suburb of London, three and a half miles northwest of St. Paul's. o 8 WASHINGTON IRVING. rival houses of Mother Red Cap and Mother Black Cap,i and so across Crackskull Common ^ to the distant city. The cottage was in nowise remarkable in itself, but I regarded it with reverence, for it had been the asylum of a persecuted author. Hither poor Steele had retreated, and lain perdu ^ when persecuted by creditors and bailiffs, — those immemorial plagues of authors and free-spirited gentlemen ; and here he had written many numbers of the " Spectator." ■* It was hence, too, that he had dispatched those little notes to his lady, so full of affection and whimsicality, in which the fond husband, the careless gen- tleman, and the shifting spendthrift, were so oddly blended. I thought, as I first eyed the window of his apartment, that I could sit within it and write volumes. No such thing. It w^as haymaking season, and, as ill luck would have it, immediately opposite the cottage was a little ale- house, with the sign of the Load of Hay. Whether it was there in Steele's time I cannot say, but it set all attempts at concep- tion or inspiration at defiance. It was the resort of all the Irish haymakers who mow the broad fields in the neighborhood, and of drovers and teamsters who travel that road. Here they would gather in the endless summer twilight, or by the light of the har- vest moon, and sit around a table at the door, and tipple and laugh and quarrel and fight, and sing drowsy songs, and dawdle away the hours, until the deep, solemn notes of St. Paul's clock would warn the varlets home. In the daytime I was less able to write. It was broad sum- 1 " Mother Red Cap " and " Mother Black Cap " were two old inns which nearly faced each other in High Street, Camden Town. The original pro- prietor of the former, who was regarded as a witch, derived her name, " Mother Red Cap," from the red cap which she wore. The other inn, " Mother Black Cap," was started and named in opposition to " Mother Red Cap." Two modern buildings bearing the same name now occupy the sites of these old inns. 2 Crackskull Common, which formerly extended eastward from Hampstead, is no longer known as a locality. 3 In concealment. 4 See Note I, p. 119. TALES OF A TRAVELER. 139 mer. The haymakers were at work in the fields, and the per- fume of the new-mown hay brought with it the recollection of my native fields. So instead of remaining in my room to write, I went wandering about Primrose HiU,! and Hampstead Heights, and Shepherd's Fields,^ and all those Arcadian ^ scenes so cele- brated by London bards. I cannot tell you how many deli- cious hours I have passed, lying on the cocks of the new-mown hay, on the pleasant slopes of some of those hills, inhaling the fragrance of the fields, while the summer fly buzzed about me, or the grasshopper leaped into my bosom ; and how I have gazed with half shut eye upon the smoky mass of London, and listened to the distant sound of its population, and pitied the poor sons of earth toiHng in its bowels, like gnomes in the " dark gold mines." People may say what they please about cockney* pastorals, but, after all, there is a vast deal of rural beauty about the west- ern vicinity of London, and any one that has looked down upon the valley of the West End, with its soft bosom of green pastur- age lying open to the south, and dotted with cattle, the steeple of Hampstead rising among rich groves on the brow of the hill, and the learned height of Harrow ^ in the distance, will confess that never has he seen a more absolutely rural landscape in the vicinity of a great metropolis. Still, however, I found myself not a whit better off for my fre- 1 A hill which commands a fine and extensive view of London. It is now laid out into walks and serves as a public garden, but formerly it was secluded and free from public notice. 2 Shepherd's Fields, which formerly extended westward from Hampstead, is now built up, and is known as West Hampstead. 3 Pertaining to Arcadia, which was a mountainous, picturesque district of Greece, where the people were distinguished for contentment and rural happiness; hence " ideally rural." * A contemptuous term for natives of London. 5 A town in Middlesex County, England, ten miles northwest of London, finely situated on the summit of a high hill. The Grammar School at Harrow, founded in 1571, is one of the most famous in England, I40 WASHINGTON IRVING. c]uent change of lodgings, and I began to discover that in htera- ture, as in trade, the old proverb holds good, " a rolling stone gathers no moss." The tranquil beauty of the country played the very vengeance with me. I could not mount my fancy into the termagant vein. I could not conceive, amidst the smiling landscape, a scene of blood and murder, and the smug citizens in breeches and gaiters put all ideas of heroes and bandits out of my brain. I could think of nothing but dulcet subjects, — " The Pleasures of Spring," " The Pleasures of Sohtude," " The Pleasures of Tranquillity," "The Pleasures of Sentiment," — nothing but pleasures; and I had the painful experience of " The Pleasures of Melancholy " too strongly in my recollection to be beguiled by them. Chance at length befriended me. I had frequently in my ramblings loitered about Hampstead Hill, which is a kind of Parnassus ^ of the metropolis. At such times I occasionally took my dinner at Jack Straw's Castle.- It is a country inn so named, the very spot where that notorious rebel and his followers held their council of war. It is a favorite resort of citizens when rurally inclined, as it commands fine fresh air, and a good view of the city. I sat one day in the public room of this inn, rumi- nating over a beefsteak and a pint of porter, when my imagina- tion kindled up with ancient and heroic images. I had long wanted a theme and a hero ; both suddenly broke upon my mind. I determined to write a poem on the history of Jack Straw. I was so full of the subject that I was fearful of being anticipated. I wondered that none of the poets of the day, in their search after ruffian heroes, had ever thought of Jack Straw. I went to work pellmell, blotted several sheets of paper with 1 A mountain near Delphi in Greece, sacred to Apollo and the nine Muses, who presided over song and the different kinds of poetry ; hence, any region of poetry. 2 A comfortable hostlery and public house on the highest part of Hamp- stead Heath. Jack Straw was a priest, who, with John Kail of Kent, took a leading part in Wat Tyler's rebellion of 1 831, and was executed the same year. TALES OF A TRAVELER. 141 choice floating thoughts, and battles, and descriptions, to be ready at a moment's warning. In a few days' time I sketched out the skeleton of my poem, and nothing was wanting but to give it flesh and blood. I used to take my manuscript and stroll about Caen Wood,i and rea.d aloud, and would dine at the Cas- tle, by way of keeping up the vein of thought. I was there one day, at rather a late hour, in the public room. There was no other company but one man, who sat enjoying his pint of porter at the window, and noticing the passers-by. He was dressed in a green shooting coat. His countenance was strongly marked ; he had a hooked nose, a romantic eye, except- ing that it had something of a squint, and altogether, as I thought, a poetical style of head. I was quite taken with the man, for you must know I am a httle of a physiognomist. I set him down at once for either a poet or a philosopher. As I like to make new acquaintances, considering every man a volume of human nature, I soon fell into conversation with the stranger, who, I was pleased to find, was by no means difficult of access. After I had dined I joined him at the window, and we became so sociable that I proposed a bottle of wine together, to which he most cheerfully assented. I was too full of my poem to keep long quiet on the subject, and began to talk about the origin of the tavern, and the histor^^ of Jack Straw. I found my new acquaintance to be perfectly at home on the topic, and to jump exactly with my humor in every respect. I became elevated by the wine and the conversation. In the fullness of an author's feelings I told him of my projected poem, and repeated some passages, and he was in raptures. He was evidently of a strong poetical turn. " Sir," said he, filling my glass at the same time, " our poets don't look at home. I don't see why we need go out of old England for robbers and rebels to write about. I like your Jack Straw, sir; he's a homemade hero. I like him, sir — I like him 1 Caen Wood, or Kenwood, the superb villa of the Earl of Mansfield, lies between Hampstead and High gate. 14^ WASHING TO X IRVIXG. exceedingly. He's English to the backbone — damme — give me honest old England after all ! Them's mv sentiments, sir." "I honor your sentiment," cried I, zealously; "it is exactly my own. An English ruffian is as good a ruffian for poetry as any in Italy, or Germany, or the Archipelago ; ^ but it is hard to make oiu* poets think so." " More shame for them I " rephed the man in green. " What a plague - would they have ? ^Vhat have we to do with their Archipelagos of Italy and Germany ? Haven't we heaths and commons and highways on our own httle island — ay, and stout fellows to pad the hoof '^ over them too ? Stick to home, I sav ; them's my sentiments. Come sir, my service to you. I agree with you perfectly." " Poets, in old times, had right notions on this subject," con- tinued I ; " witness the fine old ballads about Robin Hood,^ Allan a'Dale,^ and other stanch blades of yore." " Right, sir, right," interrupted he. " Robin Hood ! he was the lad to cry "stand " to a man, and never to flinch." "Ah, sir," said I, "they had famous bands of robbers in the good old times ; those were glorious poetical days. The merr)- crew of Sherwood Forest, who led such a roving, picturesque life 'under the greenwood tree,' — ^ I have often wished to visit 1 The Grecian Archipelago, or -tgean Sea, that part of the Mediterranean lying between Asia Minor, Greece, and Turkey, and studded with islands. 2 " What a plague," a mere exclamation, like "what in the worldl" 3 " To pad the hoof," i.e., to travel on foot. * Robin Hood, a famous English outlaw, whose exploits are the subject of many ballads, but of whose actual existence little evidence can be ol)tained. He is supposed to have been Fitzooth, Earl of Huntingdon ( 1 160-1247), born at Locksley in the reign of Henry 11. Ha\-ing outrun his fortune and being outlawed, he lived as a freebooter, chiefly in the forest of Sherwood in Nottinghamshire. He was a prince among robbers, and is noted for his gen- erosity, personal courage, and skill in archery. Allan-a-Dale was one of Robin Hood's men. 5 " Under the greenwood tree, Who loves to lie with me." etc. Song from Shakespeare's .\s You Like It. act ii., sc. 5. TALES OF A TRAVELER. 143 their haunts, and tread the scenes of the exploits of Friar Tuck/ and Clym of the Clough, and Sir WiUiam of Cloudshe." - "Nay, sir," said the gentleman in green, "we have had sev- eral very pretty gangs since that day. Those gallant dogs that kept about the great heaths in the neighborhood of London, — about Bagshot, Hounslow, and Blackheath,-^ for instance. Come, sir, my service to you. You don't drink." " I suppose," cried I, emptying my glass, " I suppose you have heard of the famous Turpin,* who was born in this very village of Hampstead, and who used to lurk with his gang in Epping Forest ''' about a hundred years since ? " "Have I?" cried he, "to be sure I have! A hearty old blade that ! Sound as pitch ! Old Turpentine, as wx used to call him. A famous fine fellow, sir." "Well, sir," continued I, " I have visited Waltham Abbey and Chingford Church merely from the stories I heard when a boy of his exploits there, and I have searched Epping Forest for the cavern where he used to conceal himself. You must know," added I, " that I am a sort of amateur highwayman. They were dashing, daring fellows, the best apologies that we had for the knights-errant of yore. Ah, sir, the country has been sinking gradually into tameness and commonplace. We are losing the old English spirit. The bold knights of the post ^ have all dwin- 1 The confessor and steward of Robin Hood, self-indulgent, humorous, and somewhat coarse. 2 Clym of the Clough (Clement of the Cliff) and William of Cloudesley or Cloudeslie were noted outlaws, whose skill in archery rendered them as famous in the north of England as Robin Hood was in the midland counties. Their place of resort w^as Englewood Forest near Carlisle. 3 Bagshot, Hounslow, and Blackheath, were three heaths near London, famous resorts of the highwaymen. 4 Dick Turpin, a noted English highwayman, executed at York for horse stealing, in 1739. 5 A forest on the outskirts of London. About two miles from the western part of the forest is Waltham Abbey, by the River Lea, and Chingford Church is about four and a half miles from Waltham Abbey. 6 See Note i, p. 47. 144 WASHIXGTON IRVING. died down into lurking footpads and sneaking pickpockets ; there's no such thing as a dashing, gentlemanlike robbery committed nowadays on the King's highway. A man may roll from one end of England to the other in a drowsy coach, or jingling post chaise, without anv other adventure than that of beinsr occasion- ally overturned, sleeping in damp sheets, or having an ill-cooked dinner. We hear no more of public coaches being stopped and robbed by a w^ell mounted gang of resolute fellows, with pistols in their hands, and crapes over their faces. What a pretty, poet- ical incident was it, for example, in domestic life, for a family carriage, on its way to a country seat, to be attacked about dark, the old gentleman eased of his purse and watch, the ladies of their necklaces and earrings, by a politely-spoken highwayman on a blood mare, who afterwards leaped the hedge and galloped across the country, to the admiration of Miss Caroline, the daugh- ter, who would write a long and romantic account of the adven- ture to her friend, Miss Juhana, in town. Ah, sir, we meet with nothing of such incidents nowadays." " That, sir," said my companion, taking advantage of a pause, when I stopped to recover breath, and to take a glass of wine which he had just poured out, " that, sir, craving your pardon, is not owing to any want of old English pluck. It is the effect of this cursed system of banking. People do not travel with bags of gold as they did formerly. They have post notes, and drafts on bankers. To rob a coach is like catching a crow, where you have nothing but carrion flesh and feathers for your pains. But a coach in old times, sir, was as rich as a Spanish galleon.^ It turned out the yellow boys ^ bravely. And a private carriage was a cooP hundred or two at least." 1 A trading vessel of the fifteenth century. The Spanish galleons were usually laden with treasures from the South American countries. 2 "Yellow boys," an English slang term for gold coins ; generally ap- plied to guineas. ^ A term applied in a vague sense to a sum of money, to give emphasis to the largeness of the amount. TALES OF A TRAVELER. 145 I cannot express how much I was delighted with the salHes of my new acquaintance. He told me that he often frequented the Castle, and would be glad to know more of me ; and I pro- posed to myself many a pleasant afternoon with him, when I should read him my poem as it proceeded, and benefit by his remarks, for it was evident he had the true poetical feehng, " Come, sir," said he, pushing the bottle ; " damme, I hke you ! you're a man after my own heart. I'm cursed slow in making new acquaintances. One must be on the reserve, you know. But when I meet with a man of your kidney, damme, my heart jumps at once to him. Them's my sentiments, sir. Come, sir, here's Jack Straw's health, I presume one can drink it now- adays without treason ! " " With all my heart," said I, gayly, " and Dick Turpin's into the bargain." "Ah, sir," said the man in green, "those are the kind of men for poetry. The Newgate Calendar,^ sir ! the Newgate Calendar is your only reading ! There's the place to look for bold deeds and dashing fellows." We were so much pleased with each other that we sat until a late hour. I insisted on paying the bill, for both my purse and my heart were full, and I agreed that he should pay the score at our next meeting. As the coaches had all gone that run between Hampstead and London, we had to return on foot. He was so dehghted with the idea of vciy poem that he could talk of noth- ing else. He made me repeat such passages as I could remem- ber, and though I did it in a very mangled manner, having a wretched memory, yet he was in raptures. Every now and then he would break out with some scrap which he would misquote most terribly, would rub his hands and exclaim, " By Jupiter, that's fine, that's noble ! Damme, sir, if I can con- ceive how you hit upon such ideas I " I must confess I did not always relish his misquotations, which 1 A list of the prisoners committed to Newgate Prison, London. 10 146 WASHINGTON IRVING. sometimes made absolute nonsense of the passages ; but what author stands upon trifles when he is praised ? Never had I spent a more dehghtful evening. I did not per- ceive how the time flew. I could not bear to separate, but con- tinued walking on, arm in arm with him, past my lodgings, through Camden Town, and across CrackskuU Common, talking the whole way about my poem. When we were half way across the common, he interrupted me in the midst of a quotation by telling me that this had been a famous place for footpads, and was still occasionally infested by them, and that a man had recently been shot there in attempting to defend himself. ** The more fool he ! " cried I ; " a man is an idiot to risk life, or even limb, to save a paltry purse of money. It's quite a different case from that of a duel, where one's honor is concerned. For my part," added I, " I should never think of making resistance against one of those desperadoes." " Say you so ? " cried my friend in green, turning suddenly upon me, and putting a pistol to my breast ; *' why, then, have at you,i my lad ! Come — disburse ! empty ! unsack ! " In a word, I found that the Muse had played me another of her tricks, and had betrayed me into the hands of a footpad. There was no time to parley; he made me turn my pockets in- side out, and hearing the sound of distant footsteps, he made one fell swoop upon purse, watch, and all, gave me a thwack on my unlucky pate that laid me sprawling on the ground, and scam- pered away with his booty. I saw no more of my friend in green until a year or two after- wards, when I caught sight of his poetical countenance among a crew of scapegraces, heavily ironed, who were on the way for transportation. He recognized me at once, tipped me an impu- dent wink, and asked me how I came on with the history of Jack Straw's Castle. The catastrophe at CrackskuU Common put an end to my summer's campaign. I was cured of my poetical enthusiasm for 1 To " liave at you " is to try to strike you. TALES OF A TRAVELER. 147 rebels, robbers, and highwaymen. I was put out of conceit of my subject, and, what was worse, I was hghtened of my purse, in which was almost every farthing I had in the world. So I abandoned Sir Richard Steele's cottage in despair, and crept into less celebrated, though no less poetical and airy, lodgings in a garret in town. I now determined to cultivate the society of the literary, and to enroll myself in the fraternity of authorship. It is by the constant collision of mind, thought I, that authors strike out the sparks of genius, and kindle up with glorious conceptions. Poetry is evidently a contagious complaint. I will keep company with poets ; who knows but I may catch it as others have done ? I found no difficulty in making a circle of literary acquaint- ances, not having the sin of success lying at my door ; indeed, the failure of my poem was a kind of recommendation to their favor. It is true my new friends were not of the most brilliant names in literature ; but then, if you would take their words for it, they were like the prophets of old, men of whom the world was not worthy, and who were to live in future ages, when the ephem- eral favorites of the day should be forgotten. I soon discovered, however, that the more I mingled in liter- ary society, the less I felt capable of writing ; that poetry was not so catching as I imagined ; and that in familiar life there was often nothing less poetical than a poet. Besides, I wanted the esprit de corps ^ to turn these literary fellowships to any ac- count. I could not bring myself to enlist in any particular sect. I saw something to like in them all, but found that would never do, for that the tacit condition on which a man enters into one of these sects is, that he abuses all the rest. I perceived that there were little knots of authors who lived with, and for, and by, one another. They considered themselves the salt of the earth. ^ They fostered and kept up a conventional 1 The common, animating spirit of a collective body or association. 2 " Salt of the earth," i.e., that portion of a community which has a good influence on the rest (see Matt. v. 13). 148 WASHING TOX IRVIXG. vein of thinking, and talking, and joking on all subjects, and they cried each other up to the skies. Each sect had its particular creed, and set up certain authors as divinities, and fell down and worshiped them, and considered every one who did not worship them, or who worshiped any other, as a heretic and an infidel. In quoting the writers of the day, I generally found them ex- tolling names of which I had scarcely heard, and talking slight- ingly of others who were the favorites of the public. If I men- tioned any recent work from the pen of a first-rate author, they had not read it, — they had not time to read all that was spawned from the press ; he wrote too much to write well ; and then they would break out into raptures about some Mr. Timson, or Tom- son, or Jackson, whose works were neglected at the present day, but who was to be the wonder and dehght of posterity. Alas ! what heavy debts is this neglectful world daily accumulating on the shoulders of poor posterity. But, above all, it was edifying to hear w^ith what contempt they would talk of the great. Ye gods ! how immeasurably the great are despised by the small fry 1 of literature ! It is true, an exception was now and then made of some nobleman, with whom, perhaps, they had casually shaken hands at an election, or hob or nobbed - at a public dinner, and was pronounced a " devilish good fellow," and " no humbug ; " but, in general, it was enough for a man to have a title, to be the object of their sovereign dis- dain. You have no idea how poetically and philosophically they would talk of nobihty. For my part, this affected me but little, for though I had no bitterness against the great, and did not think the worse of a man for having innocently been born to a title, yet I did not feel myself at present called upon to resent the indignities poured upon them by the little. But the hostihty to the great writers of the day went sore against the grain ^ with me. I could not enter 1 " Small fry," i.e., insignificant men. 2 " Hob or nobbed," or " hobnobbed," drank familiarly witli. '^ " Against the grain," i.e., against one's tastes or inclinations. 'J 'ALES OF A TKAVELER. 149 into such feuds, or participate in such animosities. I had not become author sufficiently to hate other authors. I could still find pleasure in the novelties of the press, and could find it in my heart to praise a contemporary, even though he were suc- cessful. Indeed, I was miscellaneous in my taste, and could not confine it to any age or growth of writers. I could turn with delight from the glowing pages of Byron ^ to the cool and pol- ished raillery of Pope,- and after wandering among the sacred groves of " Paradise Lost," "^ I could give myself up to voluptu- ous abandonment in the enchanted bowers of " Lalla Rookh."'* "I would have my authors," said I, *'as various as my wines, and in relishing the strong and the racy, would never decry the sparkling and exhilarating. Port and sherry are excellent stand- bys, and so is Madeira, but claret and Burgundy may be drunk now and then without disparagement to one's palate, and cham- pagne is a beverage by no means to be despised." Such was the tirade I uttered one day when a little flushed with ale at a literary club. I uttered it, too, with something of a flourish, for I thought my simile a clever one. Unluckily, my auditors were men who drank beer and hated Pope ; so my fig- ure about wines went for nothing, and my critical toleration was looked upon as downright heterodoxy. In a word, I soon be- came like a freethinker in religion, an outlaw from every sect, and fair game for all. Such are the melancholy consequences of not hating in literatiu-e. I see you are growing weary, so I will be brief with the residue of my literary career. I will not detain you with a detail of my various attempts to get astride of Pegasus ; ^ of the poems I have 1 See Note 4, p. 131. 2 gee Note 3, p. 129. 3 The greatest work of John Milton, English poet (1608-74). 4 A poem by Thomas Moore (see Note 5, p. 131). Lalla Rookh is an Eastern story, full of fire and passion. 5 A winged horse in classical mythology, who, with a blow of the hoofs, caused Hippocrene, the inspiring fountain of the Muses, to spring from Mount Helicon. For this reason he is associated with the idea of poetic 15° WASHINGTON IRVING. written which were never printed, the plays I have presented which were never performed, and the tracts I have pubhshed which were never purchased. It seemed as if booksellers, man- agers, and the ver\^ public, had entered into a conspiracy to starve me. Still I could not prevail upon myself to give up the trial, nor abandon those dreams of renown in which I had indulged. How should I be able to look the literary circle of my native village in the face, if I were so completely to falsify their predic- tions ? For some time longer, therefore, I continued to write for fame, and was, of course, the most miserable dog in existence, besides being in continual risk of starvation. I accumulated loads of literary treasure on my shelves, — loads which were to be treasures to posterity, but, alas ! they put not a penny into my purse. What was all this wealth to my present necessities ? I could not patch my elbows with an ode, nor satisfy my hunger with blank verse. " Shall a man fill his belly with the east wind ? " ^ says the proverb. He may as well do so as with poetry. I have many a time strolled sorrowfully along, with a sad heart and an empty stomach, about five o'clock, and looked wistfully down the areas in the west end of the town, and seen through the kitchen windows the fires gleaming, and the joints of meat turn- ing on the spits and dripping with gravy, and the cook maids beating up puddings, or trussing turkeys, and felt for the moment that if I could but have the run of one of those kitchens, Apollo and the Muses might have the hungry heights of Parnassus - for me. Oh, sir ! talk of meditations among the tombs ! they are nothing so melancholy as the meditations of a poor devil without penny in pouch, along a line of kitchen windows towards dinner time. At length, when almost reduced to famine and despair, the idea all at once entered my head that perhaps I was not so clever a fellow as the village and myself had supposed. It was the sal- inspiration. Hence, "to get astride of Pegasus," to gain poetic inspi- ration. 1 See Job xv. 2. 2 See Note i, p. 140. TALES OF A TRAVELER. 151 vation of me. The moment the idea popped into my brain it brought conviction and comfort with it. 1 awoke as from a dream ; I gave up immortal fame to those who could live on air ; took to writing for mere bread ; and have ever since had a very tolerable life of it. There is no man of letters so much at his ease, sir, as he who has no character to gain or lose. I had to train myself to it a little, and to clip my wings short at first, or they would have carried me up into poetry in spite of myself. So I determined to begin by the opposite extreme, and abandon- ing the higher regions of the craft, I came plump down to the lowest, and turned creeper. " Creeper ! and pray what is that ? " said I. " Oh, sir, I see you are ignorant of the language of the craft ; a creeper is one who furnishes the newspapers with paragraphs at so much a line, and who goes about in quest of misfortunes, attends the Bow Street Office, the Courts of Justice, and every other den of mischief and iniquity. We are paid at the rate of a penny a hne, and as we can sell the same paragraph to almost every paper, we sometimes pick up a very decent day's work. Now and then the Muse is unkind, or the day uncommonly quiet, and then we rather starve ; and sometimes the unconscionable editors will clip our paragraphs when they are a little too rhetor- ical, and snip off twopence or threepence at a go.^ I have many a time had my pot of porter snipped off my dinner in this way, and have had to dine with dry lips. However, I cannot com- plain. I rose gradually in the lower ranks of the craft, and am now, I think, in the most comfortable region of literature." " And pray," said I, " what may you be at present ? " " At present," said he, " I am a regular job writer, and turn my hand to anything. I work up the writings of others at so much a sheet, turn off translations, write second-rate articles to fill up reviews and magazines, compile travels and voyages, and furnish theatrical criticisms for the newspapers. All this authorship, you perceive, is anonymous ; it gives me no reputation except among 1 " At a go," i.e., at a turn. 152 WASHING TON IRVING. the trade, where I am considered an author of all work, and am always sure of employ. That's the only reputation I want. I sleep soundly, without dread of duns or critics, and leave im- mortal fame to those that choose to fret and fight about it. Take my word for it, the only happy author in this world is he who is below the care of reputation." NOTORIETY. WHEN we had emerged from the literary nest of honest Dribble, and had passed safely through the dangers of Breakneck Stairs, and the labyrinths of Fleet Market, Buckthorne indulged in many comments upon the peep into literary life which he had furnished me. I expressed my surprise at finding it so different a world from what I had imagined. " It is always so," said he, " with stran- gers. The land of literature is a fairyland to those who view it at a distance, but, like all other landscapes, the charm fades on a nearer approach, and the thorns and briars become visible. The republic of letters is the most factious and discordant of all republics, ancient or modern." " Yet," said I, smiling, " you would not have me take honest Dribble's experience as a view of the land. He is but a mous- ing owl, a mere groundling.^ We should have quite a different strain from one of those fortunate authors whom we see sport- ing about the empyreal heights of fashion, like swallows in the blue sky of a summer's day." "Perhaps we might," rephed he, "but I doubt it. I doubt whether, if any one, even of the most successful, were to tell his actual feelings, you would not find the truth of friend Dribble's philosophy with respect to reputation. One you would find car- rying a gay face to the world, while some vulture critic was prey- 1 One of the common herd. 7 ALES OF A 'I'RAVELER. 1 53 ing upon his very liver. Another, who was simple enough to mistake fashion for fame, you would find watching countenances, and cultivating invitations, more ambitious to figure in the beau mo7ide 1 than the world of letters, and apt to be rendered wretched by the neglect of an iUiterate peer or a dissipated duchess. Those who were rising to fame, you would find tormented with anxiety to get higher, and those who had gained the summit, in constant apprehension of a decline. " Even those who are indifferent to the buzz of notoriety and the farce of fashion are not much better off, being incessantly harassed by intrusions on their leisure and interruptions of their pursuits ; for, whatever may be his feelings, when once an author is launched into notoriety, he must go the rounds until the idle curiosity of the day is satisfied, and he is thrown aside to make way for some new caprice. Upon the whole, I do not know but he is most fortunate who engages in the whirl through ambition, however tormenting, as it is doubly irksome to be obliged to join in the game without being interested in the stake. '* There is a constant demand in the fashionable world for novelty ; every nine days must have its wonder,- no matter of what kind. At one time it is an author, at another, a fire eater, at another, a composer, an Indian juggler, or an Indian chief ; a man from the North Pole or the Pyramids ; each figures through his brief term of notoriety, and then makes way for the succeed- ing wonder. You must know that we have oddity fanciers among our ladies of rank, who collect about them all kinds of remark- able beings ; fiddlers, statesmen, singers, warriors, artists, philos- ophers, actors, and poets ; every kind of personage, in short, who is noted for something peculiar, so that their routs are like fancy balls, where every one comes ' in character.' " I have had infinite amusement at these parties in noticing how industriously every one was playing a part, and acting out 1 The fashionable world. 2 " A nine days' wonder " is something that causes a great sensation for a short time and then is forgotten. 154 WASHINGTON IRVING, of his natural line. There is not a more complete game at cross- purposes ^ than the intercourse of the literary and the great. The fine gentleman is always anxious to be thought a wit, and the wit, a fine gentleman. " I have noticed a lord endeavoring to look wise and talk learnedly with a man of letters who was aiming at a fashionable air and the tone of a man who had lived about town. The peer quoted a score or two learned authors, with whom he would fain be thought intimate, while the author talked of Sir John this, and Sir Harry that, and extolled the Biu"gundy he had drunk at Lord Such-a-one's. Each seemed to forget that he could only be interesting to the other in his proper character. Had the peer been merely a man of erudition, the author would never have lis- tened to his prosing ; and had the author known all the nobihty in the Court Calendar,^ it would have given him no interest in the eyes of the peer. '* In the same way I have seen a fine lady, remarkable for beauty, weary a philosopher with flimsy metaphysics, while the philosopher put on an awkward air of gallantry, played with her fan, and prattled about the opera. I have heard a sentimental poet talk very stupidly with a statesman about the national debt ; and on joining a knot of scientific old gentlemen conversing in a corner, expecting to hear the discussion of some valuable dis- covery, I found they were only amusing themselves with a fat story." A PRACTICAL PHILOSOPHER. THE anecdotes I had heard of Buckthorne's early schoolmate, together with a variety of peculiarities which I had remarked in himself, gave me a strong curiosity to know something of his 1 A conversational game in which questions and answers arc so framed as to involve ludicrous combinations of ideas. 2 An annual handbook of royal families and their courts. TALES OF A TRAVELER. 155 own history. I am a traveler of the good old school, and am fond of the custom laid down in books, according to which, whenever travelers met, they sat down forthwith, and gave a his- tory of themselves and their adventures. This Buckthorne, too, was a man much to my taste ; he had seen the world, and min- gled with society, yet retained the strong eccentricities of a man who had lived much alone. There was a careless dash of good humor about him which pleased me exceedingly, and at times an odd tinge of melancholy mingled with his humor, and gave it an additional zest. He was apt to run into long speculations upon society and manners, and to indulge in whimsical views of human nature, yet there was nothing ill-tempered in his satire. It ran more upon the follies than the vices of mankind, and even the follies of his fellow-man were treated with the leniency of one who felt himself to be but frail. He had evidently been a little chilled and buffeted by fortune without being soured thereby, as some fruits become mellower and more generous in their flavor from having been bruised and frost-bitten. I have always had a great relish for the conversation of prac- tical philosophers of this stamp, who have profited by the *' sweet uses of adversity " ^ without imbibing its bitterness ; who have learned to estimate the world rightly, yet good-humoredly ; and who, while they perceive the truth of the saying that " all is vanity," ^ are yet able to do so without vexation of spirit. Such a man was Buckthorne ; in general, a laughing philos- opher, and if at any time a shade of sadness stole across his brow, it was but transient, like a summer cloud, which soon goes by, and freshens and revives the fields over which it passes. I was walking with him one day in Kensington Gardens,^ for he was a knowing epicure in all the cheap pleasures and rural haunts within reach of the metropolis. It was a dehghtful, warm 1 See Shakespeare's As You Like It, act ii., sc. i. 2 See Eccles. xii. 8. 3 Kensington Gardens, in London, are to the north of Hyde Park, and are noted for their avenues of majestic old trees. 156 WASH IXG TON IRVIXG. morning in spring, and he was in the happy mood of a pastoral citizen, when just turned loose into grass and sunshine. He had been watching a lark which, rising from a bed of daisies and yellow cups, had sung his way up to a bright, snowy cloud float- ing in the deep blue sky. "Of all birds," said he, "I should like to be a lark. He revels in the brightest time of the day, in the happiest season of the year, among fresh meadows and opening flowers ; and when he has sated himself with the sweetness of earth, he wings his flight up to heaven, as if he would drink in the melody of the morning stars. Hark to that note ! How it comes thrilling down upon the ear 1 What a stream of music, note falling over note, in delicious cadence ! Who would trouble his head about operas and concerts when he could walk in the fields and hear such music for nothing ? These are the enjoyments which set riches at scorn, and make even a poor man independent : " ' I care not, Fortune, what you me deny: You cannot rob me of free Nature's grace, You cannot shut the windows of the sky Through which Aurora shows her brightening face ; You cannot bar my constant feet to trace The woods and lawns by living stream, at eve.' ^ " Sir, there are homilies in Nature's works worth all the wisdom of the schools, if we could but read them rightly, and one of the pleasantest lessons I ever received in time of trouble was from hearing the notes of the lark." I profited by this communicative vein to intimate to Buck- thorne a wish to know something of the events of his life, which I fancied must have been an eventful one. He smiled when I expressed my desire. " I have no great story," said he, " to relate. A mere tissue of errors and follies. But, such as it is, you shall have one epoch of it, by which you may judge of the rest." And so, without any further prelude, he gave me the following anecdotes of his early adventures. 1 Thomson's Castle of Indolence, Canto II., stanza 3. I'ALES OF A TRAVELER. I'^l BUCKTHORNE, OR THE YOUNG MAN OF GREAT EXPECTATIONS. I WAS born to very little property, but to great expectations, which is, perhaps, one of the most unlucky fortunes a man can be born to. My father was a country gentleman, the last of a very ancient and honorable, but decayed, family, and resided in an old hunting lodge in Warwickshire. He was a keen sports- man, and lived to the extent of his moderate income, so that I had little to expect from that quarter; but then I had a rich uncle by the mother's side, a penurious, accumulating curmud- geon, who, it was confidently expected, would make me his heir, because he was an old bachelor, because I was named after him, and because he hated all the world except myself. He was, in fact, an inveterate hater, a miser even in misan- thropy, and hoarded up a grudge as he did a guinea. Thus, though my mother was an only sister, he had never forgiven her marriage with my father, against whom he had a cold, still, im- movable pique, which had lain at the bottom of his heart, like a stone in a well, ever since they had been schoolboys together. My mother, however, considered me as the intermediate being that was to bring everything again into harmony, for she looked upon me as a prodigy, God bless her ! My heart overflows when- ever I recall her tenderness. She was the most excellent, the most indulgent of mothers. I was her only child. It was a pity she had no more, for she had fondness of heart enough to have spoiled a dozen. I was sent at an early age to a public school, sorely against my mother's washes ; but my father insisted that it was the only way to make boys hardy. The school was kept by a conscien- tious prig of the ancient system, who did his duty by the boys intrusted to his care, — that is to say, we were flogged soundly when we did not get our lessons. We were put in classes, and 15S WASHINGTON IRVING, thus flogged on in droves along the highway of knowledge, in much the same manner as cattle are driven to market, where those that are heavy in gait or short in leg have to suffer for the superior alertness or longer limbs of their companions. For my part, — I confess it with shame, — I was an incorrigible laggard. I have always had the poetical feeling ; that is to say, I have always been an idle fellow, and prone to play the vaga- bond. I used to get away from my books and school whenever I could, and ramble about the fields. I was surrounded by seduc- tions for such a temperament. The schoolhouse was an old- fashioned, whitewashed mansion, of wood and plaster, standing on the skirts of a beautiful village. Close by it was the venerable church, with a tall Gothic spire ; before it spread a lovely green valley, with a little stream glistening along through willow groves ; while a line of blue hills bounding the landscape gave rise to many a summer-day dream as to the fairyland that lay beyond. In spite of all the scourgings I suffered at that school to make me love my book, I cannot but look back upon the place with fondness. Indeed, I considered this frequent flagellation as the common lot of humanity, and the regular mode in which scholars were made. My kind mother used to lament over my details of the sore trials I underwent in the cause of learning, but my father turned a deaf ear to her expostulations. He had been flogged through school himself, and he swore there was no other way of making a man of parts ; ^ though, let me speak it with all due reverence, my father was but an indifferent illustration of his theory, for he was considered a grievous blockhead. My poetical temperament evinced itself at a very early period. The village church was attended every Sunday by a neighboring squire, the lord of the manor, whose park stretched quite to the village, and whose spacious country seat seemed to take the church under its protection. Indeed, you would have thought the church had been consecrated to him instead of to the Deity. * " A man of parts," i.e., an able man. TALES OF A TRAVELER. 159 The parish clerk bowed low before him, and the vergers humbled themselves unto the dust in his presence. He always entered a little late, and with some stir, striking his cane emphatically on the ground, swaying his hat in his hand, and looking loftily to the right and left as he walked slowly up the aisle ; and the parson, who always ate his Sunday dinner with him, never com- menced service until he appeared. He sat with his family in a large pew, gorgeously lined, humbling himself devoutly on velvet cushions, and reading lessons of meekness and lowliness of spirit out of splendid gold and morocco prayer books. Whenever the parson spoke of the difficulty of a rich man's entering the king- dom of heaven, the eyes of the congregation would turn towards the '* grand pew," and I thought the squire seemed pleased with the application. The pomp of this pew, and the aristocratical air of the family struck my imagination wonderfully, and I fell desperately in love with a little daughter of the squire's, about twelve years of age. This freak of fancy made me more truant from my studies than ever. I used to stroll about the squire's park, and lurk near the house, to catch glimpses of this damsel at the windows, or play- ing about the lawn, or walking out with her governess. I had not enterprise nor impudence enough to venture from my concealment. Indeed, I felt like an arrant poacher, until I read one or two of Ovid's Metamorphoses,^ when I pictured my- self as some sylvan deity,^ and she a coy wood nymph of whom I was in pursuit. There is something extremely delicious in these early awakenings of the tender passion. I can feel even at this moment the throbbing in my boyish bosom, whenever by chance 1 Ovid, Publius Ovidius Naso (43 B.C.-A.D.17), a great Roman poet. His best known work is the Metamorphoses, which professed to show the relation of the gods to human affairs ; but it deals mostly with the love ad- ventures of the gods with nymphs, etc. 2 In Greek and Roman mythology the forests were inhabited by gods and nymphs, who were characterized by riotous merriment, and represented as half goat, half man. lt>o ll'ASIIIXG7'0X IRVIXG. I caught a glimpse of her white frock fluttering among the shrub- bery. I carried about in my bosom a volume of Waller,' which I had purloined from my mother's library, and I applied to my little fair one all the comphments la^^ished upon Sacharissa.- At length I danced with her at a school ball. I was so awk- ward a booby that I dared scarcely speak to her ; I was filled with awe and embarrassment in her presence ; but I was so in- spired that my poetical temperament for the first time broke out in verse, and I fabricated some glowing rhymes, in which I be- rhymed the little lady under the favorite name of Sacharissa. I slipped the verses, trembling and blushing, into her hand the next Sunday as she came out of church. The little prude handed them to her mamma, the mamma handed them to the squire, the squire, who had no soul for poetry, sent them in dudgeon to the schoolmaster, and the schoolmaster, with a barbarity worthy of the dark ages,^ gave me a sound and peculiarly humiliating flog- ging for thus trespassing upon Parnassus. This was a sad outset for a votary of the Muse ;^ it ought to have cured me of my pas- sion for poetry ; but it only confirmed it, for I felt the spirit of a martyr rising within me. What was as well, perhaps, it cured me of my passion for the young lady, for I felt so indignant at the ignominious horsing ^ I had incurred in celebrating her charms, that I could not hold up my head in church. Fortunately for my wounded sensibility, the midsummer holidays came on, and I returned home. My mother, as usual, inquired into all my school concerns, my little pleasures, and cares, and sorrows ; for boyhood has its share of the one as well as of the other. I told 1 Edmund Waller (1605-87), an English poet noted for the refinement of his style. 2 Sacharissa ( " Miss Sugar " ) was a name bestowed by Waller on Lady Dorothea Sidney, eldest daughter of the Earl of Leicester, for whose hand he was an unsuccessful suitor. 3 " The dark ages," i.e., a period of obscurity and stagnation in literature and art, lasting nearly a thousand years (500 to 1500), * " Votary of the Muse," i.e., one devoted to poetry. 5 Flogging. TALES OF A TRAVELER. i6i her all, and she was indignant at the treatment I had experienced. She fired up at the arrogance of the squire and the prudery of the daughter, and, as to the schoolmaster, she wondered where was the use of having schoolmasters, and why boys could not remain at home and be educated by tutors, under the eye of their mothers. She asked to see the verses I had written, and she was delighted with them, for, to confess the truth, she had a pretty taste for poetry. She even showed them to the parson's wife, who protested they were charming, and the parson's three daughters insisted on each having a copy of them. All this was exceedingly balsamic; and I was still more con- soled and encouraged when the young ladies, who were the blue- stockings of the neighborhood, and had read Dr. Johnson's Lives ^ quite through, assured my mother that great geniuses never studied, but were always idle, upon which I began to surmise that I was myself something out of the common run. My father, however, was of a very different opinion, for when my mother, in the pride of her heart, showed him my copy of verses, he threw them out of the window, asking her if she meant '' to make a ballad monger of the boy ? " But he was a careless, common- thinking man, and I cannot say that I ever loved him much ; my mother absorbed all my filial affection. I used occasionally, on holidays, to be sent on short visits to the uncle who was to make me his heir. They thought it would keep me in his mind, and render him fond of me. He was a withered, anxious-looking old fellow, and lived in a desolate old country seat, which he suffered to go to ruin from absolute nig- gardliness. He kept but one man servant, who had lived, or rather starved, with him for years. No woman was allowed to sleep in the house. A daughter of the old servant lived by the gate, in what had been a porter's lodge, and was permitted to come into the house about an hour each day, to make the beds and cook a morsel of provisions. The park that surrounded the house was all run wild ; the trees were grown out of shape ; the ^ Johnson's Lives of the English Poets (see Note i, p. 129). II 1 62 WASHINGTON IRVING. fish ponds stagnant ; the urns and statues fallen from their pedes- tals, and buried among the rank grass. The hares and pheasants were so little molested, except by poachers, that they bred in great abundance, and sported about the rough lawns and weedy avenues. To guard the premises, and frighten off robbers, of whom he was somewhat apprehensive, and visitors, of whom he was in almost equal awe, my uncle kept two or three blood- hounds, who were always prowling round the house, and were the dread of the neighboring peasantry. They were gaunt and half starved, seemed ready to devour one from mere hunger, and were an effectual check on any stranger's approach to this wizard castle. Such was my uncle's house, which I used to visit now and then during the holidays. I was, as I before said, the old man's favorite ; that is to say, he did not hate me so much as he did the rest of the world. I had been apprised of his character, and cautioned to cultivate his good will ; but I was too young and careless to be a courtier, and, indeed, have never been sufficiently studious of my interests to let them govern my feelings. How- ever, we jogged on very well together, and as my visits cost him almost nothing, they did not seem to be very unwelcome. I brought with me my fishing rod, and half supplied the table from the fish ponds. Our meals were solitary and unsocial. My uncle rarely spoke ; he pointed to whatever he wanted, and the servant perfectly understood him. Indeed, his man John, or " Iron John," as he was called in the neighborhood, was a counterpart of his master. He was a tall, bony old fellow, with a dry wig that seemed made of cow's tail, and a face as tough as though it had been made of cow's hide. He was generally clad in a long, patched, livery coat, taken out of the wardrobe of the house, and which bagged loosely about him, having evidently belonged to some corpulent predecessor in the more plenteous days of the mansion. From long habits of taciturnity, the hinges of his jaws seemed to have grown absolutely rusty, and it cost him as much effort to set TALES OF A TRAVELER. 163 them ajar, and to let out a tolerable sentence, as it would have done to set open the iron gates of the park, and let out the old family carriage that was dropping to pieces in the coach house. I cannot say, however, but that I was for some time amused with my uncle's peculiarities. Even the very desolateness of the establishment had something in it that hit my fancy. When the weather was fine I used to amuse myself in a solitary way, by rambling about the park, and coursing like a colt across its lawns. The hares and pheasants seemed to stare with surprise to see a human being walking these forbidden grounds by daylight. Sometimes I amused myself by jerking stones, or shooting at birds with a bow and arrows, for to have used a gun would have been treason. Now and then my path was crossed by a little red-headed, ragged-tailed urchin, the son of the woman at the lodge, who ran wild about the premises. I tried to draw him into familiarity, and to make a companion of him, but he seemed to have imbibed the strange, unsociable character of everything around him, and always kept aloof ; so I considered him as an- other Orson,! and amused myself with shooting at him with my bow and arrows, and he would hold up his breeches with one hand, and scamper away like a deer. There was something in all this loneliness and wildness strangely pleasing to me. The great stables, empty and weather broken, with the names of favorite horses over the vacant stalls ; the win- dows, bricked and boarded up ; the broken roofs, garrisoned by rooks and jackdaws, — all had a singularly forlorn appearance. One would have concluded the house to be totally uninhabited 1 One of the heroes in the old French romance of Valentine and Orson. Bellisant, wife of Alexander, Emperor of Constantinople, being banished by her husband, took refuge in a forest near Orleans, where she became the mother of the twins, Valentine and Orson. Valentine was taken away by his uncle, King Pepin of France ; but Orson was carried off by a bear, which suckled him with its cubs. As he grew up, he became the terror of France, and was called the " Wild Man of the Forest, " Ultimately he was reclaimed by his brother Valentine. 1 64 WASHIXGTOX IRVING. were it not for the little thread of blue smoke which now and then curled up, like a corkscrew, from the center of one of the wide chimneys where my uncle's starveling meal was cooking. My uncle's room was in a remote corner of the building, strongly secured, and generally locked. I was never admitted into this stronghold, where the old man would remain for the greater part of the time, drawn up, like a veteran spider, in the citadel of his web. The rest of the mansion, however, was open to me, and I wandered about it unconstrained. The damp and rain, which beat in through the broken windows, crumbled the paper from the walls, moldered the pictiu"es, and gradually de- stroyed the furniture. I loved to roam about the wide, waste chambers in bad weather, and listen to the howling of the wind, and the banging about of the doors and window shutters. I pleased myself with the idea of how completely, when I came to the estate, I would renovate all things, and make the old build- ing ring with merriment, till it was astonished at its own jocundity. The chamber which I occupied on these visits had been my mother's when a girl. There was still the toilet table of her own adorning, the landscapes of her own drawing. She had never seen it since her marriage, but would often ask me if everything was still the same. All was just the same, for I loved that cham- ber on her account, and had taken pains to put everything in order, and to mend all the flaws in the windows with my own hands. I anticipated the time when I should once more welcome her to the house of her fathers, and restore her to this httle nesthng place of her childhood. At length my evil genius — or what, perhaps, is the same thing, the Muse — inspired me with the notion of rhyming again. My uncle, who never went to church, used on Sundays to read chap- ters out of the Bible ; and Iron John, the woman from the lodge, and myself, were his congregation. It seemed to be all one to him what he read, so long as it was something from the Bible. Sometimes, therefore, it would be the Song of Solomon, and this withered anatomy would read about being stayed with flagons, TALES OF A TRAVELER. 165 and comforted with apples, for he was sick of love.^ Some- times he would hobble, with spectacles on nose, through whole chapters of hard Hebrew names in Deuteronomy, ^ at which the poor woman would sigh and groan, as if wonderfully moved. His favorite book, however, was " The Pilgrim's Progress," ^ and when he came to that part which treats of Doubting Castle and Giant Despair, I thought invariably of him in his desolate old country seat. So much did the idea amuse me that I took to scribbling about it under the trees in the park, and in a few days had made some progress in a poem in which I had given a de- scription of the place, under the name of Doubting Castle, and personified my uncle as Giant Despair. I lost my poem somewhere about the house, and I soon sus- pected that my uncle had found it, as he harshly intimated to me that I could return home, and that I need not come and see him again till he should send for me. Just about this time my mother died. I cannot dwell upon the circumstance. My heart, careless and wayward as it is, gushes with the recollection. Her death was an event that perhaps gave a turn to all my after fortunes. With her died all that made home attractive. I had no longer anybody whom I was ambitious to please, or fearful to offend. My father was a good kind of a man in his way, but he had bad maxims in education, and we differed in material points. It makes a vast difference in opinion about the utility of the rod, which end happens to fall to one's share. I never could be brought into my father's way of thinking on the subject. 1 See Song of Solomon ii. 5. 2 The fifth book of the Old Testament. 3 A religious allegory written by John Bunyan (1628-88). He describes the journey of the pilgrim Christian from the City of Destruction to the Celestial City. On his way the pilgrim encounters the Giant Despair, who lives in Doubting Castle. Finding Christian and his companion Hopeful asleep, the giant locks them up in his dungeon, where they are detained and cruelly treated till Christian unlocks the door with a key called Promise, and they make their escape. 1 66 WASHINGTON IRVING. I now, therefore, began to grow very impatient of remaining at school, to be flogged for things that I did not hke. I longed for variety, especially now that I had not my uncle's house to resort to, by way of diversifying the dullness of school with the dreariness of his country seat. I was now almost seventeen, tall for my age, and full of idle fancies. I had a roving, inextinguishable desire to see different kinds of life, and different orders of society, and this vagrant humor had been fostered in me by Tom Dribble, the prime wag and great genius of the school, who had all the rambling pro- pensities of a poet. I used to sit at my desk in the school, on a fine summer's day, and, instead of studying the book which lay open before me, my eye was gazing through the windows on the green fields and blue hills. How I envied the happy groups on the tops of stagecoaches, chatting, and joking, and laughing, as they were whirled by the schoolhouse on their way to the metropolis ! Even the wagon- ers trudging along beside their ponderous teams, and traversing the kingdom from one end to the other, were objects of envy to me. I fancied to myself what adventures they must experience, and what odd scenes of life they must witness. All this was, doubtless, the poetical temperament working Avithin me, and tempting me forth into a world of its own creation, which I mis- took for the world of real life. While my mother lived, this strong propensity to rove was counteracted by the stronger attractions of home, and by the powerful ties of affection which drew me to her side ; but now that she was gone, the attraction had ceased ; the ties were severed. I had no longer an anchorage ground for my heart, but was at the mercy of every vagrant impulse. Nothing but the narrow allowance on which my father kept me, and the consequent penury of my purse, prevented me from mounting to the top of a stage- coach, and. launching myself adrift on the great ocean of life. Just about this time, the village was agitated for a day or two by the passing through of several caravans, containing wild TALES OF A TRAVELER. 167 beasts and other spectacles, for a gi-eat fair annually held at a neighboring town. I had never seen a fair of any consequence, and my curiosity was powerfully awakened by this bustle of preparation. I gazed with respect and wonder at the vagrant personages who accom- panied these caravans. I loitered about the village inn, listen- ing with curiosity and delight to the slang talk and cant jokes of the showmen and their followers, and I felt an eager desire to witness this fair which my fancy decked out as something won- derfully fine. A holiday afternoon presented when I could be absent from noon until evening. A wagon was going from the village to the fair. I could not resist the temptation, nor the eloquence of Tom Dribble, who was a truant to the very heart's core. We hired seats, and set off full of boyish expectation. I promised myself that I would but take a peep at the land of promise, and hasten back again before my absence should be noticed. Heavens! how happy I was on arriving at the fair ! How I was enchanted with the world of fun and pageantry around me ! The humors of Punch, ^ the feats of the equestrians, the magical tricks of the conjurors. But what principally caught my atten- tion was an itinerant theater, where a tragedy, pantomime,^ and farce, were all acted in the course of half an hour, and more of the draiJiatis perso7icB^ murdered than at Drury Lane* or Covent Garden ^ in the course of a whole evening. I have since seen many a play performed by the best actors in the world, but never have I derived half the delight from any that I did from this first rep- resentation. There was a ferocious tyrant in a skullcap like an inverted 1 A humorous character of a puppet show, exhibited in places of popular resort. He is represented as short and fat, with a hump on his back. 2 A dramatic and spectacular entertainment, of which dumb acting as well as burlesque dialogue and dancing by clown, harlequin, etc., are features. 3 The actors in a play. 4 A famous theater in London, of which David Garrick was once manager. 5 An old theater in Covent Garden, London, built in 1732. l6S WASII/XGTOX IRJ'IXG. porringer, and a dress of red baize, magnificently embroidered with gilt leather, with his face so bewhiskered, and liis eyebrows so knit and expanded with burnt cork, that he made my heart quake -w-ithin me as he stamped about the little stage. I was enraptured, too, with the surpassing beauty of a distressed damsel in a faded pink siik and dirt}- white mushn, whom he held in cruel capti^-ity by way of gaining her affections, and who wept and wrung her hands, and flourished a ragged white handkerchief from the top of an impregnable tower of the size of a bandbox. Even after I had come out from the play I could not tear myself from the vicinity of the theater, but hngered, gazing, and wondering, and laughing at the dramatis persoruB as they per- formed their antics, or danced upon a stage in front of the booth, to decoy a new set of spectators. I was so bewildered by the scene, and so lost in the crowd of sensations that kept swarming upon me, that I was like one en- tranced. I lost my companion, Tom Dribble, in a tumult and scuffle that took place near one of the shows ; but I was too much occupied in mind to think long about him. I strolled about until dark, when the fair was lighted up, and a new scene of magic opened upon me. The illumination of the tents and booths, the brilliant effect of the stages decorated with lamps, with dramatic groups flaunting about them in gaudy dresses, contrasted splen- didly with the surrounding darkness, while the uproar of drums, tnmipets, fiddles, hautboys,^ and cymbals, mingled with the har- angues of the showmen, the squeaking of Punch, and the shouts and laughter of the crowd, all united to complete my giddy dis- traction. Time flew without my perceiving it. When I came to myself and thought of the school, I hastened to return. I inquired for the wagon in which I had come ; it had been gone for hom^s. I asked the time ; it was almost midnight. A sudden quaking seized me. How was I to get back to school ? I was too wear}' to make the journey on foot, and I knew not where to 1 Wind instruments, similar in shape to the clarinet. TALES OF A TRAVELER, 169 apply for a conveyance. Even if I should find one, could I ven- ture to disturb the schoolhouse long after midnight, — to arouse that sleeping lion the usher in the very midst of his night's rest? The idea was too dreadful for a delinquent schoolboy. All the horrors of return rushed upon me. My absence must long be- fore this have been remarked ; and absent for a whole night ! — a deed of darkness not easily to be expiated. The rod of the pedagogue budded forth into tenfold terrors before my affrighted fancy. I pictured to myself punishment and humihation in every variety of form, and my heart sickened at the picture. Alas ! how often are the petty ills of boyhood as painful to our tender natures as are the sterner evils of manhood to our robuster minds. I wandered about among the booths, and I might have derived a lesson from my actual feelings, how much the charms of this world depend upon ourselves, for I no longer saw anything gay or delightful in the revelry around me. At length I lay down, wearied and perplexed, behind one of the large tents, and, cover- ing myself with the margin of the tent cloth to keep off the night chill, I soon fell asleep. I had not slept long when I was awakened by the noise of merriment within an adjoining booth. It was the itinerant thea- ter, rudely constructed of boards and canvas. I peeped through an aperture, and saw the whole dramatis pejsoncE, tragedy, comedy, and pantomime, all refreshing themselves after the final dismissal of their auditors. They were merry and gamesome, and made the flimsy theater ring with their laughter. I was astonished to see the tragedy tyrant in red baize and fierce whisk- ers, who had made my heart quake as he strutted about the boards, now transformed into a fat, good-humored fellow, the beaming, porringer ^ laid aside from his brow, and his jolly face washed from all the terrors of burnt cork. I was delighted, too, to see the distressed damsel in faded silk and dirty muslin, who had trembled under his tyranny, and afflicted me so much by her sorrows, now seated familiarly on his knee, and quaffing from ^ A headdress shaped like a porringer or porridge dish ; so called in jest. 1 70 WASHINGTON IRVING. the same tankard. Harlequin ^ lay asleep on one of the benches, and monks, satyrs,^ and vestal virgins '^ were grouped together, laughing outrageously at a broad story told by an unhappy count, who had been barbarously murdered in the tragedy. This was, indeed, novelty to me. It was a peep into another planet. I gazed and listened with intense curiosity and enjoy- ment. They had a thousand odd stories and jokes about the events of the day, and burlesque descriptions and mimickings of the spectators who had been admiring them. Their conversation was full of allusions to their adventures at different places where they had exhibited, the characters they had met with in different villages, and the ludicrous difficulties in which they had occasion- ally been involved. All past cares and troubles were now turned by these thoughtless beings into matters of merriment, and made to contribute to the gayety of the moment. They had been moving from fair to fair about the kingdom, and were the next morning to set out on their way to London. Mv resolution was taken. I stole from my nest, and crept through a hedge into a neighboring field, where I went to work to make a tatterdemalion ^ of myself. I tore my clothes, soiled them with dirt, begrimed my face and hands, and crawling near one of the booths, pur- loined an old hat, and left my new one in its place. It was an honest theft, and I hope may not hereafter rise up in judgment against me. I now ventured to the scene of merrymaking, and presenting myself before the dramatic corps, offered myself as a volunteer. 1 Harlequin, in the British pantomime, is a sprite supposed to be invisible to all eyes but those of his faithful Columbine, with whom he is in love. His office is to dance through the world and frustrate all the knavish tricks of the clown, who also is in love with Columbine. 2 Forest gods among the Greeks and Romans, half goat and half man (see Note 2, p. 159). 3 Among the ancient Romans, vestal virgins were consecrated to Vesta, goddess of the hearth, and watched the sacred fire kept forever burning on her altar. 4 Ragged fellow. TALES OF A TRAVELER. i^i I felt terribly agitated and abashed, for never before " stood I in such a presence." I had addressed myself to the manager of the company. He was a fat man, dressed in dirty white, with a red sash fringed with tinsel swathed round his body ; his face was smeared with paint, and a majestic plume towered from an old spangled black bonnet. He was the Jupiter Tonans^ of this Olympus,- and was surrounded by the inferior gods and god- desses of his court. He sat on the end of a bench by a table, with one arm akimbo, and the other extended to the handle of a tankard, which he had slowly set down from his lips, as he sur- veyed me from head to foot. It was a moment of awful scru- tiny, and I fancied the groups around all watching as in silent suspense, and waiting for the imperial nod. He questioned me as to who I was, what were my qualifica- tions, and what terms I expected. I passed myself oif for a dis- charged servant from a gentleman's family, and as, happily, one does not require a special recommendation to get admitted into bad company, the questions on that head were easily satisfied. As to my accomplishments, I could spout a little poetry, and knew several scenes of plays, which I had learned at school exhibitions ; I could dance. That was enough. No further questions were asked me as to accomplishments. It was the very thing they wanted ; and as I asked no wages but merely meat and drink, and safe conduct about the world, a bargain was struck in a moment. Behold me, therefore, transformed in a sudden from a gentle- man student to a dancing buifoon, for such, in fact, was the char- acter in which I made my debut. I was one of those who formed the groups in the dramas, and was principally employed on the stage in front of the booth to attract company. I was equipped ^ Jupiter, the chief god of the Romans, was worshiped as the god of rain, storms, thunder, etc. As god of thunder he bore the epithet "Jupiter Tonans." 2 Mount Olympus of Greece, on the confines of Macedonia and Thessaly, where the court of Jupiter was supposed to have been held. 172 WASIIIXGTON IRVING. as a sat^T, in a dress of drab frieze ^ that fitted to my shape, with a great laughing mask, ornamented with huge ears and short horns. I was pleased with the disguise, because it kept me from the danger of being discovered whilst we were in that part of the country ; and as I had merely to dance and make antics, the character was favorable to a debutant^ being almost on a par with Snug's ^ part of the lion, which required nothing but roaring. I cannot tell you how happy I was at this sudden change in my situation. I felt no degradation, for I had seen too little of society to be thoughtful about the difference of rank, and a boy of sixteen is seldom aristocratical. I had given up no friend, for there seemed to be no one in the world that cared for me, now that my poor mother was dead ; I had given up no pleasure, for my pleasure was to ramble about and indulge the flow of a poet- ical imagination, and I now enjoyed it in perfection. There is no life so truly poetical as that of a dancing buffoon. It may be said that all this argued groveling inclinations. I do not think so. Not that I mean to vindicate myself in any great degree ; I know too well what a whimsical compound I am ; but in this instance I was seduced by no love of low com- pany, nor disposition to indulge in low vices. I have always despised the brutally vulgar, and had a disgust at vice, whether in high or low life. I was governed merely by a sudden and thoughtless impulse. I had no idea of resorting to this profes- sion as a mode of life, or of attaching myself to these people as my future class of society. I thought merelv of a temporary gratification to my curiosity, and an indulgence of my humors. I had already a strong reHsh for the peculiarities of character and the varieties of situation, and I have always been fond of the 1 A coarse woolen cloth, with a tufted (friezed) nap on one side. 2 A character in Shakespeare's A Midsummer-Night's Dream. A play is arranged by the citizens of Athens for the occasion of the marriage of the Duke. Snug the joiner, who is slow of learning, is assigned the lion's part, which requires nothing but roaring (see A Midsummer-Night's Dream, act i., sc. 2). TALES OF A TRAVELER. 173 comedy of life, and desirous of seeing it through all its shifting scenes. In mingling, therefore, among mountebanks and buffoons, I was protected by the very vivacity of imagination which had led me among them. I moved about, enveloped, as it were, in a protecting delusion, which my fancy spread around me. I assimi- lated to these people only as they struck me poetically ; their whimsical ways and a certain picturesqueness in their mode of life entertained me ; but I was neither amused nor corrupted by their vices. In short, I mingled among them, as Prince Hal 1 did among his graceless associates, merely to gratify my humor. I did not investigate my motives in this manner at the time, for I was too careless and thoughtless to reason about the matter ; but I do so now, when I look back with trembling to think of the ordeal to which I unthinkingly exposed myself, and the manner in which I passed through it. Nothing, I am convinced, but the poetical temperament, that hurried me into the scrape, brought me out of it without my becoming an arrant vaga- bond. Full of the enjoyment of the moment, giddy with the wildness of animal spirits, so rapturous in a boy, I capered, I danced, I played a thousand fantastic tricks about the stage in the villages in which we exhibited, and I was universally pronounced the most agreeable monster that had ever been seen in those parts. My disappearance from school had awakened my father's anxi- ety, for I one day heard a description of myself cried before the very booth in which I was exhibiting, with the offer of a reward for any intelligence of me. I had no great scruple about letting my father suffer a little uneasiness on my account ; it would pun- 1 Prince Hal (1388-1422), son of King Henry IV. of England, mingled with low company in taverns and was a reckless youth ; but he felt secure in the thought that he could at any time leave his common associates and assume the duties of his true rank. When he became king he threw off his dissipated habits, and Henry V. proved one of England's wisest and greatest kings (see Shakespeare's Henry IV., Part i., act i., sc. 2). 174 WASHINGTON IRVING. ish him for past indifference, and would make him value me the more when he found me again. I have wondered that some of my comrades did not recognize me in the stray sheep that was cried ; but they were all, no doubt, occupied by their own concerns. They were all laboring seriously in their antic vocation ; for folly was a mere trade with most of them, and they often grinned and capered with heavy hearts. With me, on the contrary, it was all real. I acted co7i amore} and rattled and laughed from the irrepressible gayety of my spirits. It is true that, now and then, I started and looked grave on receiving a sudden thwack from the wooden sword of Harle- quin in the course of my gambols, as it brought to mind the birch of my schoolmaster ; but I soon got accustomed to it, and bore all the cuffing, and kicking, and tumbling about, which form the practical wit of your itinerant pantomime, with a good humor that made me a prodigious favorite. The country campaign of the troop was soon at an end, and we set off for the metropolis, to perform at the fairs which are held in its vicinity. The greater part of our theatrical property was sent on direct, to be in a state of preparation for the open- ing of the fairs, while a detachment of the company traveled slowly on, foraging among the villages. I was amused with the desultory, haphazard kind of life we led ; here to-day and gone to-morrow ; sometimes reveling in alehouses, sometimes feasting under hedges in the green fields. When audiences were crowded, and business profitable, we fared well, and when otherwise, we fared scantily, consoled ourselves, and made up with anticipations of the next day's success. At length the increasing frequency of coaches hurrying past us, covered with passengers ; the increasing number of carriages, carts, wagons, gigs, droves of cattle and flocks of sheep, all thronging the road ; the snug country boxes with trim flower gardens, twelve feet square, and their trees twelve feet high, all powdered with dust ; and the innumerable seminaries for young 1 Literally, " with love; " hence, earnestly. TALES OF A TRAVELER. 175 ladies and gentlemen, situated along the road for the benefit of countr}'' air and rural retirement, — all these insignia announced that the mighty London was at hand. The hurry, and the crowd, and the bustle, and the noise, and the dust, increased as we pro- ceeded, until I saw the great cloud of smoke hanging in the air, like a canopy of state over this queen of cities. In this way, then, did I enter the metropolis, a stroUing vaga- bond, on the top of a caravan, with a crew of vagabonds about me ; but I was as happy as a prince, for, like Prince Hal, I felt myself superior to my situation, and knew that I could at any time cast it off, and emerge into my proper sphere. How my eyes sparkled as we passed Hyde Park Corner,^ and I saw splendid equipages roUing by, with powdered footmen be- hind, in rich liveries, with fine nosegays, and gold-headed canes, and with lovely women within, so sumptuously dressed, and so surpassingly fair ! I was always extremely sensible to female beauty, and here I saw it in all its powers of fascination ; for whatever may be said of '* beauty unadorned," 2 there is some- thing almost awful in female loveliness decked out in jeweled state. The swanlike neck encircled with diamonds, the raven locks clustered with pearls, the ruby glowing on the snowy bosom, are objects which I could never contemplate without emotion ; and a dazzling white arm clasped with bracelets, and taper, transparent fingers, laden with sparkling rings, are to me irresistible. My very eyes ached as I gazed at the high and courtly beauty before me. It surpassed all that my imagination had conceived of the sex. I shrank for a moment into shame at the company in which I was placed, and repined at the vast distance that seemed to intervene between me and these magnificent beings. 1 forbear to give a detail of the happy hfe I led about the ^ One of the entrances to Hyde Park, a gay and fashionable quarter in London. 2 " Loveliness needs not the foreign aid of ornament, but is, when un- adorned, adorned the most." — Thomson's Seasons — Autumn. 176 WASHINGTON IRVING. skirts of the metropolis, playing at the various fairs held there during the latter part of spring, and the beginning of summer. This continued change from place to place, and scene to scene, fed my imagination with novelties, and kept my spirits in a per- petual state of excitement. As I was tall of my age, I aspired, at one time, to play heroes in tragedy ; but, after two or three trials, I was pronounced by the manager totally unfit for the line, and our first tragic actress, who was a large woman, and held a small hero in abhorrence, confirmed his decision. The fact is, I had attempted to give point to language which had no point, and nature to scenes which had no nature. They said I did not fill out my characters, and they were right. The characters had all been prepared for a different sort of man. Our tragedy hero was a round, robustious fellow, with an amaz- ing voice, who stamped and slapped his breast until his wig shook again, and who roared and bellowed out his bombast until every phrase swelled upon the ear like the sound of a kettledrum. I might as well have attempted to fill out his clothes as his char- acters. When we had a dialogue together, I was nothing before him, with my slender voice and discriminating manner. I might as well have attemped to parry a cudgel with a small sword. If he found me in any way gaining ground upon him, he would take refuge in his mighty voice, and throw his tones like peals of thunder at me, until they were drowned in the still louder thun- ders of applause from the audience. To tell the truth, I suspect that I was not shown fair play, and that there was management at the bottom ; for, without vanity, I think I was a better actor than he. As I had not embarked in the vagabond line through ambition, I did not repine at lack of preferment ; but I was grieved to find that a vagrant life was not without its cares and anxieties, and that jealousies, intrigues, and mad ambition, were to be found even among vagabonds. Indeed, as I became more familiar with my situation, and the delusions of fancy gradually faded away, I began to find that my associates were not the happy, careless creatures I had at first TALES OF A TRAVELER. 177 imagined them. They were jealous of each other's talents ; they quarreled about parts the same as the actors in the grand thea- ters ; they quarreled about dresses ; and there was one robe of yellow silk, trimmed with red, and a headdress of three rumpled ostrich feathers, which were continually setting the ladies of the company by the ears.^ Even those who had attained the high- est honors were not more happy than the rest ; for Mr. Flimsey himself, our first tragedian, and apparently a jovial, good-humored fellow, confessed to me one day, in the fullness of his heart, that he was a miserable man. He had a brother-in-law, a relative by marriage, though not by blood, who was manager of a theater in a small country town. And this same brother ("a little more than kin, and less than kind " 2) looked down upon him, and treated him with contumely, because, forsooth, he was but a strolling player. I tried to console him with the thoughts of the vast applause he daily received, but it was all in vain. He de- clared that it gave him no delight, and that he should never be a happy man until the name of Flimsey rivaled the name of Crimp. How little do those before the scenes know of what passes behind ! How little can they judge from the countenances of actors of what is passing in their hearts ! I have known two lovers quarrel like cats behind the scenes, who were, the moment after, to fly into each other's embraces. And I have dreaded, when our Belvidera ^ was to take her farewell kiss of her Jaffier,^ 1 To " set by the ears " is to cause to quarrel. 2 See Shakespeare's Hamlet, act i., sc. 2. 3 Jaffier and Belvidera are two characters in Venice Preserved, a tragedy by Thomas Otway, English dramatic writer (1651—85). Jaffier, a young man befriended by Priuli, a proud Venetian senator, rescues the senator's daughter Belvidera from shipwreck, and then secretly marries her. The old man having discarded them both, Jaffier is induced by Pierre to join a con- spiracy against the senators. Belvidera, to save her father, induces her hus- band to disclose the plot on condition of a free pardon to all the conspirators. When Jaffier learns that the pardon is to be limited to himself, he stabs his friend Pierre to prevent his torture, and then kills himself, whereupon Bel- videra becomes mad and dies. I 2 178 IVASHIXCTOX IRVING. lest she should bite a piece out of his cheek. Our tragedian was a rough joker off tlie stage ; our prime clown, the most pee- ^45h mortal hving. The latter used to go about snapping and snarhng, with a broad laugh painted on his countenance, and I can assure yoti that, whatever may be said of the gravity of a monkey, or the melancholy of a gibed cat,i there is no more melancholy creature in existence than a mountebank off duty. The only thing in which aU parties agreed was to backbite the manager, and cabal against his regulations. This, however, I have since discovered to be a common trait of human nature, and to take place in aU communities. It would seem to be the main business of man to repine at government. In all situa- tions of life into which I have looked, I have found mankind divided into two grand parties, — those who ride, and those who are ridden. The great struggle of life seems to be which shall keep in the saddle. This, it appears to me, is the fundamental principle of politics, whether in great or little life. However, I do not mean to moralize, but one cannot always sink the phil- osopher. Well, then, to return to myself, it was determined, as I said, that I was not fit for tragedy, and, unluckily, as my study was bad, ha\'ing a Ytry poor memory, I was pronounced unlit for comedy also ; besides, the Une of young gentlemen was already engrossed by an actor with whom I could not pretend to enter into com- petition, he having filled it for almost half a centurv. I came down again, therefore, to pantomime. In consequence, however, of the good offices of the manager's lady, who had taken a hking to me, I was promoted from the part of the satyr to that of the lover, and with my face patched and painted, a huge cravat of paper, a steeple-crowned hat, and danghng, long-skirted, sky- blue coat, was metamorphosed into the lover of Columbine. - My part did not call for much of the tender and sentimental. I had merely to pursue the fugitive fair one ; to have a door now 1 "As melancholy as a gibed cat,'' is an old proverbial expression. 2 See Note i, p. 170. TALES OF A TRAVELER. 179 and then slammed in my face ; to run my head occasionally against a post ; to tumble and roll about with Pantaloon 1 and the clown ; and to endure the hearty thwacks of Harlequin's wooden sword. As ill luck would have it, my poetical temperament began to ferment within me, and to work out new troubles. I'he inflam- matory air of a great metropolis, added to the rural scenes in which the fairs were held, such as Greenwich Park,^ Epping Forest, and the lovely valley of the West End, had a powerful effect upon me. While in Greenwich Park I was witness to the old holiday games of running down hill and kissing in the ring ; and then the firmament of blooming faces and blue eyes that would be turned towards me, as I was playing antics on the stage ; all these set my young blood and my poetical vein in full flow. In short, I played the character to the life, and became desperately enamored of Columbine. She was a trim, well made, tempting girl, with a roguish, dimpling face, and fine chestnut hair clustering all about it. The moment I got fairly smitten, there was an end to all playing. I was such a creature of fancy and feeling that I could not put on a pretended, when I was powerfully, affected by a real, emotion. I could not sport with a fiction that came so near to the fact. I became too natural in my acting to succeed. And then, what a situation for a lover ! I was a mere stripling, and she played with my passion, for girls soon grow more adroit and knowing in these matters than your awkward youngsters. What agonies had I to suffer ! Every time that she danced in front of the booth, and made such lib- eral displays of her charms, I was in torment. To complete my misery, I had a real rival in Harlequin, an active, vigorous, know- ing varlet, of six and twenty. What had a raw, inexperienced youngster like me to hope from such a competition ? I had still, however, some advantages in my favor. In spite 1 A feeble-minded old man in the pantomime, who aids and abets the clown in all his knavery. 2 A park in Greenwich on the Thames, six miles below London Bridge. It is a favorite resort, and is noted for its fine old chestnut trees. i8o WASHIXGTOX IRVIXG. of my change of life, I retained that indescribable something which always distinguishes the gentleman ; that something which dwells in a man's air and deportment, and not in his clothes, and which is as difficult for a gentleman to put off, as for a vulgar fellow to put on. The company generally felt it, and used to call me " Little Gentleman Jack." The girl felt it, too, and, in spite of her predilection for my powerful rival, she liked to flirt with me. This only aggravated my troubles, by increas- ing my passion, and awakening the jealousy of her party-colored lover. Alas I think what I suffered at being obliged to keep up an in- effectual chase after my Columbine through whole pantomimes ; to see her carried off in the vigorous arms of the happy Harle- quin ; and to be obliged, instead of snatching her from him, to tumble sprawhng with Pantaloon and the clown, and bear the infernal and degrading thwacks of my rival's weapon of lath, which, may Heaven confound him ! (excuse my passion) the vil- lain laid on with a malicious good will ; nay, I could absolutely hear him chuckle and laugh beneath his accursed mask. I beg pardon for growing a little warm in my narrative; I wish to be cool, but these recollections will sometimes agitate me. I have heard and read of many desperate and deplorable situations of lovers, but none, I think, in which true love was ever exposed to so severe and pecuhar a trial. This could not last long ; flesh and blood, at least such flesh and blood as mine, could not bear it. I had repeated heartburn- ings and quarrels with my rival, in which he treated me with the mortifying forbearance of a man towards a child. Had he quar- reled outright with me, I could have stomached ^ it, at least I should have known what part to take ; but to be humored and treated as a child in the presence of my mistress, when I felt all the bantam 2 spirit of a little man swelling within me — gods! it was insufferable ! 1 Endured. '^ Resembling the bantam ; hence, absurdly combative and consequential. TALES OF A TRAVELER. 18 1 At length, we were exhibiting one day at West End fair, which was at that time a very fashionable resort, and often beleagured with gay equipages from town. Among the spectators that filled the first row of our little canvas theater one afternoon, when I had to figure in a pantomime, were a number of young ladies from a boarding school, with their governess. Guess my confu- sion, when, in the midst of my antics, I beheld among the num- ber my quondam flame ; ^ her whom I had berhymed at school, her for whose charms I had smarted so severely, — the cruel Sach- arissa. What was worse, I fancied she recollected me, and was repeating the story of my humiliating flagellation, for I saw her whispering to her companions and her governess. I lost all con- sciousness of the part I was acting, and of the place where I was. I felt shrunk to nothing, and could have crept into a rat hole. Unluckily, none was open to receive me. Before I could recover from my confusion, I was tumbled over by Pantaloon and the clown, and I felt the sword of Harlequin making vigorous assaults in a manner most degrading to my dignity. Heaven and earth ! was I again to suffer martyrdom in this ignominious manner, in the knowledge, and even before the very eyes of this most beautiful, but most disdainful, of fair ones ? All my long smothered wrath broke out at once ; the dormant feelings of the gentleman arose within me. Stung to the quick by imoler- able mortification, I sprang on my feet in an instant, leaped upon Harlequin hke a young tiger, tore off his mask, buffeted him in the face, and soon shed more blood on the stage than had been spilt upon it during a M-hole tragic campaign of batdes and mur- ders. As soon as Harlequin recovered from his surprise, he returned my assault with interest. I was nothing in his hands. I was game, to be sure, for 1 was a gentleman ; but he had the clown- ish advantage of bone and muscle. I felt as if I could have fought even unto the death, and I was likely to do so, for he was, according to the boxing phrase, " putting my head into chan- 1 " Quondam flame," i.e., former sweetheart. 1 82 WASHINGTON IRVING. eery," ^ when the gentle Columbine flew to my assistance. God bless the women ! they are always on the side of the weak and the oppressed ! The battle now became general; the dramatis perso f ice ranged on either side. The manager interposed in vain ; in vain were his spangled black bonnet and towering white feathers seen whisk- ing about, and nodding and bobbing in the thickest of the fight. Warriors, ladies, priests, satyrs, kings, queens, gods, and god- desses, all joined pellmell in the affray ; never, since the conflict under the walls of Troy, 2 had there been such a chance medley warfare of combatants, human and divine. The audience ap- plauded, the ladies shrieked, and fled from the theater ; and a scene of discord ensued that baffles all description. Nothing but the interference of the peace officers restored some degree of order. The havoc, however, among dresses and decorations, put an end to all further acting for that day. The battle over, the next thing w^as to inquire why it was begun, a common question among pohticians after a bloody and unprofit- able war, and one not always easy to be answered. It was soon traced to me, and my unaccountable transport of passion, which they could only attribute to my having run amuck. The man- ager was judge and jury, and plaintiff into the bargain, and in such cases justice is always speedily administered. He came out of the fight as sublime a wreck as the Santissima Trinidada.'^ 1 To "get the head into chancery " is to get one's antagonist under one's arm, and hence to have him wholly in one's power ; an allusion to the condi- tion of a person involved in a chancery court, where he was helpless, while the lawyers lived upon his estate. 2 " Conflict under the walls of Troy," i.e., the Trojan War. Paris, son of Priam, King of Troy (an ancient city in Asia Minor), eloped with Helen, wife of Menelaus, the King of Sparta in Greece, and the brother of Agamem- non. The Greeks arose in wrath, with Agamemnon at their head, and besieged Troy, which fell after a struggle which lasted ten years. The city was taken and burned to the ground. The tale of the siege of Troy, which is probably mythical, is described in Homer's Iliad, an epic poem in twenty-four books. 3 A Spanish ship, the largest man-of-war afloat in the memorable engage- TALES OF A TRAVELER. 183 His gallant plumes, which once towered aloft, were drooping about his ears, his robe of state hung in ribbons from his back, and but ill concealed the ravages he had suffered in the rear. He had received kicks and cuffs from all sides during the tumult, for every one took the opportunity of slyly gratifying some lurking grudge on his fat carcass. He was a discreet man, and did not choose to declare war with all his company, so he swore all those kicks and cuffs had been given by me, and I let him enjoy the opinion. Some wounds he bore, however, which were the incon- testable traces of a woman's warfare. His sleek, rosy cheek was scored by trickling furrows, which were ascribed to the nails of my intrepid and devoted Columbine. The ire of the monarch was not to be appeased ; he had suffered in his person, and he had suffered in his purse ; his dignity, too, had been insulted, and that went for something, for dignity is always more irascible, the more petty the potentate. He wreaked his wrath upon the beginners of the affray, and Columbine and myself were dis- charged at once from the company. Figure me, then, to yourself, a stripling of little more than six- teen, a gentleman by birth, a vagabond by trade, turned adrift upon the world, making the best of my way through the crowd of West End fair, my mountebank dress fluttering in rags about me, the weeping Columbine hanging upon my arm, in splendid but tattered finery, the tears coursing one by one down her face, carry- ing off the red paint in torrents, and hterally "preying upon her damask cheek." The crowd made way for us as we passed, and hooted in our rear. I felt the ridicule of my situation, but had too much gal- lantry to desert this fair one, who had sacrificed everything for me. Having wandered through the fair, we emerged, Hke another ment off Cape Trafalgar, between the combined French and Spanish flee|: under Villeneuve, and the English fleet under Nelson. The PVench and Spanish fleet was completely overpowered, and was soon reduced to a helpless, disabled mass of fragments. By this battle England's supremacy over the sea was established. . 184 WASHINGTON IRVING. Adam and Eve, into unknown regions, and " had the world be- fore us where to choose." ^ Never was a more disconsolate pair seen in the soft valley of West End. The luckless Columbine cast many a Hngering look at the fair, which seemed to put on a more than usual splendor, its tents, and booths, and party-col- ored groups, all brightening in the sunshine, and gleaming among the trees, and its gay flags and streamers fluttering in the light summer airs. With a heavy sigh she would lean on my arm and proceed. I had no hope nor consolation to give her; but she had linked herself to my fortunes, and she was too much of a woman to desert me. Pensive and silent, then, we traversed the beautiful fields which lie behind Hampstead, and wandered on until the fiddle, and the hautboy, and the shout, and the laugh, were swallowed up in the deep sound of the big bass drum ; and even that died away into a distant rumble. We passed along the pleasant, sequestered walk of Nightingale Lane.^ For a pair of lovers, what scene could be more propitious ? But such a pair of lovers ! Not a nightingale sang to soothe us ; the very gypsies, who were en- camped there during the fair, made no offer to tell the fortunes of such an ill-omened couple, whose fortunes, I suppose, they thought too legibly written to need an interpreter ; and the gypsy children crawled into their cabins, and peeped out fearfully at us as we went by. For a moment I paused, and was almost tempted to turn gypsy, but the poetical feehng, for the present, was fully satisfied, and I passed on. Thus we traveled and trav- eled, like a prince and princess in a nursery tale, until we had traversed a part of Hampstead Heath,-^ and arrived in the vicin- ity of Jack Straw's Ca.stle. Here, wearied and dispirited, we 1 " The world was all before them, where to choose Their place of rest." Milton's Paradise Lost, Book XII. 2 A street which divides London Docks from St. Katherine's Docks. As late as 1629 it was still country, for in that year it is recorded that Charles L killed a stag in Nightingale Lane. 3 A wild, hilly heath io Hampstead, once a favorite resort of highwaymen. TALES OF A TRAVELER. 185 seated ourselves on the margin of the hill hard by the very mile- stone where Whittington ^ of yore heard the Bow bells ring out the presage of his future greatness. Alas ! no bell rung an invitation to us, as we looked disconsolately upon the distant city. Old London seemed to Avrap itself unsociably in its mantle of brown smoke, and to offer no encouragement to such a couple of tat- terdemalions. For once, at least, the usual course of the pantomime was re- versed ; Harlequin was jilted, and the lover had carried off Col- umbine in good earnest. But what was I to do with her ? I could not take her in my hand, return to my father, throw myself on my knees, and crave his forgiveness and blessing, according to dramatic usage. The very dogs would have chased such a draggle-tailed beauty from the grounds. In the midst of my doleful dumps some one tapped me on the shoulder, and, looking up, I saw a couple of rough, sturdy fellows standing behind me. Not knowing what to expect, I jumped on my legs, and was preparing again to make battle, but was tripped up and secured in a twinkling. ** Come, come, young master," said one of the fellows in a gruff but good-humored tone, " don't let's have any of your tantrums ; one would have thought you had had swing enough for this bout. 2 Come, it's high time to leave off harlequinading,^ and go home to your father." 1 A poor orphan country lad who procured employment in the house of a kind London merchant, but was so badly treated by the cook that he ran away. While resting on the roadside he heard the bells of Bow Church, which seemed to say to him, " Turn again, Whittington, thrice mayor of London;" so he returned. Not long after this the master allowed each of his servants to send off something in a ship bound for Morocco, to be sold there at a profit. Dick sent the only thing he had, — a cat ; but the King of Morocco, being troubled with mice, was so pleased that he bought the cat at a high price. Dick com- menced business with this money, rose to great wealth, was knightjed, and was three times elected mayor of London, in 1398, 1406, and 1419. Recent researches have proved this story to be founded on fact. 2 " Swing enough," etc., i.e., enough liberty for this turn. 3 Making sport. 1^6 WASHIKCrON IRVING. In fact, I had fallen into the hands of remorseless men. The cruel Sacharissa had proclaimed who I was, and that a reward had been offered throughout the country for any tidings of me, and they had seen a description of me which had been inserted in the public papers. Those harpies,^ therefore, for the mere sake of filthy lucre,- were resolved to deliver me over into the hands of my father, and the clutches of my pedagogue. In vain I swore I would not leave my faithful and afflicted Columbine. In vain I tore myself from their grasp, and flew to her, and vowed to protect her, and wiped the tears from her cheek, and with them a whole blush that might have vied with the carnation for brilliancy. My persecutors were inflexible ; they even seemed to exult in our distress, and to enjoy this theatrical display of dirt, and finery, and tribulation. I was earned off in despair, leaving my Columbine destitute in the wide world ; but many a look of agony did I cast back at her as she stood gaz- ing piteously after me from the brink of Hampstead Hill, so for- lorn, so fine, so ragged, so bedraggled, yet so beautiful. Thus ended my first peep into the world. I returned home, rich in good-for-nothing experience, and dreading the reward I was to receive for my improvement. My reception, however, was quite different from what I had expected. My father had a spice of the devil in him, and did not seem to like me the worse for my freak, which he termed sowing my wild oats. He happened to have some of his sporting friends to dine the very day of my return ; they made me tell some of my ad\entures, and laughed heartily at them. One old fellow, with an outrageously red nose, took to me hugely. I heard him whisper to my father that I was a lad of mettle, and might make something clever, to which my father replied that I had good points, but was an ill-broken whelp, and required a great deal of the whip. Perhaps this very conversa- tion raised me a little in his esteem, for I found the red-nosed old gentleman was a veteran fox hunter of the neighborhood, 1 Extortioners. 2 " Filthy lucre," i.e., money. TALES OF A TRAVELER. 187 for whose opinion my father had vast deference. Indeed, I be- heve he would have pardoned anything in me more readily than poetry, which he called a cursed, sneaking, puling, housekeep- ing employment, the bane of all fine manhood. He swore i't was unworthy of a youngster of my expectations, who was one day to have so great an estate, and would be able to keep horses and hounds, and hire poets to write songs for him into the bar- gain. I had now satisfied, for a time, my roving propensity. I had exhausted the poetical feeling ; I had been heartily buffeted out of my love for theatrical display. I felt humiliated by my expo- sure, and willing to hide my head anywhere for a season, so that I might be out of the way of the ridicule of the world ; for I found folks not altogether so indulgent abroad as they were at my father's table. I could not stay at home ; the house was intolerably doleful now that my mother was no longer there to cherish me. Everything around spoke mournfully of her. The. little flower garden in which she delighted, was all in disorder and overrun with weeds. I attempted for a day or two to arrange it, but my heart grew heavier and heavier as I labored. Every little broken-down flower, that I had seen her rear so tenderly, seemed to plead in mute eloquence to my feelings. There was a favorite honeysuckle which I had seen her often training with assiduity, and had heard her say it would be the pride of her garden. I found it grovehng along the ground, tangled and wild, and twining round every worthless weed, and it struck me as an emblem of myself, a mere scatterling,^ running to waste and use- lessness. I could work no longer in the garden. My father sent me to pay a ^'isit to my uncle, by way of keep- ing the old gentleman in mind of me. I was received, as usual, without any expression of discontent, which we always considered equivalent to a hearty welcome. Whether he had ever heard of my strolling freak or not I could not discover, he and his man were both so taciturn. I spent a day or two roaming about the 1 A vagabond, or one who has no fixed habitation. iS8 WASHIXGTOX IRVING. dreary mansion and neglected park, and felt at one time, I be- lieve, a touch of poetry, for I was tempted to drown myself in a fish pond. I rebuked the evil spirit, however, and it left me. I found the same red-headed boy running wild about the park, but I felt in no humor to hunt him at present. On the contrars^, I tried to coax him to me, and to make friends with him, but the young savage was untamable. When I returned from my uncle's, I remained at home for some time, for my father was disposed, he said, to make a man of me. He took me out hunting with him, and I became a great favorite of the red-nosed squire, because I rode at everything, never refused the boldest leap, and was always sure to be in at the death. I used often, however, to offend my father at hunt- ing dinners by taking the wrong side in politics. My father was amazingly ignorant, — so ignorant, in fact, as not to know that he knew nothing. He was stanch, however, to church and king, and full of old-fashioned prejudices. Now I had picked up a little knowledge in politics and religion during my rambles Avith the strollers, and found myself capable of setting him right as to many of his antiquated notions, I felt it my duty to do so. We were apt, therefore, to differ occasionally in the political discus- sions which sometimes arose at those hunting dinners, I w^as at that age when a man knows least, and is most vain of his knowledge, and when he is extremely tenacious in defend- ing his opinion upon subjects about which he knows nothing. My father was a hard man for any one to argue with, for he never knew when he was refuted, I sometimes posed him ^ a little, but then he had one argument that always settled the ques- tion ; he would threaten to knock me down. I believe he at last grew tired of me, because I both outtalked and outrode him. The red-nosed squire, too, got out of conceit with me, because, in the heat of the chase, I rode over him one day as he and his horse lay sprawling in the dirt. So I found myself getting into disgrace with all the world, and would have got heartily out of 1 " Posed him," i.e., embarrassed him by questioning. TALES OF A TRAVELER. 189 humor with myself had I not been kept in tolerable self-conceit by the parson's three daughters. They were the same who had admired my poetry on a former occasion, when it had brought me into disgrace at school, and I had ever since retained an exalted idea of their judgment. In- deed, they were young ladies not merely of taste but of science. Their education had been superintended by their mother, who^ was a bluestocking. They knew enough of botany to tell the technical names of all the flowers in the garden, and all their secret concerns into the bargain. They knew music, too, — not mere commonplace music, but Rossini ^ and Mozart, ^ and they sang Moore's Irish Melodies to perfection. They had pretty little worktables, covered with all kinds of objects of taste, — specimens of lava, and painted eggs, and workboxes painted and varnished by themselves. They excelled in knotting and netting, and painted in water colors, and made feather fans, and fire screens, and worked in silks and worsteds, and talked French and Italian, and knew Shakespeare ^ by heart. They even knew something of geology and mineralogy, and went about the neighborhood knocking stones to pieces, to the great admiration and perplexity of the country folk. I am a little too minute, perhaps, in detailing their accomplish- ments, but I wish to let you see that these were not common- place young ladies, but had pretensions quite above the ordinary run. it was some consolation to me, therefore, to find favor in such eyes. Indeed, they had always marked me out for a genius, and considered my late vagrant freak as fresh proof of the fact. They observed that Shakespeare himself had been a mere pickle * 1 Gioachino Rossini (i 792-1868), a celebrated Italian composer, author of William Tell, Stabat Mater, and other famous operas. 2 Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart (1756-91), a celebrated German composer of symphonies, sonatas, operas, etc. His masterpiece is the opera Don Juan. 3 William Shakespeare (1564-1616), greatest of English poets and drama- tists. Some of his most popular plays are Hamlet, the Merchant of Venice, and Romeo and Juliet, though many of his other works are equally famous. * "A mere pickle," i.e., a troublesome child. 190 WASHINGTON IRVING. in his youth ; that he had stolen a deer, as every one knew, and kept loose company, and consorted with actors ; so I comforted myself marvelously with the idea of having so decided a Shake- spearian trait in my character. The youngest of the three, however, was my grand consolation. She was a pale, sentimental girl, with long hyacinthine ^ ringlets hanging about her face. She wrote poetry herself, and we kept up a poetical correspondence. She had a taste for the drama, too, and I taught her how to act several of the scenes in " Romeo and Juliet." I used to rehearse the garden scene under her lat- tice, which looked out from among woodbine and honeysuckles into the chiu-chyard. I began to think her amazingly pretty as well as clever, and I believe I should have finished by falling in love with her, had not her father discovered our theatrical studies. He was a studious, abstracted man, generally too much absorbed in his learned and religious labors to notice the little foibles of his daughters, and perhaps blinded by a father's fondness ; but he unexpectedly put his head out of his study window one day in the midst of a scene, and put a stop to our rehearsals. He had a vast deal of that prosaic good sense which I forever found a stumbling-block in my poetical path. My rambling freak had not struck the good man as poetically as it had his daughters. He drew his comparison from a different manual. He looked upon me as a prodigal son, and doubted whether I should ever arrive at the happy catastrophe of the fatted calf.- I fancy some intimation was given to my father of this new breaking out of my poetical temperament, for he suddenly inti- mated that it was high time I should prepare for the university. I dreaded a return to the school whence I had eloped ; the ridi- cule of my fellow-scholars, and the glance from the squire's pew, would have been worse than death to me. I was fortunately spared the humiliation. My father sent me to board with a country clergyman, who had three or four boys under his care. 1 Resembling the hyacinth, whose petals curl over; hence, "curling."' 2 See the parable of the prodigal son, Luke xv. 11-32. TALES OF A TRAVELER. 191 I went to him joyfully, for I had often heard my mother mention him with esteem. In fact he had been an admirer of hers in his younger days, though too humble in fortune and modest in pre- tensions to aspire to her hand ; but he had ever retained a tender regard for her. He was a good man, a worthy specimen of that valuable body of our country clergy who silently and unostenta- tiously do a vast deal of good ; who are, as it were, woven into the whole system of rural life, and operate upon it with the steady yet unobtrusive influence of temperate piety and learned good sense. He lived in a small village not far from Warwick, 1 one of those little communities where the scanty flock is, in a manner, folded into the bosom of the pastor. The venerable church, in its grass-grown cemetery, was one of those rural tem- ples scattered about our country as if to sanctify the land. I have the worthy pastor before my mind's eye at this moment, with his mild, benevolent countenance, rendered still, more vener- able by his silver hairs. I have him before me, as I saw him on my arrival, seated in the embowered porch of his- small parson- age, with a flower garden before it, and his pupils gathered round him like his children. I shall never forget his reception of me, for I believe he thought of my poor mother at the time, and his heart yearned towards her child. His eye glistened when he received me at the door, and he took me into his arms as the adopted child of his affections. Never had I been so fortunately placed. He was one of those excellent members of our church who help out their narrow salaries by instructing a few gentle- men's sons. I am convinced those little seminaries are among the best nurseries of talent and virtue in the land. Both heart and mind are cultivated and improved. The preceptor is the companion and the friend of his pupils. His sacred character gives him dignity in their eyes, and his solemn functions produce that elevation of mind and sobriety of conduct necessary to those who are to teach youth to think and act worthily. I speak from my own random observation and experience, but 1 See Note i, p. 124. 192 WASHINGTON IRVING. I think I speak correctly. At any rate, I can trace much of what is good in my own heterogeneous compound to the short time I was under the instruction of that good man. He entered into the cares and occupations and amusements of his pupils, and won his way into our confidence, and studied our hearts and minds more intently than we did our books. He soon sounded the depth of my character. 1 had become, as I have already hinted, a little liberal in my notions, and apt to philosophize on both politics and religion, having seen some- thing of men and things, and learned, from my fellow philos- ophers, the strollers, to despise all vulgar prejudices. He did not attempt to cast down my vainglory, nor to question my right view of things ; he merely instilled into my mind a little information on these topics, though in a quiet, unobtrusive way, that never ruffled a feather of my self-conceit. I was astonished to find what a change a little knowledge makes in one's mode of viewing matters, and how different a subject is when one thinks, or when one only talks about it. I conceived a vast deference for my teacher, and was ambitious of his good opinion. In my zeal to make a favorable irhpression, I presented him with a whole ream of my poetry. He read it attentively, smiled, and pressed my hand when he returned it to me, but said nothing. The next day he set me at mathematics. Somehow or other the process of teaching seemed robbed by him of all its austerity. I was not conscious that he thwarted an inclination or opposed a wish, but I felt that, for the time, my inclinations were entirely changed. I became fond of study, and zealous to improve myself. I made tolerable advances in studies which I had before considered as unattainable, and I wondered at my own proficiency. I thought, too, I astonished my preceptor, for I often caught his eyes fixed upon me with a peculiar expression. I suspect, since, that he was pensively trac- ing in my countenance the early lineaments of my mother. Education was not apportioned l)y him into tasks, and enjoined as a labor, to be abandoned with joy the moment the hour of TALES OF A TRAVELER. 193 Study was expired. We had, it is true, our allotted hours of occupation, to give us habits of method, and of the distribution of time ; but they were made pleasant to us, and our feeHngs were enlisted in the cause. When they were over, education still went on. It pervaded all our relaxations and amusements. There was a steady march of improvement. Much of his instruc- tion was given during pleasant rambles, or when seated on the margin of the Avon '} and information received in that way often makes i, deeper impression than when acquired by poring over books. I have many of the pure and eloquent precepts that flowed from his lips associated in my mind with lovely scenes in nature, which makes the recollection of them indescribably delightful. I do not pretend to say that any miracle was effected with me. After all said and done, I was but a weak disciple. My poetical temperament still wrought within me and wrestled hard with wis- dom, and, I fear, maintained the mastery. I found mathematics an intolerable task in fine weather. I would be prone to forget my problems, to watch the birds hopping about the windows, or the bees humming about the honeysuckles, and whenever I could steal away, I would wander about the grassy borders of the Avon, and excuse this truant propensity to myself with the idea that I was treading classic ground, over which Shakespeare had wandered. What luxurious idleness have I indulged, as I lay under the trees and watched the silver waves rippling through the arches of the broken bridge, and laving the rocky bases of old Warwick Castle ! ^ and how often have I thought of sweet Shake- speare, and in my boyish enthusiasm have kissed the waves which had washed his native village ! My good preceptor would often accompany me in these desul- tory rambles. He sought to get hold of this vagrant mood of mind and turn it to some account. He endeavored to teach me to mingle thought with mere sensation, to moralize on the scenes around, and to make the beauties of nature administer to the un- 1 See Note 5, p. 129. 2 See Note i, p. 124. ^3 194 WASHINGTON IRVING. derstanding of the heart. He endeavored to direct my imagina- tion to high and noble objects, and to fill it with lofty images. In a word, he did all he could to make the best of a poetical temperament, and to counteract the mischief which had been done to me by my great expectations. Had I been earlier put under the care of the good pastor, or remained with him a longer time, I really believe he would have made something of me. He had aheady brought a great deal of what had been flogged into me into tolerable order, and had weeded out much of the unprofitable wisdom which had sprung up in my vagabondizing. I already began to find that with all my genius a little study would be no disadvantage to me, and, in spite of my vagrant freaks, I began to doubt my being a second Shakespeare. Just as I was making these precious discoveries, the good par- son died. It was a melancholy day throughout the neighbor- hood. He had his little flock of scholars, — his children, as he used to call us, — gathered round him in his dying moments, and he gave us the parting advice of a father now that he had to leave us, and we were to be separated from each other, and scat- tered about in the world. He took me by the hand, and talked with me earnestly and affectionately, and called to my mind my mother, and used her name to enforce his dying exhortations, for I rather think he considered me the most erring and heedless of his flock. He held my hand in his long after he had done speaking, and kept his eye fixed on me tenderly and almost pite- ously ; his lips moved as if he were silently praying for me, and he died away still holding me by the hand. There was not a dry eye in the church when the funeral ser^'ice was read from the pulpit from which he had so often preached. When the body was committed to the earth, our little band gath- ered round it, and watched the coflfiin as it was lowered into the grave. The parishioners looked at us with sympathy, for we were mourners not merely in dress but in heart. We lingered about the grave, and clung to one another for a time, weeping and TALES OF A TRAVELER. 195 speechless, and then parted, Hke a band of brothers parting from the paternal hearth, never to assemble there again. How had the gentle spirit of that good man sweetened our natures, and linked our young hearts together by the kindest ties ! I have always had a throb of pleasure at meeting with an old schoolmate, even though one of my truant associates ; but whenever, in the course of my life, I have encountered one of that little flock with which I was folded on the banks of the Avon, it has been with a gush of affection and a glow of virtue that for the moment have made me a better man. I was now sent to Oxford,^ and was wonderfully impressed on first entering it as a student. Learning here puts on all its majesty. It is lodged in palaces ; it is sanctified by the sacred ceremonies of religion ; it has a pomp and circumstance which powerfully affect the imagination. Such, at least, it had in my eyes, thoughtless as I was. My previous studies with the worthy pastor had prepared me to regard it with deference and awe. He had been educated here, and always spoke of the university with filial fondness and classic veneration. When I beheld the clustering spires and pinnacles of this most august of cities rising from the plain, I hailed them in my enthusiasm as the points of a diadem which the nation had placed upon the brows of science. For a time old Oxford was full of enjoyment for me. There was a charm about its monastic buildings, its great Gothic quad- rangles, its solemn halls and shadowy cloisters. I delighted, in the evenings, to get in places surrounded by the colleges, where all modern buildings were screened from the sight, and to see the professors and students sweeping along in the dusk in their anti- quated caps and gowns. I seemed for a time to be transported 1 The capital of Oxford County, England, and the seat of one of the great- est English universities. It lies between the junction of two rivers, the Isis and the Cherwell. On High Street, running from east to west, are Magdalen College, All vSoul's College, and others. On Broad Street, at right angles to High Street, is the Bodleian Library (the public library of Oxford), which contains over 256,000 volumes. 196 IVASHIXGTOX IRIIXG. among the people and edifices of the old times. I was a frequent attendant, also, of the evening service in the new college hall, to hear the fine organ, and the choir swelhng an anthem in that solemn building, where painting, music, and architecture are in such admirable unison. A favorite haunt, too, was the beautiful walk bordered by lofty elms along the river, behind tlie gray walls of Magdalen College, which goes by the name of Addison's Walk, from being his favor- ite resort when an Oxford student. I became, also, a lounger in the Bodleian Library, and a great dipper into books, though I cannot say that I studied them ; in fact, being no longer under direction or control, I was gradually relapsing into mere indul- gence of the fancy. Still this would have been pleasant and harm- less enough, and I might have awakened from mere Hterar\'- dreaming to something better. The chances were in my favor, for the riotous times of the university were past. The days of hard drinking were at an end. The old feuds of '' Town and GovsTi," 1 Hke the civil wars of the White and Red Roses,- had died away, and student and citizen slept in peace and whole skins, without risk of being summoned in the night to bloody brawl. It had become the fashion to study at the university, and the odds were always in favor of my following the fashion. Unluckily, however, I fell in company with a special knot of 1 In the beginning of the thirteenth century, the University of Oxford struggled into existence after much opposition from the town and from the papal courts. In 1209 two clerks of Oxford were hanged, and a bitter feud arose, known as the " Feud of the Town and Gown" from the gown worn by the university students. The matter was taken up by the authorities, and the town was humiliated, but there was constant strife until the middle of the fourteenth century, when the university gained the recognition it sought. 2 The " War of the Roses " (1450-71) was a ci\-il war in England over the right to the throne, a matter of dispute between Edward, Duke of York, and Henry VI. of Lancaster. The name was derived from the badges of the two parties, the white rose being that of the House of York, and the red rose, that of the House of Lancaster. The war resulted in the complete overthrow of the House of Lancaster. TALES OF A TRAVELER. 197 young fellows, of lively parts and ready wit, who had lived occa- sionally upon town, and become initiated into the Fancy. ^ They voted study to be the toil of dull minds, by which they slowly crept up the hill, while genius arrived at it at a bound. I felt ashamed to play the owl ^ among such gay birds, so I threw by my books, and became a man of spirit.^ As my father made me a tolerable allowance, notwithstanding the narrowness of his income, having an eye always to my great expectations, I was enabled to appear to advantage among my companions. I cultivated all kinds of sport and exercises. I was one of the most expert oarsmen that rowed on the Isis. I boxed, fenced, angled, shot, and hunted, and my rooms in col- lege were always decorated with whips of all kinds, spurs, fowling pieces, fishing rods, foils, and boxing gloves. A pair of leather breeches would seem to be throwing one leg out of the half-open drawers, and empty bottles lumbered the bottom of every closet. My father came to see me at college when I was in the height of my career. He asked me how I came on with my studies, and what kind of hunting there w^as in the neighborhood. He examined my various sporting apparatus wath a curious eye, wanted to know if any of the professors were fox hunters, and whether they were generally good shots, for he suspected their studying so much must be hurtful to the sight. We had a day's shooting together. I delighted him with my skill, and astonished him by my learned disquisitions on horseflesh, and on Manton's guns ; so, upon the whole, he departed highly satisfied with my improvement at college. I do not know how it is, but I cannot be idle long without getting in love. I had not been a very long time a man of spirit, therefore, before I became deeply enamored of a shopkeeper's daughter in High Street, who, in fact, was the admiration of many of the students. I wrote several sonnets in praise of her, 1 A name for sporting characters collectively, especially prize fighters. 2 The owl is the emblem of wisdom. 3 " Man of spirit," i.e., a gay, reckless fellow. 198 WASHINGTON IRVING. and spent half of my pocket money at the shop, in buying ar- ticles which I did not want, that I might have an opportunity of speaking to her. Her father, a severe-looking old gentleman, with bright silver buckles, and a crisp, curled wig, kept a strict guard on her, as the fathers generally do upon their daughters in Oxford, — and well they may. I tried to get into his good graces, and to be sociable with him, but all in vain. I said sev- eral good things in his shop, but he never laughed ; he had no relish for wit and humor. He was one of those dry old gentle- men who keep youngsters at bay. He had already brought up two or three daughters, and was experienced in the ways of stu- dents. He was as knowing and wary as a gray old badger that has often been hunted. To see him on Sunday, so stiff and starched in his demeanor, so precise in his dress, with his daugh- ter under his arm, was enough to deter all graceless youngsters from approaching. I managed, however, in spite of his vigilance, to have several conversations with the daughter, as I cheapened articles in the shop. I made terribly long bargains, and examined the articles over and over before I purchased. In the mean time, I would convey a sonnet or an acrostic under cover of a piece of cambric, or slipped into a pair of stockings ; I would whisper soft non- sense into her ear as I haggled about the price, and would squeeze her hand tenderly as I received my half-pence of change in a bit of whity-brown paper. Let this serve as a hint to all haberdashers who have pretty daughters for shopgirls and young students for customers. I do not know whether my words and looks were very eloquent, but my poetry was irresistible, for, to tell the truth, the girl had some literary taste, and was seldom without a book from the circulating library. By the divine power of poetry, therefore, which is so potent with the lovely sex, did I subdue the heart of this fair little hab- erdasher. We carried on a sentimental correspondence for a time across the counter, and I supplied her with rhyme by the stocking-full. At length I prevailed on her to grant an assigna- TALES OF A TRAVELER. 199 tion. But how was this to be effected ? Her father kept her always under his eye ; she never walked out alone ; and the house was locked up the moment that the shop was shut. All these difficulties served but to give zest to the adventure. I pro- posed that the assignation should be in her own chamber, into which I would climb at night. The plan was irresistible, — a cruel father, a secret lover, and a clandestine meeting ! All the httle girl's studies from the circulating library seemed about to be realized. But what had I in view in making this assignation ? Indeed, I know not. I had no evil intentions, nor can I say that I had any good ones. I liked the girl, and wanted to have an oppor- tunity of seeing more of her, and the assignation was made, as I have done many things else, heedlessly and without forethought. I asked myself a few questions of the kind, after all my arrange- ments were made, but the answers were very unsatisfactory. " Am I to ruin this poor thoughtless girl ? " said I to myself. " No ! " was the prompt and indignant answer. " Am I to run away with her ? Whither, and to what purpose ? " " Well, then, am I to marry her ? " " Poh ! a man of my expectations marry a shopkeeper's daughter ! " " What, then, am I to do with her ? " " Hum — why, let me get into the chamber first, and then con- sider," and so the self-examination ended. Well, sir, *' come what come might," ^ I stole under cover of the darkness to the dwelling of my dulcinea.^ All was quiet. At the concerted signal her window was gently opened. It was just above the projecting bow window of her father's shop, which assisted me in mounting. The house was low, and I was enabled to scale the fortress with tolerable ease. I clambered with a beat- ing heart ; I reached the casement ; I hoisted my body half into the chamber; and was welcomed, not by the embraces of my expecting fair one, but by the grasp of the crabbed-looking old father in the crisp, curled wig. 1 See Shakespeare's Macbeth, act i., sc. 3 ; " Come what come may." 2 The object of a ridiculous passion. 2 00 WASHixcroy jkij.vu. I extricated myself from liis clutches, and endeavored to make my retreat, but I was confounded by his cries of " thieves I " and ''robbers!" I was bothered, too, by his Sunday cane, which was amazingly busy about my head as I descended, and against which my hat was but a poor protection. Never before had I an idea of the activity of an old man's arm, and the hardness of the knob of an ivory-headed cane. In my hurry and confusion I missed my footing, and fell sprawling on the pavement. I was immediately surrounded by myrmidons,^ who, I doubt not, were on the watch for me. Indeed, I was in no situation to escape, for I had sprained my ankle in the fall, and could not stand. I was seized as a housebreaker, and to exonerate myself of a greater crime, I had to accuse myself of a less. I made known who I was, and why I came there. Alas ! the varlets knew it already, and were only amusing themselves at my expense. My perfidious Muse had been playing me one of her slippery tricks. The old curmudgeon of a father had found my sonnets and acrostics hid away in holes and corners of his shop. He had no taste for poetry like his daughter, and had instituted a rigorous though silent observation. He had moused upon our letters, detected our plans, and prepared everything for my reception. Thus was I ever doomed to be led into scrapes by the Muse. Let no man henceforth carry on a secret amour - in poetry ! The old man's ire was in some measure appeased by the pom- meling of my head and the anguish of my sprain, so he did not put me to death on the spot. He was even humane enough to furnish a shutter, on which I was carried back to college like a wounded warrior. The porter was roused to admit me. The col- lege gate was thrown open for my entry. The affair was blazed about the next morning, and became the joke of the college from the buttery to the hall. I had leisure to repent during several weeks' confinement by my sprain, which I passed in translating Boethius's " Consolations 1 Officers of the law. - Love aflfair. TALES OF A TRAVELEK. 201 of Philosophy." ^ I received a most tender and ill-speiled letter from my mistress, who had been sent to a relation in Coventry.'- She protested her innocence of my misfortune, and vowed to be true to me " till deth." I took no notice of the letter, for I was cured for the present, both of love and poetry. Women, how- ever, are more constant in their attachments than men, whatever philosophers may say to the contrary. I am assured that she actually remained faithful to her vow for several months. But she had to deal with a cruel father, whose heart was as hard as the knob of his cane. He was not to be touched by tears or poetry, but absolutely compelled her to marry a reputable young tradesman, Avho made her a happy woman in spite of herself and of all the rules of romance, and, what is more, the mother of sev- eral children. They are at this very day a thriving couple, and keep a snug corner .shop just opposite the figure of Peeping Tom of Coventry.-^ I will not fatigue you by any more details of my studies at Ox- ford, though they were not always as severe as these, nor did I alw^ays pay as dear for my lessons. To be brief, then, I lived on in my usual miscellaneous manner, gradually getting knowl- edge of good and evil, until I had attained my twenty-first year. I had scarcely come of age when I heard of the sudden death of my father. The shock was severe, for though he had never 1 Anicius Manlius Boethius (470-525), a distingished Roman philosopher and statesman, who was wrongfully condemned and imprisoned for political conspiracy. While in prison he wrote his famous Latin work, De Consola- tione Philosophiae (On the Consolations of Philosophy). 2 A city in Warwick County, England, eighty-five miles from London. 3 Lady Godiva, wife of Earl Leofric of Coventry, begged him to remit a certain tax which oppressed the people of Coventry. Her husband agreed to do this if she would ride naked through the city at midday. She therefore gave orders that all the people should shut up their windoAvs and doors, and, enveloped only in her long hair, she rode through the town, and thus delivered the people from the tax. One man, Tom of Coventry, took a peep at the lady who rode by, and was immediately struck blind. He was called " Peeping Tom," and his statue was erected in Coventry to commemorate the tale. 202 WASHINGTON IRVING. treated me with much kindness, still he ^yas my father, and at his death I felt alone in the world. I returned home, and found myself the sohtary master of the paternal mansion. A crowd of gloomy feelings came thronging upon me. It was a place that always sobered me and brought me to reflection ; now, especially, it looked so deserted and mel- ancholy. I entered the little breakfasting room. There were my father's whip and spurs, hanging by the fireplace ; the " Stud Book," 1 " Sporting Magazine," ^ and " Racing Calendar," ^ his only reading. His favorite spaniel lay on the hearth rug. The poor animal, who had never before noticed me, now came fond- ling about me, licked my hand, then looked round the room, whined, wagged his tail slightly, and gazed wistfully in my face. I felt the full force of the appeal. " Poor Dash," said I, " we are both alone in the world, with nobody to care for us, and will take care of one another." The dog never quitted me after- wards. I could not go into my mother's room ; my heart swelled when I passed within sight of the door. Her portrait hung in the par- lor, just over the place where she used to sit. As I cast my eyes on it, I thought that it looked at me with tenderness, and I burst into tears. I was a careless dog,* it is true, hardened a little, perhaps, by hving in public schools, and buffeting about among strangers who cared nothing for me ; but the recollection of a mother's tenderness was overcoming. I was not of an age or a temperament to be long depressed. There was a reaction in my system that always brought me up again after every pressure, and, indeed, my spirits were always most buoyant after a temporary prostration. I settled the con- cerns of the estate as soon as possible, realized my property, which 1 A book containing the pedigrees of horses, especially race horses. 2 A magazine devoted to sports. 3 A calendar of races to be held, and other facts of interest to those who attend horse races. 4 " A careless dog," i.e., a worthless fellow. TALES OF A TRAVELER. 203 was not very considerable, but which appeared a vast deal to me, having a poetical eye that magnified everything ; and finding myself, at the end of a few months, free of all further business or restraint, I determined to go to London and enjoy myself. Why should I not ? I was young, animated, joyous, had plenty of funds for present pleasures, and my uncle's estate in the per- spective.i *' Let those mope at college, and pore over books," thought I, " who have their way to make in the world ; it would be ridiculous drudgery in a youth of my expectations." Away to London, therefore, I rattled in a tandem, determined to take the town gayly. I passed through several of the villages where I had played the Jack Pudding ^ a few years before, and I visited the scenes of many of my adventures and follies merely from that feeling of melancholy pleasure which we have in stepping again in the footprints of foregone existence, even when they have passed among weeds and briers. I made a circuit in the latter part of my journey, so as to take in AVest End and Hampstead, the scenes of my last dramatic exploit, and of the battle royal of the booth. As I drove along the ridge of Hampstead Hill, by Jack Straw's Castle, I paused at the spot where Columbine and I had sat down so disconsolately in our ragged finery, and had looked dubiously on London. I almost expected to see her again, standing on the hill's brink^ "like Niobe, all tears j"^ mournful as Babylon in ruins. " Poor Columbine ! " said I, with a heavy sigh, " thou wert a gallant, generous girl ! a true woman, faithful to the distressed, and ready to sacrifice thyself in the cause of worthless man ! " 1 Perspective is the effect of distance on the appearance of objects ; hence, " in the distance," or "in the future." 2 A gormandizing clown. 3 See Hamlet, act. i., sc. 2. Niobe is the personification of female sorrow. According to the Grecian fable she had twelve children, and she taunted Latona for having only two, — Apollo and Diana. Latona's children, to avenge the insult, caused the death of all Niobe's children. Niobe, inconsol- able, wept herself to death, and was turned into a stone from which her tears continued to flow. 204 WASHING l^OX IRJVXG. I tried to whistle off the recollection of her, for there was always something of self-reproach with it. I drove gayly along the road, enjoying the stare of hostlers and stable boys, as I managed my horses knowingly down the steep street of Hamp- stead : when, just at the skirts of the village, one of the traces of my leader came loose. I pulled up, and as the animal was rest- ive, and my serA-ant a bungler, I called for assistance to the ro- bustious master of a snug alehouse, who stood at his door with a tankard in his hand. He came readily to assist me, followed by his wife, with her bosom half open, a child in her arms, and two more at her heels. I stared for a moment, as if doubting my eyes, I could not be mistaken ; in the fat, beer-blown land- lord of the alehouse I recognized my old rival Harlequin, and in his slattern spouse, the once trim and dimpling Columbine. The change of my looks from youth to manhood, and the change in my circumstances, prevented them from recognizing me. They could not suspect in the dashing young buck, fashion- ably dressed, and driving his ov.ii equipage, the painted beau, with old peaked hat, and long, flimsy, sky-blue coat. My heart yearned with kindness towards Columbine, and I was glad to see her estabhshment a thriving one. As soon as the harness was adjusted, I tossed a small purse of gold into her ample bosom, and then, pretending to give my horses a hearty cut of the whip, I made the lash curl with a whistHng about the sleek sides of ancient Harlequin. The horses dashed off hke lightning, and I was whirled out of sight before either of the parties could get over their surprise at my liberal donations. I have always considered this as one of the greatest proofs of my poetical genius ; it was distributing poetical justice in perfection. I now entered London e?i cavalier} and became a blood - upon town. I took fashionable lodgings in the West End, employed the first tailor, frequented the regular lounges, gambled a little, lost mv monev crood-humorediv, and !?ained a number of fashion- able, good-for-nothing acquaintances. I gained some reputation, ' In CTeat stvle. - A gav, dissolute man. TALES OF A TRAVELER. 205 also, for a man of science, having become an expert boxer in the course of my studies at Oxford. I was distinguished, therefore, among the gentlemen of the Fancy ; became hand and glove ^ with certain boxing noblemen, and was the admiration of the Fives Court.'^ A gentleman's science, however, is apt to get him into bad scrapes ; he is too prone to play the knight-errant, and to pick up quarrels which less scientifical gentlemen would quietly avoid. I undertook one day to punish the insolence of a porter. He was a Hercules^ of a fehow, but then I was so secure in my science ! I gained the victory, of course. The porter pocketed his humiliation, bound up his broken head, and went about his business as unconcernedly as though nothing had happened ; while I went to bed with my victory, and did not dare to show my battered face for a fortnight ; by which I discovered that a gen- tleman may have the worst of the battle even when victorious. I am naturally a philosopher, and no one can moralize better after a misfortune has taken place ; so I lay on my bed and mor- alized on this sorry ambition which levels the gentleman with the clown, I know it is the opinion of many sages, who have thought deeply on these matters, that the noble science of box- ing keeps up the bulldog courage of the nation, — and far be it from me to decry the advantage of becoming a nation of bull- dogs ; but I now saw clearly that it was calculated to keep up the breed of English ruffians. " What is the Fives Court," said I to myself, as I turned uncomfortably in bed, "but a college of scoundrehsm, where every bully ruffian in the land may gain a fellowship ? What is the slang language of the Fancy but a jargon by which fools and knaves commune and understand each other, and enjoy a kind of superiority over the uninitiated ? 1 " Hand and glove," i.e., on very intimate terms. 2 A place where boxing is practiced, so called from " fives," a slang term for the hand or fist. 3 A hero in Grecian mythology, celebrated for his great physical strength and for the twelve great tasks, or labors, he performed. He is represented as brawny, muscular, and of huge proportions. 2o6 WASHINGTON IRVING. What is a boxing match but an arena where the noble and the illustrious are jostled into familiarity with the infamous and the vulgar ? What, in fact, is the Fancy itself but a chain of easy communication, extending from the peer down to the pick- pocket, through the medium of which a man of rank may find he has shaken hands, at three removes, with the murderer on the gibbet ? " " Enough ! " ejaculated I, thoroughly convinced through the force of my philosophy and the pain of my bruises ; " I'll have nothing more to do with the Fancy." So when I had recovered from my victory, I turned my attention to softer themes, and be- came a devoted admirer of the ladies. Had I had more industry and ambition in my nature, I might have worked my way to the very height of fashion, as I saw many laborious gentlemen doing around me. But it is a toilsome, an anxious, and an unhappy life ; there are few things so sleepless and miserable as your culti- vators of fashionable smiles. I was quite content with that kind of society which forms the frontiers of fashion, and may be easily taken possession of. I found it a light, easy, productive soil. I had but to go about and sow visiting cards, and I reaped a whole harvest of invitations. Indeed, my figure and address were by no means against me. It was whispered, too, among the young ladies, that I was prodigiously clever, and wrote poetry ; and the old ladies had ascertained that I was a young gentleman of good family, handsome fortune, and " great expectations." I now was carried away by the hurry of gay life, so intoxica- ting to a young man, and which a man of poetical temperament enjoys so highly on his first tasting of it, — that rapid variety of sensations, that whirl of brilliant objects, that succession of pun- gent pleasures! I had no time for thought. I only felt. I never attempted to write poetry ; my poetry seemed all to go off by transpiration. I lived poetry ; it was all a poetical dream to me. A mere sensualist knows nothing of the delights of a splendid metropohs. He lives in a round of animal gratifications and heartless habits. But to a young man of poetical feelings, it is TALES OF A TRAVELER. 207 an ideal world, a scene of enchantment and delusion ; his imagina- tion is in perpetual excitement, and gives a spiritual zest to every pleasure. A season of town life, however, somewhat sobered me of my intoxication, or rather I was rendered more serious by one of my old complaints. I fell in love. It was with a very pretty, though a very haughty, fair one, who had come to London under the care of an old maiden aunt to enjoy the pleasures of a winter in town, and to get married. There was not a doubt of her com- manding a choice of lovers, for she had long been the belle of a little cathedral city, and one of the poets of the place had ab- solutely celebrated her beauty in a copy of Latin verses. The most extravagant anticipations were formed by her friends of the sensation she would produce. It was feared by some that she might be precipitate in her choice, and take up with some infe- rior title. The aunt was determined nothing should gain her under a lord. Alas ! with all her charms, the young lady lacked the one thing needful, — she had no money. So she waited in vain for duke, marquis, or earl to throw himself at her feet. As the sea- son waned, so did the lady's expectations, when, just towards the close, I made my advances. I was most favorably received by both the young lady and her aunt. It is true I had no title, but then such great expectations ! A marked preference was immediately shown me over two ri^^als, the younger son of a needy baronet and a captain of dragoons on half pay. I did not absolutely take the field in form, for I was determined not to be precipitate, but I drove my equipage frequently through the street in which she lived, and was always sure to see her at the window, generally with a book in her hand. I resumed my knack at rhyming, and sent her a long copy of verses, — anonymously, to be sure, but she knew my handwriting. Both aunt and niece, however, displayed the most delightful ignorance on the subject. The young lady showed them to me, wondered who they could be written by, and declared there was 2o8 WASHINGTON IRVING. nothing in this world she loved so much as poetry ; while the maiden aunt would put her pinching spectacles on her nose, and read them, with blunders in sense and sound excruciating to an author's ears, protesting there was nothing equal to them in the whole Elegant Extracts.^ The fashionable season closed without my adventuring to make a declaration, though I certainly had encouragement. I was not perfectly sure that I had effected a lodgment in the young lady's heart, and, to tell the truth, the aunt overdid her part, and was a little too extravagant in her liking of me. I knew that maiden aunts were not to be captivated by the mere personal merits of their nieces' admirers, and I wanted to ascertain how much of all this favor I owed to driving an equipage and having great expectations. I had received many hints how charming their native place was during the summer months, what pleasant society they had, and what beautiful drives about the neighborhood. They had not, therefore, returned home long before I made my appearance in dashing style, driving down the principal street. The very next morning I was seen at prayers, seated in the same pew with the reigning belle. Questions were whispered about the aisles after service, — " Who is he ? " and " What is he ? " And the re- plies were as usual : "A young gentleman of good family and fortune, and great expectations." I was much struck with the peculiarities of this reverend little place. A cathedral, with its dependencies and regulations, pre- sents a picture of other times, and of a different order of things. It is a rich relic of a more poetical age. There still linger about it the silence and solemnity of the cloister. In the present in- stance especially, where the cathedral was large and the town small, its influence was the more apparent. The solemn pomp of the service, performed twice a day, with the grand intonations of the organ, and the voices of the choir swelling through the 1 Elegant Extracts in Prose, in Verse, and Epistles, a series of selections by Vicesimus Knox, D.D. (i 752-1821), an English clergyman and author. TALES OF A TRAVELER. 209 magnificent pile, diffused, as it were, a perpetual Sabbath over the place. This routine of solemn ceremony continually going on, independent, as it were, of the world ; this daily offering of melody and praise, ascending like incense from the altar, had a powerful effect upon my imagination. The aunt introduced me to her coterie, formed of families con- nected with the cathedral, and others of moderate fortune but high respectability, who had nestled themselves under the wings of the cathedral to enjoy good society at moderate expense. It was a highly aristocratical little circle ; scrupulous in its inter- course with others, and jealously cautious about admitting any- thing common or unclean. It seemed as if the courtesies of the old school had taken ref- uge here. There were continual interchanges of civilities, and of small presents of fruits and delicacies, and of complimentary crow- quill billets ; for in a quiet, well-bred community like this, living en- tirely at ease, little duties, and little amusements, and little civili- ties, filled up the day. I have seen, in the midst of a warm day, a corpulent, powdered footman issuing from the iron gateway of a stately mansion, and traversing the little place with an air of mighty import, bearing a small tart on a large silver salver. Their evening amusements were sober and primitive. They assembled at a moderate hour, the young ladies played music, and the old ladies whist, and at an early hour they dispersed. There was no parade on these social occasions. Two or three old sedan chairs were in constant activity, though the greater part made their exit in clogs ^ and pattens,^ with a footman or waiting maid carrying a lantern in advance ; and long before midnight the clank of pattens and gleam of lanterns about the quiet little place told that the evening party had dissolved. Still I did not feel myself altogether so much at my ease as I had anticipated, considering the smallness of the place. I found it very different from other country places, and that it was not 1 Thick soles of wood, usually supported by an iron ring, worn to raise the feet out of the mud. 14 2IO WASHINGTON IRVING. SO easy to make a dash there. Sinner that I was, the very dig- nity and decorum of the httle community was rebuking to me. I feared my past idleness and folly would rise in judgment against me. I stood in awe of the dignitaries of the cathedral, whom I saw mingling familiarly in society. I became nervous on this point. The creak of a prebendary's ^ shoes, sounding from one end of a quiet street to another, w^as appalling to me, and the sight of a shovel hat^ was sufficient at any time to check me in the midst of my boldest poetical soarings. And then the good a-unt could not be quiet, but would cry me up for a genius, and extol my poetry to every one. So long as she confined this to the ladies it did well enough, because they were able to feel and appreciate poetr}' of the new romantic school. Nothing would content the good lady, however, but she must read my verses to a prebendary who had long been the undoubted critic of the place. He was a thin, delicate old gen- tleman, of mild, polished manners, steeped to the lips in classic lore, and not easily put in a heat by any hot-blooded poetry of the day. He listened to my most fervid thoughts and fervid words without a glow, shook his head with a smile, and con- demned them as not being according to Horace,^ — as not being legitimate poetry. Several old ladies, who had heretofore been my admirers, shook their heads at hearing this ; they could not think of praising any poetry that was not according to Horace, and as to anything ille- gitimate, it was not to be countenanced in good society. Thanks to my stars, however, I had youth and novelty on my side ; so the young ladies persisted in admiring my poetry in despite of Horace and illegitimacy. I consoled myself with the good opinion of the young ladies, whom I had always found to be the best judges of poetry. " As 1 A clergyman attached to a cathedral church. 2 " Shovel hat," i.e., a broad-brimmed hat, turned up at the sides and projecting in front like a shovel, worn by some clergy of the English Church. 3 Horace, or Quintus Horatius Flaccus (65-8 B.C.), a famous Latin poet. TALES OF A TRAVELER. 211 to these old scholars," said I, '' they are apt to be chilled by being steeped in the cold fountains of the classics." Still I felt that I was losing ground, and that it was necessary to bring matters to a point. Just at this time there was a pubhc ball, attended by the best society of the place, and by the gentry of the neighbor- hood. I took great pains with my toilet on the occasion, and I had never looked better. I had determined that night to make my grand assault on the heart of the young lady, to battle it with all my forces, and the next morning to demand a surrender in due form. I entered the ballroom amidst a buzz and flutter, which gen- erally took place among the young ladies on my appearance. I was in fine spirits, for, to tell the truth, I had exhilarated myself by a cheerful glass of wine on the occasion. I talked, and rat- tled, and said a thousand silly things, slapdash, with all the con- fidence of a man sure of his auditors ; and everything had its effect. In the midst of my triumph I observed a little knot gathering together in the upper part of the room. By degrees it increased. A tittering broke out here and there, and glances were cast round at me, and then there would be fresh tittering. Some of the young ladies would hurry away to distant parts of the room, and whisper to their friends. Wherever they went, there was still this tittering and glancing at me. I did not know what to make of all this. I looked at myself from head to foot, and peeped at my back in a glass, to see if anything was odd about my person, — any awkward exposure, any whimsical tag hanging out. No, everything was right ; I was a perfect picture. I determined that it must be some choice saying of mine that was bandied about in this knot of merry beauties, and I determined to enjoy one of my good things in the rebound. I stepped gently, therefore, up the room, smiling at every one as I passed, who, I must say, all smiled and tittered in return. I approached the group, smirking, and perking my chin, like a man who is full of pleasant feeling, and sure of being well received. The cluster of little belles opened as I advanced. 212 WASHINGTON IRVING. Heavens and earth ! whom should I perceive in the midst of them but my early and tormenting flame, the everlasting Sacha- rissa! She was grown, it is true, into the full beauty of woman- hood, but showed by the provoking merriment of her countenance that she perfectly recollected me and the ridiculous flagellations of which she had twice been the cause. I saw at once the exterminating cloud of ridicule bursting over me. My crest fell. The flame of love went suddenly out, or was extinguished by overwhelming shame. How I got down the room I know not ; I fancied every one tittering at me. Just as I reached the door, I caught a glance of my mistress and her aunt hstening to the whispers of Sacharissa, the old lady rais- ing her hands and eyes, and the face of the young one lighted up, as I imagined, with scorn ineffable. I paused to see no more, but made two steps from the top of the stairs to the bot- tom. The next morning, before sunrise, I beat a retreat, and did not feel the blushes cool from my tingling cheeks until I had lost sight of the old towers of the cathedral. I now returned to town, thoughtful and crestfallen. My money was nearly spent, for I had lived freely and without calculation. The dream of love was over, and the reign of pleasure at an end. I determined to retrench while I had yet a trifle left ; so, selling my equipage and horses for half their value, I quietly put the money in my pocket, and turned pedestrian. I had not a doubt that, with my great expectations, I could at any time raise funds, either on usury or by borrowing, but I was principled against both, and resolved by strict economy to make my slender purse hold out until my uncle should give up the ghost, or rather the estate. I stayed at home, therefore, and read, and would have written, but I had already suffered too much from my poetical productions, which had generally involved me in some ridiculous scrape. I gradually acquired a rusty look, and had a straitened, money-borrowing air, upon which the world began to shy me. I have never felt disposed to quarrel with the world for its con- duct ; it has always used me well. When I have been flush and TALES OF A TRAVELER. 213 gay, and disposed for society, it has caressed me, and when I have been pinched and reduced, and wished to be alone, why, it has left me alone ; and what more could a man desire ? Take my word for it, this world is a more obliging world than people generally represent it. Well, sir, in the midst of my retrenchment, my retirement, and my studiousness, I received news that my uncle was dangerously ill. I hastened on the wings of an heir's affections to receive his dying breath and his last testament. I found him attended by his faithful valet, old Iron John ; by the woman who occa- sionally worked about the house ; and by the foxy-headed boy, young Orson, whom I had occasionally hunted about the park. Iron John gasped a kind of asthmatical salutation as I entered the room, and received me with something almost like a smile of welcome. The woman sat blubbering at the foot of the bed, and the foxy-headed Orson, who had now grown up to be a lub- berly lout, stood gazing in stupid vacancy at a distance. My uncle lay stretched upon his back. The chamber was without fire, or any of the comforts of a sick-room. The cob- webs flaunted from the ceiling, the tester was covered with dust, and the curtains were tattered. From underneath the bed peeped out one end of his strong box. Against the wainscot were suspended rusty blunderbusses, horse pistols,^ and a cut- and-thrust 2 sword, with which he had fortified his room to de- fend his life and treasure. He had employed no physician dur- ing his illness, and from the scanty relics lying on the table, seemed almost to have denied himself the assistance of a cook. When I entered the room, he was lying motionless, his eyes fixed and his mouth open. At the first look I thought him a corpse. The noise of my entrance made him turn his head. At the sight of me a ghastly smile came over his face, and his glaz- mg eye gleamed with satisfaction. It was the only smile he had 1 " Horse pistols," i.e., pistols of large caliber, formerly carried by dra- goons and other horsemen. 2 Keen-edcred. 214 WASHINGTON IRVING. ever given me, and it went to my heart. " Poor old man ! " thought I, ** why should you force me to leave you thus desolate, when I see that m)^ presence has the power to cheer you ? " " Nephew," said he, after several efforts, and in a low, gasping voice, " I am glad you are come. I shall now die with satisfac- tion. Look," said he, raising his withered hand, and pointing ; " look in that box on the table ; you will find that I have not for- gotten you.'' I pressed his hand to my heart, and the tears stood in my eyes. I sat down by his bedside and watched him, but he never spoke again. My presence, however, gave him evident satisfaction, for every now and then as he looked to me, a vague smile would come over his visage, and he would feebly point to the sealed box on the table. As the day wore away, his life appeared to wear away with it. Towards sunset his head sank on the bed, and lay motionless, his eyes grew glazed, his mouth remained open, and thus he gradually died. I could not but feel shocked at this absolute extinction of my kindred. I dropped a tear of real sorrow over this strange old man, who had thus reserved the smile of kindness to his death- bed — like an evening sun after a gloomy day, just shining out to set in darkness. Leaving the corpse in charge of the domes- tics, I retired for the night. It was a rough night. The winds seemed as if singing my uncle's requiem about the mansion, and the bloodhounds howled without, as if they knew of the death of their old master. Iron John almost grudged me the tallow candle to burn in my apart- ment and light up its dreariness, so accustomed had he been to starveling economy. I could not sleep. The recollection of my uncle's dying scene, and the dreary sounds about the house, affected my mind. These, however, were succeeded by plans for the future, and I lay awake the greater part of the night, in- dulging the poetical anticipation how soon I should make these old walls ring with cheerful life, and restore the hospitality of my mother's ancestors. TALES OF A TRAVELER. 215 My uncle's funeral was decent, but private. I knew that no- body respected his memory, and I was determined none should be summoned to sneer over his funeral, and make merry at his grave. He was buried in the church of the neighboring village, though it was not the burying place of his race ; but he had ex- pressly enjoined that he should not be buried with his family ; he had quarreled with most of them when living, and he carried his resentments even into the grave. I defrayed the expenses of his funeral out of my own purse, that I might have done with the undertakers at once, and clear the ill-omened birds from the premises. I invited the parson of the parish, and the lawyer from the village, to attend at the house the next morning, and hear the reading of the will. I treated them to an excellent breakfast, a profusion that had not been seen at the house for many a year. As soon as the breakfast things were removed, I summoned Iron John, the woman, and the boy, for I was particular in having every one present and proceeding regularly. The box was placed on the table ; all was silence. I broke the seal, raised the lid, and beheld, not the will, but my accursed poem of Doubting Castle and Giant Despair! Could any mortal have conceived that this old, withered man, so taciturn, and apparently so lost to feeHng, could have treas- ured up for years the thoughtless pleasantry of a boy, to punish him with such cruel ingenuity ? I now could account for his dying smile, the only one he had ever given me. He had been a grave man all his life ; it was strange that he should die in the enjoyment of a joke, and it was hard that that joke should be at my expense. The lawyer and the parson seemed at a loss to comprehend the matter. "Here must be some mistake," said the lawyer; " there is no will here." " Oh ! " said Iron John, creaking forth his rusty jaws, " if it is a will you are looking for, I believe I can find one." He retired, with the same singular smile with which he had greeted me on my arrival, and which I now apprehended boded 2i6 WASHINGTON IRVING. me no good. In a little while he returned with a will perfect at all points, properly signed and sealed, and witnessed and worded with horrible correctness, in which the deceased left large legacies to Iron John and his daughter, and the residue of his fortune to the foxy-headed boy, who, to my utter astonishment, was his son by this very woman, he having married her privately, and, as I verily believe, for no other purpose than to have an heir, and so balk my father and his issue of the inheritance. There was one little proviso, in which he mentioned that, having discovered his nephew to have a pretty turn ^ for poetry, he presumed he had no occasion for wealth ; he recommended him,, however, to the patronage of his heir, and requested that he might have a gar- ret, rent free, in Doubting Castle. GRAVE REFLECTIONS OF A DISAPPOINTED MAN. MR. BUCKTHORNE had paused at the death of his uncle, and the downfall of his great expectations, which formed, as he said, an epoch in his history, and it was not until some ht- tle time afterwards, and in a very sober mood, that he resumed his party-colored narrative. After leaving the remains of my defunct uncle (said he), when the gate closed between me and what was once to have been mine, I felt thrust out naked into the world, and completely abandoned to fortune. What was to become of jne ? I had been brought up to nothing but expectations, and they had all been disappointed. I had no relations to look to for counsel or assistance. The world seemed all to have died away from me. Wave after wave of relationship had ebbed off, and I was left a mere hulk upon the strand. I am not apt to be greatly cast down, 1 " A pretty turn," i.e., a bent or disposition. TALES OF A TRAVELER, 217 but at this time I felt sadly disheartened. I could not realize my situation, nor form a conjecture how I was to get forward. I was now to endeavor to make money. The idea was new and strange to me. It was like being asked to discover the philos- opher's stone. I had never thought about money otherwise than to put my hand into my pocket and find it, or if there were none there, to wait until a new supply came from home. I had con- sidered life as a mere space of time to be filled up with enjoy- ments ; but to have it portioned out into long hours and days of toil, merely that I might gain bread to give me strength to toil on, — to labor but for the purpose of perpetuating a life of labor, was new and appalling to me. This may appear a very simple matter to some ; but it will be understood by every unlucky wight in my predicament, who has had the misfortune of being bom to great expectations. I passed several days in rambling about the scenes of my boy- hood, partly because I absolutely did not know what to do with myself, and partly because I did not know that I should ever see them again. I clung to them as one clings to a wreck, though he knows he must eventually cast himself loose and swim for his life. I sat down on a little hill within sight of my paternal home, but I did not venture to approach it, for I felt compunction at the thoughtlessness with which I had dissipated my patrimony ; yet was I to blame, when I had the rich possessions of my curmud- geon of an uncle in expectation ? The new possessor of the place was making great alterations. The house was almost rebuilt. The trees which stood about it were cut down, my mother's flower garden was thrown into a lawn, — all was undergoing a change. I turned my back upon it with a sigh, and rambled to another part of the country. How thoughtful a little adversity makes one ! As I came within sight of the schoolhouse where I had so often been flogged in the cause of wisdom, you would hardly have recognized the truant boy who, but a few years since, had eloped so heedlessly from its walls. I leaned over the paling of the playground, and 2i8 WASHINGTON IRVING. watched the scholars at their games, and looked to see if there might not be some urchin among them such as I was once, full of gay dreams about hfe and the world. The playground seemed smaller than when I used to sport about it. The house and park, too, of the neighboring squire, the father of the cruel Sacharissa, had shrunk in size and diminished in magnificence. The distant hills no longer appeared so far off, and, alas ! no longer awak- ened ideas of a fair\-land beyond. As I was rambling pensively tlurough a neighboring meadow in which I had many a time gathered primroses, I met the very pedagogue who had been the t)Tant and dread of my boyhood. I had sometimes vowed to myself, when suffering under his rod, that I would have my revenge if ever I met him when I had grown to be a man. The time had come, but I had no disposi- tion to keep my vow. The few years which had matured me into a \-igorous man had shrunk him into decrepitude. He appeared to have had a paralytic stroke. I looked at him, and wondered that this poor helpless mortal could have been an object of ter- ror to me ; that I should have watched with anxiety the glance of that failing eye, or dreaded the power of that trembling hand. He tottered feebly along the path, and had some difficulty in getting over a stile. I ran and assisted him. He looked at me with surprise, but did not recognize me, and made a low bow of humility and thanks. I had no disposition to make myself known, for I felt that I had nothing to boast of. The pains he had taken, and the pains he had infhcted, had been equally use- less. His repeated predictions were fully verified, and I felt that little Jack Buckthome, the idle boy, had grown to be a very good- for-nothing man. This is all ver)^ comfortless detail, but as I have told you of my follies, it is meet that I show you how for once I was schooled for them. The most thoughtless of mortals will some time or other have his day of gloom, when he will be compelled to reflect. I felt on this occasion as if I had a kind of penance to per- form, and I made a pilgrimage in expiation of my past levity. TALES OF A TRAVELER. 219 Having passed a night at Leamington,^ I set off by a private path, which leads up a hill, through a grove, and across quiet fields, till I came to the small village, or rather hamlet, of Len- ington.2 I sought the village church. It is an old, low edifice of gray stone, on the brow of a small hill, looking over fertile fields towards where the proud towers of Warwick Castle lift themselves against the distant horizon. A part of the churchyard is shaded by large trees. Under one of them my mother lay buried. You have no doubt thought me a light, heartless being. I thought myself so ; but there are moments of adversity which let us into some feelings of our nature to which we might otherwise remain perpetual strangers. I sought my mother's grave ; the weeds were already matted over it, and the tombstone was half hid among nettles. I cleared them away, and they stung my hands, but I was heedless of the pain, for my heart ached too severely. I sat down on the grave, and read over and over again the epitaph on the stone. It was simple, but it was true. I had written it myself. I had tried to write a poetical epitaph, but in vain ; my feelings refused to utter themselves in rhyme. My heart had gradually been filling during my lonely wanderings ; it was now charged to the brim, and overflowed. I sank upon the grave, and buried my face in the tall grass, and wept like a child. Yes, I wept in manhood upon the grave, as I had in infancy upon the bosom, of my mother. Alas ! how little do we appreciate a mother's tenderness while living ! how heedless are we in youth of all her anxieties and kindness ! But when she is dead and gone ; when the cares and coldness of the world come wither- ing to our hearts; when we find how hard it is to meet with true sympathy, how few love us for ourselves, how few will be- friend us in our misfortunes, — then it is that we think of the mother we have lost. It is true I had always loved my mother, 1 A town and watering place of England situated on the Learn, which runs into the Avon. 2 A village not far from Leamington. 2 20 WASHINGTON IRVING. even in my most heedless days ; but I felt how inconsiderate and ineffectual had been my love. My heart melted as I retraced the days of infancy, when I w^as led by a mother's hand, and rocked to sleep in a mother's arms, and was without care or sor- row. " O my mother ! " exclaimed I, burying my face again in the grass of the grave ; " oh, that I were once more by yoiu* side, sleeping never to wake again on the cares and troubles of this world ! " I am not naturally of a morbid temperament, and the violence of my emotion gradually exhausted itself. It was a hearty, honest, natural discharge of grief which had been slowly accumulating, and gave me wonderful relief. 1 rose from the grave as if I had been offering up a sacrifice, and I felt as if that sacrifice h^-d been accepted. I sat down again on the grass, and plucked, one by one, the weeds from her grave ; the tears trickled more slowly down my cheeks, and ceased to be bitter. It was a comfort to think that she had died before sorrow and poverty came upon her child, and all his great expectations were blasted. I leaned my cheek upon my hand, and looked upon the land- scape. Its quiet beauty soothed me. The whistle of a peasant from an adjoining field came cheerily to my ear. I seemed to respire hope and comfort with the free air that whispered through the leaves, and played lightly with my hair, and dried the tears upon my cheek, A lark, rising from the field before me, and leaving as it were a stream of song behind him as he rose, hfted my fancy with him. He hovered in the air just above the place where the towers of Warwick Castle marked the horizon, and seemed as if fluttering with dehght at his own melody. " Surely," thought I, " if there was such a thing as transmigration of souls, this might be taken for some poet let loose from earth, but still reveling in song, and caroling about fair fields and lordly towers." At this moment the long-forgotten feeling of poetry rose within me. A thought sprang at once into my mind. " I will become an author ! " said I. " I have hitherto indulged in poetry as a TALES OF A TRAVELER. 221 pleasure, and it has brought me nothing but pain ; let me try what it will do when I cultivate it with devotion as a pursuit." The resolution thus suddenly aroused within me heaved a load from off my heart. I felt a confidence in it from the very place where it was formed. It seemed as though my mother's spirit whispered it to me from the grave. " I will henceforth," said I, "endeavor to be all that she fondly imagined me. I will endeavor to act as if she were witness of my actions ; I will endeavor to acquit myself in such a manner that when I revisit her grave there may at least be no compunctious bitterness with my tears." I bowed down and kissed the turf in solemn attestation of my vow. I plucked some primroses that were growing there, and laid them next my heart. I left the churchyard with my spirit once more lifted up, and set out a third time for London in the character of an author. Here my companion made a pause, and I waited in anxious suspense, hoping to have a whole volume of literary life unfolded to me. He seemed, however, to have sunk into a fit of pensive musing ; and when, after some time, I gently roused him by a question or two as to his literary career, — " No," said he, smiling, " over that part of my story I wish to leave a cloud. Let the mysteries of the craft rest sacred for me. Let those who have never ventured into the republic of letters still look upon it as a fairyland. Let them suppose the author the very being they pic- ture him from his works. I am not the man to mar their illusion. I am not the man to hint, while one is admiring the silken web of Persia,^ that it has been spun from the entrails of a miserable worm." " Well," said I, " if you will tell me nothing of your literary history, let me know at least if you have had any further intelli- gence from Doubting Castle." "Willingly," replied he; "though I have but little to commu- nicate." 1 Persia is famous for its manufactures of fine silk. 222 WASHIXGTON IRVING. THE BOOBY SQUIRE. ALONG time elapsed (said Buckthorne), without my receiv- ing any accounts of my cousin and his estate. Indeed, I felt so much soreness on the subject that I wished, if possible, to shut it from my thoughts. At length chance took me to that part of the country, and I could not refrain from making some inquiries. I learned that my cousin had grown up ignorant, self-willed, and clownish. His ignorance and clownishness had prevented his mingling with the neighboring gentry. In spite of his great fortune he had been unsuccessful in an attempt to gain the hand of the daughter of the parson, and had at length shrunk into the limits of such a society as a mere man of wealth can gather in a country neighborhood. He kept horses and hounds, and a roaring table at which were collected the loose livers of the country round, and the shabby gentlemen of a village in the vicinity. When he could get no other company, he would smoke and drink with his own servants, who in turn fleeced and despised him. Still, with all his appar- ent prodigality, he had a leaven ^ of the old man in him which showed that he was his true-born son. He hved far within his income, was vulgar in his expenses, and penurious in many points wherein a gentleman would be extravagant. His house servants were obliged occasionally to work on his estate, and part of the pleasure grounds were plowed up and devoted to husbandry. His table, though plentiful, was coarse ; his liquors were strong and bad ; and more ale and whiskey were expended in his estab- hshment than generous wine. He was loud and arrogant at his own table, and exacted a rich man's homage from his vulgar and obsequious guests. As to Iron John, his old grandfather, he had grown impatient 1 Something that resembles leaven in its effects, as some impalpable influ- ence, working a general change in character. TALES OF A TRAVELER. 223 of the tight hand his own grandson kept over him, and quarreled with him soon after he came to the estate. The old man had retired to the neighboring village, where he hved on the legacy of his late master, in a small cottage, and was as seldom seen out of it as a rat out of his hole in daylight. The cub, like Cahban,i seemed to have an instinctive attach- ment to his mother. She resided with him, but, from long habit, she acted more as a servant than as a mistress of the mansion, for she toiled in all the domestic drudgery, and was oftener in the kitchen than the parlor. Such was the information which I collected of my rival cousin, who had so unexpectedly elbowed me out of my expectations. I now felt an irresistible hankering to pay a visit to this scene of my boyhood, and to get a peep at the odd kind of life that was passing within the mansion of my maternal ancestors. I determined to do so in disguise. My booby cousin had never seen enough of me to be very familiar with my countenance, and a few years make a great difference between youth and manhood. I understood he was a breeder of cattle, and proud of his stock ; I dressed myself, therefore, as a substantial farmer, and with the assistance of a red scratch that came low down on my forehead, made a complete change in my physiognomy. It was past three o'clock when I arrived at the gate of the park, and was admitted by an old woman who was washing in a dilapidated building which had once been a porter's lodge. I advanced up the remains of a noble avenue, many of the trees of which had been cut down and sold for timber. The grounds were in scarcely better keeping than during my uncle's lifetime. The grass was overgrown with weeds, and the trees wanted prun- ing and clearing of dead branches. Cattle were grazing about the lawns, and ducks and geese swimming in the fish ponds. The road to the house bore very few traces of carriage wheels, as my 1 A character mentioned in Shakespeare's play, The Tempest. He Avas a savage, deformed slave of Prospero, the rightful Duke of Milan. His mother was Sycorax, a witch. 2 24 IVASHIXGTOX IRVING. cousin received few visitors but such as came on foot or horse- back, and never used a carriage himself. Once, indeed, as I was told, he had the old family carriage drawn out from among the dust and cobwebs of the coach house, and furbished up, and drove with his mother to the village church, to take formal possession of the family pew ; but there was such hooting and laughing after them as they passed through the village, and such giggling and bantering about the church door, that the pageant had never made a reappearance. As I approached the house, a legion of whelps sallied out, barking at me, accompanied by the low howling, rather than barking, of two old, worn-out bloodhounds, which I recognized for the ancient life guards of my uncle. The house had still a neglected, random appearance, though much altered for the bet- ter since my last visit. Several of the windows were broken and patched up with boards, and others had been bricked up to save taxes. ^ I observed smoke, however, rising from the chimneys, a phenomenon rarely witnessed in the ancient establishment. On passing that part of the house where the dining room was situ- ated, I heard the sound of boisterous merriment, where three or four voices were talking at once, and oaths and laughter were horribly mingled. The uproar of the dogs had brought a servant to the door, — a tall, hard-fisted, country clown, with a livery coat put over the under- garments of a plowman. I requested to see the master of the house, but was told that he was at dinner with some " gemmen " - of the neighborhood. I made known my business, and sent in to know if I might talk with the master about his cattle, for I felt a great desire to have a peep at him in his orgies. Word was returned that he was engaged with company, and could not attend to business, but that if I would step in and take a drink of something, I was heartily welcome. I accordingly 1 A window tax was fornierly levied in England on all windows or open- ings, above eight in number, in houses standing in cities or towns. - Gentlemen. TALES OF A TRAVELER. 225 entered the hall, where whips and hats of all kinds and shapes were lying on an oaken table ; two or three clownish servants were lounging about ; everything had a look of confusion and carelessness. The apartments through which I passed had the same air of departed gentility and sluttish housekeeping. The once rich cur- tains were faded and dusty, the furniture, greased and tarnished. On entering the dining room, I found a number of odd, vulgar- looking, rustic gentlemen seated round a table, on which were bottles, decanters, tankards, pipes, and tobacco. Several dogs were lying about the room, or sitting and watching their masters, and one was gnawing a bone under a side table. The master of the feast sat at the head of the board. He was greatly altered. He had grown thickset and rather gummy, with a fiery, foxy head of hair. There was a singular mixture of foolishness, aiTO- gance, and conceit in his countenance. He was dressed in a vulgarly fine style, with leather breeches, a red waistcoat, and green coat, and was evidently, like his guests, a little flushed wnth drinking. The whole company stared at me with a whim- sical, muzzy 1 look, like men whose senses were a little obfuscated by beer rather than wine. My cousin — God forgive me ! the appellation sticks in my throat — my cousin invited me, with awkward civility, or, as he intended it, condescension, to sit to the table and drink. We talked, as usual, about the weather, the crops, pohtics, and hard times. My cousin was a loud politician, and evidently accus- tomed to talk without contradiction at his own table. He was amazingly loyal, and talked of standing by the throne to the last guinea, " as every gentleman of fortune should do." The village exciseman, who was half asleep, could just ejaculate " very true " to everything he said. The conversation turned upon cattle ; he boasted of his breed, his mode of crossing it, and of the general management of his estate. This unluckily drew out a history of the place and of the family. He spoke of my late uncle with 1 Dazed. 15 2 26 WASHINGTON IRVING. the greatest irreverence, which I could easily forgive. He men- tioned my name, and my blood began to boil. He described my frequent visits to my uncle when I was a lad, and I found the varlet even at that time, imp as he was, had known that he was to inherit the estate. He described the scene of my uncle's death, and the opening of the will, with a degree of coarse humor that I had not expected from him, and, vexed as I was, I could not help joining in the laugh, for I have always relished a joke, even though made at my own expense. He went on to speak of my various pursuits, my strolling freak, — and that somewhat nettled me ; at length he talked of my parents. He ridiculed my father ; I stomached even that, though with great difficulty. He mentioned my mother with a sneer, and in an instant he lay sprawling at my feet. Here a tumult succeeded ; the table was nearly overturned, bottles, glasses, and tankards rolled crashing and clattering about the floor. The company seized hold of both of us, to keep us from doing any further mischief. I struggled to get loose, for I was boiling with fury. My cousin defied me to strip and fight him on the lawn. I agreed, for I felt the strength of a giant in me, and I longed to pommel him soundly. Away, then, we were borne. A ring was formed. I had a second assigned me in true boxing style. My cousin, as he ad- vanced to fight, said something about his generosity in showing me such fair play, when I had made such an unprovoked attack upon him at his own table. " Stop there," cried I, in a rage. " Unprovoked ? Know that I am John Buckthorne, and you have insulted the memory of my mother." The lout was suddenly struck by what I said ; he drew back, and thought for a moment. "Nay, damn it!" said he, "that's too much — that's clean another thing. I've a mother myself, and no one shall speak ill of her, bad as she is." He paused again ; nature seemed to have a rough struggle in his rude bosom. TALES OF A TRAVELER. 227 " Damn it, cousin," cried he, " I'm sorry for what I said. Thou'st served me right in knocking me down, and I hke thee the better for it. Here's my hand. Come and Hve with me, and damn me! but the best room in the house, and the best horse in the stable, shall be at thy service." I declare to you I was strongly moved at this instance of nature breaking her way through such a lump of flesh. I for- gave the fellow in a moment his two heinous crimes, of having been born in wedlock, and inheriting my estate. I shook the hand he offered me, to convince him that I bore him no ill will, and then making my way through the gaping crowd of toad- eaters,^ bade adieu to my uncle's domains forever. This is the last I have seen or heard of my cousin or of the domestic con- cerns of Doubting Castle. THE STROLLING MANAGER. AS I was walking one morning with Buckthorne near one of ±\. the principal theaters, he directed my attention to a group of those equivocal beings that may often be seen hovering about the stage doors of theaters. They were marvelously ill-favored in their attire, their coats buttoned up to their chins, yet they wore their hats smartly on one side, and had a certain knowing, dirty, gentlemanlike air which is common to the subalterns of the drama. Buckthorne knew them well by early experience. " These," said he, " are the ghosts of departed kings and heroes, fellows who sway scepters and truncheons, command kingdoms and armies, and after giving away realms and treasures over night, have scarce a shilling to pay for a breakfast in the morn- ing. Yet they have the true vagabond abhorrence of all useful and industrious employment ; and they have their pleasures too, one of which is to lounge in this way in the sunshine, at the stage 1 Flatterers. 2 28 WASHINGTON IRVING. door, during rehearsals, and make hackneyed theatrical jokes on all passers-by. Nothing is more traditional and legitimate than the stage. Old scenery, old clothes, old sentiments, old ranting, and old jokes, are handed down from generation to generation, and will probably continue to be so until time shall be no more. Every hanger-on of a theater becomes a wag by inheritance, and flourishes about at taprooms and sixpenny clubs with the prop- erty jokes of the greenroom." While amusing ourselves with reconnoitering this group, we noticed one in particular who appeared to be the oracle. He was a weather-beaten veteran, a little bronzed by time and beer, who had no doubt grown gray in the parts of robbers, cardinals, Roman senator^, and walking noblemen. " There is something in the set of that hat and the turn of that physiognomy extremely familiar to me," said Buckthorne. He looked a Httle closer. " I cannot be mistaken, that must be my old brother of the truncheon, FHmsey, the tragic hero of the strolling company." It was he in fact. The poor fellow showed evident signs that times went hard with him, he was so finely and shabbily dressed. His coat was somewhat threadbare, and of the Lord Townly cut, single-breasted, and scarcely capable of meeting in front of his body, which, from long intimacy, had acquired the symmetry and robustness of a beer barrel. He wore a pair of dingy white stockinet pantaloons, which had much ado to reach his waistcoat, a great quantity of dirty cravat, and a pair of old russet-colored tragedy boots. When his companions had dispersed, Buckthorne drew him aside, and made himself known to him. The tragic veteran could scarcely recognize him, or believe that he was really his quondam associate, "little Gentleman Jack." Buckthorne invited him to a neighboring coffeehouse to talk over old times, and in the course of a little while we were put in possession of his history in brief. He had continued to act the heroes in the strolling company for some time after Buckthorne had left it, or rather had been TALES OF A TRAVELER. 229 driven from it so abruptly. At length the manager died, and the troop was thrown into confusion. Every one aspired to the crown, every one was for taking the lead, and the manager's widow, although a tragedy queen, and a brimstone ^ to boot, pronounced it utterly impossible for a woman to keep any control over such a set of tempestuous rascalHons. Upon this hint, I spoke (said FHmsey). I stepped forward, and offered my services in the most effectual way. They were accepted. In a week's time I married the widow and succeeded to the throne. " The funeral baked meats did coldly furnish forth the marriage tables," ^ as Hamlet says. But the ghost of my predecessor never haunted me, and I inherited crowns, scepters, bowls, daggers, and all the stage trappings and trumpery, not omitting the widow, without the least molestation. I now led a flourishing life of it, for our company was pretty strong and attractive, and as my wife and I took the heavy parts of tragedy, it was a great saving to the treasury. We carried off the palm from all the rival shows at country fairs, and I assure you we have even drawn full houses, and been applauded by the critics at Bartlemy Fair^ itself, though we had Astley's* troop, the Irish giant,^ and *' the death of Nelson " ^ in waxwork to con- tend against. 1 Shrew. 2 See Shakespeare's Hamlet, act i., sc. 2. The line alludes to the second marriage of Hamlet's mother immediately after the death of her first husband. Formerly, feasts were provided for funerals as well as for marriages. 3 Bartholomew Fair, commonly called Bartlemy Fair, was a fair or market for drapers, established in the twelfth century in Smithfield, London, and held annually from Sept. 3 to Sept. 6, until abolished in 1853. * Philip Astley (1742-1814), a famous equestrian, the founder of Astley's Amphitheater in London, was the first to exhibit equestrian feats before the public. 5 O'Brian, or Charles Byrne, the Irish giant (1761-83), was eight feet four inches tall. His skeleton is preserved in the museum of the College of Sur- geons. Patrick Cotter, eight feet seven and a half inches tall, who died in 1802, also bore the nickname of tlie " Irish giant." fi Viscount Horatio Nelson (1758-1805) was one of England's most famous 230 WASHINGTON IRVING. I soon began to experience, however, the cares of command. I discovered that there were cabals breaking out in the company, headed by the clown, who you may recollect was a terriblv pee- vish, fractious fellow, and always in ill humor. I had a great mind to turn him off at once, but I could not do without him, for there was not a droller scoundrel on the stage. His very shape was comic, for he had but to turn his back upon the audience, and all the ladies were ready to die with laughing. He felt his impor- tance, and took advantage of it. He would keep the audience in a continual roar, and then come behind the scenes, and fret and fume, and play the very devil. I excused a great deal in him, however, knowing that comic actors are a little prone to this infirmity of temper. I had another trouble of a nearer and dearer nature to struggle with, which was the affection of my wife. As ill luck would have it, she took it into her head to be very fond of me, and became intolerably jealous. I could not keep a pretty girl in the com- pany, and hardly dared embrace an ugly one, even when my part required it. I have known her reduce a fine lady to tatters, " to very rags," ^ as Hamlet says, in an instant, and destroy one of the very best dresses in the wardrobe, merely because she saw me kiss her at the side scenes, though I give you my honor it was done merely by way of rehearsal. This was doubly annoying, because I have a natural liking to pretty faces, and wish to have them about me, and because they are indispensable to the success of a company at a fair, where one has to vie with so many rival theaters. But when once a jealous wife gets a freak in her head, there's no use in talking of interest or anything else. Egad, sir, I have more than once trembled when, during a fit of her tantrums, she was playing admirals. In his engagement with the French and Spanish fleet off Cape Trafalgar (see Note 3, p. 182), a musket ball from one of the enemy's ships inflicted a mortal wound, and he died towards the close of the day of his great victory. 1 See Shakespeare's Hamlet, act iii., sc. 2. TALES OF A TRAVELER. 231 high tragedy, and flourishing her tin dagger on the stage, lest she should give way to her humor, and stab some fancied rival in good earnest. I went on better, however, than could be expected, consider- ing the weakness of my flesh, and the violence of my rib.^ I had not a much worse time of it than old Jupiter,- whose spouse was continually ferreting out some new intrigue, and making the heavens almost too hot to hold him. At length, as luck would have it, we were performing at a country fair, when I understood the theater of a neighboring town to be vacant. I had always been desirous to be enrolled in a settled company, and the height of my desire was to get on a par with a brother-in-law, who was manager of a regular thea- ter, and who had looked down upon me. Here was an oppor- tunity not to be neglected. I concluded an agreement with the proprietors, and in a few days opened the theater with great eclat. Behold me now at the summit of my ambition, " the high top- gallant of my joy," "^ as Romeo says. No longer a chieftain of a wandering tribe, but a monarch of a legitimate throne, and en- titled to call even the great potentates of Covent Garden and Drury Lane cousins. You, no doubt, think my happiness com- plete. Alas, sir ! I was one of the most uncomfortable dogs liv- ing. No one knows, who has not tried, the miseries of a man- ager, but above all of a country manager. No one can conceive the contentions and quarrels within doors, the oppressions and vexations from without. I was pestered with the bloods and loungers of a country town, who infested my greenroom, and played the mischief* among my actresses. But there was no shaking them off. It would have been ruin to affront them, for 1 Wife. 2 The supreme god of the Romans, whose wife was Juno. The meetings of this divine pair often resulted in quarrels and wranglings. At one time Juno attempted to chain Jupiter down, and almost succeeded. 3 See Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet, act ii., sc. 4. * " Played the mischief," i.e., caused confusion. 232 WASHINGTOX IRVIXG. though troublesome friends, they would have been dangerous enemies. Then there were the village critics and village amateurs, who were continually tormenting me with advice, and getting into a passion if I would not take it, especially the village doctor and the village attorney, who had both been to London occasion- ally, and knew what acting should be. I had also to manage as arrant a crew of scapegraces as ever were collected together within the walls of a theater. I had been obliged to combine my original troop with some of the former troop of the theater, who were favorites of the public. Here was a mixture that produced perpetual ferment. They were all the time either fighting or frohcking with each other, and I scarcely know which mood was least troublesome. If they quarreled, everything went wrong, and if they were friends, they were continually playing off some prank upon each other, or upon me, for I had unhappily acquired among them the char- acter of an easy, good-natured fellow, the worst character that a manager can possess. Their waggery- at times drove me almost crazy, for there is noth- ing so vexatious as the hackneyed tricks and hoaxes and pleas- antries of a veteran band of theatrical vagabonds. I rehshed them well enough, it is true, while I was merely one of the com- pany, but as a manager I found them detestable. They were in- cessantly bringing some disgrace upon the theater by their tav- ern frolics and their pranks about the country town. All my lectures about the importance of keeping up the dignity of the profession and the respectability of the company were in vain. The villains could not sympathize with the delicate feehngs of a man in station. They even trifled with the seriousness of stage business. I have had the whole piece interrupted, and a crowded audience of at least twenty-five pounds kept waiting, because the actors had hid away the breeches of Rosalind, ^ and have known 1 Rosalind, in Shakespeare's play, As You Like It, is driven from the court. For her safety while traveling, she disguises herself in man's clothing and passes as a shepherd (see act i., sc. 3). TALES 01' A TRAVELER, 233 Hamlet to stalk solemnly on to deliver his soliloquy,^ with a dish clout pinned to his skirts. Such are the baleful consequences of a manager's getting a character for good nature. I was intolerably annoyed, too, by the great actors who came down " starring," as it is called, from London. Of all baneful influences, keep me from that of a London star! A first-rate actress going the rounds of the country theaters is as bad as a blazing comet ^ whisking about the heavens, and shaking fire and plagues and discords from its tail. The moment one of these "heavenly bodies" appeared in my horizon, I was sure to be in hot water. "^ My theater was over- run by provincial dandies, copper-washed counterfeits of Bond Street ^ loungers, who are always proud to be in the train of an actress from town, and anxious to be thought on exceeding good terms with her. It was really a relief to me when some random young nobleman would come in pursuit of the bait, and awe all this small fry at a distance. I have always felt myself more at ease with a nobleman than with the dandy of a country town. And then the injuries I suffered in my personal dignity and my managerial authority from the visits of these great London actors ! 'Sblood, sir, I was no longer master of myself on my throne. I was hectored and lectured in my own greenroom, and made an absolute nincompoop -^ on my own stage. There is no tyrant so absolute and capricious as a London star at a country theater. I dreaded the sight of all of them, and yet if I did not 1 Hamlet's soliloquy when he was contemplating suicide, beginning, " To be or not to be," is one of the most famous passages in Shakespeare's work§ (see act iii., sc. i). 2 The appearance of comets was formerly supposed to be closely connected with the prevalence of epidemic diseases. 3 " In hot water," i.e., in difficulty. 4 Bond Street, the fashionable street of London, is so narrow that coaches are often impeded in their progress. By this defect the Bond Street loungers are afforded glimpses of the fashionables who pass and repass from two to five o'clock in the afternoon. 5 Stupid. 234 WASHINGTON IRVING. engage them, I was sure of having the pubUc clamorous against me. They drew full houses, and appeared to be making my for- tune, but they swallowed up all the profits by their insatiable de- mands. They were absolute tapeworms to my little theater; the more it took in the poorer it grew. They were sure to leave me with an exhausted public, empty benches, and a score or two of affronts to settle among the townsfolk, in consequence of misun- derstandings about the taking of places. But the worst thing I had to undergo in my managerial career was patronage. Oh, sir, of all things dehver me from the patron- age of the great people of a country town 1 It was my ruin. You must know that this town, though small, was filled with feuds, and parties, and great folks, being a busy little trading and manu- facturing town. The mischief was that their greatness was of a kind not to be settled by reference to the Court Calendar^ or College of Heraldry ; ^ it was therefore the most quan-elsome kind of greatness in existence. You smile, sir, but let me tell you there are no feuds more furious than the frontier feuds which take place in these " debatable lands " of gentihty. The most violent dispute that I ever knew in high life was one which occurred at a country town, on a question of precedence between the ladies of a manufacturer of pins and a manufacturer of needles. At the town where I was situated there were perpetual alterca- tions of the kind. The head manufacturer's lady, for instance, was at daggers drawings with the head shopkeeper's, and both were too rich and had too many friends to be treated hghtly. The doctor's and lawyer's ladies held their heads still higher, but they in turn were kept in check by the wife of a country banker, who kept her own carriage ; while a masculine widow of cracked character 2 and second-handed fashion, who hved in a large house 1 See Note 2, p. 154. 2 A royal corporation in England, called also " College at Arms," insti- tuted in the fifteenth century. Its chief business is the granting of armorial bearings, and the tracing and preserving of genealogies. 3 " Of cracked character," i.e., crazy. TALES OF A TRAVELER. 235 and claimed to be in some way related to nobility, looked down upon them all. To be sure, her manners were not over elegant, nor her fortune over large, but then, sir, her blood — oh, her blood carried it all hollow ! ^ lliere was no withstanding a woman with such blood in her veins. After all, her claims to high connection were questioned, and she had frequent battles for precedence at balls and assemblies with some of the sturdy dames of the neighborhood, who stood upon their wealth and their virtue ; but then she had two dashing daughters, who dressed as fine as dragoons, and had as high blood as their mother, and seconded her in everything ; so they carried their point with high heads, and everybody hated, abused, and stood in awe of, the Fantadlins. Such was the state of the fashionable world in this self-impor- tant little town. Unluckily, I was not as well acquainted with its poUtics as I should have been. I had found myself a stranger and in great perplexities during my first season ; I determined, therefore, to put myself under the patronage of some powerful name, and thus to take the field with the prejudices of the public in my favor. I cast around my thoughts for that purpose, and in an evil hour they fell upon Mrs. Fantadlin. No one seemed to me to have a more absolute sway in the world of fashion. I had always noticed that her party slammed the box door the loud- est at the theater, and had the most beaux attending on them, and talked and laughed loudest during the performance, and then the Miss Fantadlins wore always more feathers and flowers than any other ladies, and used quizzing glasses ^ incessantly. The first evening of my theater's reopening, therefore, was announced in staring capitals on the playbills as under the patronage of the " Honorable Mrs. FantadHn." Sir, the whole community flew to arms! The banker's wife felt her dignity grievously insulted at not having the preference, her husband being high bailiff, and the richest man in the place. 1 To " carry all hollow " is to carry beyond doubt or question. 2 " Quizzing glasses," i, e., small eyeglasses. 236 WASHINGTON IRVING. She immediately issued invitations for a large party for the night of the performance, and asked many a lady to it whom she had never noticed before. Presume to patronize the theater ! Insufferable ! And then for me to dare to term her the '' Hon- orable ! " What claim had she to the title, forsooth ? The fashionable world had long groaned under the tyranny of the Fantadlins, and were glad to make a common cause against this new instance of assumption. Those, too, who had never before been noticed by the banker^s lady were ready to enlist in any quarrel for the honor of her acquaintance. All minor feuds were forgotten. The doctor's lady and the lawyer's lady met together, and the manufacturer's lady and the shopkeeper's lady kissed each other ; and all, headed by the banker's lady, voted the theater a bore^ and determined to encourage nothing but the Indian Jugglers and Mr. Walker's Eidouranion.i Alas for poor Pillgarhck ! I little knew the mischief that was brewing against me. My box book remained blank ; the evening arrived, but no audience. The music struck up to a tolerable pit and gallery,^ but no fashionables. I peeped anxiously from behind the curtain, but the time passed away ; the play was re- tarded until pit and gallery became furious, and I had to raise the curtain, and play my greatest part in tragedy to ^^ a beggarly account of empty boxes." ^ It is true the Fantadlins came late, as was their custom, and entered like a tempest, with a flutter of feathers and red shawls ; but they were evidently disconcerted at finding they had no one to admire and envy them, and were enraged at this glaring de- fection of their fashionable followers. All the beau nwiide were 1 The name given to a mechanical contrivance for representing the motions of the heavenly bodies. It was invented by Adam Walker (1731-1821), an English mechanician. 2 The two cheapest parts of a theater were the pit and the gallery. The pit, in old English theaters, was the part on the floor of the house below the level of the stage. 3 See Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet, act v., sc. i. TALES OF A TRAVELER. 237 engaged at the banker's lady*s rout. They remained for some time in soHtary and uncomfortable state, and though they had the theater almost to themselves, yet, for the first time, they talked in whispers. They left the house at the end of the first piece, and I never saw them afterv/ards. Such was the rock on which I split. I never got over the pat- ronage of the Fantadlin family. My house was deserted, my actors grew discontented because they were ill paid, my door be- came a hammering place for every bailiff in the country, and my wife became more and more shrewish and tormenting the more I wanted comfort. I tried for a time the usual consolation of a harassed and hen- pecked man ; I took to the bottle, and tried to tipple away my cares, but in vain. I don't mean to decry the bottle ; it is, no doubt, an excellent remedy in many cases, but it did not answer in mine. It cracked my voice, coppered 1 my nose, but neither improved my wife nor my affairs. My establishment became a scene of confusion and peculation. I was considered a ruined man, and of course fair game for every one to pluck at, as every one plunders a sinking ship. Day after day some of the troop deserted, and, like deserting soldiers, carried off their arms and accouterments with them. In this manner my wardrobe took legs and walked away, my finery strolled all over the country, my swords and daggers glittered, in every barn, until, at last, my tailor made '^ one fell swoop," ^ and carried off three dress coats, half a dozen doublets, and nineteen pairs of flesh-colored pantaloons. This was the ^^ be-all and the end-all " ^ of my fortune. I no longer hesitated what to do. Egad, thought I, since stealing is the order of the day, I'll steal too ; so I secretly gathered to- gether the jewels of my wardrobe, packed up a hero's dress in a handkerchief, slung it on the end of a tragedy sword, and quietly 1 Made red, or of the color of copper. 2 " One fell swoop," i.e., one cruel seizure (see Shakespeare's Macbeth, act iv., sc. 3). 3 See Macbeth, act i., sc. 7. 238 WASHINGTON IRVING. Stole off at dead of night, " the bell then beating one," ^ leaving my queen and kingdom to the mercy of my rebellious subjects, and my merciless foes, the bumbaihffs.- Such, sir, was the " end of all my greatness." ^ I was heartily cured of all passion for governing, and returned once more into the ranks. I had for some time the usual run of an actor's life. I played in various country theaters, at fairs, and in barns, some- times hard pushed, sometimes flush, until, on one occasion, I came within an ace* of making my fortune and becoming one of the wonders of the age. I was playing the part of Richard III.^ in a country barn, and in my best style, for, to tell the truth, I was a little in liquor, and the critics of the company always observed that I played with most effect when I had a glass too much. There was a thunder of applause when I came to that part where Richard cries for " a horse ! a horse ! " My cracked voice had always a wonderful effect here ; it was like two voices run into one ; you would have thought two men had been calling for a horse, or that Richard had called for two horses. And when I flung the taunt at Richmond, " Richard is hoarse with calling thee to arms," ^ I thought the barn would have come down about my ears with the raptures of the audience. The very next morning a person waited upon me at my lodg- ings. I saw at once he was a gentleman by his dress, for he 1 See Shakespeare's Hamlet, act 1., sc. i. 2 Sheriff's officers, who serve writs, make arrests, etc. 3 See Shakespeare's Henry VIH., act iii., sc. 2. " Farewell, a long fare- well, to all my greatness ! " 4 " Within an ace," i.e., very near. 5 King Richard III. of England (1452-85), the hero of Shakespeare's play of the same name. The play ends with the Battle of Bosworth Field. Richard's horse is shot from under him, and he comes upon the field crying, " A horse I a horse ! my kingdom for a horse!" (see act v., sc. 4). * The quotation is " Warwick is hoarse with calling thee to arms," from Shakespeare's Henry VI., part ii., act. v., sc. 2. It has been transposed for the purpose of making a pun on the word " horse." TALES OF A TRAVELER. 239 had a large brooch in his bosom, thick rings on his fingers, and used a quizzing glass. And a gentleman he proved to be, for I soon ascertained that he was a kept author, or kind of literary- tailor to one of the great London theaters, — one who worked under the manager's directions, and cut up and cut down plays, and patched and pieced, and new faced, and turned them inside out ; in short, he was one of the readiest and greatest writers of the day. He was now on a foraging excursion in quest of something that might be got up for a prodigy. The theater, it seems, was in desperate condition ; nothing but a miracle could save it. He had seen me act Richard the night before, and had pitched upon me for that miracle. I had a remarkable bluster in my style and swagger in my gait. I certainly differed from all other heroes of the barn, so the thought struck the agent to bring me out as a theatrical wonder ; as the restorer of natural and legitimate act- ing ; as the only one who could understand and act Shakespeare rightly. When he opened his plan, I shrunk from it with becoming modesty, for, well as I thought of myself, I doubted my com- petency to such an undertaking. I hinted at my imperfect knowledge of Shakespeare, having played his characters only after mutilated copies interlarded with a great deal of my own talk by way of helping memory or height- ening the effect. " So much the better ! " cried the gentleman with rings on his fingers ; " so much the better ! New readings, sir ! new read- ings ! Don't study a line ; let us have Shakespeare after your own fashion." " But then my voice is cracked ; it could not fill a London theater." " So much the better ! so much the better ! The public is tired of intonation ; the ore rotimdo ^ has had its day. No, sir, your cracked voice is the very thing ; spit and splutter, and snap 1 Latin for " round, full voice." 240 WASHINGTON IRVING. and snarl, and play the very dog i about the stage, and you'll be the making of us." " But then " — I could not help blushing to the end of my very nose as I said it, but I was determined to be candid — ''but then," added I, " there is one awkward circumstance. I have an unlucky habit ; my misfortunes, and the exposures to which one is subjected in country barns, have obliged me now and then to — to — take a drop of something comfortable — and so — and so" — " What ! you drink ? " cried the agent, eagerly. I bowed my head in blushing acknowledgment. " So much the better ! so much the better ! The irregularities of genius ! A sober fellow is commonplace. The public like an actor that drinks. Give me your hand, sir. You're the very man to make a dash with." I still hung back with lingering diffidence, declaring myself unworthy of such praise. " 'Sblood, man," cried he, " no praise at all. You don't imagine / think you a wonder ; I only want the public to think so. Noth- ing is so easy as to gull the public, if you only set up a prodigy. Common talent anybody can measure by common rule ; but a prodigy sets all rule and measurement at defiance." These words opened my eyes in an instant. We now came to a proper understanding, less flattering, it is true, to my vanity, but much more satisfactory to my judgment. It was agreed that I should make my appearance before a London audience, as a dramatic sun just bursting from behind the clouds, — one that was to banish all the lesser Hghts and false fires of the stage. Every precaution was to be taken to possess the public mind at every avenue. The pit was to be packed with sturdy clappers ; the newspapers secured by vehement puf- fers ; 2 every theatrical resort to be haunted by hireling talkers. In a word, every engine of theatrical humbug was to be put in 1 " Play the very dog," i.e., act like a dog. 2 Persons secured by pay tc give extravagant praise. TALES OF A TRAVELER. 241 action. Wherever I differed from former actors, it was to be maintained that I was right and they were wrong. If I rant(*d, it was to be pure passion ; if I were vulgar, it was to be pro- nounced a famihar touch of nature ; if I made any queer blunder, it was to be a new reading. If my voice cracked, or I got out in my part, I was only to bounce, and grin, and snarl at the audience, and make any horrible grimace that came into my head, and my admirers were to call it " a great point," and to fall back and shout and yell with rapture. " In short," said the gentleman with the quizzing glass, " strike out boldly and bravely, no matter how or what you do, so that it be but odd and strange. If you do but escape pelting the first night, your fortune and the fortune of the theater are made." I set off for Lonck)n, therefore, in company with the kept au- thor, full of new plans and new hopes. I was to be the restorer of Shakespeare, and nature, and the legitimate drama ; my very swagger was to be heroic, and my cracked voice the standard of elocution. Alas, sir, my usual luck attended me. Before I ar- rived at the metropohs a rival wonder had appeared, — a woman who could dance the slack rope, and run up a cord from the stage to the gallery, with fireworks all round her. She was seized on by the manager with avidity. She w^as the saving of the great national theater for the season. Nothing was talked of but Ma- dame Saqui's fireworks and flesh-colored pantaloons ; and nature, Shakespeare, the legitimate drama, and poor Pillgarlick, were completely left in the lurch. When Madame Saqui's performance grew stale other wonders succeeded : horses, and harlequinades, and mummery of all kinds, until another dramatic prodigy waj^ brought forward to play the very game for which I had been intended. I called upon the kept author for an explanation, but he was deeply engaged in writing a melodrama or a pantomime, and was extremely testy on being interrupted in his studies. However, as the theater was in some measure pledged to provide for me, the manager acted, according to the usual phrase, " Hke a man of honor," and I re- 16 242 WASHINGTON IRVING. ceived an appointment in the corps. It had been a turn of a die whether I should be Alexander the Great ^ or Alexander the coppersmith ; 2 the latter carried it. I could not be put at the head of the drama, so I was put at the tail of it. In other words, I was enrolled among the number of what are called "useful men," those who enact soldiers, senators, and Banquo's shadowy Une.^ I was perfectly satisfied with my lot, for I have always been a bit of a philosopher. If my situation was not splendid, it at least was secure, and in fact I have seen half a dozen prodigies appear, dazzle, burst like bubbles, and pass away, and yet here I am, snug, unenvied, and unmolested, at the foot of the profession. You may smile ; but let me tell you, we " useful men " are the only comfortable actors on the stage. We are safe from hisses, and below the hope of applause. We fear not the success of rivals, nor dread the critic's pen. So long as we get the words of our parts — and they are not often many — it is all we care for. W^e have our own merriment, our own friends, and our own ad- mirers, for every actor has his friends and admirers, from the highest to the lowest. The first-rate actor dines with the noble amateur, and entertains a fashionable table with scraps and songs and theatrical slipslop. The second-rate actors have their second- rate friends and admirers, with whom they likewise spout tragedy and talk shpslop ; and so down even to us, who have our friends and admirers among spruce clerks and aspiring apprentices, who treat us to a dinner now and then, and enjoy at tenth hand the same scraps and songs and slipslop that have been served up by our more fortunate brethren at the tables of the great. I now, for the first time in my theatrical life, experience what true pleasure is. I have known enough of notoriety to pity the 1 Alexander the Great (356-323 B.C.), King of Macedon, one of the most wonderful and famous generals of ancient times. 2 See 2 Tim. iv. 14. 3 " Banquo's shadowy line," i.e., ghosts. Banquo, a character in Shake- speare's Macbeth, is secretly murdered by Macbeth, who is thereafter haunted by Banquo's ghost. TALES OF A TRAVELER. 243 poor devils who are called " favorites of the public." I would rather be a kitten in the arms of a spoiled child, to be one moment patted and pampered and the next moment thumped over the head with the spoon. I smile to see our leading actors fretting themselves with envy and jealousy about a trumpery re- nown, questionable in its quality, and uncertain in its duration. I laugh, too, though of course in my sleeve, at the bustle and impor- tance, and trouble and perplexities, of our manager, w^ho is harass- ing himself to death in the hopeless effort to please everybody. I have found among my fellow-subalterns two or three quondam managers, who like myself have wielded the scepters of country theaters, and we have many a sly joke together at the expense of the manager and the public. Sometimes, too, we meet, like de- posed and exiled kings, talk over the events of our respective reigns, moralize over a tankard of ale, and laugh at the humbug of the great and little world, which, I take it, is the essence of practical philosophy. Thus end the anecdotes of Buckthorne and his friends. It grieves me much that I could not procure from him further par- ticulars of his history, and especially of that part of it which passed in town. He had evidently seen much of hterary life, and, as he had never risen to eminence in letters, and yet was free from the gall of disappointment, I had hoped to gain some candid inteUigence concerning his contemporaries. The testi- mony of such an honest chronicler would have been particularly valuable at the present time, when, owing to the extreme fecun- dity of the press, and the thousand anecdotes, criticisms, and bio- graphical sketches that are daily poured forth concerning public characters, it is extremely difficult to get at any truth concerning them. He was always, however, excessively reserved and fastidious on this point, at which I very much wondered, authors in general appearing to think each other fair game, and being ready to serve each other up for the amusement of the public. 244 WASHINGTON IRVING. A few mornings after hearing the history of the ex-manager, I was surprised by a visit from Buckthome before I was out of bed. He was dressed for travehng. " Give me joy I give me joy ! " said he, rubbing his hands with the utmost glee ; " my great ex- pectations are reaHzed ! " I gazed at him with a look of wonder and inquiry. " My booby cousin is dead ! " cried he ; " may he rest in peace ! He nearly broke his neck in a fall from his horse in a fox chase. By good luck, he lived long enough to make his wnll. He has made me his heir, partly out of an odd feeling of retributive jus- tice, and partly because, as he says, none of his own family or friends know how to enjoy such an estate. I'm off to the coun- try to take possession. I've done with authorship. That for the critics I " said he, snapping his finger. " Come down to Doubt- ing Castle, when I get settled, and, egad, I'll give you a rouse." ^ So sanng, he shook me heartily by the hand, and bounded off in high spirits. A long time elapsed before I heard from him again. Indeed, it w^as but lately that I received a letter, wTitten in the happiest of moods. He was getting the estate in fine order ; everything went to his wishes ; and, what was more, he was married to Sach- arissa, who it seems had always entertained an ardent, though secret, attachment for him, which he fortunately discovered just after coming to his estate. " I find," said he, " you are a little given to the sin of author- ship, which I renounce ; if the anecdotes I have given you of my story are of any interest, you may make use of them ; but come down to Doubting Castle, and see how we hve, and I'll give you my whole London hfe over a social glass, and a rattling history it shall be about authors and reviewers." If ever I visit Doubting Castle and get the history he promises, the public shall be sure to hear of it. 1 Good time. PART III. THE ITALIAN BANDITTI. 245 THE INN AT TERRACINA. CRACK ! crack ! crack ! crack ! crack ! " Here comes the estafette ^ from Naples," said mine host of the inn at Terracina ; - " bring out the relay." The estafette came galloping up the road according to custom, brandishing over his head a short-handled whip, with a long, knotted lash, every smack of which made a report like a pistol. He was a tight, square-set young fellow, in the usual uniform, — a smart blue coat ornamented with facings and gold lace, but so short behind as to reach scarcely below his waistband, and cocked up not unlike the tail of a wren ; a cocked hat edged with gold lace ; a pair of stiff riding boots ; but, instead of the usual leathern breeches, he had a fragment of a pair of drawers that scarcely furnished an apology for modesty to hide behind. The estafette galloped up to the door, and jumped from his horse. " A glass of rosolio,^ a fresh horse, and a pair of breeches ; " said he, " and quickly, per P amor di Dio I ^ I am behind my time, and must be off ! " " San Gennaro ! " ^ replied the host ; " why, where hast thou left thy garment ? " " Among the robbers between this and Fondi." ^ 1 A courier who conveys messages to another courier. 2 A seaport town of Italy, on the Gulf of Terracina in the Mediterranean, fifty-eight miles southeast of Rome. 3 A red wine. * For the love of God. 5 San Gennaro, or Saint Jannarius (272-305), was the patron saint of Naples. He was beheaded in 305. 6 A town near the western coast of Italy, at the southern extremity of the Pontine Marshes (see Note i, p. 248). 247 248 WASHINGTON IRVING. " What, rob an estafette ! I never heard of such folly. What could they hope to get from thee ? " " My leather breeches ! " rephed the estafette. " They were bran new, and shone like gold, and hit the fancy of the captain." " Well, these fellows grow worse and worse. To meddle with an estafette, and that merely for the sake of a pair of leather breeches ! " The robbing of the government messenger seemed to strike the host with more astonishment than any other enormity that had taken place on the road ; and, indeed, it was the first time so wanton an outrage had been committed, the robbers generally taking care not to meddle with anything belonging to govern- ment. The estafette was by this time equipped, for he had not lost an instant in making his preparations while talking. The relay was ready, the rosolio tossed off; he grasped the reins and the stirrup. " W^ere there many robbers in the band ? " said a handsome, dark young man, stepping forward from the door of the inn. " As formidable a band as ever I saw," said the estafette, springing into the saddle. " Are they cruel to travelers ? " said a beautiful young Vene- tian lady, who had been hanging on the gentleman's arm. " Cruel, signora ! " echoed the estafette, giving a glance at the lady as he put spurs to his horse. " Corpo di Bacco ! ^ They stiletto all the men, and, as to the women" — Crack ! crack! crack ! crack ! crack ! The last words were drowned in the smacking of the w^hip, and away galloped the estafette along the road to the Pontine Marshes.- " Holy Virgin ! " ejaculated the fair Venetian, " what will be- come of us ! " 1 Body of Bacchus. Bacchus was the god of wine among the Greeks and Romans. 2 A marshy tract of Italy, extending along the Mediterranean Sea from Cisterna on the north to Terracina on the south. TALES OF A TRAVELER. 249 The inn of which we are speaking stands just outside of the walls of Terracina, under a vast, precipitous height of rocks, crowned with the ruins of the castle of Theodoric the Goth.i The situation of Terracina is remarkable. It is a little, ancient, lazy Italian town, on the frontiers of the Roman territory. There seems to be an idle pause in everything about the place. The Mediterranean spreads before it, — that sea without flux or reflux. The port is without a sail, excepting that once in a while a solitary felucca 2 may be seen disgorging its holy cargo of baccala, or codfish, the meager provision for the quaresima, or Lent. The inhabitants are apparently a listless, heedless race, as people of soft, sunny climates are apt to be, but under this passive, indolent exterior are said to lurk dangerous qualities. They are supposed by many to be little better than the banditti of the neighboring mountains, and indeed to hold a secret correspondence with them. The solitary watchtowers erected here and there along the coast speak of pirates and corsairs that hover about these shores, while the low huts, as stations for soldiers, which dot the distant road, as it wnnds up through an olive grove, intimate that in the ascent there is danger for the traveler, and. facility for the bandit. In- deed, it is between this town and Fondi that the road to Naples is most infested by banditti. It has several windings and solitary places, where the robbers are enabled to see the traveler from a distance, from the brows of hills or impending precipices, and to lie in wait for him at lonely and difficult passes. The Italian robbers are a desperate class of men, that have almost formed themselves into an order of society. They wear a kind of uniform, or rather costume, which openly designates their profession. This is probably done to diminish its skulking, lawless character, and to give it something of a military air in 1 Theodoric (454-526), King of the Ostrogoths (see Note 2, p. 262), conquered Italy, and reigned over it for thirty-three years, a period of unex- ampled peace and happiness for the Italians. 2 A small vessel once common on the Mediterranean, propelled by oars and sails. 250 WASHINGTON IRVING. the eyes of the common people, or, perhaps, to catch by outward show and finery the fancies of the young men of the villages, and thus to gain recruits. Their dresses are often very rich and pic- turesque. They wear jackets and breeches of bright colors, some- times gayly embroidered ; their breasts are covered with medals and relics ; their hats are broad-brimmed, with conical crowns, decorated with feathers, of variously colored ribands ; ^ their hair is sometimes gathered in silk nets ; they wear a kind of sandal of cloth or leather, bound round the legs with thongs, and extremely flexible, to enable them to scramble with ease and celerity among the mountain precipices ; a broad belt of cloth, or a sash of silk net, is stuck full of pistols and stilettos ; a carbine is slung at the back ; while about them is generally thrown, in a negligent man- ner, a great dingy mantle, which serves as a protection in storms, or a bed in their bivouacs among the mountains. They range over a great extent of wild country, along the chain of Apennines, bordering on different states ; they know all the difficult passes, the short cuts for retreat, and the impractica- ble forests of the mountain summits, w^here no force dare follow them. They are secure of tlie good will of the inhabitants of those regions, a poor and semibarbarous race, whom they never disturb and often enrich. Indeed, they are considered as a sort of illegitimate heroes among the mountain villages, and in cer- tain frontier towns where they dispose of their plunder. Thus countenanced, and sheltered and secure in the fastnesses of their mountains, the robbers have set the weak police of the Italian states at defiance. It is in vain that their names and descrip- tions are posted on the doors of country churches, and rewards offered for them alive or dead ; the villagers are either too much awed by the terrible instances of vengeance inflicted by the brig- ands, or have too good an understanding with them to be their betrayers. It is true they are now and then hunted and shot down like beasts of prey by the gendarmes,^ their heads put in iron cages, and stuck upon posts by the roadside, or their limbs 1 Ribbons. 2 Armed police. TALES OF A TRAVELER. 251 hung up to blacken in the trees near the places where they have committed their atrocities ; but these ghastly spectacles only serve to make some dreary pass of the road still more dreary, and to dismay the traveler, without deterring the bandit. At the time that the estafette made his sudden appearance al- most €71 cuerpo} as has been mentioned, the audacity of the rob- bers had risen to an unparalleled height. They had laid villas under contribution ; they had sent messages into country towns, to tradesmen and rich burghers, demanding supplies of money, of clothing, or even of luxuries, with menaces of vengeance in case of refusal. They had their spies and emissaries in every town, village, and inn along the principal roads, to give them notice of the movements and quality of travelers. They had plundered carriages, carried people of rank and fortune into the mountains, and obliged them to write for heavy ransoms, and had committed outrages on females who had fallen into their hands. Such was, briefly, the state of the robbers, or rather such was the account of the rumors prevalent concerning them, when the scene took place at the inn of Terracina. The dark, handsome young man and the A'^enetian lady, incidentally mentioned, had arrived early that afternoon in a private carriage drawn by mules, and attended by a single servant. They had been recently mar- ried, were spending the honeymoon in traveling through these delicious countries, and were on their way to visit a rich aunt of the bride at Naples. The lady was yoimg, and tender, and timid. The stories she had heard along the road had filled her with apprehension, not more for herself than for her husband, for though she had been married almost a month, she still loved him almost to idolatry. When she reached Terracina, the rumors of the road had in- creased to an alarming magnitude, and the sight of two robbers' skulls, grinning in iron cages, on each side of the old gateway of the town, brought her to a pause. Her husband had tried in 1 ^' En cjierpo de camisa,'''' Spanish for " half-dressed." 252 WASHINGTON IRVING. vain to reassure her ; they had Hngered all the afternoon at the inn, until it was too late to think of starting that evening, and the parting words of the estafette completed her affright. " Let us return to Rome," said she, putting her arm within her husband's, and drawing towards him as if for protection. " Let us return to Rome, and give up this visit to Naples." "And give up the visit to yoiu- aunt, too ? " said the husband. " Nay, what is my aunt in comparison with your safety ? " said she, looking up tenderly in his face. There was something in her tone and manner that showed she really was thinking more of her husband's safety at the moment than of her own ; and being so recently married, and a match of pure affection, too, it is very possible that she was ; at least her husband thought so. Indeed, any one who has heard the sweet, musical tone of a Venetian voice, and the melting tenderness of a Venetian phrase, and felt the soft witchery of a Venetian eye, would not wonder at the husband's believing whatever they pro- fessed. He clasped the white hand that had been laid within his, put his arm around her slender waist, and drawing her fondly to his bosom, "This night at least," said he, "we will pass at Terracina." Crack ! crack ! crack ! crack ! crack ! Another apparition of the road attracted the attention of mine host and his guests. From the direction of the Pontine Marshes a carriage, drawn by half a dozen horses, came driving at a furious rate, the postiHons smacking their whips like mad, as is the case when conscious of the greatness, or of the munificence, of their fare. It was a lan- daulet with a servant mounted on the dickey. The compact, highly finished, yet proudly simple, construction of the carriage ; the quantity of neat, well-arranged trunks and conveniences ; the loads of box coats on the dickey ; the fresh, burly, bluff-looking face of the master at the window ; and the ruddy, roundheaded servant, in close-cropped hair, short coat, drab breeches, and long gaiters, all proclaimed at once that this was the equipage of an Englishman. TALES OF A TRAVELER. 253 " Horses to Fondi," said the Englishman, as the landlord came bowing to the carriage door. " Would not his Excellenza 1 alight, and take some refresh- ments ? " No, he did not mean to eat until he got to Fondi. '* But the horses will be some time in getting ready." " Ah ! that's always the way ; nothing but delay in this cursed country ! " " If his Excellenza would only walk into the house " — " No, no, no ! I tell you no ! I want nothing but horses, and as quick as possible. John, see that the horses are got ready, and don't let us be kept here an hour or two. Tell him if we're delayed over the time, I'll lodge a complaint with the postmaster." John touched his hat, and set off to obey his master's orders with the taciturn obedience of an English servant. In the mean time the Englishman got out of the carriage, and walked up and down before the inn, with his hands in his pock- ets, taking no notice of the crowd of idlers who were gazing at him and his equipage. He was tall, stout, and well made, dressed with neatness and precision, wore a traveling cap of the color of gingerbread, and had rather an unhappy expression about the corners of his mouth, partly from not having yet made his din- ner, and partly from not having been able to get on at a greater rate than seven miles an hour. Not that he had any other cause for haste than an Englishman's usual hurry to get to the end of a journey, or, to use the regular phrase, " to get on." Perhaps, too, he was a little sore from having been fleeced at every stage. After some time the servant returned from the stable with a look of some perplexity. " Are the horses ready, John ? " " No, sir ; I never saw such a place. There's no getting any- thing done. I think your honor had better step into the house and get something to eat ; it will be a long while before we get to Fundy." I His Excellency, a title of honor or respect. 2 54 WASHINGTON IRVING. " D — n the house ! it's a mere trick. I'll not eat anything, just to spite them," said the Englishman, still more crusty at the prospect of being so long without his dinner. "They say your honor's very wrong," said John, "to set off at this late hour. The road's full of highwaymen." " Mere tales to get custom." " The estafette which passed us was stopped by a whole gang," said John, increasing his emphasis with each additional piece of information. " I don't believe a word of it." " They robbed him of his breeches," said John, giving at the same time a hitch to his own waistband. "All humbug!" Here the dark, handsome young man stepped forward, and addressing the Englishman very politely, in broken English, in- vited him to partake of a repast he was about to make. " Thank'ee," said the Englishman, thrusting his hands deeper into his pockets, and casting a sly side glance of suspicion at the young man, as if he thought, from his civilit)'-, he must have a de- sign upon his purse. " We shall be most happy if j^ou will do us the favor," said the lady, in her soft Venetian dialect. There was a sweetness in her accents that was most persuasive. The Englishman cast a look upon her countenance ; her beauty was still more eloquent. His features instantly relaxed. He made a polite bow. " With great pleasure, signora," ^ said he. In short, the eagerness to " get on " was suddenly slackened, the determination to famish himself as far as Fondi, by way of punishing the landlord, was abandoned ; John chose an apart- ment in the inn for his master's reception, and preparations were made to remain there until morning. The carriage was unpacked of such of its contents as were in- dispensable for the night. There was the usual parade of trunks, and writing desks, and portfolios, and dressing boxes, and those 1 Madam. TALES OF A TRAVELER. 255 other oppressive conveniences which burden a comfortable man. The observant loiterers about the inn door, wrapped up in great dirt-colored cloaks, with only a hawk's eye uncovered, made many remarks to each other on this quantity of luggage, that seemed enough for an army. The domestics of the inn talked with wonder of the splendid dressing case, with its gold and sil- ver furniture, that was spread out on the toilet table, and the bag of gold that chinked as it w^as taken out of the trunk. The strange Milor's ^ wealth, and the treasures he carried about him, were the talk, that evening, over all Terracina. The Enghshman took some time to make his ablutions and ar- range his dress for table, and, after considerable labor and effort in putting himself at his ease, made his appearance, with stiff white cravat, his clothes free from the least speck of dust, and adjusted with precision. He made a civil bow on entering, in the unprofessing English way, which the fair Venetian, accustomed to the complimentary salutations of the Continent, considered extremely cold. The supper, as it was termed by the Italian, or dinner, as the Englishman called it, was now served. Heaven and earth, and the waters under the earth, had been moved to furnish it, for there were birds of the air, and beasts of the field, and fish of the sea. The EngHshman's servant, too, had turned the kitchen topsy-turvy in his zeal to cook his master a beefsteak, and made his appearance, loaded with catchup, and soy, and Cayenne pep- per, and Harvey sauce, and a bottle of port wine from that ware- house, the carriage, in which his master seemed desirous of carry- ing England about the world with him. Indeed, the repast was one of those Italian farragoes which require a little qualifying. The tureen of soup was a black sea, with livers, and limbs, and fragments of all kinds of birds and beasts floating like wrecks about it. A meager-winged animal, which my host called a deli- cate chicken, had evidently died of a consumption. The maca- 1 For "milord," a Continental rendering of the English " my lord," a title bestowed on any person of dignity. 256 WASHINGTON IRVING, roni was smoked. The beefsteak was tough buffalo's flesh. There was what appeared to be a dish of stewed eels, of which the Englishman ate with great relish, but had nearly refunded them when told that they were vipers, caught among the rocks of Terracina, and esteemed a great delicacy. Nothing, however, conquers a traveler's spleen sooner than eat- ing, whatever may be the cookery ; and nothing brings him into good humor with his company sooner than eating together. The Englishman, therefore, had not half finished his repast and his bottle before he began to think the Venetian a very tolerable fellow for a foreigner, and his wife almost handsome enough to be an Englishwoman. In the course of the repast, the usual topics of travelers were discussed, and among others, the reports of robbers, which har- assed the mind of the fair Venetian. The landlord and waiter dipped into the conversation with that familiarity permitted on the Continent, and served up so many bloody tales as they served up the dishes that they almost frightened away the poor lady's appe- tite. The Englishman, who had a national antipathy to everything technically called " humbug," listened to them all with a certain screw of the mouth, expressive of incredulity. There was the well- known story of the school of Terracina captured by the robbers, and one of the scholars cruelly massacred, in order to bring the parents to terms for the ransom of the rest ; and another, of a gentleman of Rome, who received his son's ear in a letter, with information that his son would be remitted to him in this way, by installments, until he paid the required ransom. The fair Venetian shuddered as she heard these tales, and the landlord, like a true narrator of the terrible, doubled the dose when he saw how it operated. He was just proceeding to relate the misfortunes of a great English lord and his family, when the Enghshman, tired of his volubihty, interrupted him, and pro- nounced these accounts to be mere travelers' tales, or the exag- gerations of ignorant peasants and designing innkeepers. The landlord was indignant at the doubt leveled at his stories and TALES OF A TRAVELER. 257 the innuendo leveled at his cloth ; 1 he cited, in corroboration, half a dozen tales still more terrible. " I don't believe a word of them," said the Englishman. " But the robbers have been tried and executed ! " "All a farce !" " But their heads are stuck up along the road ! " " Old skulls accumulated during a century." The landlord muttered to himself as he went out at the door, *' San Gennaro / quanta so?io singolari qiiestl Ingle si ,^ " ^ A fresh hubbub outside of the inn announced the arrival of more travelers, and, from the variety of voices, or rather of clamors, the clattering of hoofs, the ratthng of wheels, and the general uproar both within and without, the arrival seemed to be numerous. It was, in fact, the procaccio and its convoy ; a kind of cara- van which sets out on certain days for the transportation of mer- chandise, with an escort of soldiery to protect it from the rob- bers. Travelers avail themselves of its protection, and a long file of carriages generally accompanies it. A considerable time elapsed before either landlord or waiter returned, being hurried hither and thither by that tempest of noise and bustle which takes place in an Italian inn on the arrival of any considerable accession of custom. When mine host reap- peared, there was a smile of triumph on his countenance. " Perhaps," said he, as he cleared the table, '' perhaps the sig- nor has not heard of what has happened ? " " What ? " said the Englishman, dryly. "Why, the procaccio has brought accounts of fresh exploits of the robbers." " Pish ! " "There's more news of the English milor and his family," said the host, exultingly. " An English lord ? What English lord ? " " Milor Popkin." 1 Profession. 2 San Gennaro! how strange these Englishmen are. 17 258 WASHINGTON IRVING. " Lord Popkins ? I never heard of such a title ! " " O, sicuro ; ^ a great nobleman, who passed through here lately with miladi and her daughters. A magnifico,^ — one of the grand counselors of London, — an almanno !" " Almanno — almanno ? — tut, he means alderman." " Sicuro ! Aldermanno Popkin, and the Principessa ^ Popkin, and the Signorine* Popkin ! " said mine host, triumphantly. He now put himself into an attitude, and would have launched into a full detail had he not been thwarted by the Englishman, who seemed determined neither to credit nor indulge him in his stories, but dryly motioned for him to clear away the table. An Italian tongue, however, is not easily checked ; that of mine host continued to wag with increasing volubihty, as he conveyed the relics of the repast out of the room, and the last that could be distinguished of his voice, as it died away along the corridor, was the iteration of the favorite word, "Popkin — Popkin — Pop- kin — pop — pop — pop." The arrival of the procaccio had, indeed, filled the house with stories, as it had with guests. The Englishman and his compan- ions walked after supper up and down the large hall, or common room of the inn, which ran through the center of the building. It was spacious and somewhat dirty, wnth tables placed in vari- ous parts, at which groups of travelers were seated, while others strolled about, waiting, in famished impatience, for their even- ing's meal. It was a heterogeneous assemblage of people of all ranks and countries, who had arrived in all kinds of vehicles. Though dis- tinct knots of travelers, yet the travehng together under one common escort had jumbled them into a certain degree of com- panionship on the road ; besides, on the Continent travelers are always familiar, and nothing is more motley than the groups which gather casually together in sociable conversation in the public rooms of inns. The formidable number and formidable guard of the procaccio 1 Sure. - Grandee. 3 Princess. ■* Misses. TALES OF A TRAVELER, 259 had prevented any molestation from banditti ; but every party of travelers had its tale of wonder, and one carriage vied with an- other in its budget of assertions and surmises. Fierce, whiskered faces had been seen peering over the rocks ; carbines and stilettos gleaming from among the bushes ; suspicious-looking fellows, with flapped hats, and scowling eyes, had occasionally recon- noitered a straggling carriage, but had disappeared on seeing the guard. The fair Venetian listened to all these stories with that avidity with which we always pamper any feeling of alarm ; even the Englishman began to feel interested in the common topic, desir- ous of getting more correct information than mere flying reports. Conquering, therefore, that shyness which is prone to keep an Englishman solitary in crowds, he approached one of the talking groups, the oracle of which was a tall, thin Italian, with long, aquiline nose, a high forehead, and lively, prominent eye, beam- ing from under a green velvet traveling cap, with gold tassel. He was of Rome, a surgeon by profession, a poet by choice, and something of an improvisatore.^ In the present instance, however, he was talking in plain prose, but holding forth with the fluency of one who talks well, and likes to exert his talent. A question or two from the Enghshman drew copious replies, for an Englishman sociable among strangers is regarded as a phenomenon on the Continent, and always treated with attention for the rarity's sake. The improvisatore gave much the same account of the banditti that I have already furnished. " But why does not the police exert itself, and root them out ? " demanded the Englishman. " Because the police is too weak, and the banditti are too strong," replied the other. " To root them out would be a more difficult task than you imagine. They are connected, and almost identified, with the mountain peasantry and the people of the vil- lages. The numerous bands have an understanding with each other, and with the country round. A gendarme cannot stir 1 One who composes or recites offhand. 26o WASHINGTON IRVING, without their being aware of it. They have their scouts every- where, who lurk about towns, villages, and inns, mingle in every crowd, and pervade every place of resort. I should not be sur- prised if some one should be supervising us at this moment." The fair Venetian looked round fearfully, and turned pale. Here the improvisatore was interrupted by a lively NeapoHtan lawyer. " By the way," said he, " I recollect a Kttle adventure of a learned doctor, a friend of mine, which happened in this very neighborhood, not far from the ruins of Theodoric's Castle, ^ which are on the top of those great rocky heights above the town." A wish was, of course, expressed to hear the adventure of the doctor, by all excepting the improvisatore, who, being fond of talking and of hearing himself talk, and accustomed, moreover, to harangue without interruption, looked rather annoyed at being checked when in full career. The Neapolitan, however, took no notice of his chagrin, but related the following anecdote. ADVENTURE OF THE LITTLE ANTIQUARY. MY friend, the doctor, was a thorough antiquary, — a little rusty, musty old fellow, always groping among ruins. He relished a building as you Englishmen relish a cheese, — the more moldy and crumbhng it was, the more it suited his taste. A shell of an old nameless temple, or the cracked walls of a broken-down amphitheater, would throw him into raptures, and he took more delight in these crusts and cheeseparings of antiquity than in the best-conditioned modern palaces. He was a curious collector of coins also, and had just gained an accession of wealth that almost turned his brain. He had 1 See Note i, p. ^49. TALES OF A TRAVELER. 2f)T picked up, for instance, several Roman Consulars,^ half a Roman As,i two Funics,^ which had doubtless belonged to the soldiers of Hannibal,'^ having been found on the very spot where they had encamped among the Apennines. He had, moreover, one Samnite,*^ struck after the Social War,-* and a Phihstis,^ a queen that never existed ; but above all, he valued himself upon a coin, indescribable to any but the initiated in these matters, bearing a cross on one side, and a pegasus^ on the other, and which, by some antiquarian logic, the little man adduced as an historical document illustrating the progress of Christianity. All these precious coins he carried about him in a leathern piu^se, buried deep in a pocket of his little black breeches. The last maggot " he had taken into his brain was to hunt after the ancient cities of the Pelasgi,^ which are said to exist to this day among the mountains of the Abruzzi,^ but about which a singular degree of obscurity prevails. He had made many dis- 1 Consulars, Asses, and Funics were early Roman coins. 2 Hannibal (248—183 B.C.) was the Carthaginian leader in two of the three great wars between Rome and Carthage, known as the Punic Wars (B.C. 263-241 ; 218-202 ; 150-146), which ended in the fall of Carthage. The coins struck at this time were known as " Funics." 3 The coins known as Samnites show a bull overcoming a Avolf, the bull symbolizing Italy, and the wolf, Rome. * The Social War was a war of the Italian states against Rome (91 B.C.) for the purpose of obtaining the rights and privileges of Roman citizens. Although the states were defeated, the privileges they fought for were granted -them. During the rebellion many of the states struck off coins showing their claims, victories, etc. » During the time of Hiero II., King of Sicily (270-216 B.C.), some remarkably fine coins were struck, bearing a portrait of a woman, and the name" Philistis." It is generally thought that Fhilistis was a princess of Hiero's family, either his own wife or the wife of his son Gelo. 6 See Note 5, p. 149. '7 Odd fancy or whim. s The Pelasgi, or Felasgians, were an ancient race widely spread over Greece and the coasts and islands of the ^gean and Mediterranean Seas. They are supposed to have emigrated to Italy, but all accounts of the Pelasgi are to a great extent mythical. ^ A division of Italy, on the Adriatic, traversed by spurs of the Apennines. 262 WASHINGTON IRVING. coveries concerning them, and had recorded a great many vaki- able notes and memorandums on the subject, in a voluminous book which he always carried about with him, either for the pur- pose of frequent reference, or through fear lest the precious docu- ment should fall into the hands of brother antiquaries. He had, therefore, a large pocket in the skirt of his coat, where he bore about this inestimable tome, banging against his rear as he walked. Thus heavily laden with the spoils of antiquity, the good little man, during a sojourn at Terracina, mounted one day the rocky cliffs which overhang the town, to visit the castle of Theodoric. He was groping about the ruins, towards the hour of sunset, buried in his reflections, his wits no doubt woolgathering ^ among the Goths ^ and Romans, when he heard footsteps behind him. He turned, and beheld five or six young fellows, of rough, saucy demeanor, clad in a singular manner, half peasant, half huntsman, with carbines in their hands. Their whole appear- ance and carriage left him no doubt into what company he had fallen. The doctor was a feeble httle man, poor in look, and poorer in purse. He had but little gold or silver to be robbed of, but then he had his curious ancient coin in his breeches pocket. He had, moreover, certain other valuables, such as an old silver watch, thick as a turnip, with figures on it large enough for a clock, and a set of seals at the end of a steel chain, dangling half way down to his knees. All these were of precious esteem, being family relics. He had also a seal ring, a veritable antique intaglio, that covered half his knuckles. It was a Venus,^ which 1 Indulging in idle fancies or fruitless pursuits. The allusion is to the practice of gathering tufts of wool from bushes, which necessitates much wandering to little purpose. 2 A powerful German people who played an important part in the over- throw of the Roman empire. In 272 they separated into two great divisions, the Visigoths and the Ostragoths. It was the latter who, under Theodoric the Great, conquered Italy in 493. 3 Venus, or Aphrodite, was the goddess of beauty and love among the Romans and Greeks. TALES OF A TRAVELER. 263 the old man almost worshiped with the zeal of a voluptuary. But what he most valued was his inestimable collection of hints relative to the Pelasgian cities, which he would gladly have given all the money in his pocket to have had safe at the bottom of his trunk in Terracina. However, he plucked up a stout heart, at least as stout a heart as he could, seeing that he was but a puny little man at the best of times. So he wished the hunters a ^' buon giorno.'"^ They returned his salutation, giving the old gentleman a sociable slap on the back that made his heart leap into his throat. They fell into conversation, and walked for some time together among the heights, the doctor wishing them all the while at the bottom of the crater of Vesuvius. At length they came to a small osteria ^ on the mountain, where they proposed to enter and have a cup of wine together. The doctor consented, though he would as soon have been invited to drink hemlock. One of the gang remained sentinel at the door ; the others swaggered into the house, stood their guns in the corner of the room, and each drawing a pistol or stiletto out of his belt, laid it upon the table. They now drew benches round the board, called lustily for wine, and hailing the doctor as though he had been a boon companion of long standing, insisted upon his sitting down and making merry. The worthy man complied with forced grimace, but with fear and trembling, sitting uneasily on the edge of his chair, eying ruefully the black-muzzled pistols and cold, naked stilettos, and supping down heartburn with every drop of liquor. His new com- rades, however, pushed the bottle bravely, and plied him vigor- ously. They sang, they laughed, told excellent stories of their robberies and combats, mingled with many ruffian jokes, and the little doctor was fain to laugh at all their cutthroat pleasantries, though his heart was dying away at the very bottom of his bosom. By their OAvn account, they were young men from the villages, who had recently taken up this line of life out of the wild caprice 1 Good day. 2 Jnn. 264 WASHINGTOX IRVING. of youth. They talked of their murderous exploits as a sports- man talks of his amusements ; to shoot down a traveler seemed of little more consequence to them than to shoot a hare. They spoke with rapture of the glorious roving life they led, — free as birds, here to-day, gone to-morrow, ranging the forests, cHmbing the rocks, scouring the valleys, the world their own wherever they could lay hold of it, full purses, merry companions, pretty women. The little antiquary got fuddled with their talk and their wine, for they did not spare bumpers. He half forgot his fears, his seal ring, and his family watch ; even the treatise on the Pelasgian cities, which was warming under him, for a time faded from his memory in the glowing picture that they drew. He declares that he no longer wonders at the prevalence of this robber mania among the mountains, for he felt at the time that, had he been a young man and a strong man, and had there been no danger of the galleys in the background, he should have been half tempted himself to turn bandit. At length the hour of separating arrived. The doctor was suddenly called to himself and his fears by seeing the robbers resume their weapons. He now quaked for his valuables, and, above all, for his antiquarian treatise. He endeavored, how- ever, to look cool and unconcerned, and drew from out his deep pocket a long, lank, leathern purse, far gone into consumption, at the bottom of which a few coins chinked with the trembling of his hand. The chief of the party observed his movement, and laying his hand upon the antiquary's sh'oulder, " Harkee ! Signer Dottore ! " ^ said he, " we have drunk together as friends and comrades ; let us part as such. We understand you. We know who and what you are, for we know who everybody is that sleeps at Terracina, or that puts foot upon the road. You are a rich man, but you carry all your wealth in your head. We cannot get at it, and we should not know what to do with it if we could. I see you are uneasy about your ring ; but don't worry yourself, it is not worth 1 Listen, Sir Doctor. TALES OF A TRAVELER. 265 taking. You think it an antique, but it's a counterfeit — a mere sham." Here the ire of the antiquary rose ; the doctor forgot himself in his zeal for the character of his ring. Heaven and earth ! his Venus a sham? Had they pronounced the wife of his bosom "no better than she should be," he could not have been more indignant. He fired up in vindication of his intaglio. " Nay, nay," continued the robber, "we have no time to dis- pute about it ; value it as you please. Come, you're a brave lit- tle old signor. One more cup of wine, and we'll pay the reckon- ing. No compliments ; you shall not pay a grain ; you are our guest. I insist upon it. So now make the best of your way back to Terracina ; it's growing late. Buon viaggio ! ^ And harkee, take care how you wander among fhese mountains; you may not always fall into such good company." They shouldered their guns, sprang gayly up the rocks, and the little doctor hobbled back to Terracina, rejoicing that the robbers had left his watch, his coins, and his treatise unmolested, but still indignant that they should have pronounced his Venus an impostor. The improvisatore had shown many symptoms of impatience during this recital. He saw his theme in danger of being taken out of his hands, which to an able talker is always a grievance, but to an improvisatore is an absolute calamity ; and then for it to be taken away by a Neapolitan was still more vexatious, the inhabitants of the different Italian states ^ having an implacable jealousy of each other in all things, great and small. He took advantage of the first pause of the Neapolitan to catch hold again of the thread of the conversation. 1 A pleasant journey. 2 Until within recent times, Italy was composed of a number of states, either independent, or tributary to foreign powers, and had no organized exist- ence as a nation. It was not until 1 861 that, through the efforts of Cavour and other liberal-minded Italians, the unification of Italy was effected and the Italian kingdom organized. 2 66 ll'ASNIXGTOX JRJ7XG. "As I observed before," said he, "the prowhngs of the ban- ditti are so extensive ; they are so much in league with one an- other, and so interwoven with various ranks of society" — " For that matter," said the Xeapohtan, " I have heard that your government has had some understanding with those gentry, or, at least, has winked at their misdeeds." " My government ? " said the Roman, impatiently. " Ay, they say that Cardinal Gonsalvi " ^ — " Hush ! " said the Roman, holding up his finger, and rolling his large eyes about the room. " Xay, I only repeat what I heard commonly rumored in Rome," replied the Xeapohtan sturdily. " It was openly said that the Cardinal had been up to the mountains, and had an inter\'iew with some of the chiefs. And I have been told, moreover, that, while honest people have been kicking their heels in the Car- dinal's antechamber, waiting by the hour for admittance, one of those stiletto-looking fellows has elbowed his wav through the crowd, and entered without ceremony into the Cardinal's pres- ence." " I know," observed the improvisatore, "that there have been such reports, and it is not impossible that government may have made use of these men at particular periods, such as at the time of your late abortive revolution, when your Carbonari - were so 1 Cardinal Ercole Consalvi or Gonsalvi (1757-1824), an eminent Roman statesman. His policy was liberal and humane. Capital punishment and torture for heresy were abolished by him, and he enacted new codes of laws. During the pope's absence he was \-irtual sovereign of Rome. 2 The Italian sovereigns, on returning to their respective states after Na- poleon Bonaparte's dowmfall, acted very tyrannically and tried to abandon all reforms. This course of action gave rise to the formation of a secret society, which originated among the charcoal burners of the mountains, and was there- fore known as the " Carbonari" (charcoal burners), but which soon spread throughout the peninsula. The object of the society was to change the government to a republic. In July, 1820, the army at Naples broke out in open mutiny, but the Austrian troops entered Naples, and crushed the revolu- tion in 1821. TALES OF A TRAVELER. 267 busy with their machinations all over the country. The informa- tion which such men could collect, who were familiar, not merely with the recesses and secret places of the mountains, but also with the dark and dangerous recesses of society ; who knew every suspicious character, and all his movements and all his lurkings ; in a word, who knew all that was plotting in a world of mischief, — the utility of such men as instruments in the hands of govern- ment was too obvious to be overlooked, and Cardinal Gonsalvi, as a pohtic statesman, may, perhaps, have made use of them. Besides, he knew that, with all their atrocities, the robbers were always respectful towards the Church, and devout in their reli- gion." " Religion ! religion ! " echoed the Englishman, "Yes, religion," repeated the Roman. " They have each their patron saint. They will cross themselves and say their prayers, whenever, in their mountain haunts, they hear the matin or the Ave Maria bells sounding from the valleys, and will often descend from their retreats, and run imminent risks, to visit some favorite shrine. I recollect an instance in point. " I was one evening in the village of Frascati,i which stands on the beautiful brow of a hill rising from the Campagna^ just below the Abruzzi Mountains. The people, as is usual in fine evenings in our Italian towns and villages, were recreating them- selves in the open air, and chatting in groups in the public square. While I was conversing with a knot of friends, I noticed a tall fellow, wrapped in a great mantle, passing across the square, but skulking along in the dusk, as if anxious to avoid observation. 1 A town of Italy twelve miles southeast of Rome. On the brow of a hill are the remains of the ancient Tusculum, where were favorite residences of Cicero, Lucullus, and other famous Romans (see Note 2, p. 292). 2 An old province of Italy nearly corresponding in limits to ancient Latium, extending along the western coast from Civita Vecchia to the Pontine Marshes, and inland to the Albian and Sabine Hills, Rome being near its center. Al- though at one time one of the richest countries of the world, it is now nearly destitute of inhabitants. 2 68 IVASIIIXGTOX IJiVIXG. The people drew back as he passed. It was whispered to me that he was a notorious bandit." " But why was he not immediately seized ? " said the English- man. "Because it was nobody's business; because nobody wished to incur the vengeance of his comrades ; because there were not sufficient gendarmes near to insure security against the number of desperadoes he might have at hand ; because the gendarmes might not have received particular instructions with respect to him, 'and might not feel disposed to engage in a hazardous con- flict without compulsion. In short, I might give you a thousand reasons rising out of the state of our government and manners, not one of which, after all, might appear satisfactory." The Enghshman shrugged his shoulders with an air of con- tempt. " I have been told," added the Roman, rather quickly, " that even in your metropolis of London, notorious thieves, well-known to the police as such, walk the streets at noonday in search of their prey, and are not molested unless caught in the ver\' act of robbery." The Enghshman gave another shrug, but with a different ex- pression. " Well, sir, I fixed my eye on this daring W'Olf, thus prowling through the fold, and saw him enter a church. I was cmious to witness his devotion. You know our spacious, magnificent churches. The one in which he entered was vast, and shrouded in the dusk of evening. At the extremity of the long aisles a couple of tapers feebly glimmered on the grand altar. In one of the side chapels was a votive candle placed before the image of a saint. Before this image the robber had prostrated himself. His mantle, partly falling off from his shoulders as he knelt, revealed a form of Herculean strength; a stiletto and pistol ghttered in his belt; and the light, falling on his countenance, showed features not un- handsome, but strongly and fiercely characterized. As he prayed he became vehemently agitated ; his lips quivered, sighs and TALES OF A TRAVELER. 269 murmurs, almost groans, burst from him ; he beat his breast with violence, then clasped his hands and wrung them convulsively, as he extended them towards the image. Never had I seen such a terrific picture of remorse. I felt fearful of being discovered watching him, and withdrew. Shortly afterwards I saw him issue from the church, wrapped in his mantle. He recrossed the square and no doubt returned to the mountains with a disburdened conscience, ready to incur a fresh arrear of crime." Here the Neapolitan was about to get hold of the conversa- tion, and had just preluded with the ominous remark, " That puts me in mind of a circumstance," when the improvisatore, too adroit to suffer himself to be again superseded, went on, pretend- ing not to hear the interruption. " Among the many circumstances connected with the banditti which ser\^e to render the traveler uneasy and insecure, is the un- derstanding which they sometimes have with innkeepers. Many an isolated inn among the lonely parts of the Roman territories, and especially about the mountains, is of a dangerous and per- fidious character. They are places where the banditti gather in- formation, and where the unwary traveler, remote from hearing or assistance, is betrayed to the midnight dagger. The robberies committed at such inns are often accompanied by the most atro- cious murders, for it is only by the complete extermination of their victims that the assassins can escape detection. I recollect an adventure," added he, " which occurred at one of these solitary mountain inns, which, as you all seem in a mood for robber anec- dotes, may not be uninteresting." Having secured the attention, and awakened the curiosity, of the bystanders, he paused for a moment, rolled up his large eyes as improvisatori are apt to do when they would recollect an im- promptu, and then related with great dramatic effect the follow- ing story, which had, doubtless, been well prepared and digested beforehand. 2 -JO IVASHINGTOX IRVIXG. THE BELATED TRAVELERS. IT was late one evening that a carriage, drawn by mules, slowly toiled its way up one of the passes of the Apennines. It was through one of the wildest defiles, where a hamlet occiured only at distant intervals, perched on the summit of some rocky height, or the white towers of a convent peeped out from among the thick mountain foliage. The carriage was of ancient and pon- derous construction. Its faded embeUishments spoke of former splendor, but its crazy springs and axletrees creaked out the tale of present decline. Within was seated a tall, thin old gentleman, in a kind of military traveling dress, and a foraging cap trimmed with fur, though the gray locks which stole from under it hinted that his fighting days were over. Beside him was a pale, beauti- ful girl of eighteen, dressed in something of a northern or Polish costume. One servant was seated in front, — a rusty, crusty-look- ing feUow, with a scar across his face, an orange-tawny schtiurbart^ or pair of mustaches, bristling from under his nose, and altogether the air of an old soldier. It was, in fact, the equipage of a Polish nobleman ; a WTeck of one of those princely families once of almost oriental magnifi- cence, but broken down and impoverished by the disasters of Poland. The count, like many other generous spirits, had been found guilty of the crime of patriotism, and was, in a manner, an exile from his country. He had resided for some time in the first cities of Italy, for the education of his daughter, in whom all his cares and pleasures were now centered. He had taken her into society, where her beauty and her accomplishments gained her many admirers, and had she not been the daughter of a poor, broken-down, Polish nobleman, it is more than probable many would have contended for her hand. Suddenly, however, her health became delicate and drooping, her gayety fled with the roses of her cheek, and she sank into silence and debility. The old count saw the change with the solicitude of a parent. " We TALES OF A TRAVELER, 271 must try a change of air and scene," said he ; and in a few days the old family carriage was rumbling among the Apennines. Their only attendant was the veteran Caspar, who had been born in the family, and grown rusty in its service. He had fol- lowed his master in all his fortunes, had fought by his side, had stood over him when fallen in battle, and had received, in his defense, the saber cut which added such grimness to his coun- tenance. He was now his valet, his steward, his butler, his fac- totum. The only being that rivaled his master in his affections was his youthful mistress. She had grown up under his eye ; he had led her by the hand when she was a child, and he now looked upon her with the fondness of a parent. Nay, he even took the freedom of a parent in giving his blunt opinion on all matters which he thought were for her good, and felt a parent's vanity at seeing her gazed at and admired. The evening was thickening ; ^ they had been for some time passing through narrow gorges of the mountains, along the edges of a tumbling stream. The scenery was lonely and savage. The rocks often beetled over the road, with flocks of white goats browsing on their brinks, and gazing down upon the travelers. They had between two or three leagues yet to go before they could reach any village ; yet the muleteer, Pietro,^ a tippling old fellow, who had refreshed himself at the last halting place with a more than ordinary quantity of wine, sat singing and talking alternately to his mules, and suffering them to lag on at a snail's pace, in spite of the frequent entreaties of the count and male- dictions of Caspar. The clouds began to roll in heavy masses along the moun- tains, shrouding their summits from view. The air was damp and chilly. The count's solicitude on his daughter's account over- came his usual patience. He leaned from the carriage, and called to old Pietro in an angry tone. " Forward ! " said he. '' It will be midnight before we arrive at our inn." 1 Becoming darker. 2 Peter. 272 WASHINGTON IRVING. " Yonder it is, signer," said the muleteer. " Where ? " demanded the count. " Yonder," said Pietro, pointing to a desolate pile about a quarter of a league distant. " That the place ? Why, it looks more like a ruin than an inn. I thought we were to put up for the night at a comfortable village." Here Pietro uttered a string of piteous exclamations and ejacu- lations, such as are ever at the tip of the tongue of a delinquent muleteer. Such roads, and such mountains ! And then his poor animals were wayworn and leg weary ; they would fall lame ; they would never be able to reach the village. And then what could his Excellenza wish for better than the inn, a perfect cas- tello ! ^ — a palazzo ! ^ and such people ! — and such a larder ! — and such beds ! His Excellenza might fare as sumptuously and sleep as soundly there as a prince ! " The count was easily persuaded, for he was anxious to get his daughter out of the night air ; so in a little while the old carriage rattled and jingled into the great gateway of the inn. The building did certainly in some measure answer to the mule- teer's description. It was large enough for either castle or pal- ace, built in a strong, but simple and almost rude, style, with a great quantity of waste room. It had in fact been, in former times, a hunting seat of one of the Italian princes. There was space enough within its walls and outbuildings to have accom- modated a little army. A scanty household seemed now to peo- ple this dreary mansion. The faces that presented themselves on the arrival of the travelers were begrimed with dirt, and scowl- ing in their expression. They all knew old Pietro, however, and gave him a welcome as he entered, singing and talking, and al- most whooping, into the gateway. The hostess of the inn waited herself on the count and his daughter, to show them the apartments. They were conducted through a long, gloomy corridor, and then through a suite of cham- 1 Castle. - Palace. TALES OF A TRAVELER. 2173 bers opening into each other, with lofty ceihngs, and great beams extending across them. Everything, however, had a wretched, squahd look. The walls were damp and bare, excepting that here and there hung some great painting, large enough for a chapel, and blackened out of all distinction. They chose two bedrooms, one within another, the inner one for the daughter. The bedsteads were massive and misshapen ; but on examining the beds so vaunted by old Pietro, they found them stuffed with fibers of hemp knotted in great lumps. The count shrugged his shoulders, but there was no choice left. The chilliness of the apartments crept to their bones, and they were glad to return to a common chamber, or kind of hall, where was a fire burning in a huge cavern, miscalled a chimney. A quantity of green wood, just thrown on, puffed out volumes of smoke. The room corresponded to the rest of the mansion. The floor was paved and dirty; a great oaken table stood in the center, immovable from its size and weight. The only thing that contradicted this prevalent air of indigence was the dress of the hostess. She was a slattern, of course, yet her garments, though dirty and negligent, were of costly materials. She wore several rings of great value on her fingers, and jewels in her ears, and round her neck was a string of large pearls, to' which was attached a sparkling crucifix. She had the remains of beauty, yet there was something in the expression- of her countenance that inspired the young lady with singular aversion. She was officious and obsequious in her attentions, and both the count and his daughter felt relieved when she consigned them to the care of a dark, sullen-looking servant maid, and went off to super- intend the supper. Caspar was indignant at the muleteer for having, either through negligence or design, subjected his master and mistress to such quarters, and vowed by his mustaches to have revenge on the old varlet the moment they were safe out from among the moun- tains. He kept up a continual quarrel with the sulky servant maid, which only served to increase the sinister expression with 18 2 74 WASHINGTON IRVING. which she regarded the travelers from under her strong, dark eyebrows. As to the count, he was a good-humored, passive traveler. Perhaps real misfortunes had subdued his spirit, and rendered him tolerant of many of those petty evils which make prosperous men miserable. He drew a large, broken armchair to the fireside for his daughter, and another for himself, and seizing an enor- mous pair of tongs, endeavored to rearrange the wood so as to pro- duce a blaze. His efforts, however, were only repaid by thicker puffs of smoke, which almost overcame the good gentleman's patience. He would draw back, cast a look upon his delicate daughter, then upon the cheerless, squalid apartment, and, shrug- ging his shoulders, would give a fresh stir to the fire. Of all the miseries of a comfortless inn, however, there is none greater than sulky attendants. The good count for some time bore the smoke in silence, rather than address himself to the scowling servant maid. At length he was compelled to beg for drier firewood. The woman retired muttering. On reentering the room hastily, with an armful of fagots, her foot shpped ; she fell, and striking her head against the corner of a chair, cut her temple severely. The blow stunned her for a time, and the wound bled pro- fusely. When she recovered, she found the count's daughter administering to her wound, and binding it up with her own handkerchief. It was such an attention as any woman of ordi- nary feeling would have yielded ; but perhaps there was some- thing in the appearance of the lovely being Avho bent over her, or in the tones of her voice, that touched the heart of the woman, unused to be administered to by such hands. Certain it is, she was strongly affected. She caught the delicate hand of the Pol-_ onaise, and pressed it fervently to her lips. "May San Francesco ^ watch over you, signora ! " exclaimed she. 1 St. Francis (i 182-1226), the founder of the celebrated order of mendicant friars known as Franciscans. He was canonized by Pope Gregory. TALES OF A TRAVELER. 275 A new arrival broke the stillness of the inn. It was a Spanish princess with a numerous retinue. The courtyard was in an up- roar, the house in a bustle. The landlady hunied to attend such distinguished guests, and the poor count and his daughter, and their supper, were for a moment forgotten. The veteran Caspar muttered Polish maledictions enough to agonize an Italian ear ; but it was impossible to convince the hostess of the superiority of his old master and young mistress to the whole nobility of Spain. The noise of the arrival had attracted the daughter to the window just as the newcomers had ahghted. A young cavalier sprang out of the carriage and handed out the princess. The latter was a little shriveled old lady, with a face of parchment, and sparkling black eyes ; she was richly and gayly dressed, and walked with the assistance of a gold-headed cane as high as herself. The young man was tall and elegantly formed. The count's daughter shrank back at the sight of him, though the deep frame of the window screened her from observation. She gave a heavy sigh as she closed the casement. What that sigh meant I cannot say. Perhaps it was at the contrast between the splendid equipage of the princess, and the crazy, rheumatic- looking old vehicle of her father, which stood hard by. What- ever might be the reason, the young lady closed the casement with a sigh. She returned to her chair ; a slight shivering passed over her delicate frame ; she leaned her elbow on the arm of the chair, rested her pale cheek in the palm of her hand, and looked mournfully into the fire. The count thought she appeared paler than usual. " Does anything ail thee, my child ? " said he, " Nothing, dear father ! " replied she, laying her hand within his, and looking up smiling in his face ; but as she said so, a treacherous tear rose suddenly to her eye, and she turned away her head. *'The air of the window has chilled thee," said the count, fondly, '* but a good night's rest will make all well again." The supper table was at length laid, and the supper about to 276 WASHING TOX IRVING. be served, when the hostess appeared, with her usual obsequious- ness, apologizing for showing in the newcomers ; but the night air was cold, and there w^as no other chamber in the inn with a fire in it. She had scarcely made the apology when the princess entered, leaning on the arm of the elegant young man. The count imm,ediately recognized her for a lady whom he had met frequently in society, both at Rome and Naples, and to whose conversaziones,! in fact, he had been constantly invited. The cavalier, too, was her nephew and heir, who had been great- ly admired in the gay circles both for his merits and prospects, and who had once been on a visit at the same time with his daughter and himself at the villa of a nobleman near Naples. Report had recently affianced him to a rich Spanish heiress. The meeting was agreeable to both the count and the prin- cess. The former w^as a gentleman of the old school, courteous in the extreme ; the princess had been a belle in her youth, and a woman of fashion all her life, and liked to be attended to. The young man approached the daughter and began some- thing of a complimentary observation, but his manner was em- barrassed, and his compliment ended in an indistinct murmur, while the daughter bowed without looking up, moved her lips without articulating a word, and sank again into her chair, where she sat gazing into the fire, with a thousand varying expressions passing over her countenance. This singular greeting of the yotmg people was not perceived by the old ones, who were occupied at the time with their own courteous salutations. It was arranged that they should sup to- gether, and as the princess traveled with her own cook, a veiy tolerable supper soon smoked upon the board. This, too, was assisted by choice wines and liquors and delicate confitures - brought from one of her carriages, for she was a veteran epicure, and curious in her rehsh for the good things of this world. She was, in fact, a vivacious little old lady, who mingled the woman 1 Meetings for conversation, especially on literary subjects. 2 Sweetmeats. TALES OF A TRAVELER. 277 9 of dissipation with the devotee. She was actually on her way to Loretto ^ to expiate a long life of gallantries and peccadillos by a rich offering at the holy shrine. She was, to be sure, rather a luxurious penitent, and a contrast to the primitive pilgrims, with scrip,- and staff, and cockleshell ; ^ but then it would be unrea- sonable to expect such self-denial from people of fashion, and there was not a doubt of the ample efficacy of the rich cruci- fixes, and golden vessels, and jeweled ornaments, which she was bearing to the treasury of the blessed Virgin. The princess and the count chatted much during supper about the scenes and society in which they had mingled, and did not notice that they had all the conversation to themselves; the young people were silent and constrained. The daughter ate nothing, in spite of the: politeness of the princess, who con- tinually pressed her to taste of one or other of the delicacies. The count shook his head. " She is not well this evening," said he ; ''I thought she would have fainted just now as she was looking out of the window at your carriage on its arrival." A crimson glow flushed to the very temples of the daughter.; but she leaned over her plate, and her tresses cast a shade over her countenance. When supper was over, they drew their chairs about the great fireplace. The flame and smoke had subsided, and a heap of glowing embers diffused a grateful warmth. A guitar, which "had been brought from the count's carriage, leaned against the wall,; the princess perceived it. " Can we not have a little music be- fore parting for the night ? " demanded she. 1 A city of Italy in the compartimento (division) Marches, three miles from the Adriatic, It owes its origin to the house of the Virgin, the Santa Casa, which, according to tradition, was brought thither from Naza:reth by the angels. Over it a magnificent church has been built, and around it the town has grown up. The holy shrine attracts many visitors. 2 A small bag or satchel. 3 Pilgrims wore cockleshells on their hats as tokens, which, being blessed by the priest, were considered as charms against evil spirits. 278 WASHINGTON IRVING. The count was proud of his daughter's accompHshment, and joined in the request. The young man made an effort of pohte- ness, and taking up the guitar, presented it, though in an embar- rassed manner, to the fair musician. She would have dechned it, but was too much confused to do so ; indeed, she was so nerv- ous and agitated that she dared not trust her voice to make an excuse. She touched the instrument with a faltering hand, and, after preluding a little, accompanied herself in several Polish airs. Her father's eyes glistened as he sat gazing on her. Even the crusty Caspar lingered in the room, partly through a fondness for the music of his native country, but chiefly through his pride in the musician. Indeed the melody of the voice and the deli- cacy of the touch were enough to have charmed more fastidious ears. The little princess nodded her head and tapped her hand to the music, though exceedingly out of time, while the nephew sat buried in profound contemplation of a black picture on the opposite wall. " And now," said the count, patting her cheek fondly, "one more favor. Let the princess hear that little Spanish air you were so fond of. You can't think," added he, " what a proficiency she has made in your language, though she has been a sad girl, and neglected it of late." The color flushed the pale cheek of the daughter. She hesi- tated, murmured something, but with sudden effort collected herself, struck the guitar boldly, and began. It was a Spanish romance, with something of love and melancholy in it. She gave the first stanza with great expression, for the tremulous, melting tones of her voice went to the heart ; but her articulation failed, her lips quivered, the song died away, and she burst into tears. The count folded her tenderly in his arms. " Thou art not well, my child," said he, "and I am tasking thee cruelly. Retire to thy chamber, and God bless thee ! " She bowed to the com- pany without raising her eyes, and ghded out of the room. The count shook his head as the door closed. " Something is the matter with that child," said he, " which I cannot divine. TALES OF A TRAVELER. 279 She has lost all health and spirits latel)^ She was always a ten- der flower, and I had much pains to rear her. Excuse a father's foolishness," continued he, " but I have seen much trouble in my family, and this poor girl is all that is now left to me, and she used to be so lively " — " Maybe she's in love," said the little princess, with a shrewd nod of the head. *' Impossible ! " replied the good count, artlessly. '* She has never mentioned a word of such a thing to me." How little did the worthy gentleman dream of the thousand cares and griefs and mighty love concerns which agitate a virgin heart, and which a timid girl scarcely breathes unto herself! The nephew of the princess rose abruptly and walked about the room. When she found herself alone in her chamber, the feelings of the young lady, so long restrained, broke forth with violence. She opened the casement, that the cool air might blow upon her throbbing temples. Perhaps there was some little pride or pique mingled with her emotions, though her gentle nature did not seem calculated to harbor any such angry inmate. " He saw me weep," said she, with a sudden mantling of the cheek and a swelling of the throat, " but no matter, no matter ! " And so saying she threw her white arms across the window frame, buried her face in them, and abandoned herself to an agony of tears. She remained lost in a reverie until the sound of her father's and Caspar's voices in the adjoining room gave token that the party had retired for the night. The lights gleam- ing from window to window showed that they were conducting the princess to her apartments, which were in the opposite wing of the inn, and she distinctly saw the figure of the nephew as he passed one of the casements. She heaved a deep, heart-drawn sigh, and was about to close the lattice, when her attention was caught by words spoken be- low her window by two persons who had just turned an angle of the building. 2 8o WASHINGTON IRVING. " But what will become of the poor young lady ? " said a voice, which she recognized for that of the servant woman. " Pooh ! she must take her chance," was the reply from old Pietro. "But cannot she be spared?" asked the other entreatingly ; " she's so kind-hearted ! " " Cospetto ! ^ wdiat has got into thee ? " repHed the other petu- lantly ; " would you mar the whole business for the sake of a silly girl ? " By this time they had got so far from the window that the Polonaise could hear nothing further. There was something in this fragment of conversation calculated to alarm. Did it re- late to herself, and if so, what was this impending danger from which it was entreated that she might be spared ? She was sev- eral times on the point of tapping at her father's door, to tell him what she had heard, but she might have been mistaken ; she might have heard indistinctly ; the conversation might have alluded to some one else ; at any rate, it was too indefinite to lead to any conclusion. While in this state of irresolution, she was startled by a low knock against the wainscot in a remote part of her gloomy chamber. On holding up the light, she be- held a small door there which she had not before remarked. It was bolted on the inside. She advanced, and demanded who knocked, and was answered in the voice of the female domestic. On opening the door, the woman stood before it, pale and agi- tated. She entered softly, laying her finger on her lips as in sign of caution and secrecy. " Fly ! " said she ; '* leave this house instantly, or you are lost." The young lady, trembling with alarm, demanded an explana- tion. " I have no time ;" replied the woman, " I dare not — I shall be missed if I linger here ; but fly instantly, or you are lost." " And leave my father ? " " Where is he ? " '* In the adjoining chamber." 1 An Italian exclamation equivalent to the English " zounds!" TALES OF A TRAVELER, 281 "Call him, then, but lose no time." The young lady knocked at her father's door. He was not yet retired to bed. She hurried into his room, and told him of the fearful warnings she had received. The count returned with her into the chamber, followed by Caspar. His questions soon drew the truth out of the embarrassed answers of the woman. The inn was beset by robbers. They were to be introduced after midnight, when the attendants of the princess and the rest of the travelers were sleeping and would be an easy prey. " But we can barricade the inn ; we can defend ourselves," said the count. " What ! when the people of the inn are in league with the banditti ? " " How, then, are we to escape ? Can we not order out the carriage and depart ? " " San Francesco ! for what ? To give the alarm that the plot is discovered ? That would make the robbers desperate, and bring them on you at once. They have had notice of the rich booty in the inn, and will not easily let it escape them." ''' But how else are we to get off ? " " There is a horse behind the inn," said the woman, " from which the man has just dismounted who has been to summon the aid of part of the band at a distance," "One horse, and there are three of us ! " said the count. " And the Spanish princess," cried the daughter anxiously. " How can she be extricated from the danger ? " " Diavolo ! ^ what is she to me ? " said the Woman, in sudden passion, " It 'ys, you I come to save, and you will betray me, and we shall all be lost. Hark ! " continued she, " I am called — I shall be discovered — one word more. This door leads by a stair- case to the courtyard. Under the shed, in the rear of the yard, is a small door leading out to the fields. You will iind a horse there. Mount it ; make a circuit under the shadow of a ridge of rocks that you will see ; proceed cautiously and quietly until you 1 The devil. ^^2 WASHINGTON IRVING. cross a brook, and find yourself on the road just where there are three white crosses nailed against a tree ; then put your horse to his speed, and make the best of your way to the village. But, recollect, my life is in your hands. Say nothing of what you have heard or seen, whatever may happen at this inn." The woman hurried away. A short and agitated consultation took place between the count, his daughter, and the veteran Caspar. The young lady seemed to have lost all apprehension for herself in her solicitude for the safety of the princess. " To fly in selfish silence, and leave her to be massacred I " A shud- dering seized her at the ver}- thought. The gallantry of the count, too, revolted at the idea. He could not consent to turn his back upon a party of helpless travelers, and leave them in ignorance of the danger which hung over them. " But what is to become of the young lady," said Caspar, " if the alarm is given and the inn thrown in a tumult ? What may happen to her in a chance medley affray ? " Here the feelings of the father were aroused; he looked upon his lovely, helpless child, and trembled at the chance of her fall- ing into the hands of rufl&ans. The daughter, however, thought nothing of herself. " The princess ! the princess ! only let the princess know her danger! " She was willing to share it \\ith her. At length Caspar interfered, with the zeal of a faithful old servant. Xo time was to be lost ; the first thing was to get the young lady out of danger. " Mount the horse," said he to tlie coimt, " take her behind you, and fly ! Make for the \allage, rouse the inhabitants, and send assistance. Leave me here to give the alarm to the princess and her people. I am an old soldier, and I think we shall be able to stand siege until you send us aid." The daughter would again have insisted on staying with the princess. " For what ? " said old Caspar bluntly. " You could do no good ; you would be in the way ; we should have to take care of you instead of ourselves." TALES OF A TRAVELER. 283 There was no answering these objections ; the count seized his pistols, and taking his daughter under his arm, moved to- wards the staircase. The young lady paused, stepped back, and said, faltering with agitation, '' There is a young cavalier with the princess — her nephew ; perhaps he may " — " I understand you, mademoiselle," replied old Caspar, with a significant nod; "not a hair of his head shall suffer harm if I can help it." The young lady blushed deeper than ever ; she had not antici- pated being so thoroughly understood by the blunt old servant. " That is not what I mean," said she, hesitating. She would have added something, or made some explanation, but the mo- ments were precious and her father hurried her away. They found their way through the courtyard to the small pos- tern gate, where the horse stood fastened to a ring in the wall. The count mounted, took his daughter behind him, and they pro- ceeded as quietly as possible in the direction which the woman had pointed out. Many a fearful and anxious look did the daugh- . ter cast back upon the gloomy pile ; the lights which had feebly twinkled through the dusky casements were one by one disap- pearing, a sign that the inmates were gradually sinking to repose, and she trembled with impatience lest succor should not arrive until that repose had been fatally interrupted. They passed silently and safely along the skirts of the rocks, protected from observation by their overhanging shadows. They crossed the brook, and reached the place where three white crosses nailed against a tree told of some murder that had been committed there. Just as they had reached this ill-omened spot they beheld several men in the gloom coming down craggy defile among the rocks. " Who goes there ? " exclaimed a voice. The count put spurs to his horse, but one of the men sprang forward and seized the bridle. The horse started back and reared, and had not the young lady clung to her father she would have been thrown off. The count leaned forward, put a pistol to the very head of the 284 WASHIXGTOX IRVING. ruffian, and. fired. The latter fell dead. The horse sprang for- ward. Two or three shots were fired, which whistled by the fugi- tives, but only served to augment their speed. They reached the \-illage in safety. The whole place was soon roused ; but such was the awe in which the banditti were held that the inhabitants shrunk at the idea of encountering them. A desperate band had for some time infested that pass through the mountains, and the inn had long been suspected of being one of those horrible places where the imsuspicious wayfarer is entrapped and silently disposed of. The rich ornaments worn by the slattern hostess of the inn had ex- cited heavy suspicions. Several instances had occmTed of sn>all parties of travelers disappearing mysteriously on that road, who, it was supposed at first, had been carried off by the robbers for the purpose of ransom, but who had never been heard of more. Such were the tales buzzed in the ears of the count by the vil- lagers, as he endeavored to rouse them to the rescue of the prin- cess and her train from their perilous situation. The daughter seconded the exertions of her father with all the eloquence of prayers, and tears, and beauty. Every moment that elapsed in- creased her anxiety until it became agonizing. Fortunately there was a body of gendarmes resting at the village. A number of the young villagers volunteered to accompany them, and the little army was put in motion. The count, having deposited his daughter in a place of safety, was too much of the old soldier not to hasten to the scene of danger. It would be difficult to paint the anxious agitation of the young lady while awaiting the result. The party arrived at the inn just in time. The robbers, find- ing their plans discovered and the travelers prepared for their reception, had become open and furious in their attack. The princess's party had barricaded themselves in one suite of apart- ments, and repulsed the robbers from the doors and windows. Caspar had shown the generalship of a veteran, and the nephew of the princess, the dashing valor of a young soldier. Their am- TALES OF A TRAVELER. 285 munition, however, was nearly exhausted, and they would have found it difficult to hold out much longer, when a discharge from the musketry of the gendarmes gave them the joyful tidings of succor. A fierce fight ensued, for part of the robbers were surprised in the inn, and had to stand siege in their turn, while their com- rades made desperate attempts to relieve them from under cover of the neighboring rocks and thickets. I cannot pretend to give a minute account of the fight, as I have heard it related in a variety of ways. Suffice it to say, the robbers were defeated, several of them killed and several taken prisoners, which last, together with the people of the inn, were either executed or sent to the galleys. I picked up these, particulars in the course of a journey which I made some time after the event had taken place. I passed by the very inn. It was then dismantled, excepting one w^ing, in which a body of gendarmes was stationed. They pointed out to me the shot holes in the window frames, the walls, and the panels of the doors. There were a number of withered limbs dangling from the branches of a neighboring tree, and blackening in the air, which I was told were the limbs of the robbers who had been slain and the culprits who had been executed. The w^hole place had a dismal, wild, forlorn look. " Were any of the princess's party killed ? " inquired the Eng- lishman. "As far as I can recollect, there were two or three." ** Not the nephew, I trust ? " said the fair Venetian. " Oh, no ; he hastened with the count to reheve the anxiety of the daughter by the assurances of victory. The young lady had been sustained through the interval of suspense by the very intensity of her feelings. The moment she saw her father return- ing in safety, accompanied by the nephew of the princess, she uttered a cry of rapture, and fainted. Happily, however, she soon recovered, and, what is more, was married shortly after- wards to the young cavalier, and the whole party accompanied 286 WASHINGTON IRVING. the old princess in her pilgrimage to Loretto, where her votive offerings may still be seen in the treasury of the Santa Casa." ^ It would be tedious to follow the devious course of the con- versation as it wound through a maze of stories of the kind, until it was taken up by two other travelers who had come under con- voy of the procaccio, Mr. Hobbs and Mr. Dobbs, a hnen draper and a greengrocer, just returning from a hasty tour in Greece and the Holy Land. They were full of the story of Alderman Popkins. They were astonished that the robbers should dare to molest a man of his importance on 'Change,- he being an eminent drysalter^ of Throgmorton Street, and a magistrate to boot. In fact, the story of the Popkins family was but too true. It was attested by too many present to be for a moment doubted, and from the contradictory and concordant testimony of half a score, all eager to relate it, and all talking at the same time, the Enghshman was enabled to gather the following particulars. ADVENTURE OF THE POPKINS FAMILY. IT was but a few days before that the carriage of Alderman Popkins had driven up to the inn of Terracina. Those who have seen an English family carriage on the Continent must have remarked the sensation it produces. It is an epitome of England, a little morsel of the old Island rolling about the world ; every- thing about it compact, snug, finished, and fitting ; the wheels turning on patent axles without ratthng ; the body hanging so well on its springs, yielding to every motion, yet protecting from every shock; the ruddy faces gaping from the windows, — some- times of a portly old citizen, sometimes of a voluminous dowager, 1 See Note i, p. 277. 2 An ahhreviation of " Exchange," a place for mercantile transactions. 3 A dealer in salted or dried meats, pickles, etc. TALES OF A TRAVELER. 287 and sometimes of a fine, fresh hoyden just from boarding school ; and then the dickeys, loaded with well-dressed servants, beef-fed and bluff, looking down from their heights with contempt on all the world around, profoundly ignorant of the country and the people, and devoutly certain that everything not English must be wrong. Such was the carriage of Alderman Popkins as it made its appearance at Terracina. The courier who had preceded it to order horses, and who was a Neapolitan, had given a magnifi- cent account of the richness and greatness of his master, blunder- ing, with an Italian's splendor of imagination, about the alder- man's titles and dignities. The host had added his usual share of exaggeration, so that by the time the alderman drove up to the door he was a milor — magnifico — principe — the Lord knows what ! The alderman was advised to take an escort to Fondi ^ and Itri,2 but he refused. It was as much as a man's life was worth, he said, to stop him on the king's highway; he would complain of it to the ambassador at Naples ; he would make a national affair of it. The Principessa Popkins, a fresh, motherly dame, seemed perfectly secure in the protection of her husband, so om- nipotent a man in the city. The Signorines Popkins, two fine, bouncing girls, looked to their brother Tom, who had taken les- sons in boxing ; and as to the dandy himself, he swore no scara- mouch ^ of an Italian robber would dare to meddle with an Eng- lishman. The landlord shrugged his shoulders, and turned out the palms of his hands with a true Italian grimace, and the car- riage of Milor Popkins rolled on. They passed through several very suspicious places without any molestation. The Misses Popkins, who were very romantic, and had learned to draw in water colors, were enchanted with the savage scenery around ; it was so like what they had read in ^ See Note 6, p. 247. 2 A picturesque town of Italy, on a lofty hill surmounted by a ruined castle. 3 A boastful person. 288 WASHINGTON IRVING. Mrs. Radcliffe's romances ; ^ they should hke of all things to make sketches. At length the carriage arrived at a place where the road wound up a long hill. ]\Irs. Popkins had sunk into a sleep ; the young ladies were lost in the " Loves of the Angels," ^ and the dandy was hectoring the postilions from the coach box. The alderman got out, as he said, to stretch his legs up the hill. It was a long, winding ascent, and obliged him every now and then to stop and blow, and wipe his forehead, with many a " pish ! " and "whew ! " being rather pursy and short of wind. As the carriage, however, was far behind him, and moved slowly under the weight of so many well-stuffed trunks and well-stuffed travelers, he had plenty of time to walk at leisure. On a jutting point of a rock that overhung the road, nearly at the summit of the hill, just where the road began again to descend, he saw a solitary man seated, who appeared to be tend- ing goats. Alderman Popkins was one of your shrewd travelers who always like to be picking up small information along the road ; so he thought he'd just scramble up to the honest man and have a little talk with him, bv war of learning the news and getting a lesson in Italian. As he drew near to the peasant, he did not half like his looks. He was partly reclining on the rocks, WTapped in the usual long mantle, which, with his slouched hat, only left a part of a swarthy visage, with a keen black eye, a beetle brow, and a fierce mustache, to be seen. He had whistled several times to his dog, which was roving about the side of the hill. As the alderman approached, he arose and greeted him. When standing erect, he seemed almost gigantic, at least in the eyes of Alderman Popkins, who, however, being a short man, might be deceived. The latter would gladly now have been back in the carriage, or even on 'Change in London, for he was by no means well 1 Anne Radcliffe (1764-1823), English novelist, author of Udolpho, and Romance of the Forest. The terrible, somber, mysterious, and marvelous predominate in her works. - A poem by Thomas Moore (see Note 6, p. 131). TALES OF A TRAVELER. 289 pleased with his company. However, he determined to put the best face on matters, and was beginning a conversation about the state of the weather, the baddishness of the crops, and the price of goats in that part of the country, when he heard a violent screaming. He ran to the edge of the rock, and looking over, beheld his carriage surrounded by robbers. One held down the fat footman, another had the dandy by his starched cravat, with a pistol to his head ; one was rummaging a portmanteau, an- other rummaging the principessa's pockets ; while the two Misses Popkins were screaming from each window of the carriage, and their waiting maid squalling from the dickey. Alderman Popkins felt all the ire of the parent and the magis- trate roused within him. He grasped his cane, and was on the point of scrambling down the rocks either to assault the robbers or to read the riot act, when he was suddenly seized by the arm. It was by his friend the goatherd, whose cloak falling open, dis- covered 1 a belt stuck full of pistols and stilettos. In short, he found himself in the clutches of the captain of the band, who had stationed himself on the rock to look out for travelers and to give notice to his men. A sad ransacking took place. Trunks were turned inside out, and all the finery and frippery of the Popkins family scattered about the road. Such a chaos of Venice beads and Roman mosaics, and Paris bonnets of the young ladies, mingled with the alderman's nightcaps and lambs'-wool stockings, and the dandy's hairbrushes, stays, and starched cravats. The gentlemen were eased of their purses and their watches, the ladies of their jewels, and the whole party were on the point of being carried up into "the mountain when fortunately the ap- pearance of soldiers at a distance obliged the robbers to make off with the spoils they had secured, and leave the Popkins fam- ily to gather together the remnants of their effects, and make the best of their way to Fondi. When safe arrived, the alderman made a terrible blustering at 1 Disclosed. 19 290 WASHINGTON IRVING, the inn, threatened to complain to the ambassador at Naples, and was ready to shake his cane at the whole country. The dandy had many stories to tell of his scuffles with the brigands, who overpowered him merely by numbers. As to the Misses Popkins, they were quite dehghted with the adventure, and were occupied the whole evening in writing it in their journals. They declared the captain of the band to be a most romantic-looking man, they dared to say some unfortunate lover or exiled noble- man, and several of the band to be very handsome young men, '' quite picturesque ! " " In verity," said mine host of Terracina, '' they say the cap- tain of the band is ten gallant homo,^^ *^ A gallant man ! " said the Enghshman indignantly ; '' I'd have your gallant man hanged like a dog ! " To dare to meddle with Enghshmen ! " said Mr. Hobbs. And such a family as the Popkinses ! " said Mr. Dobbs. "They ought to come upon the country for damages," said Mr. Hobbs. " Our ambassador should make a complaint to the govern- ment of Naples," said Mr. Dobbs. *' They should be obliged to drive these rascals out of the country," said Hobbs. '^ And if they did not, we should declare war against them," said Dobbs. '' Pish ! — humbug ! " muttered the Enghshman to himself, and walked away. The Englishman had been a little weaned by this story, and by the ultra zeal of his countrymen, and was glad when a sum- mons to their supper relieved him from the crowd of travelers. He walked out with his Venetian friends and a young French- man of an interesting demeanor, who had become sociable with them in the course of the conversation. They directed their steps towards the sea, which was lit up by the rising moon. As they strolled along the beach they came to where a party TALES OF A TRAVELER. 291 of soldiers were stationed in a circle. They were guarding a number of galley slaves, who were permitted to refresh them- selves in the evening breeze, and sport and roll upon the sand. The Frenchman paused and pointed to the group of wretches at their sports. '' It is difficult," said he, '' to conceive a more frightful mass of crime than is here collected. Many of these have probably been robbers such as you have heard described. Such is, too often, the career of crime in this country. The par- ricide, the fratricide, the infanticide, the miscreant of every kind, first flies from justice and turns mountain bandit, and then, when wearied of a life of danger, becomes traitor to his brother des- peradoes, betrays them to punishment, and thus buys a commu- tation of his own sentence from death to the galleys, happy in the privilege of wallowing on the shore an hour a day, in this mere state of animal enjoyment." The fair Venetian shuddered as she cast a look at the horde .of wTetches at their evening amusement. '' They seem," she said, ^' like so many serpents writhing together." And yet the idea that some of them had been robbers, those formidable beings that haunted her imagination, made her still cast another fearful glance, as we contemplate some terrible beast of prey with a degree of awe and horror, even though caged and chained. The conversation reverted to the tales of banditti which they had heard at the inn. The Englishman condemned some of them as fabrications, others as exaggerations. As to the story of the improvisatore, he pronounced it a mere piece of romance, originating in the heated brain of the narrator. ''And yet," said the Frenchman, ''there is so much romance about the real life of those beings, and about the singular coun- try they infest, that it is hard to tell what to reject on the ground of improbability. I have had an adventure happen to myself which gave me an opportunity of getting some insight into their manners and habits, which I found altogether out of the com- mon run of existence." 292 WASHINGTON IRVING. There was an air of mingled frankness and modesty about the Frenchman which had gained the good will of the whole party, not even excepting the Englishman. They all eagerly inquired after the particulars of the circumstances he alluded to, and as they strolled slowly up and down the seashore, he related the following adventure. THE PAINTER'S ADVENTURE. I AM an historical painter by profession, and resided for some time in the family of a foreign prince, at his villa about fifteen miles from Rome, among some of the most interesting scenery of Italy. It is situated on the heights of ancient Tusculum.^ In its neighborhood are the ruins of the villas of Cicero, Sylla, Lucul- lus, Rufinus,2 and other illustrious Romans, who sought refuge here occasionally from their toils, in the bosom of a soft and luxuri- ous repose. From the midst of dehghtful bowers, refreshed by the piu*e mountain, breeze, the eye looks over a romantic land- scape full of poetical and historical associations. The Alban Mountains,^ Tivoh, once the favorite residence of Horace ^ and 1^ See note on Frascati, p. 267. 2 Marcus Tullius Cicero (106-43 B.C.) was an illustrious Roman orator, philosopher, and statesman; Lucius Cornelius Sulla or Sylla (138-78 B.C.) was a Roman general and statesman who became Dictator of Rome ; Lucius Licinius Lucullus (110-58 or 57 B.C.) was a celebrated Roman general and consul; Rufinus (335-395) was an ambitious Roman courtier and states- man. 3 Volcanic mountains in central Italy, near Rome. The highest peak, Monte Cavo (formerly Alban Mount), was the seat of the gods who watched over the destinies of Rome. 4 The poet Horace had a great relish for rural pleasures, which he enjoyed in his famous villa in Tibur (now Tivoli), a town sixteen miles northeast of Rome. There are many different accounts of the founders and origin of this town. Tiber ^ winding through it, and St. Peter's •* dor midst, the monument, as it were, over the grave I assisted the prince in researches which he w the classic ruins of his vicinity. His exertions cessful. Many wrecks of admirable statues i exquisite sculpture wxre dug up, monuments magniticence that reigned in the ancient Tusci had studded his villa and its grounds with statue and sarcophagi,^ thus retrieved from the bosom The mode of life pursued at the villa w^as d diversified by interesting occupations and elega one passed the day according to his pleasure o: all assembled in a cheerful dinner party at suns It was on the fourth of November, a beautifu we had assembled in the saloon at the sound < bell. The family were surprised at the absen( confessor. They waited for him in vain, and themselves at table. Thev at first attributed 1 having prolonged his customary walk, and the dinner passed without any uneasiness. Wher served, however, without his making his appeal to feel anxious. They feared he might have some alley of the woods, or might have fallen robbers. Not far from the villa, with the inter\ ley, rose the mountains of the Abruzzi, the stron 1 Caius Cilnius Maecenas (70-8 B.C.) was a Roman s of letters, whose name has been rendered famous by his Horace, Virgil, and other poets. 2 See Note 2, p. 267. 3 A river in the central part of Italy. * St. Peter's Cathedral, the largest and most magni v^l J jia joaruune, a iioionous uanuu ciiiei, nau oiien ueen ing about the solitudes of Tusculum. The daring en- f these ruffians were well known ; the objects of their vengeance were insecure even in palaces. As yet they ted the possessions of the prince, but the idea of such spirits hovering about the neighborhood was sufficient 1 alarm. "s of the company increased as evening closed in. The ^red out forest guards and domestics with flambeaux to the confessor. They had not departed long when a i was heard in the corridor of the ground floor. The e dining on the first floor, and the remaining domestics 3ied in attendance. There was no one on the ground 5 moment but the housekeeper, the laundress, and three ers who were resting themselves and conversing with I. the noise from below, and presuming it to be occa- :he return of the absentee, I left the table and hastened , eager to gain intelligence that might relieve the anxi- prince and princess. I had scarcely reached the last I beheld before me a man dressed as a bandit, a car- hand, and a stiletto and pistols in his belt. His coun- id a mingled expression of ferocity and trepidation. I upon me, and exclaimed exultingly, '^ JScco il prln- once into what hands I had fallen, but endeavored to p coolness and presence of mind. A glance towards end of the corridor showed me several ruffians, clothed [ in the same manner with the one who had seized me. guarding the two females and the field laborers. The held me firmly by the collar, demanded repeatedly r not I were the prince ; his object evidently was to tance of misleading him. A sudden thought struck me how I migh from his clutches. I was unarmed, it is true, ous. His companions were at a distance. I tion I might wrest myself from him and spring whither he would not dare to follow me singl put in practice as soon as conceived. The n bare ; with my right hand I seized liim by it, ^ I grasped the arm which held the carbine. ^. my attack took him completely unawares, a nature of my grasp paralyzed him. He choke( felt his hand relaxing its hold, and was on th( myself away, and darting up the staircase befor himself, when I was suddenly seized by some ( I had to let go my grasp. The bandit, c upon me with fiury, and gave me several blows of his carbine, one of which wounded me se- head and covered me with blood. He took being stunned to rifle me of my watch and \ I had about my person. When I recovered from the effect of the 1 voice of the chief of the banditti, who excla pr'mcipe; siamo C07ite7ite ; aitdiamo / " (^* It is tli let us be off." ) The band immediately close dragged me out of the palace, bearing off the t wise. I had no hat on, and the blood flowed fn managed to stanch it, however, with my poc which I bound round my forehead. The ca] conducted me in triumph, supposing me to b( had gone some distance before he learned his 296 WASHINGTON IRVING. darted at me a ferocious look, swore I had deceived him and caused him to miss his fortune, and told me to prepare for death. The rest of the robbers were equally furious. I saw their hands upon their poniards, and I knew that death was seldom an empty threat with these ruffians. The laborers saw the peril into which their information had betrayed me, and eagerly assured the captain that I was a man for whom the prince would pay a great ransom. This produced a pause. For my part, I cannot say that I had been much dismayed by their menaces. I mean not to make any boast of courage, but I have been so schooled to hardship during the late revolutions, and have beheld death around me in so many perilous and disastrous scenes, that I have become in some measure callous to its ten-ors. The frequent hazard of life makes a man at length as reckless of it as a gam- bler of his money. To their threat of death I replied that the sooner it was executed the better. This reply seemed to aston- ish the captain, and the prospect of ransom held out by the laborers had, no doubt, a still greater effect on him. He con- sidered for a moment, assumed a calmer manner, and made a sign to his companions, who had remained waiting for my death warrant. "Forward I" said he; "we will see about this matter by and by ! " We descended rapidly towards the road of La Molara,i which leads to Rocca Priore. In the midst of this road is a sohtary inn. The captain ordered the troop to halt at the distance of a pistol shot from it, and enjoined profound silence. He approached the threshold alone, with noiseless steps. He examined the out- side of the door very narrowly, and then, returning precipitately, made a sign for 'the troop to continue its march in silence. It has since been ascertained that this was one of those infamous inns which are the secret resorts of banditti. The innkeeper had 1 La Molara is an old castle on the Via Latina, a road which emerges from Rome and runs through a valley. It has lately been restored as far as Rocca Priore, a town on the summit of one of the Alban Hills, formerly known as Corbio. TALES OF A TRAVELER. 297 an understanding with the captain, as he most probably had with the chiefs of the different bands. When any of the patrols and gendarmes were quartered at his house, the brigands were warned of it by a preconcerted signal on the door ; when there was no such signal they might enter with safety, and be sure of welcome. After pursuing our road a little farther, Ave struck off towards the woody mountains which envelop Rocca Priore. Our march was long and painful, with many circuits and windings ; at length we clambered a steep ascent covered with a thick forest, and when we had reached the center I was told to seat myself on the ground. No sooner had I done so than, at a sign from their chief, the robbers surrounded me, and spreading their great cloaks from one to the other, formed a kind of pavilion of mantles, to which their bodies might be said to serve as columns. The cap- tain then struck a light, and a flambeau was lit immediately. The mantles were extended to prevent the light of the flambeau from being seen through the forest. Anxious as was my situa- tion I could not look round upon this screen of dusky drapery, relieved by the bright colors of the robbers' garments, the gleam- ing of their weapons, and the variety of strong, marked counte- nances, lit up by the flambeau, without admiring the picturesque effect of the scene. It was quite theatrical. The captain now held an inkhorn, and giving me pen and paper, ordered me to write what he should dictate. I obeyed. It was a demand, couched in the style of robber eloquence, that the prince should send three thousand dollars for my ransom, or that my death should be the consequence of a refusal, I knew enough of the desperate character of these beings to feel assured this was not an idle menace. Their only mode of insuring attention to their demands is to make the infliction of the penalty inevitable. I saw at once, however, that the demand was preposterous and made in improper language. I told the captain so, and assured him that so extravagant a sum would never be granted ; that I was neither a friend nor 298 WASHINGTON IRVING. relative of the prince, but a mere artist, employed to execute certain paintings ; that I had nothing to offer as a ransom but the price of my labors ; if this were not sufficient, my life was at their disposal ; it was a thing on which I set but little value. I was the more hardy in my reply because I saw that cool- ness and hardihood liad an effect upon the robbers. It is true, as I finished speaking, the captain laid his hand upon his stiletto ; but he restrained himself, and snatching the letter, folded it, and ordered me, in a peremptory tone, to address it to the prince. He then dispatched one of the laborers with it to Tusculum, who promised to return with all possible speed. The robbers now prepared themselves for sleep, and I was told that I might do the same. They spread their great cloaks on the ground, and lay down around me. One was stationed at a little distance to keep watch, and was relieved every two hours. The strangeness and wildness of this mountain bivouac among lawless beings whose hands seemed ever ready to grasp the sti- letto, and with whom life was so trivial and insecure, was enough to banish repose. The coldness of the earth and of the dew, how- ever, had a still greater effect than mental causes in disturbing my rest. The airs wafted to these mountains from the distant Mediterranean diffused a great chilliness as the night advanced. An expedient suggested itself. I called one of my fellow prison- ers, the laborers, and made him lie down beside me. Whenever one of my limbs became chilled, I approached it to the robust limb of my neighbor, and borrowed some of his warmth. In this way I was able to obtain a little sleep. Day at length dawned, and I was roused from my slumber by the voice of the chieftain. He desired me to rise and follow him. I obeyed. On considering his physiognomy attentively, it appeared a litde softened. He even assisted me in scram- bling up the steep forest, among rocks and brambles. Habit had made him a vigorous mountaineer, but I found it excessively toil- some to climb these rugged heights. We arrived at length at the summit of the mountain. TALES OF A TRAVELER. 299 Here it was that I felt all the enthusiasm of my art suddenly awakened, and I forgot in an instant all my perils and fatigues, at this magnificent view of the sunrise in the midst of the moun- tains of the Abruzzi. It was on these heights that Hannibal ^ first pitched his camp and pointed out Rome to his followers. The eye embraces a vast extent of country. The minor height of Tusculum, with its villas and its sacred ruins, lies below ; the Sabine Hills 2 and the Albanian Mountains stretch on either hand ; and beyond Tusculum and Frascati spreads out the immense Cam- pagna, with its lines of tombs, and here and there a broken aque- duct stretching across it, and the towers and domes of the Eter- nal City ^ in the midst. Fancy this scene lit up by the glories of a rising sun, and burst- ing upon my sight as I looked forth from among the majestic for- ests of the Abruzzi. Fancy, too, the savage foreground, made still more savage by groups of banditti, armed and dressed in their w^ild, picturesque manner, and you will not wonder that the enthusiasm of a painter for a moment overpowered all his other feehngs. The banditti were astonished at my admiration of a scene which familiarity had made so common in their eyes. I took advantage of their halting at this spot, drew forth a quire of drawing paper, and began to sketch the features of the landscape. The height on which I was seated was wild and solitary, separated from the ridge of Tusculum by a valley nearly three miles wide, though the dis- tance appeared less from the purity of the atmosphere. This height was one of the favorite retreats of the banditti, commanding a lookout over the country, while at the same time it was covered with forests, and distant from the populous haunts of men. While I was sketching, my attention was called off for a mo- ment by the cries of birds and the bleatings of sheep. I looked around, but could see nothing of the animals which uttered them. They were repeated, and appeared to come from the summits of the trees. On looking more narrowly, I perceived six of the rob- 1 See Note 2, p. 261. 2 a range in central Italy, near Rome. 3 Rome is called the " Eternal City." 300 WASHIXGTOX IRVIXG. bers perched in the tops of oaks which grew on the breezy crest of the mountain, and commanded an uninterrupted prospect. They were keeping a lookout Hke so many vultures, casting their eyes into the depths of the valley below us, communicating with each other by signs, or holding discoiu^se in sounds which might be mistaken by the wayfarer for the cries of hawks and crows, or the bleating of the mountain flocks. After they had recon- noitered the neighborhood, and finished their singular discoiuse, they descended from their airy^ perch and returned to their pris- oners. The captain posted three of them at tlu"ee naked sides of the mountain, while he remained to guard us with what appeared his most trusty companion. I had my book of sketches in my hand. He requested to see it, and after having run his eye over it expressed himself con- vinced of the truth of my assertion that I was a painter. I thought I saw a gleam of good feehng dawning in him, and determined to avail myself of it. I knew that the worst of men have their good points and their accessible sides, if one would but studv them carefully. Indeed, there is a singular mixture in the character of the Italian robber. With reckless ferocity he often mingles traits of kindness and good humor. He is not always radically bad, but driven to his coiu^se of life by some unpremeditated crime, the effect of those sudden bursts of pas- sion to which the Italian temperament is prone. This has com- pelled him to take to the mountains, or, as it is technically termed among them, a?idare in campag?ia. ^ He has become a robber by profession, but, like a soldier, when not in action he can lay aside his weapon and his fierceness and become hke other men. I took occasion, from the observations of the captain on my sketchings, to fall into conversation with him, and found him sociable and communicative. By degrees I became completely at my ease with him. I had fancied I perceived about him a degree of self-love, which I determined to make use of. I as- sumed an air of careless frankness, and told him that, as an art- ^ To go into the country. TALES OF A TRAVELER. 301 ist, I pretended to the power of judging of the physiognomy ; that I thought I perceived something in his features and de- meanor which announced him worthy of higher fortunes ; that he was not formed to exercise the profession to which he had abandoned himself ; that he had talents and qualities fitted for a nobler sphere of action ; that he had but to change his course of life and, in a legitimate career, the same courage and endow- ments which now made him an object of terror would assure him the applause and admiration of society. I had not mistaken my man ; my discourse both touched and excited him. He seized my hand, pressed it, and replied with strong emotion, '' You have guessed the truth ; you have judged of me rightly." He remained for a moment silent, then, with a kind of effort, he resumed, " I will tell you some particulars of my life, and you will perceive that it was the oppression of others, rather than my own crimes, which drove me to the mountains. I sought to serve my fellow-men, and they have persecuted me from among them." We seated ourselves on the grass, and the robber gave me the following anecdotes of his history. THE STORY OF THE BANDIT CHIEFTAIN. I AM a native of the village of Prossedi.^ My father was easy enough in circumstances, and we lived peaceably and inde- pendently, cultivating our fields. All went on well with us un- til a new chief of the sbirri^was sent to our village to take command of the police. He was an arbitrary fellow, prying into everything, and practicing all sorts of vexations and oppressions 1 A town in Italy, six miles from San Lorenzo, which is notorious as the headquarters of the most daring brigands that have in modern times infested the road from Rome to Naples. ^ Constables. 30 2 WASHINGTON IRVING. in the discharge of his office. I was at that time eighteen years of age, and had a natural love of justice and good neighborhood. I had also a little education, and knew something of history, so as to be able to judge a httle of men and their actions. All this inspired me with hatred for this paltry despot. My own family, also, became the object of his suspicion or dislike, and felt more than once the arbitrary abuse of his power. These things worked together in my mind, and I gasped after vengeance. My char- acter was always ardent and energetic, and, acted upon by the love of justice, determined me, by one blow, to rid the country of the tyrant. Full of my project, I rose one morning before peep of day, and, conceahng a stiletto under my waistcoat — here you see it ! (and he drew forth a long, keen poniard) — I lay in wait for him in the outskirts of the village. I knew all his haunts, and his habit of making his rounds and prowling about like a wolf in the gray of the morning.i At length I met him, and attacked him with fury. He was armed, but I took him unawares, and was full of youth and vigor. I gave him repeated blows to make sure work, and laid him lifeless at my feet. When I was satisfied that I had done for him,^ I returned with all haste to the village, but had the ill luck to meet two of the sbirri as I entered it. They accosted me, and asked if I had seen their chief. I assumed an air of tranquilhty, and told them I had not. They continued on their way, and within a few hours brought back the dead body to Prossedi. Their suspicions of me being already awakened, I was arrested and thrown into prison. Here I lay several weeks, when the prince, who was seigneur'^ of Prossedi, directed judicial proceedings against me. I was brought to trial, and a witness was produced who pretended to have seen me flying with precipitation not far from the bleeding body, and so I was condemned to the galleys for thirty years. 1 " In the gray of the morning," i.e., at dawn. 2 " Had done for liim," i.e., had killed him. 3 Lord. TALES OF A TRAVELER. 303 " Curse on such laws ! " vociferated the bandit, foaming with rage. " Curse on such a government ! and ten thousand curses on the prince who caused me to be adjudged so rigorously, while so many other Roman princes harbor and protect assassins a thousand times more culpable ! What had I done but what was inspired by a love of justice and my country ? Why w^as my act more culpable than that of Brutus, when he sacrificed Caesar ^ to the cause of liberty and justice ? " There was something at once both lofty and ludicrous in the rhapsody of this robber chief, thus associating himself with one of the great names of antiquity. It showed, however, that he had at least the merit of knowing the remarkable facts in the history of his country. He became more calm, and resumed his narrative. I was conducted to Civita Vecchia 2 in fetters. My heart was burning with rage. I had been married scarce six months to a woman whom I passionately loved, and who was pregnant. My family was in despair. For a long time I made unsuccessful efforts to break my chain. At length I found a morsel of iron, which I hid carefully, and endeavored with a pointed flint to fashion it into a kind of file. I occupied myself in this work during the night time, and when it was finished I made out, after a long time, to sever one of the rings of my chain. My flight was successful. I wandered for several weeks in the mountains which siuround 1 Julius Caesar (100-44 B.C.), the great Roman general, statesman, and orator, was one of the most remarkable men that ever lived. He became un- disputed master of the known world, and was made imperator for life. He was publicly offered a regal crown, which he refused. He was assassinated by a number of conspirators, among whom was Marcus Junius Brutus (85 -42 B.C.), a noted Roman, who had been treated with great kindness by Cet'sar, and was for a time greatly attached to him, but who was induced to join the conspiracy. 2 A seaport on the Mediterranean, thirty-eight miles from Rome. It contains a prison. 304 WASHINGTON IRVING. Prossedi, and found means to inform my wife of the place where I was concealed. She came often to see me. I had determined to put myself at the head of an armed band. She endeavored, for a long time, to dissuade me, but finding my resolution fixed, she at length- united in my project of vengeance, and brought me, herself, my poniard. By her means I communicated with several brave fellows of the neighboring villages, whom I knew to be ready to take to the mountains, and only panting for an opportunity to exercise their daring spirits. We soon formed a combination, procured arms, and we have had ample opportuni- ties of revenging ourselves for the wrongs and injuries which most of us have suffered. Everything has succeeded with us until now, and had it not been for our blunder in mistaking you for the prince, our fortunes would have been made. Here the robber concluded his story. He had talked himself into complete companionship, and assured me he no longer bore me any grudge for the error of which I had been the innocent cause. He even professed a kindness for me, and wished me to remain some time with them. He promised to give me a sight of certain grottoes which they occupied beyond Velletri,^ and whither they resorted during the intervals of their expeditions. He assured me that they led a jovial life there, had plenty of good cheer, slept on beds of moss, and were waited upon by young and beautiful females, whom I might take for models. I confess I felt my curiosity roused by his descriptions of the grottoes and their inhabitants ; they realized those scenes in robber story which I had always looked upon as mere creations of the fancy. I should gladly have accepted his invitation and paid a visit to these caverns could I have felt more secure in my company. I began to find my situation less painful. I had evidently propitiated the good will of the chieftain, and hoped that he 1 A town in southern Italy, a favorite excursion place for tourists. Its environs are very beautiful. TALES OF A TRAVELER. 305 might release me for a moderate ransom. A new alarm, how- ever, awaited me. While the captain was looking out with im- patience for the return of the messenger who had been sent to the prince, the sentinel posted on the side of the mountain fac- ing the plain of La IMolara, came running towards us. ''We are betrayed ! " exclaimed he. " The police of Frascati are after us. A party of carabineers ^ have just stopped at the inn below the mountain." Then, laying his hand on his stiletto, he swore, with a terrible oath, that if they made the least movement towards the mountain, my life and the hves of my fellow prisoners should answer for it. The chieftain resumed all his ferocity of demeanor, and ap- proved of what his companion said ; but when the latter had re- turned to his post he turned to me with a softened air : '' I must act as chief," said he, " and humor my dangerous subalterns. It is a law with us to kill our prisoners rather than suffer them to be rescued ; but do not be alarmed. In case we are surprised, keep by me ; fly with us, and I will consider myself responsible for your life." There was nothing very consolatory in this arrangement, which would have placed me between two dangers. I scarcely knew, in case of flight, from which I should have the most to appre- hend, the carbines of the pursuers or the stilettos of the pursued. I remained silent, however, and endeavored to maintain a look of tranquillity. For an hour was I kept in this state of peril and anxiety. The robbers, crouching among their leaf)' coverts, kept an eagle watch upon the carabineers below, as they loitered about the inn, some- times lolling about the portal, sometimes disappearing for several minutes, then sallying out, examining their weapons, pointing in different directions, and apparently asking questions about the neighborhood. Not a movement, a gesture, was lost upon the keen eyes of the brigands. At length we were relieved from our 1 Carabineers or carbineers are soldiers armed with short, light muskets, called carbines. 20 3o6 WASHINGTON IRVING. apprehensions. The carabineers, having finished their refresh- ment, seized their arms, continued along the valley towards the great road, and gradually left the mountain behind them. " I felt almost certain," said the chief, "that they could not be sent after us. They know too well how prisoners have fared in our hands on similar occasions. Our laws in this respect are inflexi- ble, and are necessary for our safety. If we once flinched from them, there would no longer be such a thing as a ransom to be procured." There were no signs yet of the messenger's return. I was pre- paring to resume my sketching when the captain drew a quire of paper from his knapsack. " Come," said he, laughing, "you are a painter ; take my likeness. The leaves of your portfolio are small ; draw it on this." I gladly consented, for it was a study that seldom presents itself to a painter. I recollected that Salva- tor Rosa^ in his youth had voluntarily sojourned for a time among the banditti of Calabria,^ and had filled his mind with the savage scenery and savage associates by which he was surrounded. I seized my pencil with enthusiasm at the thought. I found the captain the most docile of subjects, and, after various shiftings of position, placed him in an attitude to my mind. Picture to yourself a stern, muscular figure, in fanciful bandit costume, with pistols and poniard in belt ; his brawny neck bare, a handkerchief loosely thrown around it, and the two ends in front strung with rings of all kinds, the spoils of travelers ; relics and medals hanging on his breast ; his hat decorated with various colored ribbons ; his vest and short breeches of bright colors, and finely embroidered ; his legs in buskins or leggins. Fancy him on a mountain height, among wild rocks and rugged oaks, lean- ing on his carbine, as if meditating some exploit, while far below are beheld villages and villas, the scenes of his maraudings, with the wide Campagna dimly extending in the distance. 1 See Note i, p. 78. 2 A division of Italy, formiiiLj tlic southwestern extremity of tlie penin- sula. TALES OF A TRAVELER. 3^7 The robber was pleased with the sketch, and seemed to admire himself upon paper. I had scarcely finished when the laborer arrived who had been sent for my ransom. He had reached Tusculum two hours after midnight. He had brought me a let- ter from the prince, who was in bed at the time of his arrival. As I had predicted, he treated the demand as extravagant, but offered five hundred dollars for my ransom. Having no money by him at the moment, he had sent a note for the amount, pay- able to whomsoever should conduct me safe and sound to Rome. I presented the note of hand to the chieftain. He received it with a shrug : " Oh, what use are notes of hand to us ? " said he. " Who can we send with you to Rome to receive it ? We are all marked men, known and described at every gate and military post and village church door. No, we must have gold and silver ; let the sum be paid in cash, and you shall be restored to liberty." The captain again placed a sheet of paper before me to com- municate his determination to the prince. When I had finished the letter, and took the sheet from the quire, I found on the oppo- site side of it the portrait which I had just been tracing. I was about to tear it off and give it to the chief. " Hold! " said he, " let it go to Rome ; let them see what kind of a looking fellow I am. Perhaps the prince and his friends may form as good an opinion of me from my face as you have done." This was said sportively, yet it was evident there was vanity lurking at the bottom. Even this wary, distrustful chief of ban- ditti forgot for a moment his usual foresight and precaution, in the common wish to be admired. He never reflected what use might be made of this portrait in his pursuit and conviction. The letter was folded and directed, and the messenger departed again for Tusculum. It was now eleven o'clock in the morning, and as yet we had eaten nothing. In spite of all my anxiety I began to feel a craving appetite. I was glad, therefore, to hear the captain talk something about eating. He observed that for three days and nights they had been lurking about among rocks 3o8 WASHINGTOX IRVIXG. and woods, meditating their expedition to Tusculum, during which time all their provisions had been exhausted. He should now take measures to procure a supply. Leaving me, therefore, in charge of his comrade, in whom he appeared to have implicit confidence, he departed, assuring me that in less than two hours I should make a good dinner. Where it was to come from was an enigma to me, though it was evident these beings had their secret friends and agents throughout the country. Indeed the inhabitants of these mountains, and of the valleys which they embosom, are a rude, half-civilized set. The to\\'ns and villages among the forests of the Abruzzi, shut up from the rest of the world, are almost like savage dens. It is wonderful that such rude abodes, so little known and visited, should be em- bosomed in the midst of one of the most traveled and civilized countries of Europe. Among these regions the robber prowls un- molested ; not a mountaineer hesitates to give him secret harbor and assistance. The shepherds, however, who tend their flocks among the mountains, are the favorite emissaries of the robbers when they would send messages down to the valleys either for ransom or supplies. The shepherds of the Abruzzi are as wild as the scenes they frequent. They are clad in a rude garb of black or brown sheep- skin ; they have high conical hats, and coarse sandals of cloth bound around their legs with thongs, similar to those worn by the robbers. They carry long staves, on which, as they lean, they form picturesque objects in the lonely landscape, and they are followed by their ever constant companion, the dog. They are a curious, que.stioning set, glad at any time to relieve the monotony of their solitude by the conversation of the passer-by, and the dog will lend an attentive ear, and put on as sagacious and inquisitive a look as his master. But I am wandering from my story. I was now left alone with one of the robbers, the confidential companion of the chief. He was the youngest and most vigorous of the band, and though his countenance had something of that dissolute fierceness which TALES OF A TRAVELER. 309 seems natural to this desperate, lawless mode of life, yet there were traces of manly beauty about it. As an artist I could not but admire it. I had remarked in him an air of abstraction and reverie, and at times a movement of inward suffering and impa- tience. He now sat on the ground, his elbows on his knees, his head resting between his clenched fists, and his eyes fixed on the earth with an expression of sadness and bitter rumination. I had grown famihar with him from repeated conversations, and had found him superior in mind to the rest of the band. I was anxious to seize any opportunity of sounding the feelings of these singular beings. I fancied I read in the countenance of this one traces of self-condemnation and remorse ; and the ease with which I had drawn forth the confidence of the chieftain encour- aged me to hope the same with his follower. After a little preliminary conversation, I ventured to ask him if he did not feel regret at having abandoned his family and taken to this dangerous profession. " I feel," replied he, " but one regret, and that will end only with my life." As he said this he pressed his clenched fists upon his bosom, drew his breath through his set teeth, and added, with a deep emotion, " I have something within here that stifles me ; it is hke a burning iron consuming my very heart. I could tell you a miserable story — ^but not now, another time." He relapsed into his former position, and sat with his head between his hands, muttering to himself in broken ejaculations and what appeared at times to be curses and maledictions. I saw he was not in a mood to be disturbed, so I left him to him- self. In a little while the exhaustion of his feelings, and prob- ably the fatigues he had undergone in this expedition, began to produce drowsiness. He struggled with it for a time, but the warmth and stillness of midday made it irresistible, and he at length stretched himself upon the herbage and fell asleep. I now beheld a chance of escape within my reach. My guard lay before me at my mercy — his vigorous limbs relaxed by sleep, his bosom open for the blow, his carbine slipped from his 3IO WASHINGTOX IRVIXG. nerveless grasp and lying by his side, his stiletto half out of the pocket in which it was usually carried. Two only of his com- rades were in sight, and those at a considerable distance on the edge of the mountain, their backs turned to us, and their atten- tion occupied in keeping a lookout upon the plain. Through a strip of intervening forest, and at the foot of a steep descent, I beheld the village of Rocca Priore, To have secured the car- bine of the sleeping brigand, to have seized upon his poniard, and have plunged it in his heart, would have been the work of an instant. Should he die without noise, I might dart through the forest and down to Rocca Priore before my flight might be discovered. In case of alarm I should still have a fair start of the robbers, and a chance of getting beyond the reach of their shot. Here, then, was an opportunity for both escape and vengeance, perilous, indeed, but powerfully tempting. Had my situation been more critical I could not have resisted it. I reflected, however, for a moment. The attempt, if successful, would be followed by the sacrifice of my two fellow prisoners, who were sleeping profoundly and could not be awakened in time to es- cape. The laborer who had gone after the ransom might also fall a victim to the rage of the robbers, without the money which he brought being saved. Besides, the conduct of the chief to- wards me made me feel confident of speedy deliverance. These reflections overcame the first powerful impulse, and I calmed the turbulent agitation which it had awakened. I again took out my materials for drawing, and amused my- self with sketching the magnificent prospect. It was now about noon, and everything had sunk into repose, like the sleeping ban- dit before me. The noontide stillness that reigned over these mountains, the vast landscape below, gleaming with distant towns and dotted with various habitations and signs of hfe, yet all so silent, had a powerful effect upon my mind. The intermediate valleys, too, which lie among the mountains, have a peculiar air of sohtude. Few sounds are heard at midday to break the quiet TALES OF A TRAVELER. 311 of the scene. Sometimes the whistle of a solitary muleteer, lag- ging with his lazy animal along the road which winds through the center of the valley ; sometimes the faint piping of a shep- herd's reed from the side of the mountain ; or sometimes the bell of an ass slowly pacing along, followed by a monk with bare feet and bare, shining head, and carrying provisions to his convent. I had continued to sketch for some time among my sleeping companions when at length I saw the captain of the band ap- proaching, followed by a peasant leading a mule, on which was a well-filled sack. I at first apprehended that this was some new prey fallen into the hands of the robber ; but the contented look of the peasant soon reheved me, and I was rejoiced to hear that it was our promised repast. The brigands now came running from the three sides of the mountain, having the quick scent of vultures. Every one busied himself in unloading the mule and relieving the sack of its contents. The first thing that made its appearance was an enormous ham, of a color and plumpness that would have inspired the pencil of Teniers ; ^ it was followed by a large cheese, a bag of boiled chestnuts, a little barrel of wine, and a quantit)^ of good house- hold bread. Everything was arranged on the grass with a degree of symmetry, and the captain, presenting me with his knife, re- quested me to help myself. We all seated ourselves around the viands, and nothing was heard for a time but the sound of vig- orous mastication or the gurgling of the barrel of wine as it re- volved briskly about the circle. My long fasting, and mountain air and exercise, had given me a keen appetite ; and never did repast appear to me more excellent or picturesque. From time to time one of the band was dispatched to keep a lookout upon the plain. No enemy was at hand, and the din- ner was undisturbed. The peasant received nearly three times the value of his provisions, and set off down the mountain highly satisfied with his bargain. I felt invigorated by the hearty meal 1 David Teniers the Younger (i6io-go), a celebrated Flemish painter, who excelled in tavern scenes and pictures of low life. 312 WASHINGTON IRVING. I had made, and notwithstanding that the wound I had received the evening before was painful, yet I could not but feel extremely interested and gratified by the singular scenes continually pre- sented to me. Everything was picturesque about these wild beings and their haunts. Their bivouacs, their groups on guard, their indolent noontide repose on the mountain brow, their rude repast on the herbage among rocks and trees, — everything pre- sented a study for a painter ; but it was towards the approach of evening that I felt the highest enthusiasm awakened. The setting sun, declining beyond the vast Campagna, shed its rich yellow beams on the woody summit of the Abruzzi. Several mountains crowned with snow shone brilHantly in the distance, contrasting their brightness with others, which, thrown into shade, assumed deep tints of purple and violet. As the evening ad- vanced the landscape darkened into a sterner character. The immense solitude around, the wild mountains broken into rocks and precipices, intermingled with vast oaks, corks, and chestnuts, and the groups of banditti in the foreground, reminded me of the savage scenes of Salvator Rosa. To beguile the time the captain proposed to his comrades to .spread before me their jewels and cameos, as I must doubtless be a judge of such articles, and able to form an estimate of their value. He set the example, the others followed it, and in a few moments I saw the grass before me sparkling with jewels and gems that would have delighted the eyes of an antiquary or a fine lady. Among them were several precious jewels and antique intaglios and cameos of great value, the spoils, doubtless, of travelers of distinction. I found that they were in the habit of selling their booty in the frontier towns ; but as these, in general, were thinly and poorly peopled, and little frequented by travelers, they could offer no market for such valuable articles of taste and luxury. I suggested to them the certainty of their readily obtaining great prices for these gems among the rich strangers with whom Rome was thronged. TALES OF A TRAVELER. 2>'^Z The impression made upon their greedy minds was immediately apparent. One of the band, a young man and the least known, requested permission of the captain to depart the following day, in disguise, for Rome, for the purpose of traffic, promising, on the faith of a bandit (a sacred pledge among them), to return in two days to any place that he might appoint. The captain con- sented, and a curious scene took place ; the robbers crowded around him eagerly, confiding to him such of their jewels as they wished to dispose of, and giving him instructions what to demand. There was much bargaining and exchanging and selhng of trink- ets among them, and I beheld my watch, which had a chain and valuable seals, purchased by the young robber merchant of the ruf- fian who had plundered me, for sixty dollars. I now conceived a faint hope that if it went to Rome I might somehow or other regain possession of it.^ In the mean time da}^ declined, and no messenger returned from Tusculum. The idea of passing another night in the woods was extremely disheartening, for I began to be satisfied with what I had seen of robber life. The chieftain now ordered his men to follow him, that he might station them at their posts, adding that if the messenger did not return before night they must shift their quarters to some other place. I was again left alone with the young bandit who had before guarded me ; he had the same gloomy air and haggard eye, with now and then a bitter, sardonic smile. I determined to probe this ulcerated heart, and reminded him of a kind promise he had given me to tell me the cause of his suffering. It seemed to me as if these troubled spirits were glad of any opportunity to disburden themselves, and of having some fresh, undiseased mind with w^hich they could communicate. I had hardly made the request 1 The hopes of the artist were not disappointed ; the robber was stopped at one of the gates of Rome. Something in his looks or deportment had ex- cited suspicion. He was searched, and the valuable trinkets found on him sufficiently evinced his character. On applying to the police the artist's watch was returned to him. 314 IVASHIXGTOX IRVIXG. when he seated himself by my side, and gave me his stor\- in, as near as I can recollect, the following words. THE STORY OF THE YOUXG ROBBER. I WAS born in the little to^^-n of Frosinone,i which hes at the skirts of the Abruzzi. My father had made a little property in trade, and gave me some education, as he intended me for the Chm-ch ; but I had kept gay company too much to relish the cowl, so I grew up a loiterer about the place. I was a heed- less fellow, a little quarrelsome on occasion, but good-humored in the main, so I made my way ver\- well for a time, until I fell in love. There lived in our towm a sur\'eyor, or land bailiff, of the prince, who had a young daughter, a beautiful girl of sixteen. She was looked upon as something better than the common run - of our townsfolk, and was kept almost entirely at home. I saw her occasionally, and became madly in love with her ; she looked so fresh and tender, and so different from the sunburned females to whom I had been accustomed. As mv father kept me in money, I alwavs dressed well, and took all opportunities of showing myself off to advantage in the eyes of the Uttle beauty. I used to see her at church ; and as I could play a little upon the guitar, I gave a tune sometimes under her window of an evening, and I tried to have interviews with her in her father's vineyard, not far from the town, where she sometimes walked. She was evidently pleased with me ; but she was young and shy, and her father kept a strict eye upon her, and took alarm at my attentions, for he had a bad opinion of me, and looked for a better match for his daughter. I became furious at the difficulties thrown in my way, having been accus- 1 A town of Italy on the stream Cosa, forty-eight miles from Rome. 2 " Common run," i.e., ordinary people. TALES OF A TRA]'ELER. 315 tomed always to easy success among the women, being consid- ered one of the smartest young fellows of the place. Her father brought home a suitor for her, — a rich farmer from a neighboring town. The wedding day was appointed, and prep- arations were making. I got sight of her at the window, and I thought she looked sadly at me. I determined the match should not take place, cost what it might. I met her intended bride- groom in the market place, and could not restrain the expression of my rage. A few hot words passed between us, when I drew my stiletto and stabbed him to the heart. I fled to a neighboring church for refuge, and with a little money I obtained absolution, but I did not dare to venture from my asylum. At^ that time our captain was forming his troop. He had known me from boyhood, and hearing of my situation, came to me in secret, and made such offers that I agreed to enroll myself among his followers. Indeed, I had more than once thought of taking to this mode of life, having known several brave fellows of the mountains, who used to spend their money freely among us youngsters of the town. I accordingly left my asylum late one night, repaired to the appointed place of meeting, took the oaths prescribed, and became one of the troop. We were for some time in a distant part of the mountains, and our wild, ad- venturous kind of life hit my fancy wonderfully, and diverted my thoughts. At length they returned with all their violence to the recollection of Rosetta. The solitude in which I often found myself gave me time to brood over her image, and, as I have kept watch at night over our sleeping camp in the mountains, my feelings have been aroused almost to a fever. At length we shifted our ground, and determined to make a descent upon the road between Terracina and Naples. In the course of our expedition we passed a day or two in the woody mountains which rise above Frosinone. I cannot tell you how I felt when I looked down upon that place, and distinguished the residence of Rosetta. I determined to have an interview with her — but to what purpose ? I could not expect that she o 16 > WASHINGTON IRVING, would quit her home, and accompany me in my hazardous hfe among the mountains. She had been brought up too tenderly for that. When I looked upon the women who were associated with some of our troop, I could not have borne the thoughts of her being their companion. All return to my former life was like- wise hopeless, for a price was set upon my head. Still I deter- mined to see her ; the very hazard and fruitlessness of the thing made me furious to accomplish it. About three weeks since, I persuaded our captain to draw doM-n to the vicinity of Frosinone, suggesting the chance of entrapping some of its principal inhabitants, and compelling them to a ran- som. We were lying in ambush towards evening, not far from the vineyard of Rosetta's father. I stole quietly from my com- panions, and drew near to reconnoiter the place of her frequent walks. How my heart beat when among the vines I beheld the gleaming of a white dress! I knew it must be Rosetta's, it being rare for any female of that place to dress in white. I advanced secretly and without noise, until, putting aside the vines, I stood suddenly before her. She uttered a piercing shriek, but I seized her in my arms, put my hand upon her mouth, and conjured her to be silent. I poured out all the frenzy of my passion, offered to renounce my mode of life, to put my fate in her hands, to fly where we might live in safety together. All that I could say or do would not pacify her. Instead of love, horror and affright seemed to have taken possession of her breast. She struggled partly from my grasp, and filled the air with her cries. In an instant the captain and the rest of my companions were around us. I would have given anything at that moment had she been safe out of our hands, and in her father's house. It was too late. The captain pronounced her a prize, and ordered that she should be borne to the mountains. I represented to him that she was my prize, — that I had a previous claim to her ; and I mentioned my former attachment. He sneered bitterly in reply, observed that brigands had no business with village in- trigues, and that, according to the laws of the troop, all spoils of TALES OF A TRAVELER. 317 the kind were determined by lot. Love and jealousy were raging in my heart, but I had to choose between obedience and death. I surrendered her to the captain, and we made for the mountains. She was overcome by affright, and her steps were so feeble and faltering that it was necessary to support her. I could not endure the idea that my comrades should touch her, and assum- ing a forced tranquillity, begged she might be confided to me, as one to whom she was more accustomed. The captain regarded me for a moment with a searching look, but I bore it without flinching, and he consented. I took her in my arms ; she was almost senseless. Her head rested on my shoulder ; I felt her breath on my face, and it seemed to fan the flame which devoured me. O God ! to have this glowing treasure in my arms, and yet to think it was not mine. We arrived at the foot of the mountain. I ascended it with difficulty, particularly where the woods were thick, but I would not relinquish my dehcious burden. I reflected, with rage, how- ever, that I must soon do so. I felt tempted, the stiletto in my hand, to cut my way through them all, and bear her off in tri- umph. I scarcely conceived the idea before I saw its rashness ; but my brain was fevered with the thought that any but myself should enjoy her charms. I endeavored to outstrip my compan- ions by the quickness of my movements, and to get a httle dis- tance ahead, in case any favorable opportunity of escape should present. Vain effort ! The voice of the captain suddenly ordered a halt. I trembled, but had to obey. The poor girl partly opened a languid eye, but was without strength or motion. I laid her upon the grass. The captain darted on me a terrible look of suspicion, and ordered me to scour the woods with my companions, in search of some shepherd who might be sent to her father to demand a ransom. I saw at once the peril. To resist with violence was certain death. I spoke out then with a fervor inspired by my passion and by despair. I reminded the captain that I was the first to seize her ; that she was my prize. His only reply was to cock 3i8 WASHINGTON IRVING. his carbine, and at the signal my comrades did the same. They laughed with cruelty at my impotent rage. What could I do ? I felt the madness of resistance. I was menaced on all hands, and my companions obhged me to follow them. Here the robber paused in his recital, overpowered by his emo- tions. Great drops of sweat stood on his forehead ; he panted rather than breathed ; his brawmy bosom rose and fell like the waves of the troubled sea. When he had become a little calm, he continued his recital. I was not long in finding a shepherd (said he). I ran with the rapidity of a deer. I had left my companions far behind, and I rejoined them before they had reached one half the distance I had made. I hurried them back to the place where we had left the captain. As we approached, I beheld him seated by the side of Rosetta. It was with extreme difficulty, and by guiding her hand, that she was made to trace a few characters, requesting her father to send three hundred dollars as her ransom. The letter was dis- patched by the shepherd. W^hen he was gone the chief turned sternly to me. "You have set an example," said he, " of mutiny and self-will, which, if indulged, would be ruinous to the troop. Had I treated you as our laws require, this bullet would have been driven through your brain. But you are an old friend. I ha^•e borne patiently with your fury and your folly. I have even pro- tected you from a fooHsh passion that would have unmanned you. As to this girl, the laws of our association must have their course." Here the robber paused again, panting with fury, and it was some moments before he could resume his story. Hell (said he) was raging in my heart. I beheld the impossi- bility of avenging myself, and I felt that, according to the articles in which we stood bound to one another, the captain was in the TALES OF A TRAVELER. 319 right. I rushed with frenzy from the place ; I jthrew myself upon the earth, tore up the grass with my hands, and beat my head and gnashed my teeth in agony and rage. When at length I re- turned, I beheld the wretched victim. An emotion of pity for a moment subdued my fiercer feelings. I bore her to the foot of a tree, and leaned her gently against it. I took my gourd, which was filled with wine, and applying it to her lips, endeav- ored to make her swallow a little. To what a condition was she reduced! — she whom I had once seen the pride of Frosinone, whom but a short time before I had beheld sporting in her father's vineyard, so fresh, and beautiful, and happy ! Her teeth were clinched, her eyes fixed on the ground, her form without motion, and in a state of absolute insensibiHty. I hung over her in an agony of recollection at all that she had been, and of anguish at what I now beheld her. I darted around, a look of hoiTor at my companions, who seemed like so many fiends ; and I felt a horror at being myself their accomplice. The captain, always suspicious, saw, w^ith his usual penetra- tion, what was passing within me, and ordered me to go upon the ridge of the woods, to keep a lookout over the neighborhood, and await the return of the shepherd. I obeyed, of course, sti- fling the fury that raged within me, though I felt, for the moment, that he was my most deadly foe. On my way, however, a ray of reflection came across my mind. I perceived that the captain was but following, with strictness, the terrible laws to which we had sworn fidelity ; that the passion by which I had been blinded might, with justice, have been fatal to me, but for his forbearance ; that he had penetrated my soul, and had taken precautions, by sending me out of the way, to prevent my committing any excess in my anger. From that in- stant I felt that I was capable of pardoning him. Occupied with these thoughts, I arrived at the foot of the mountain. The country was sohtary and secure, and in a short time I beheld the shepherd at a distance crossing the plain. I hastened to meet him. He had obtained nothing. 320 WASHINGTON IRVING. I knew that, according to the laws of our troop, her death was inevitable. Our oaths required it. I felt, nevertheless, that, not having been able to have her to myself, I could be her execu- tioner ! The robber again paused with agitation. I sat musing upon his last frightful words, which proved to what excess the passions may be carried when escaped from all moral restraint. There was a horrible verity in this story that reminded me of some of the tragic fictions of Dante. ^ We now come to a fatal moment (resumed the bandit). After the report of the shepherd, I returned with him, and the chief- tain received from his lips the refusal of her father. At a signal which we all understood, we followed him to some distance from the victim. He there pronounced her sentence of death. Every one stood ready to execute his orders, but I interfered. I ob- served that there was something due to pity as well as to justice ; that I was as ready as any one to approve the implacable law, which was to serve as a warning to all those who hesitated to pay the ransoms demanded for our prisoners ; but that, though the sacrifice was proper, it ought to be made without cruelty. "The night is approacliing," continued I ; "she will soon be wrapped in sleep ; let her then be dispatched. All I now claim on the score of former kindness is, let me strike the blow. I will do it as surely, though more tenderly, than another." Several raised their voices against my proposition, but the captain imposed silence on them. He told me I might conduct her into a thicket at some distance, and he relied upon my promise. I hastened to seize upon my prey. There was a forlorn kind of triumph at having at length become her exclusive possessor. I bore her off into the thickness of the forest. She remained in the 1 Dante Alighieri (1265-1321), one of tlie greatest of Italian poets, author of the Divina Commedia or Divine Comedy. This work consists of three parts, — tlic Inferno, the Purgatorio, and the Paradiso. , TALES OF A TRAVELER. 321 same state of insensibility or stupor. I was thankful that she did not recollect me, for had she once murmured my name, I should have been overcome. She slept at length in the arms of him who was to poniard her. Many were the conflicts I underwent be- fore I could bring myself to strike the blow. But my heart had become sore by the recent conflicts it had undergone, and I dreaded lest, by procrastination, some other should become her exe- cutioner. When her repose had continued for some time, I sepa- rated myself gently from her that I might not disturb her sleep, and seizing suddenly my poniard, plunged it into her bosom. A pain- ful and concentrated murmur, but without any convulsive move- ment, accompanied her last sigh. So perished this unfortunate. He ceased to speak. I sat, horror-struck, covering my face with my hands, seeking, as it were, to hide from myself the fright- ful images he had presented to my mind. I was roused from this silence by the voice of the captain. " You sleep," said he, " and it is time to be off. Come, we must abandon this height, as night is setting in, and the messenger is not returned. I will post some one on the mountain edge to conduct him to the place where we shall pass the night." This was no agreeable news to me. I was sick at heart with the dismal story I had heard. I was harassed and fatigued, and the sight of the banditti began to grow insupportable to me. The captain assembled his comrades. We rapidly descended the forest, which we had mounted with so much difficulty in the morning, and soon arrived in what appeared to be a frequented road. The robbers proceeded with great caution, carrying their guns cocked, and looking on every side with wary and suspicious eyes. They were apprehensive of encountering the civic patrol. We left Rocca Priore behind us. There was a fountain near by, and as I was excessively thirsty, I begged permission to stop and drink. The captain himself went and brought me water in his hat. We pursued our route, when, at the extremity of an alley which crossed the road, I perceived a female on horseback, dressed 21 32 2 WASHINGTON IRVING. in white. She was alone. I recollected the fate of the poor ghl in the story, and trembled for her safety. One of the brigands saw her at the same instant, and plung- ing into the bushes, he ran precipitately in the direction towards her. Stopping on the border of the alley, he put one knee to the ground, presented his carbine ready to menace her or to shoot her horse if she attempted to fly, and in this way awaited her ap- proach. I kept my eyes fixed on her with intense anxiety. I felt tempted to shout and warn her of her danger, though my own destruction would have been the consequence. It was awful to see this tiger crouching ready for a bound, and the poor inno- cent victim unconsciously near him. Nothing but a mere chance could save her. To my joy the chance turned in her favor. She seemed almost accidentally to take an opposite path, which led outside of the woods, where the robber dared not venture. To this casual deviation she owed her safety. I could not imagine why the captain of the band had ventured to such a distance from the height on which he had placed the sentinel to watch the return of the messenger. He seemed him- self anxious at the risk to which he exposed himself. His move- ments were rapid and uneasy. I could scarce keep pace with him. At length, after three hours of what might be termed a forced march, we mounted the extremity of the same woods the summit of which we had occupied during the day ; and I learned with satisfaction that we had reached our quarters for the night. " You must be fatigued," said the chieftain ; " but it was necessary to survey the environs so as not to be surprised during the night. Had we met with the famous civic guard of Rocca Priore, you would have seen fine sport." Such was the indefatigable precau- tion and forethought of this robber chief, who really gave continual evidence of military talent. The night was magnificent. The moon, rising above the hori- zon in a cloudless sky, faintly lit up the grand features of the mountain, while lights twinkling here and there, like teiTestrial stars in the wide, dusky expanse of the landscape, betrayed the TALES OF A TRAVELER. 323 lonely cabins of the shepherds. Exhausted by fatigue and by the many agitations I had experienced, I prepared to sleep, soothed by the hope of approaching deliverance. The captain ordered his companions to collect some dry moss ; he arranged with his own hands a kind of mattress and pillow of it, and gave me his ample mantle as a covering. I could not but feel both surprised and gratified by such unexpected attentions on the part of this 1 benevolent cutthroat ; for there is nothing more striking than to find the ordinary charities, which are matters of course in com- mon life, flourishing by the side of such stern and stferile crime. It is like finding tender flowers and fresh herbage of the valley growing among the rocks and cinders of the volcano. Before I fell asleep I had some further discourse with the cap- tain, who seemed to feel great confidence in me. He referred to our previous conversation of the morning ; told me he was weary of his hazardous profession ; that he had acquired suffi- cient property, and was anxious to return to the world and lead a peaceful life in the bosom of his family. He wished to know whether it was not in my power to procure for him a passport to the United States of America. I applauded his good intentions, and promised to do everything in my power to promote its suc- cess. We then parted for the night. I stretched myself upon my couch of moss, which, after my fatigues, felt like a bed of down ; and, sheltered by the robber's mantle from all humidity, I slept soundly, without waking, until the signal to arise. It was nearly six o'clock, and the day was just dawning. As the place where we had passed the night was too much exposed, we moved up into the thickness of the woods. A fire was kin- dled. While there was any flame the mantles were again extended round it, but when nothing remained but glowing cinders they were lowered, and the robbers seated themselves in a circle. The scene before me reminded me of some of those described by Homer.i There wanted only the victim on the coals, and 1 The great blind epic poet of Greece, author of the Iliad and Odyssey. He is supposed to have flourished about looo B.C. 324 WASHIXCrON IRVIXG. the sacred knife to cut off the succulent parts and distribute them around. My companions might have rivaled the grim warriors of Greece. In place of the noble repasts, however, of Achilles and Agamemnon, ^ I beheld displayed on the grass the remains of the ham which had sustained so vigorous an attack on the preceding evening, accompanied by the relics of the bread, cheese, and wine. We had scarcely commenced our frugal break- fast, when I heard again an imitation of the bleating of sheep, similar to what I had heard the day before. The captain an- swered it in the same tone. Two men were soon after seen de- scending from the woody height where we had passed the pre- ceding evening. On nearer approach, they proved to be the sentinel and the messenger. The captain rose, and went to meet them. He made a signal for his comrades to join him. They had a short conference, and then returning to me with great eagerness, " Your ransom is paid," said he, " you are free ! " Though I had anticipated deliverance, I cannot tell you what a rush of delight these tidings gave me. I cared not to finish my repast, but prepared to depart. The captain took me by the hand, requested permission to write to me, and begged me not to forget the passport. I replied that I hoped to be of effec- tual service to him, and that I relied on his honor to return the prince's note for five hundred dollars, now that the cash was paid. He regarded me for a moment with surprise, then seem- ing to recollect himself, '' E gitisto,^' said he, " cccolo — adiof^ He delivered me the note, pressed my hand once more, and we separated. The laborers were permitted to follow me, and we resumed with joy our road towards Tusculum. The Frenchman ceased to speak. The party continued, for a few moments, to pace the shore in silence. The story had made a deep impression, particularly on the Venetian lady. At 1 Agamemnon, the brother of Menclaus, led the Greek forces during the Trojan War, but Achilles was the chief hero (see Note 2, p. 182). 2 It is just; there it is — adieu! TALES OF A TRAVELER. 325 that part which related to the young girl of Frosinorie she was violently affected. Sobs broke from her ; she clung closer to her husband ; and as she looked up to him as if for protection, the moonbeams, shining on her beautifully fair countenance, showed it paler than usual, while tears glittered in her fine dark eyes. " Corragio, mia vita / " said he, as he gently and fondly tapped the white hand that lay upon his arm. The party now returned to the inn, and separated for the night. The fair Venetian, though of the sweetest temperament, was half out of humor with the Englishman for a certain slowness of faith which he had evinced throughout the whole evening. She could not understand this dislike to "humbug," as he termed it, which held a kind of sway over him, and seemed to control his opinions and his very actions. " I'll warrant," said she to her husband, as they retired for the night, " I'll warrant, with all his affected indifference, this Eng- lishman's heart would quake at the very sight of a bandit." Her husband gently, and good-humoredly, checked her. " I have no patience with these Enghshmen," said she, as she got into bed ; " they are so cold and insensible ! " THE ADVENTURE OF THE ENGLISHMAN. IN the morning all was bustle in the inn at Terracina. The pro- caccio had departed at daybreak on its route towards Rome, but the Englishman was yet to start, and the departure of an English equipage is always enough to keep an inn in a bustle. On this occasion there was more than usual stir, for the English- man, having much property about him, and having been con- vinced of the real danger of the road, had applied to the police, and obtained, by dint of hberal pay, an escort of eight dragoons and twelve foot soldiers, as far as Fondi. Courage, my love! 326 WASHINGTON IRVING. Perhaps, too, there might have been a Kttle ostentation at bot- tom, though, to say the truth, he had nothing of it in his manner. He moved about, taciturn and reserved as usual, among the gap- ing crowd ; gave laconic orders to John, as he packed away the thousand and one indispensable conveniences of the night ; double- loaded his pistols with great sa?ig froid,'^ and deposited them in the pockets of the carriage, taking no notice of a pair of keen eyes gazing on him from among the herd of loitering idlers. The fair Venetian now came up with a request, made in her dulcet tones, that he would permit their carriage to proceed under protection of his escort. The Englishman, who was busy load- ing another pair of pistols for his servant, and held the ramrod between his teeth, nodded assent, as a matter of course, but with- out lifting up his eyes. The fair Venetian was a little piqued at what she supposed indifference. " O Dio ! " ^ ejaculated she softly as she retired. ** Quajito soiio inseiisibili questi Inglesiy ^ At length, off they set in gallant style, — the eight dragoons prancing in front, the twelve foot soldiers marching in rear, and the carriage moving slowly in the center, to enable the infantry to keep pace with them. They had proceeded but a few hun- dred yards when it was discovered that some indispensable arti- cle had been left behind. In fact, the Englishman's purse was missing, and John was dispatched to the inn to search for it. This occasioned a little delay, and the carriage of the Venetians drove slowly on. John came back out of breath and out of hu- mor. The purse was not to be found. His master was irritated ; he recollected the very place where it lay ; he had not a doubt the Italian servant had pocketed it. John was again sent back. He returned once more without the purse, but with the landlord and the whole household at his heels. A thousand ejaculations and protestations, accompanied by all sorts of grimaces and contortions. No purse had been seen ; his Excellenza must be mistaken. 1 Coolness. 2 o God! 3 How indiflFerent these Englishmen are! TALES OF A TRAVELER. 327 No, his Excellenza was not mistaken! The purse lay on the marble table, under the mirror ; a green purse, half full of gold and silver. Again a thousand grimaces and contortions, and vows by San Gennaro that no purse of the kind had been seen. The Englishman became furious. The waiter had pocketed it ; the landlord was a knave ; the inn, a den of thieves ; it was a vile country ; he had been cheated and plundered from one end of it to the other; but he'd have satisfaction — he'd drive right off to the police. He was on the point of ordering the postilions to turn back, when, on rising, he displaced the cushion of the carriage, and the purse of money fell chinking to the floor. All the blood in his body seemed to rush into his face. " Curse the purse ! " said he, as he snatched it up. He dashed a hand- ful of money on the ground before the pale, cringing waiter. " There, be off ! " cried he. "John, order the postiHons to drive on." About half an hour had been exhausted in this altercation. The Venetian carriage had loitered along, its passengers looking out from time to time, and expecting the escort every moment to follow. They had gradually turned an angle of the road that shut them out of sight. The little army was again in motion, and made a very picturesque appearance as it wound along at the bottom of the rocks, the morning sunshine beaming upon .the weapons of the soldiers. The Englishman lolled back in his carriage, vexed with him- self at what had passed, and consequently out of humor with all the world. As this, however, is no uncommon case with gentle- men who travel for their pleasure, it is hardly worthy of remark. They had wound up from the coast among the hills, and came to a part of the road that admitted of some prospect ahead. " I see nothing of the lady's carriage, sir," said John, leaning down from the coach box. " Pish ! " said the Enghshman testily ; " don't plague me about the lady's carriage. Must I be continually pestered with the 328 WASHINGTON IRVING. concerns of strangers ? " John said not another word, for he understood his master's mood. The road grew more wild and lonely ; they were slowly pro- ceeding on a foot pace up a hill ; the dragoons were some dis- tance ahead, and had just reached the summit of the hill, when they uttered an exclamation, or rather shout, and galloped for- ward. The Englishman was roused from his sulky reverie. He stretched his head from the carriage, which had attained the brow of the hill. Before him extended a long, hollow defile, com- manded on one side by rugged, precipitous heights covered with bushes of scanty forest. At some distance he beheld the carriage of the Venetians overturned. A numerous gang of desperadoes were rifling it ; the young man and his servant were overpowered, and partly stripped ; and the lady was in the hands of two of the ruffians. The Englishman seized his pistols, sprang from the car- riage, and called upon John to follow him. In the mean time, as the dragoons came forward, the robbers, who were busy with the carriage, quitted their spoil, formed them- selves in the middle of the road, and taking a deliberate aim, fired. One of the dragoons fell, another was wounded, and the whole were for a moment checked and thrown into confusion. The robbers loaded again in an instant. The dragoons discharged their carbines, but without apparent effect. They received an- other volley, which, though none fell, threw them again into con- fusion. The robbers were loading a second time when they saw the foot soldiers at hand. " Scampa via /" ^ was the word. They abandoned their prey and retreated up the rocks, the soldiers after them. They fought from cliff to cliff and bush to bush, the robbers turning every now and then to fire upon their pur- suers ; the soldiers scrambling after them, and discharging their muskets whenever they could get a chance. Sometimes a sol- dier or a robber was shot down, and came tumbling among the cliffs. The dragoons kept firing from below whenever a robber came in sight. 1 Be off at once! TALES OF A TRAVELER. 329 The Englishman had hastened to the scene of action, and the balls discharged at the dragoons had whistled past him as he ad- vanced. One object, however, engrossed his attention. It was the beautiful Venetian lady in the hands of two of the robbers, who, during the confusion of the fight, carried her shrieking up the mountain. He saw her dress gleaming among the bushes, and he sprang up the rocks to intercept the robbers as they bore off their prey. The ruggedness of the steep and the entangle- ments of the bushes delayed and impeded him. He lost sight of the lady, but was still guided by her cries, which grew fainter and fainter. They were off to the left, while the reports of mus- kets showed that the battle was raging to the right. At length he came upon what appeared to be a rugged footpath, faintly worn in a gully of the rocks, and beheld the ruffians at some distance hurrying the lady up the defile. One of them, hearing his approach, let go his prey, advanced towards him, and level- ing the carbine, which had been slung on his back, fired. The ball whizzed through the EngHshman's hat, and carried with it some of his hair. He returned the fire with one of his pistols, and the robber fell. The other brigand now dropped the lady, and drawing a long pistol from his belt, fired on his adversary with deliberate aim. The ball passed between his left arm and his side, sHghtly wounding the arm. The Enghshman advanced, and discharged his remaining pistol, which wounded the robber, but not severely. The brigand drew a stiletto and rushed upon his adversary, who eluded the blow, receiving merely a slight wound, and de- fended himself with his pistol, which had a spring bayonet. They closed with each other, and a desperate struggle ensued. The robber was a square-built, thickset man, powerful, muscular, and active. The Englishman, though of larger frame and greater strength, was less active, and less accustomed to athletic exer- cises and feats of hardihood, but he showed himself practiced and skilled in the art of defense. They were on a craggy height, and the Enghshman perceived that his antagonist was striving 330 WASHINGTON IRVING. to press him to the edge. A side glance showed him also the robber whom he had first wounded, scrambling up to the assist- ance of his comrade, stiletto in hand. He had in fact attained the summit of the chff, he was within a few steps, and the English- man felt that his case was desperate, when he heard suddenly the report of a pistol, and the ruffian fell. The shot came from John, who had arrived just in time to save his master. The remaining robber, exhausted by loss of blood and the vio- lence of the contest, showed signs of faltering. The Englishman pursued his advantage, pressed on him, and as his strength re- laxed, dashed him headlong from the precipice. He looked after him, and saw him lying motionless among the rocks below. The Englishman now sought the fair Venetian. He found her senseless on the ground. With his servant's assistance he bore her down to the road, where her husband was raving like one distracted. He had sought her in vain, and had given her over for lost ; and when he beheld her thus brought back in safety, his joy was equally wild and ungovernable. He would have caught her insensible form to his bosom had not the Eng- lishman restrained him. The latter, now really aroused, displayed a true tenderness and manly gallantry, which one would not have expected from his habitual phlegm. His kindness, however, was practical, not wasted in words. He dispatched John to the car- riage for restoratives of all kinds, and, totally thoughtless of him- self, was anxious only about his lovely charge. The occasional discharge of firearms along the height showed that a retreating fight was still kept up by the robbers. I'he lady gave signs of reviving animation. The Englishman, eager to get her from this place of danger, conveyed her to his own carriage, and commit- ting her to the care of her husband, ordered the dragoons to escort them to Fondi. The Venetian would have insisted on the English- man's getting into the carriage, but the latter refused. He poured forth a torrent of thanks and benedictions ; but the Englishman beckoned to the postilions to drive on. John now dressed his master's wounds, which were found not TALES OF A TRAVELER. 33 1 to be serious, though he was faint with loss of blood. The Venetian carriage had been righted, and the baggage replaced ; and getting into it, they set out on their way towards Fondi, leaving the foot soldiers still engaged in ferreting out the ban- ditti. Before arriving at Fondi the fair Venetian had completely re- covered from her swoon. She made the usual question : Where was she ? In the Englishman's carriage. How had she escaped from the robbers ? The Englishman had rescued her. Her transports were unbounded, and mingled with them were enthusiastic ejaculations of gratitude to her deliverer. A thou- sand times did she reproach herself for having accused him of coldness and insensibility. The moment she saw him she rushed into his arms with the vivacity of her nation, and hung about his neck in a speechless transport of gratitude. Never was man more embarrassed by the embraces of a fine woman. " Tut, tut ! " said the Englishman. "You are wounded !" shrieked the fair Venetian, as she saw blood upon his clothes. " Pooh ! nothing at all." " My deliverer ! my angel ! " exclaimed she, clasping him again round the neck, and sobbing on his bosom. " Pish ! " said the Englishman, with a good-humored tone, but looking somewhat foolish ; " this is all humbug." The fair Venetian, however, has never since accused the Eng- lish of insensibihty. PART IV. THE MONEY DIGGERS. FOUND AMONG THE PAPERS OF THE LATE DIEDRICH KNICK- ERBOCKER. ** Now I remember those old women's words, Who in my youth would tell me winter's tales : And speak of sprites and ghosts that glide by night About the place where treasure hath been hid." Marlowe's Jew of Malta. HELL GATE. ABOUT six miles from the renowned city of the Manhattoes,^ JTx. in that sound, or arm of the sea, which passes between the mainland and Nassau,^ or Long Island, there is a narrow strait, where the current is violently compressed between shouldering promontories, and horribly perplexed by rocks and shoals. Being, at the best of times, a very violent, impetuous current, it takes these impediments in mighty dudgeon, boiling in whirlpools, brawling and fretting in ripples, raging and roaring in rapids and breakers, and, in short, indulging in all kinds of wrongheaded paroxysms. At such times, woe to any unlucky vessel that ven- tures within its clutches. This termagant humor, however, prevails only at certain times of tide. At low water, for instance, it is as pacific a stream as you would wish to see ; but as the tide rises it begins to fret ; at half tide it roars with might and main, like a bull bellowing for more drink ; but when the tide is full it relapses into quiet, and, for a time, sleeps as soimdly as an alderman after dinner. In fact, it may be compared to a quarrelsome toper, who is a peaceable fellow enough when he has no liquor at all, or when he has a skin full, but who, when half-seas-over,^ plays the very devil. This mighty, blustering, bullying, hard-drinking little strait was a place of great danger and perplexity to the Dutch navigators 1 Manhattan Island, now New York City, derived its name from the Manhattoes, or Manhattans, the tribe of Indians inhabiting the island when it was discovered by the Dutch. 2 Nassau was the old name for Long Island, which is separated from New York by the East River. 3 Slang for "half intoxicated." 335 33^ WASHINGTON IRVING. of ancient days, hectoring their tub-built barks in a most unruly style, whirling them about in a manner to make any but a Dutch- man giddy, and not unfrequently stranding them upon rocks and reefs, as it did the famous squadron of Oloffe the Dreamer ^ when seeking a place to found the city of the INIanhattoes. Where- upon, out of sheer spleen, they denominated it Helle gat^ and solemnly gave it over to the devil. This appellation has since been aptly rendered into English by the name of Hell Gate,^ and into nonsense by the name of Hurl Gate, according to certain foreign intruders, who neither understood Dutch nor English — may St. Nicholas ^ confound them ! This strait of Hell Gate was a place of great awe and perilous enterprise to me in my boyhood, having been much of a navi- gator on those small seas, and having more than once run the risk of shipwreck and drowning in the course of certain hohday voyages, to which, in common with other Dutch urchins, I was rather prone. Indeed, partly from the name, and partly from various strange circumstances connected with it, this place had far more terrors in the eyes of my truant companions and myself than had Scylla •* and Charybdis * for the navigators of yore. 1 Oloffe van Kortlandt or van Cortlandt (1600-84), mayor of New York from 1655 almost uninterruptedly till 1664. Irving tells us that he was nicknamed "the Dreamer " because of his marvelous talent for dreaming, " for there was never anything of consequence happened but he declared he had previously dreamed it." 2 Hell Gate, or Hurl Gate, is a navigable channel connecting Long Island vSound, through the East River, with New York Harbor and the Hudson. The numerous reefs in this channel (bearing the curious names of Hog Back, Hen and Chickens, Pot Rock, Frying Pan, etc.), and the swift, shifting eddies they produced, were a source of great danger and occasioned many wrecks until they were removed or leveled by blasting between 1870 and 1885. 3 St. Nicholas, the guardian and patron of children, merchants, and sailors. He is the Santa Claus (or Klaus) of the Dutch. The date of his birth is un- known ; he died in 340. 4 Scylla, or Sciglio, is a celebrated rocky headland in the narrowest part of the Strait of Messina, directly opposite the dangerous whirlpool of TALES OF A TRAVELER. 337 In the midst of this strait, and hard by a group of rocks called the Hen and Chickens, there lay the wreck of a vessel which had been entangled in the whirlpools and stranded during a storm. There was a wild story told to us of this being the wreck of a pirate, and some tale of bloody murder which I cannot now rec- ollect, but which made us regard it with great awe, and keep far from it in our cruisings. Indeed, the desolate look of the forlorn hulk, and the fearful place where it lay rotting, were enough to awaken strange notions. A row of timberheads, blackened by time, just peered above the surface at high water ; but at low tide a considerable part of the hull was bare, and its great ribs or timbers, partly stripped of their planks, and dripping with sea- weeds, looked hke the huge skeleton of some sea monster. There was also the stump of a mast, with a few ropes and blocks swing- ing about and whistling in the wind, while the sea gull wheeled and screamed around the melancholy carcass. I have a faint recollection of some hobgoblin tale of sailors' ghosts being seen about this wreck at night, with bare skulls, and blue lights in their sockets instead of eyes ; but I have forgotten all the partic; ulars. In fact, the whole of this neighborhood was like the straits of Pelorus ^ of yore, a region of fable and romance to me. From the strait to the Manhattoes, the borders of the Sound are greatly diversified, being broken and indented by rocky nooks overhung with trees, which give them a wild and romantic look. In the time of my boyhood they abounded with traditions about pirates, ghosts, smugglers, and buried money, which had a wonderful effect upon the young minds of my companions and myself. As I grew to more mature years, I made diligent research after the truth of these strange traditions, for I have always been Charybdis. It was a place of great terror to ancient navigators, who in trying to avoid Scylla would fall into Charybdis. 1 Cape Pelorus (now Cape Faro) at the northeastern extremity of the island of Sicily, bounds, with the opposite coast of Calabria, that part of the Strait of Messina which contains Scylla and Charybdis. 22 33^ WASHINGTON IRVING. a curious investigator of the valuable, but obscure, branches of the history of my native province. I found infinite difficulty, however, in arriving at any precise information. In seeking to dig up one fact, it is incredible the number of fables that I un- earthed. I will say nothing of the Devil's Stepping-Stones,^ by which the arch fiend made his retreat from Connecticut to Long Island, across the Sound, seeing the subject is likely to be learn- edly treated by a worthy friend and contemporary historian, whom I have furnished with particulars thereof. Neither will I say anything of the black man in a three-cornered hat, seated in the stern of a jolly-boat, who used to be seen about Hell Gate in stormy weather, and who went by the name of the "pirate's spiike^' (i.e., pirate's ghost), and whom, it is said, old Governor Stuyvesant - once shot with a silver bullet, because I never could meet with any person of stanch credibility who professed to have seen this specter, unless it were the widow of Manus Conklen, the blacksmith of Frogsneck;^ but then, poor woman, she was a little purblind, and might have been mistaken, though they say she saw farther than other folks in the dark. All this, however, was but little satisfactory in regard to the tales of pirates and their buried money, about which I was most 1 The Stepping-Stones are rocks projecting in a line from the shore of Long Island into Long Island Sound, directly opposite City Island, about eleven miles from New York City. The legend relates that the arch fiend went to war with the Connecticut Indians to settle a claim to the ownership of Con- necticut. Being defeated, he retreated from Connecticut, keeping close to the Sound till he reached the point where, the tide being low, these rocks showed their heads, and he was able to avail himself of them as stepping- stones to Long Island. A very interesting account of the devil and his step- ping-stones may be found in the Collections of the New York Historical Society, second series, vol. ii. 1849, — Memoir on Names in New York, by Judge Egbert Benson, first president of the New York Historical Society. 2 Peter Stuyvesant (1602-82), the last Dutch governor of New Nether- lands, the old name for New York. 3 A corruption of Throgg's Neck, a point of land on the north side of the entrance to Long Island Sound. TALES OF A TRAVELER. 339 curious ; and the following is all that I could, for a long time, collect, that had anything like an air of authenticity. KIDD THE PIRATE. IN old times, just after the territory of the New Netherlands had been wrested from the hands of their High Mightinesses, the Lords States-General ^ of Holland, by King Charles n.,^ and while it was as yet in an unquiet state, the province was a great resort of random adventurers, loose livers, and all that class of haphazard fellows who live by their wits, and dislike the old-fashioned restraint of law and gospel. Among these, the foremost were the buccaneers. These were rovers of the deep, who perhaps in time of war had been educated in those schools of piracy, the privateers,^ but having once tasted the sweets of plunder, had ever retained a hankering after it. There is but a slight step from the privateersman to the pirate ; both fight for the love of plunder; only that the latter is the bravest, as he dares both the enemy and the gallows. But in whatever school they had been taught, the buccaneers that kept about the English colonies were daring fellows, and 1 A title of dignity given to the members of the legislative assembly of the Netherlands. 2 Charles 11. (1630-85), King of England, granted to his brother, the Duke of York, a large tract of land, including the New Netherlands, which had been claimed and settled by the Dutch. In 1664 the Duke of York arrived before New Amsterdam with a large fleet, and the Dutch were obliged to surrender their claims. Thereafter the state and city were called New York. 3 The privateers were armed private vessels, manned by privateersmen, who were commissioned to cruise against an enemy's commerce. Buccaneers, or pirates, were unauthorized plunderers of any ships. 340 U'ASHIXGTOX IRVIXG. made sad work in times of peace among the Spanish settlements and Spanish merchantmen. The easy access to the harbor of the Manhattoes, the number of hiding places about its waters, and the laxity of its scarcely organized government, made it a great rendezvous of the pirates, where they might dispose of their booty, and concert new depredations. As they brought home with them wealthy lading of all kinds, the luxuries of the tropics and the sumptuous spoils of the Spanish provinces, and disposed of them with the proverbial carelessness of freebooters, they were welcome visitors to the thrifty traders of the ^klanhattoes. Crews of these desperadoes, therefore, the runagates ^ of every country and every clime, might be seen swaggering in open day about the streets of the little burgh, elbo^^^[ng its quiet mynheers,- trafficking away their rich, outlandish plunder at half or quarter price to the wary merchant, and then squandering their prize money in taverns, — drinking, gambling, singing, swearing, shout- ing, and astounding the neighborhood with midnight brawl and ruffian revelry. At length these excesses rose to such a height as to become a scandal to the provinces, and to call loudly for the interposition of government. Measures were accordingly taken to put a stop to the widely extended evil, and to ferret this vermin brood out of the colonies. Among the agents employed to execute this purpose was the notorious Captain Kidd.^ He had long been an equivocal char- 1 Fugitives. 2 Mynheer is the Dutch equivalent for •' Mr. ;" hence " mj-nheers," Dutch- men. 3 William Kidd ( 1 650-1 701), a Scotch navigator, was intrusted on Gov- ernor Bellomont's recommendation with the command of a ship called the Adventure, whose mission was to suppress piracy. It soon began to be rumored that he had made several unlawful captures, among them that of an East Indian ship called the Quedah Merchant. On his arrival in Boston in 1699 he was arrested on a charge of piracy, and sent to Eng- land. Though the charge of piracy could not be proved against him, he was executed, for the murder of one of his crew, in 1701. Before his arrest TALES OF A TRAl'ELER. 341 acter, — one of those nondescript animals of the ocean that are neither fish, flesh, nor fowl. He was somewhat of a trader, some- thing more of a smuggler, with a considerable dash of the pica- roon. ^ He had traded for many years among the pirates, in a little rakish,- mosquito-built ^ vessel, that could run into all kinds of waters. He knew all their haunts and lurking places, was al- ways hooking about on mysterious voyages, and was as busy as a Mother Gary's chicken ^ in a storm. This nondescript personage was pitched upon by government as the very man to hunt the pirates by sea, upon the good old maxim of " setting a rogue to catch a rogue," or as otters are sometimes used to catch their cousins-german,'' the fish. Kidd accordingly sailed for New York, in 1695, in a gallant vessel called the Adventure Galley^ well armed and duly com- missioned. On arriving at his old haunts, however, he shipped his crew on new terms, enlisted a number of his old comrades, — lads of the knife and the pistol, — and then set sail for the East. Instead of cruising against pirates, he turned pirate himself, steered to the Madeiras,^ to Bonavista,^ and Madagascar,"^ and cruised about the entrance of the Red Sea. Here, among other maritime robberies, he captured a rich Quedah ^ merchantman, he had deposited on Gardiner's Isle, off the east end of Long Island, a con- siderable portion of his wealth. As this, when recovered, did not nearly equal the fabulous riches ascribed to him, popular rumor gave rise to the various reports of treasures he had hidden. 1 Pirate. 2 A rakish vessel is one having an unusual amount of rake or inclination of the masts. Piratical vessels were distinguished for their rakish build. 3 A mosquito fleet is any assemblage of small craft ; hence, a mosquito- built vessel is a small vessel. 4 " Mother Gary's chicken," a name for the stormy petrel, whose ap- pearance always forbodes a storm. 5 First cousins. 6 The Madeiras and Bonavista are islands of the eastern Atlantic. "^ A large island off the eastern coast of Africa. 8 Quedah, or Queda, is a state of the Malay Peninsula, the extreme southern point of the mainland of Asia. 342 IVASHIXGTOX IRVIXG. manned by Moors,^ though commanded by an Englishman. Kidd would fain have passed this off for a worthy exploit, as being a kind of crusade against the infidels, but government had long since lost all relish for such Christian triumphs. After roaming the seas, trafficking his prizes, and changing from ship to ship, Kidd had the hardihood to return to Boston, laden with booty, with a crew of swaggering companions at his heels. Times, however, were changed. The buccaneers could no longer show a whisker in the colonies with impunity. The new governor, Lord Bellomont,- had signalized himself by his zeal in extirpating these offenders, and was doubly exasperated against Kidd, having been instrumental in appointing him to the trust which he had betrayed. No sooner, therefore, did he show him- self in Boston, than the alarm was given of his reappearance, and measures were taken to arrest this cutpurse ^ of the ocean. The daring character which Kidd had acquired, however, and the desperate fellows who followed like bulldogs at his heels, caused a little delay in his arrest. He took advantage of this, it is said, to bury the greater part of his treasures, and then carried a high head about the streets of Boston. He even attempted to defend himself when arrested, but was secured and thrown into prison, with his followers. Such was the formidable character of this pirate and his crew that it was thought advisable to dispatch a frigate to bring them to England. Great exertions were made to screen him from justice, but in vain ; he and his comrades were tried, condemned, and hanged at Execution Dock in London. 1 A race inhabiting the Barbary States in northern Africa. 2 Richard Coote, Earl of Bellomont (1636-1701), was governor of New York and Massachusetts. Being specially admonished on his appointment to the governorship by William III. to put a stop to piracy, he organized a private expedition, with Kidd as leader, to suppress the pirates. He be- lieved the rumors of Kidd's dishonesty and had him arrested when he reached Boston. 3 One who cuts purses ; hence, a robber. TALES OF A TRAVELER. 343 Kidd died hard, for the rope with which he was first tied up broke with his weight, and he tumbled to the ground. He was tied up a second time, and more effectually ; hence came, doubt- less, the story of Kidd's having a charmed life, and that he had to be twice hanged. Such is the main outline of Kidd's history, but it has given birth to an innumerable progeny of traditions. The report of his having buried great treasures of gold and jewels before his arrest, set the brains of all the good people along the coast in a ferment. There were rumors on rumors of great sums of money found here and there, sometimes in one part of the country, sometimes in another ; of coins with Moorish inscriptions, doubt- less the spoils of his Eastern prizes, but which the common peo- ple looked upon with superstitious awe, regarding the Moorish letters as diabolical or magical characters. Some reported the treasure to have been buried in solitary, unsettled places, about Plymouth and Cape Cod ; but by degrees various other parts, not only on the eastern coast, but along the shores of the Sound, and even of Manhattan and Long Island, were gilded by these rumors. In fact, the rigorous measures of Lord Bellomont spread sudden consternation among the bucca- neers in every part of the provinces ; they secreted their money and jewels in lonel}^, out of the way places, about the wild shores of the rivers and seacoast, and dispersed themselves over the face of the country. The hand of justice prevented many of them from ever returning to regain their buried treasures, which remained, and remain probably to this day, objects of enterprise for the money digger. This is the cause of those frequent reports of trees and rocks bearing mysterious marks, supposed to indicate the spots where treasures lay hidden, and many have been the ransackings after the pirate's booty. In all the stories which once abounded of these enterprises, the devil played a conspicuous part. Either he was conciliated by ceremonies and invocations, or some solemn com- pact was made with him. Still he was ever prone to play the 344 ll'ASHIXG70\ IJ