On Irving's return to America in February, 1806, with reestablished
health, life did not at first take on a more serious purpose. He was
admitted to the bar, but he still halted.--[Irving once illustrated
his legal acquirements at this time by the relation of the following
anecdote to his nephew: Josiah Ogden Hoffman and Martin Wilkins, an
effective and witty advocate, had been appointed to examine students for
admission. One student acquitted himself very lamely, and at the supper
which it was the custom for the candidates to give to the examiners,
when they passed upon their several merits, Hoffman paused in coming to
this one, and turning to Wilkins said, as if in hesitation, “though
all the while intending to admit him, Martin, I think he knows a little
law.”--“Make it stronger, Jo,” was the reply; “d----d little.”]--Society
more than ever attracted him and devoured his time. He willingly
accepted the office of “champion at the tea-parties;” he was one of
a knot of young fellows of literary tastes and convivial habits, who
delighted to be known as “The Nine Worthies,” or “Lads of Kilkenny.” In
his letters of this period I detect a kind of callowness and affectation
which is not discernible in his foreign letters and journal.
These social worthies had jolly suppers at the humble taverns of the
city, and wilder revelries in an old country house on the Passaic,
which is celebrated in the “Salmagundi” papers as Cockloft Hall. We are
reminded of the change of manners by a letter of Mr. Paulding, one of
his comrades, written twenty years after, who recalls to mind the keeper
of a porter house, “who whilom wore a long coat, in the pockets whereof
he jingled two bushels of sixpenny pieces, and whose daughter played
the piano to the accompaniment of broiled oysters.” There was some
affectation of roistering in all this; but it was a time of social
good-fellowship, and easy freedom of manners in both sexes. At the
dinners there was much sentimental and bacchanalian singing; it was
scarcely good manners not to get a little tipsy; and to be laid under
the table by the compulsory bumper was not to the discredit of a guest.
Irving used to like to repeat an anecdote of one of his early friends,
Henry Ogden, who had been at one of these festive meetings. He told
Irving the next day that in going home he had fallen through a grating
which had been carelessly left open, into a vault beneath. The solitude,
he said, was rather dismal at first, but several other of the guests
fell in, in the course of the evening, and they had, on the whole, a
pleasant night of it.
These young gentlemen liked to be thought “sad dogs.” That they were
less abandoned than they pretended to be the sequel of their lives
shows among Irving's associates at this time who attained honorable
consideration were John and Gouverneur Kemble, Henry Brevoort, Henry
Ogden, James K. Paulding, and Peter Irving. The saving influence for all
of them was the refined households they frequented and the association
of women who were high-spirited without prudery, and who united purity
and simplicity with wit, vivacity, and charm of manner. There is some
pleasant correspondence between Irving and Miss Mary Fairlie, a belle of
the time, who married the tragedian, Thomas A. Cooper; the “fascinating
Fairlie,” as Irving calls her, and the Sophie Sparkle of the
“Salmagundi.” Irving's susceptibility to the charms and graces of
women--a susceptibility which continued always fresh--was tempered and
ennobled by the most chivalrous admiration for the sex as a whole.
He placed them on an almost romantic pinnacle, and his actions always
conformed to his romantic ideal, although in his writings he sometimes
adopts the conventional satire which was more common fifty years ago
than now. In a letter to Miss Fairlie, written from Richmond, where he
was attending the trial of Aaron Burr, he expresses his exalted opinion
of the sex. It was said in accounting for the open sympathy of the
ladies with the prisoner that Burr had always been a favorite with them;
“but I am not inclined,” he writes, “to account for it in so illiberal
a manner; it results from that merciful, that heavenly disposition,
implanted in the female bosom, which ever inclines in favor of the
accused and the unfortunate. You will smile at the high strain in which
I have indulged; believe me, it is because I feel it; and I love your
sex ten times better than ever.”--[An amusing story in connection
with this Richmond visit illustrates the romantic phase of Irving's
character. Cooper, who was playing at the theater, needed small-clothes
for one of his parts; Irving lent him a pair,--knee breeches being still
worn,--and the actor carried them off to Baltimore. From that city he
wrote that he had found in the pocket an emblem of love, a mysterious
locket of hair in the shape of a heart. The history of it is curious:
when Irving sojourned at Genoa, he was much taken with the beauty of a
young Italian lady, the wife of a Frenchman. He had never spoken with
her, but one evening before his departure he picked up from the floor
her handkerchief which she had dropped, and with more gallantry than
honesty carried it off to Sicily. His pocket was picked of the precious
relic while he was attending a religious function in Catania, and he
wrote to his friend Storm, the consul at Genoa, deploring his loss. The
consul communicated the sad misfortune to the lovely Bianca, for that
was the lady's name, who thereupon sent him a lock of her hair, with the
request that he would come to see her on his return. He never saw her
again, but the lock of hair was inclosed in a locket and worn about
his neck, in memory of a radiant vision that had crossed his path and
vanished.]
Personally, Irving must have awakened a reciprocal admiration. A drawing
by Vanderlyn, made in Paris in 1805, and a portrait by Jarvis in 1809,
present him to us in the fresh bloom of manly beauty. The face has an
air of distinction and gentle breeding; the refined lines, the poetic
chin, the sensitive mouth, the shapely nose, the large dreamy eyes, the
intellectual forehead, and the clustering brown locks are our ideal
of the author of the “Sketch-Book” and the pilgrim in Spain. His
biographer, Mr. Pierre M. Irving, has given no description of his
appearance; but a relative, who saw much of our author in his latter
years, writes to me: “He had dark gray eyes; a handsome straight nose,
which might perhaps be called large; a broad, high, full forehead, and
a small mouth. I should call him of medium height, about five feet eight
and a half to nine inches, and inclined to be a trifle stout. There
was no peculiarity about his voice; but it was pleasant and had a good
intonation. His smile was exceedingly genial, lighting up his whole
face and rendering it very attractive; while, if he were about to say
anything humorous, it would beam forth from his eyes even before the
words were spoken. As a young man his face was exceedingly handsome,
and his head was well covered with dark hair; but from my earliest
recollection of him he wore neither whiskers nor moustache, but a
dark brown wig, which, although it made him look younger, concealed a
beautifully shaped head.” We can understand why he was a favorite in the
society of Baltimore, Washington, Philadelphia, and Albany, as well
as of New York, and why he liked to linger here and there, sipping the
social sweets, like a man born to leisure and seemingly idle observation
of life.
It was in the midst of these social successes, and just after his
admission to the bar, that Irving gave the first decided evidence of the
choice of a career. This was his association with his eldest brother,
William, and Paulding in the production of “Salmagundi,” a semimonthly
periodical, in small duodecimo sheets, which ran with tolerable
regularity through twenty numbers, and stopped in full tide of success,
with the whimsical indifference to the public which had characterized
its every issue. Its declared purpose was “simply to instruct the young,
reform the old, correct the town, and castigate the age.” In manner and
purpose it was an imitation of the “Spectator” and the “Citizen of the
World,” and it must share the fate of all imitations; but its wit
was not borrowed, and its humor was to some extent original; and so
perfectly was it adapted to local conditions that it may be profitably
read to-day as a not untrue reflection of the manners and spirit of
the time and city. Its amusing audacity and complacent superiority, the
mystery hanging about its writers, its affectation of indifference to
praise or profit, its fearless criticism, lively wit, and irresponsible
humor, piqued, puzzled, and delighted the town. From the first it was
an immense success; it had a circulation in other cities, and many
imitations of it sprung up. Notwithstanding many affectations and
puerilities it is still readable to Americans. Of course, if it were
offered now to the complex and sophisticated society of New York, it
would fail to attract anything like the attention it received in the
days of simplicity and literary dearth; but the same wit, insight,
and literary art, informed with the modern spirit and turned upon the
follies and “whim-whams” of the metropolis, would doubtless have a great
measure of success. In Irving's contributions to it may be traced the
germs of nearly everything that he did afterwards; in it he tried the
various stops of his genius; he discovered his own power; his career was
determined; thereafter it was only a question of energy or necessity.
In the summer of 1808 there were printed at Ballston-Spa--then the
resort of fashion and the arena of flirtation--seven numbers of a
duodecimo bagatelle in prose and verse, entitled “The Literary Picture
Gallery and Admonitory Epistles to the Visitors of Ballston-Spa, by
Simeon Senex, Esquire.” This piece of summer nonsense is not referred to
by any writer who has concerned himself about Irving's life, but
there is reason to believe that he was a contributor to it, if not
the editor.--[For these stray reminders of the old-time gayety of
Ballston-Spa, I am indebted to J. Carson Brevoort, Esq., whose father
was Irving's most intimate friend, and who told him that Irving had a
hand in them.]
In these yellow pages is a melancholy reflection of the gayety and
gallantry of the Sans Souci Hotel seventy years ago. In this “Picture
Gallery,” under the thin disguise of initials, are the portraits of
well-known belles of New York whose charms of person and graces of mind
would make the present reader regret his tardy advent into this world,
did not the “Admonitory Epistles,” addressed to the same sex, remind
him that the manners of seventy years ago left much to be desired. In
respect of the habit of swearing, “Simeon” advises “Myra” that if ladies
were to confine themselves to a single round oath, it would be quite
sufficient; and he objects, when he is at the public table, to the
conduct of his neighbor who carelessly took up “Simeon's” fork and used
it as a toothpick. All this, no doubt, passed for wit in the beginning
of the century. Punning, broad satire, exaggerated compliment, verse
which has love for its theme and the “sweet bird of Venus” for its
object, an affectation of gallantry and of ennui, with anecdotes
of distinguished visitors, out of which the screaming fun has quite
evaporated, make up the staple of these faded mementos of an ancient
watering-place. Yet how much superior is our comedy of to-day? The
beauty and the charms of the women of two generations ago exist only
in tradition; perhaps we should give to the wit of that time equal
admiration if none of it had been preserved.
Irving, notwithstanding the success of “Salmagundi,” did not immediately
devote himself to literature, nor seem to regard his achievements in
it as anything more than aids to social distinction. He was then, as
always, greatly influenced by his surroundings. These were unfavorable
to literary pursuits. Politics was the attractive field for preferment
and distinction; and it is more than probable that, even after the
success of the Knickerbocker history, he would have drifted through
life; half lawyer and half placeman, if the associations and stimulus of
an old civilization, in his second European residence, had not fired his
ambition. Like most young lawyers with little law and less clients, he
began to dabble in local politics. The experiment was not much to his
taste, and the association and work demanded, at that time, of a ward
politician soon disgusted him. “We have toiled through the purgatory
of an election,” he writes to the fair Republican, Miss Fairlie, who
rejoiced in the defeat he and the Federals had sustained.
“What makes me the more outrageous is, that I got fairly drawn into the
vortex, and before the third day was expired, I was as deep in mud and
politics as ever a moderate gentleman would wish to be; and I drank beer
with the multitude; and I talked hand-bill fashion with the demagogues;
and I shook hands with the mob, whom my heart abhorreth. 'T is true, for
the first two days I maintained my coolness and indifference. The first
day I merely hunted for whim, character, and absurdity, according to my
usual custom; the second day being rainy, I sat in the bar-room at the
Seventh Ward, and read a volume of 'Galatea,' which I found on a shelf;
but before I had got through a hundred pages, I had three or four good
Feds sprawling round me on the floor, and another with his eyes half
shut, leaning on my shoulder in the most affectionate manner, and
spelling a page of the book as if it had been an electioneering
hand-bill. But the third day--ah! then came the tug of war. My
patriotism then blazed forth, and I determined to save my country!
“Oh, my friend, I have been in such holes and corners; such filthy
nooks and filthy corners; sweep offices and oyster cellars! I have sworn
brother to a leash of drawers, and can drink with any tinker in his own
language during my life,--faugh! I shall not be able to bear the smell
of small beer and tobacco for a month to come.... Truly this saving
one's country is a nauseous piece of business, and if patriotism is such
a dirty virtue,--prythee, no more of it.”
He unsuccessfully solicited some civil appointment at Albany, a very
modest solicitation, which was never renewed, and which did not last
long, for he was no sooner there than he was “disgusted by the
servility and duplicity and rascality witnessed among the swarm of scrub
politicians.” There was a promising young artist at that time in Albany,
and Irving wishes he were a man of wealth, to give him a helping hand;
a few acts of munificence of this kind by rich nabobs, he breaks out,
“would be more pleasing in the sight of Heaven, and more to the glory
and advantage of their country, than building a dozen shingle church
steeples, or buying a thousand venal votes at an election.” This was in
the “good old times!”
Although a Federalist, and, as he described himself, “an admirer of
General Hamilton, and a partisan with him in politics,” he accepted
a retainer from Burr's friends in 1807, and attended his trial in
Richmond, but more in the capacity of an observer of the scene than a
lawyer. He did not share the prevalent opinion of Burr's treason, and
regarded him as a man so fallen as to be shorn of the power to injure
the country, one for whom he could feel nothing but compassion. That
compassion, however, he received only from the ladies of the city, and
the traits of female goodness manifested then sunk deep into Irving's
heart. Without pretending, he says, to decide on Burr's innocence
or guilt, “his situation is such as should appeal eloquently to the
feelings of every generous bosom. Sorry am I to say the reverse has been
the fact: fallen, proscribed, prejudged, the cup of bitterness has
been administered to him with an unsparing hand. It has almost been
considered as culpable to evince toward him the least sympathy or
support; and many a hollow-hearted caitiff have I seen, who basked in
the sunshine of his bounty while in power, who now skulked from his
side, and even mingled among the most clamorous of his enemies.... I bid
him farewell with a heavy heart, and he expressed with peculiar warmth
and feeling his sense of the interest I had taken in his fate. I never
felt in a more melancholy mood than when I rode from his solitary
prison.” This is a good illustration of Irving's tender-heartedness; but
considering Burr's whole character, it is altogether a womanish case of
misplaced sympathy with the cool slayer of Alexander Hamilton.