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Page 11
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.[1]
[Footnote 1: 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 tooth-pick. 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 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. 'Tis 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!"
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