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Page 30
It was Irving's intention, when he went to Madrid, merely to make a
translation of some historical documents which were then appearing,
edited by M. Navarrete, from the papers of Bishop Las Casas and the
journals of Columbus, entitled "The Voyages of Columbus." But when he
found that this publication, although it contained many documents,
hitherto unknown, that threw much light on the discovery of the New
World, was rather a rich mass of materials for a history than a history
itself, and that he had access in Madrid libraries to great collections
of Spanish colonial history, he changed his plan, and determined to
write a Life of Columbus. His studies for this led him deep into the old
chronicles and legends of Spain, and out of these, with his own travel
and observation, came those books of mingled fables, sentiment, fact,
and humor which are after all the most enduring fruits of his residence
in Spain.
Notwithstanding his absorption in literary pursuits, Irving was not
denied the charm of domestic society, which was all his life his chief
delight. The house he most frequented in Madrid was that of Mr.
D'Oubril, the Russian Minister. In his charming household were Madame
D'Oubril and her niece, Mademoiselle Antoinette Bollviller, and Prince
Dolgorouki, a young _attach�_ of the legation. His letters to Prince
Dolgorouki and to Mademoiselle Antoinette give a most lively and
entertaining picture of his residence and travels in Spain. In one of
them to the prince, who was temporarily absent from the city, we have
glimpses of the happy hours, the happiest of all hours, passed in this
refined family circle. Here is one that exhibits the still fresh
romance in the heart of forty-four years:--
"Last evening, at your house, we had one of the most lovely
tableaux I ever beheld. It was the conception of Murillo,
represented by Madame A----. Mademoiselle Antoinette arranged the
tableau with her usual good taste, and the effect was enchanting.
It was more like a vision of something spiritual and celestial than
a representation of anything merely mortal; or rather it was woman
as in my romantic days I have been apt to imagine her, approaching
to the angelic nature. I have frequently admired Madame A----as a
mere beautiful woman, when I have seen her dressed up in the
fantastic attire of the _mode_; but here I beheld her elevated into
a representative of the divine purity and grace, exceeding even the
_beau id�al_ of the painter, for she even surpassed in beauty the
picture of Murillo. I felt as if I could have knelt down and
worshiped her. Heavens! what power women would have over us, if
they knew how to sustain the attractions which nature has bestowed
upon them, and which we are so ready to assist by our imaginations!
For my part, I am superstitious in my admiration of them, and like
to walk in a perpetual delusion, decking them out as divinities. I
thank no one to undeceive me, and to prove that they are mere
mortals."
And he continues in another strain:--
How full of interest everything is connected with the old times in
Spain! I am more and more delighted with the old literature of the
country, its chronicles, plays, and romances. It has the wild vigor
and luxuriance of the forests of my native country, which, however
savage and entangled, are more captivating to my imagination than
the finest parks and cultivated woodlands.
"As I live in the neighborhood of the library of the Jesuits'
College of St. Isidoro, I pass most of my mornings there. You
cannot think what a delight I feel in passing through its
galleries, filled with old parchment-bound books. It is a perfect
wilderness of curiosity to me. What a deep-felt, quiet luxury there
is in delving into the rich ore of these old, neglected volumes!
How these hours of uninterrupted intellectual enjoyment, so
tranquil and independent, repay one for the _ennui_ and
disappointment too often experienced in the intercourse of society!
How they serve to bring back the feelings into a harmonious tone,
after being jarred and put out of tune by the collisions with the
world!"
With the romantic period of Spanish history Irving was in ardent
sympathy. The story of the Saracens entranced his mind; his imagination
disclosed its Oriental quality while he pored over the romance and the
ruin of that land of fierce contrasts, of arid wastes beaten by the
burning sun, valleys blooming with intoxicating beauty, cities of
architectural splendor and picturesque squalor. It is matter of regret
that he, who seemed to need the southern sun to ripen his genius, never
made a pilgrimage into the East, and gave to the world pictures of the
lands that he would have touched with the charm of their own color and
the witchery of their own romance.
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