LETTERS OF JONATHAN OLDSTYLE, GENT. (Complete Edition). Вашингтон ИрвингЧитать онлайн книгу.
and unlicensed exaggerations, that a mirthful fancy can create. Though sport to many, it was not so to all; and some of the descendants of our Dutch aborigines were not a little offended at the liberty which the author has taken with the names and manners of those whom they had been accustomed to remember with reverence and respect. A gentleman whose name bespeaks his Dutch lineage, and whose talents entitle his observations to very high regard, in his Discourse before the New York Historical Society in 1818, makes the following animadversions on the subject, with peculiar elegance and feeling: —
“It is more ‘in sorrow than in anger,’ that I feel myself compelled to add to these gross instances of national injustice, a recent work of a writer of our own, who is justly considered one of the brightest ornaments of American literature. I allude to the burlesque history of New York, in which it is painful to see a mind, as admirable for its exquisite perception of the beautiful, as it is for its quick sense of the ridiculous, wasting the riches of its fancy on au ungrateful theme, and its exuberant humour in a coarse caricature.
“This writer has not yet fulfilled all the promise he has given to his country. It is his duty, because it is in his power, to brush away the pretenders who may at any time infest her society, her science, or her politics; or if he aspires, as I trust that he does, to strains of a higher mood, the deeds of his countrymen, and the undescribed beauties of his native land, afford him many a rich subject, and he may deck the altar of his country’s glory with the garlands of his taste and fancy — .
“How dangerous a gift is the power of ridicule! It is potent to unmask the pretender, and to brand the hypocrite; yet how often has it dissipated those gay illusions which beguile the rough path of life — how often has it chilled the glow of genius and invention — how often, at its dread presence, have the honest boasts of patriotism, the warm expression of piety, the generous purpose of beneficence, faltered on the lips, and died away in the heart.” —
About the year 1812, Mr. Irving went to England, and became a partner in a commercial concern, of which two of his brothers were also partners, and one of whom remained in this country. The correspondence department, which was extensive, was allotted to the literary member of the house; and the business of the establishment had become so profitable, that each one, soon after the peace of 1815, had a prospect of sharing a handsome dividend. Our author enjoyed the expectation of retiring from the irksome drudgery of the counting-house to the sweets of literary leisure, with a competence for life, when the failure of a commercial adventure, in a moment convinced him of the vanity and delusiveness of human anticipations, and reduced him to a state of almost life-loathing despondency. What a trial for a sensitive mind — and yet for his credit and his fame what a fortunate reverse! His pen and his ledger are exchanged for his pencil and his sketch-book; and Geoffrey’s drafts are more highly honoured, than those of any merchant in the land.
LETTER I.
SIR,
NOTHING is more intolerable to an old person than innovation on old habits. The customs that prevailed in our youth become dear to us as we advance in years; and we can no more bear to see them abolished, than we can to behold the trees cut down under which we have sported in the happy days of infancy.
Even I myself, who have floated down the stream of life with the tide — who have humoured it in all its turnings — who have conformed in a great measure to all its fashions, — cannot but feel sensible of this prejudice. I often sigh when I draw a comparison between the present and the past; and though I cannot but be sensible that, in general, times are altered for the better, yet there is something even in the imperfections of the manners which prevailed in my youthful days, that is inexpressibly endearing.
There is nothing that seems more strange and preposterous to me, than the manner in which modern marriages are conducted. The parties keep the matter as secret as if there was something disgraceful in the connexion. The lady positively denies that any thing of the kind is to happen; will laugh at her intended husband, and even lay bets against the event, the very day before it is to take place. They sneak into matrimony as quietly as possible, and seem to pride themselves on the cunning and ingenuity they have displayed in their manœuvres.
How different is this from the manners of former times! I recollect when my Aunt Barbara was addressed by ‘Squire Stylish; nothing was heard of during the whole courtship, but consultations and negotiations between her friends and relatives; the matter, was considered and reconsidered, and at length the time set for a final answer. Never, Mr. Editor, shall l forget the awful solemnity of the scene. The whole family of the Oldstyles assembled in awful conclave: my aunt Barbara, dressed out as fine as hands could make her — high cushion, enormous cap, long waist, prodigious hoop, ruffles that reached to the end of her fingers, and a gown of flame-coloured brocade, figured with poppies, roses, and sunflowers. Never did she look so sublimely handsome. T he ‘Squire entered the room with a countenance suited to the solemnity of the occasion. He was arrayed in a full suit of scarlet velvet, his coat decorated with a profusion of large silk buttons, and the skirts stiffened with a yard or two of buckram: a long pig tailed wig, well powdered, adorned his head; and stockings of deep blue silk, rolled over the knees, graced his extremities; the flaps of his vest reached to his knee-buckles, and the ends of his cravat, tied with the most precise neatness, twisted through every buttonhole. Thus accoutred, he gravely walked into the room, with his ivory-headed ebony cane in one hand, and gently swaying his three-cornered beaver with the other. The gallant and fashionable appearance of t he ‘Squire, the grace fulness and dignity of his deportment, occasioned a general smile of complacency through the room; my aunt Barbara modestly veiled her countenance with her fan; but I observed her contemplating her admirer with great satisfaction through the sticks.
The business was opened with the most formal solemnity, but was not long in agitation. The Oldstyles were moderate — their articles of capitulation few: t he ‘Squire was gallant, and acceded to them all. In short, the blushing Barbara was delivered up to his embraces with due ceremony. Then, Mr. Editor — then were the happy times: such oceans of arrack — such mountains of plum-cake — such feasting and congratulating — such fiddling and dancing: — ah me! who can think of those days, and not sigh when he sees the degeneracy of the present: no eating of cake nor throwing of stockings — not a single skin filled with wine on the joyful occasion — nor a single pocket edified by it but the parson’s.
It is with the greatest pain I see those customs dying away, which served to awaken the hospitality and friendship of my ancient comrades — that strewed with flowers the path to the altar, and shed a ray of sunshine on the commencement of the matrimonial union.
The deportment of my aunt Barbara and her husband was as decorous after marriage as before; her conduct was always regulated by his — her sentiments ever accorded with his opinions; she was always eager to tie on his neckcloth of a morning — to tuck a napkin under his chin at meal times — to wrap him up warm of a winter’s day, and to spruce him up as smart as possible of a Sunday. T he ‘Squire was the most attentive and polite husband in the world; would hand his wife in and out of church with the greatest ceremony — drink her health at dinner with particular emphasis, and ask her advice on every subject — though I must confess he invariably adopted his own: — nothing was heard from both sides, but dears, sweet loves, doves, &c. T he ‘Squire could never stir out of a winter’s day, without his wife calling after him from the window to button up his waistcoat carefully. Thus, all things went on smoothly; and my relations Stylish had the name, and, as far as I know, deserved it, of being the most happy and loving couple in the world.
A modern married pair will, no doubt, laugh at all this; they are accustomed to treat one another with the utmost carelessness and neglect. No longer does the wife tuck the napkin under her husband’s chin, nor the husband attend to heaping her plate with dainties; no longer do I see those little amusing fooleries in company, where the lady would pat her husband’s cheek, and he chuck her under the chin; when dears and sweets were as plenty as cookies on a new-year s day. The wife now considers herself as totally independent — will