Mrs. Humphrey Ward - "Elizabeth's Campaign"

George B. Louis Arner - "Consanguineous Marriages in the American Population"

Andrew Murray - "The Master's Indwelling"

Anna Laetitia Barbauld - "Eighteen Hundred and Eleven"

Book Review: C# 2008 for Dummies by Chuck Sphar and Stephen Randy Davis
Moreover Technologies - Premier purveyor of real-time news and RSS feeds from across the Web

Book review:...
Ad -

Book review: A Financial History of the World
So, you've finally decide to learn C# to obtain access to the low-level functionality that it provides. C# is one of my favorite languages (I have many), so I was especially interested in reviewing this book. Like many Dummies books, C# 2008 for Dummies

A / B / C / D / E / F / G / H / I / J / K / L / M / N / O / P / R / S / T / U / V / W / Y / Z

Tales of a Traveller written by Washington Irving

W >> Washington Irving >> Tales of a Traveller



TALES OF A TRAVELLER

BY

WASHINGTON IRVING




CONTENTS.


PART FIRST.

STRANGE STORIES BY A NERVOUS GENTLEMAN.

A Hunting Dinner
Adventure of my Uncle
Adventure of my Aunt
Bold Dragoon
Adventure of the Mysterious Picture
Adventure of the Mysterious Stranger
Story of the Young Italian


PART SECOND.

BUCKTHORNE AND HIS FRIENDS.

Literary Life
Literary Dinner
Club of Queer Fellows
Poor Devil Author
Buckthorne; or, the Young Man of Great Expectations
Grave Reflections of a Disappointed Man
Booby Squire
Strolling Manager


PART THIRD.

THE ITALIAN BANDITTI.

Inn at Terracina
Adventure of the Little Antiquary
Adventure of the Popkins Family
Painter's Adventure
Story of the Bandit Chieftain
Story of the Young Robber


PART FOURTH.

THE MONEY-DIGGERS.

Hell Gate
Kidd, the Pirate
Devil and Tom Walker
Wolfert Webber; or, Golden Dreams
Adventure of Sam, the Black Fisherman




TALES OF A TRAVELLER

PART FIRST

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.
_Tony_. I do confess it.
Do you think I'd tell you truths!

FLETCHER'S WIFE FOR A MONTH.


[The following adventures were related to me by the same nervous
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 with 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 romance of Peveril of the Peak, that he was
himself the Stout Gentleman alluded to. I have ever since been
importuned by letters and questions from gentlemen, and particularly
from ladies without number, touching what I had seen of the great
unknown.

Now, all this is extremely tantalizing. It is like being congratulated
on the high prize when one has drawn a blank; for I have just as great
a desire as any one of the public to penetrate the mystery of that
very singular personage, whose voice fills every corner of the world,
without any one being able to tell from whence it comes. He who keeps
up such a wonderful and whimsical incognito: whom nobody knows, and
yet whom every body thinks he can swear to.

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 character of
considerable notoriety in two or three country towns; and has been
repeatedly teased to exhibit himself at blue-stocking 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 stage coaches. 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 unknown
as ever.]




A HUNTING DINNER.


I was once at a hunting dinner, given by a worthy fox-hunting 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 young days; but having
travelled 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 Jehu. 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 boarding-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 country round,
but came in for a share.

The dinner was prolonged till a late hour; for our host having no
ladies in his household to summon us to the drawing-room, the bottle
maintained its true bachelor sway, unrivalled by its potent enemy the
tea-kettle. The old hall in which we dined echoed to bursts of
robustious fox-hunting merriment, that made the ancient antlers shake
on the walls. By degrees, however, the wine and wassail of mine host
began to operate upon bodies already a little jaded by the chase. The
choice spirits that 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. Even these at length subsided into silence; and scarcely any
thing 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
marvellously 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 repast, a heavy winter storm had set
in, with snow, rain, and sleet, driven by such bitter blasts of wind,
that they threatened to penetrate to the very bone.

"It's all in vain," said our hospitable host, "to think of putting
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 tempestuous, 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 of 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 summoned to
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 mine host's bravado, she was a little perplexed. 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 guests in odd holes and corners, and exposing the shabby
parts of the establishment. A bachelor's housekeeper is used to shifts
and emergencies. 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 supper. A slight repast had
therefore been tricked up from the residue of dinner, consisting of
cold sirloin of beef; hashed venison; a devilled leg of a turkey or
so, and a few other of those light articles taken by country gentlemen
to ensure 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 perplexities of mine
host and his housekeeper, by certain married gentlemen of the company,
who considered themselves privileged in joking with a bachelor's
establishment. From this the banter turned as to what quarters each
would find, on being thus suddenly 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 gentlefolks that hang along
the walls, should walk about the rooms of this stormy night; or if I
should find the ghost of one of these long-waisted ladies turning into
my bed in mistake for her grave in the church-yard.

"Do you believe in ghosts, then?" said a thin, hatchet-faced gentleman,
with projecting eyes like a lobster.

I had remarked this last personage throughout dinner-time for one of
Those incessant questioners, who seem to 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 could never 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 belief 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 families,
and wails at their window to let them know when some of them are to
die."

"A mighty pleasant piece of information," cried an elderly gentleman,
with a knowing look and 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 know it's a piece of distinction to be
waited upon by a Benshee. It's a proof that one has pure blood in
one's veins. But, egad, now we're talking of ghosts, there never was a
house or a night better fitted than the present for a ghost adventure.
Faith, Sir John, haven't you such a thing as a haunted chamber to put
a guest in?"

"Perhaps," said the Baronet, smiling, "I might accommodate you even on
that point."

"Oh, I should like it of all things, my jewel. Some dark oaken room,
with ugly wo-begone portraits that stare dismally at one, and about
which the housekeeper has a power of delightful stories of love and
murder. And then a dim lamp, a table with a rusty sword across it, and
a spectre 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 story! a ghost story!" was vociferated round the board,
every one edging his chair a little 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 when I was a boy. But whether as
having happened to himself or to another, I cannot recollect. But no
matter, it's very likely it happened to himself, for he was a man very
apt to meet with strange adventures. I have heard him tell of others
much more singular. At any rate, we will suppose it happened to
himself."

"What kind of man was your uncle?" said the questioning gentleman.

"Why, he was rather a dry, shrewd kind of body; a great traveller, and
fond of telling his adventures."

"Pray, how old might he have been when this happened?"

"When what happened?" cried the gentleman with the flexible nose,
impatiently--"Egad, you have not given any thing 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, a long time before the French revolution, my uncle
had passed several months at Paris. The English and French were on
better terms, in those days, than at present, and mingled cordially
together in society. The English 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
travelling English were fewer and choicer then, than at present, when
the whole nation has broke 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 intimate
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 extinguisher on it.

"To whom does that chateau belong, friend?" cried my uncle to a meager,
but fiery postillion, who, with tremendous jack boots and cocked hat,
was floundering on before him.

"To Monseigneur the Marquis de ----," said the postillion, 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 traveller, one that knew
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 take up with the miserable
lodgment, and miserable fare of a country inn. In a few minutes,
therefore, the meager postillion 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 every body travels in
France nowadays. This was one of the oldest; standing 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 geometrically by straight alleys; and two or
three noseless, cold-looking statues without any clothing; and
fountains spouting cold water enough to make one's teeth chatter. At
least, such was the feeling 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 postillion's whip, which grew more and more intense
the nearer they approached, frightened a flight of pigeons out of the
dove-cote, and rooks out of the roofs; and finally a crew of servants
out of the chateau, with the Marquis at their head. He was enchanted to
see my uncle; for his chateau, like 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 his 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 that 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 paternal mansion worth battering down. He had many stories
to tell of the prowess of his ancestors, and several skull-caps,
helmets, and cross-bows to show; and divers huge boots and buff
jerkins, that had been worn by the Leaguers. Above all, there was a
two-handled 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 great warriors. When
you looked at their bluff visages and brawny limbs, as depicted in
their portraits, and then at the little Marquis, with his spindle
shanks; his sallow lanthern visage, flanked with a pair of powdered
ear-locks, or _ailes de pigeon_, that seemed ready to fly away with it;
you would 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 fact, a Frenchman's spirit never exhales,
however his body may dwindle. It rather rarefies, and grows more
inflammable, 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 he was wont, put on one of the old helmets
that were stuck up in his hall; though his head no more filled it than
a dry pea its pease cod; yet his eyes sparkled from the bottom of the
iron cavern with the brilliancy of carbuncles, and when he poised the
ponderous two-handled sword of his ancestors, 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 description of the
Marquis and his chateau; but you must excuse me; he was an old friend
of my uncle's, and whenever my uncle told the story, he was always fond
of talking a great deal about his host.--Poor little 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
Tuilleries, against the irruption of the mob, on the sad tenth of
August.

He displayed the valor of a preux French chevalier to the last;
flourished feebly his little court sword with a sa-sa! in face of a
whole legion of _sans-culottes_; but was pinned to the wall like 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 story; 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 Donjon 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 traveller of taste, and fond of
antiquities; and also because 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 the Bruce, at the battle of Bannockburn;
and when he added that the Duke de Guise had slept in it during the
wars of the League, my uncle was fain to felicitate himself upon being
honored with such distinguished quarters.

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 fire-place, 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
foreboding. The windows were high and narrow, and had once been
loop-holes, 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 rattling 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 upon 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 favourite 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 apprehended any thing, for he
was too old a traveller to be daunted by a wild-looking apartment; but
the night, as I have said, was cold and gusty, something like the
present, and the wind howled about the old turret, pretty much as it
does round this old mansion at this moment; and the breeze from the
long dark corridor came in as damp and 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
shadow of the tongs on the opposite wall, look like a long-legged
giant. My uncle now clambered on 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
bed-clothes, he lay looking at the fire, and listening to the wind, and
chuckling to think how knowingly he had come over his friend the
Marquis for a night's lodgings: and so he fell asleep.

He had not taken above half of his first nap, when he was awakened 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 thirteen, and then it stopped.

The fire had burnt low, and the blaze of the last faggot 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 chop-house in
London, and all the farrago of noted places with which the brain of a
traveller is crammed--in a word, he was just falling asleep.

Suddenly he was aroused by the sound of foot-steps that appeared to be
slowly pacing along the corridor. My uncle, as I have often heard him
say himself, was a man not easily frightened; so he lay quiet,
supposing that this might be 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 in person, and of a most commanding air. Her
dress was of an ancient fashion, ample in volume and sweeping the
floor. She walked up to the fire-place 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.