Complete Fictional Works of Washington Irving (Illustrated)

by Washington Irving

  The Complete Works of

  WASHINGTON IRVING

  (1783-1859)

  Contents

  The Short Story Collections

  THE SKETCH BOOK OF GEOFFREY CRAYON, GENT.

  BRACEBRIDGE HALL

  TALES OF A TRAVELLER

  TALES OF THE ALHAMBRA

  THE CRAYON MISCELLANY

  WOLFERT’S ROOST

  The Short Stories

  LIST OF SHORT STORIES IN CHRONOLOGICAL ORDER

  LIST OF SHORT STORIES IN ALPHABETICAL ORDER

  The Satires

  LETTERS OF JONATHAN OLDSTYLE, GENT.

  A HISTORY OF NEW YORK

  The Plays

  ABU HASSAN

  THE WILD HUNTSMAN

  The Poetry

  POETRY INTRODUCTION by William R. Langfeld

  LIST OF POEMS

  The Non-Fiction

  A TOUR ON THE PRARIES

  CHRONICLE OF THE CONQUEST OF GRANADA

  ASTORIA

  THE ADVENTURES OF CAPTAIN BONNEVILLE. THE ROCKY MOUNTAINS

  LIFE OF OLIVER GOLDSMITH

  LIFE OF GEORGE WASHINGTON: VOLUME I

  The Criticism

  ELIA, AND GEOFFREY CRAYON by William Hazlitt

  SPEECH: NEW YORK, FEBRUARY 18, 1842 by Charles Dickens

  A FABLE FOR CRITICS by James Russell Lowell

  POE, IRVING, HAWTHORNE by George Parsons Lathrop

  CORRESPONDENCE BETWEEN WASHINGTON IRVING AND EDGAR ALLAN POE

  The Biographies

  WASHINGTON IRVING by Henry W. Boynton

  WASHINGTON IRVING by Charles Dudley Warner

  © Delphi Classics 2014

  Version 2

  The Complete Works of

  WASHINGTON IRVING

  By Delphi Classics, 2014

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  The Short Story Collections

  William Street, Tarrytown, New York — the site of Irving’s birthplace

  New York was a small city at the time of Irving’s birth, with only 23,000 inhabitants. He was born in lower Manhattan – the island in the right hand corner.

  THE SKETCH BOOK OF GEOFFREY CRAYON, GENT.

  This is a collection of 34 essays and short stories published in serial format from 1819 to 1820. The collection includes Irving’s two most famous works, The Legend of Sleepy Hollow and Rip Van Winkle. The collection also marks Irving’s first use of the pseudonym “Geoffrey Crayon,” which he continued to employ throughout his literary career. The Sketch Book became one of the first widely read works of American literature in Britain and Europe, helping to promote the reputation of other American writers to international audiences.

  The stories range from sentimental pieces such as The Wife and The Widow and Her Son to picaresque romps with Little Britain and the humorous The Mutability of Literature. However, the collection’s most noticeable feature is the inimitable personality of Irving’s narrator, Geoffrey Crayon. Scholarly and charming, though sensitive enough not to obstruct his tales with his own character, Crayon was the collection’s immediate attraction for the reading public.

  Irving had started writing the tales shortly after moving to England, where he hoped to preserve his family’s trading business in 1815. When the business suffered bankruptcy in 1817, Irving was left with no position and very few prospects. He tried at first to serve as an intermediary between American and English publishers, searching for English books to reprint in America and vice versa, with little success. In the autumn of 1818, Irving’s brother William, sitting as a Congressman from New York, secured for him a political appointment as chief clerk to the Secretary of the U.S. Navy, and urged his younger brother to return home. Irving instead decided to remain in England and take his chances as a writer, announcing at the time, “I shall not return home until I have sent some writings before me that shall, if they have merit, make me return to smiles, rather than skulk back to the pity of my friends.”

  Having spent late 1818 and the early part of the following year working tirelessly on a collection of short stories and essays, The Sketch Book was eventually published in 1819 to critical acclaim. In Scotland, the world literary figure Sir Walter Scott was a great admirer of Irving’s writing, advising John Murray to publish his work. The collection was an immediate commercial success, winning fame and popularity for Irving and establishing his reputation on both sides of the Atlantic. Lord Byron was quoted as saying, “I know it by heart”, while Sir Walter Scott reviewed the work as “positively beautiful”.

  The Legend of Sleepy Hollow has since become one of the most influential ghost stories of the early nineteenth century. Set in 1790 in the countryside around the Dutch settlement of Tarry Town, Sleepy Hollow is renowned for its ghosts and haunting atmosphere. Legends tell of the spectre of the Headless Horseman, believed to be the ghost of a Hessian trooper, killed during the American Revolutionary War and who “rides forth to the scene of battle in nightly quest of his head”.

  The story concerns the tale of Ichabod Crane, a lean and superstitious schoolmaster from Connecticut, who competes with Abraham “Brom Bones” Van Brunt, the town rogue, for the hand of the beautiful Katrina Van Tassel, the daughter and sole child of a wealthy farmer, Baltus Van Tassel. However, all of their fates are about to be inexplicably entwined in the mystery of the Headless Horseman…

  Washington Irving by John Wesley Jarvis, c. 1809

  Sir Walter Scott, the leading literary figure of the age, was a friend and mentor to the young Irving.

  CONTENTS

  THE AUTHOR’S ACCOUNT OF HIMSELF

  THE VOYAGE.

  ROSCOE.

  THE WIFE.

  RIP VAN WINKLE.

  ENGLISH WRITERS ON AMERICA.

  RURAL LIFE IN ENGLAND.

  THE BROKEN HEART.

  THE ART OF BOOK-MAKING.

  A ROYAL POET.

  THE COUNTRY CHURCH.

  THE WIDOW AND HER SON.

  A SUNDAY IN LONDON

  THE BOAR’S HEAD TAVERN, EASTCHEAP.

  THE MUTABILITY OF LITERATURE.

  RURAL FUNERALS.

  THE INN KITCHEN.

  THE SPECTRE BRIDEGROOM.

  WESTMINSTER ABBEY.

  CHRISTMAS.

  THE STAGECOACH.

  CHRISTMAS EVE.

  CHRISTMAS DAY.

  THE CHRISTMAS DINNER.

  LONDON ANTIQUES.

  LITTLE BRITAIN.

  STRATFORD-ON-AVON.

  TRAITS OF INDIAN CHARACTER.

  PHILIP OF POKANOKET.

  JOHN BULL.

  THE PRIDE OF THE VILLAGE.

  THE ANGLER.

  THE LEGEND OF SLEEPY HOLLOW.

  L’ENVOY.*

  The first edition’s title page

  ‘The Headless Horseman Pursuing Ichabod Crane’ by John Quidor, 1858

  THE SKETCHBOOK OF GEOFFREY CRAYON, GENT.

  “I have no wife nor children, good or bad, to provide for. A mere spectator of other men’s fortunes and adventures, and how they play their parts; which, methinks, are diversely presented unto me, as from a common theatre or scene.” — BURTON.

  PREFACE TO THE REVISED EDITION.

  THE following papers, with two exceptions, were written in England, and formed but part of an intended series for which I had made notes and memorandums. Before I could mature a plan, however, circumstances compelled me
to send them piecemeal to the United States, where they were published from time to time in portions or numbers. It was not my intention to publish them in England, being conscious that much of their contents could be interesting only to American readers, and, in truth, being deterred by the severity with which American productions had been treated by the British press.

  By the time the contents of the first volume had appeared in this occasional manner, they began to find their way across the Atlantic, and to be inserted, with many kind encomiums, in the London Literary Gazette. It was said, also, that a London bookseller intended to publish them in a collective form. I determined, therefore, to bring them forward myself, that they might at least have the benefit of my superintendence and revision. I accordingly took the printed numbers which I had received from the United States, to Mr. John Murray, the eminent publisher, from whom I had already received friendly attentions, and left them with him for examination, informing him that should he be inclined to bring them before the public, I had materials enough on hand for a second volume. Several days having elapsed without any communication from Mr. Murray, I addressed a note to him, in which I construed his silence into a tacit rejection of my work, and begged that the numbers I had left with him might be returned to me. The following was his reply:

  MY DEAR SIR: I entreat you to believe that I feel truly obliged by your kind intentions towards me, and that I entertain the most unfeigned respect for your most tasteful talents. My house is completely filled with workpeople at this time, and I have only an office to transact business in; and yesterday I was wholly occupied, or I should have done myself the pleasure of seeing you.

  If it would not suit me to engage in the publication of your present work, it is only because I do not see that scope in the nature of it which would enable me to make those satisfactory accounts between us, without which I really feel no satisfaction in engaging — but I will do all I can to promote their circulation, and shall be most ready to attend to any future plan of yours.

  With much regard, I remain, dear sir,

  Your faithful servant,

  JOHN MURRAY.

  This was disheartening, and might have deterred me from any further prosecution of the matter, had the question of republication in Great Britain rested entirely with me; but I apprehended the appearance of a spurious edition. I now thought of Mr. Archibald Constable as publisher, having been treated by him with much hospitality during a visit to Edinburgh; but first I determined to submit my work to Sir-Walter (then Mr.) Scott, being encouraged to do so by the cordial reception I had experienced from him at Abbotsford a few years previously, and by the favorable opinion he had expressed to others of my earlier writings. I accordingly sent him the printed numbers of the Sketch-Book in a parcel by coach, and at the same time wrote to him, hinting that since I had had the pleasure of partaking of his hospitality, a reverse had taken place in my affairs which made the successful exercise of my pen all-important to me; I begged him, therefore, to look over the literary articles I had forwarded to him, and, if he thought they would bear European republication, to ascertain whether Mr. Constable would be inclined to be the publisher.

  The parcel containing my work went by coach to Scott’s address in Edinburgh; the letter went by mail to his residence in the country. By the very first post I received a reply, before he had seen my work.

  “I was down at Kelso,” said he, “when your letter reached Abbotsford. I am now on my way to town, and will converse with Constable, and do all in my power to forward your views — I assure you nothing will give me more pleasure.”

  The hint, however, about a reverse of fortune had struck the quick apprehension of Scott, and, with that practical and efficient goodwill which belonged to his nature, he had already devised a way of aiding me. A weekly periodical, he went on to inform me, was about to be set up in Edinburgh, supported by the most respectable talents, and amply furnished with all the necessary information. The appointment of the editor, for which ample funds were provided, would be five hundred pounds sterling a year, with the reasonable prospect of further advantages. This situation, being apparently at his disposal, he frankly offered to me. The work, however, he intimated, was to have somewhat of a political bearing, and he expressed an apprehension that the tone it was desired to adopt might not suit me. “Yet I risk the question,” added he, “because I know no man so well qualified for this important task, and perhaps because it will necessarily bring you to Edinburgh. If my proposal does not suit, you need only keep the matter secret and there is no harm done. ‘And for my love I pray you wrong me not.’ If on the contrary you think it could be made to suit you, let me know as soon as possible, addressing Castle Street, Edinburgh.”

  In a postscript, written from Edinburgh, he adds, “I am just come here, and have glanced over the Sketch-Book. It is positively beautiful, and increases my desire to crimp you, if it be possible. Some difficulties there always are in managing such a matter, especially at the outset; but we will obviate them as much as we possibly can.”

  The following is from an imperfect draught of my reply, which underwent some modifications in the copy sent:

  “I cannot express how much I am gratified by your letter. I had begun to feel as if I had taken an unwarrantable liberty; but, somehow or other, there is a genial sunshine about you that warms every creeping thing into heart and confidence. Your literary proposal both surprises and flatters me, as it evinces a much higher opinion of my talents than I have myself.”

  I then went on to explain that I found myself peculiarly unfitted for the situation offered to me, not merely by my political opinions, but by the very constitution and habits of my mind. “My whole course of life,” I observed, “has been desultory, and I am unfitted for any periodically recurring task, or any stipulated labor of body or mind. I have no command of my talents, such as they are, and have to watch the varyings of my mind as I would those of a weathercock. Practice and training may bring me more into rule; but at present I am as useless for regular service as one of my own country Indians or a Don Cossack.

  “I must, therefore, keep on pretty much as I have begun; writing when I can, not when I would. I shall occasionally shift my residence and write whatever is suggested by objects before me, or whatever rises in my imagination; and hope to write better and more copiously by and by.

  “I am playing the egotist, but I know no better way of answering your proposal than by showing what a very good-for-nothing kind of being I am. Should Mr. Constable feel inclined to make a bargain for the wares I have on hand, he will encourage me to further enterprise; and it will be something like trading with a gypsy for the fruits of his prowlings, who may at one time have nothing but a wooden bowl to offer, and at another time a silver tankard.”

  In reply, Scott expressed regret, but not surprise, at my declining what might have proved a troublesome duty. He then recurred to the original subject of our correspondence; entered into a detail of the various terms upon which arrangements were made between authors and booksellers, that I might take my choice; expressing the most encouraging confidence of the success of my work, and of previous works which I had produced in America. “I did no more,” added he, “than open the trenches with Constable; but I am sure if you will take the trouble to write to him, you will find him disposed to treat your overtures with every degree of attention. Or, if you think it of consequence in the first place to see me, I shall be in London in the course of a month, and whatever my experience can command is most heartily at your command. But I can add little to what I have said above, except my earnest recommendation to Constable to enter into the negotiation.”*

  * I cannot avoid subjoining in a note a succeeding paragraph of Scott’s letter, which, though it does not relate to the main subject of our correspondence, was too characteristic to be emitted. Some time previously I had sent Miss Sophia Scott small duodecimo American editions of her father’s poems published in Edinburgh in quarto volumes; showing the “nigromancy” of the Am
erican press, by which a quart of wine is conjured into a pint bottle. Scott observes: “In my hurry, I have not thanked you in Sophia’s name for the kind attention which furnished her with the American volumes. I am not quite sure I can add my own, since you have made her acquainted with much more of papa’s folly than she would ever otherwise have learned; for I had taken special care they should never see any of those things during their earlier years. I think I have told you that Walter is sweeping the firmament with a feather like a maypole and indenting the pavement with a sword like a scythe — in other words, he has become a whiskered hussar in the 18th Dragoons.”

  Before the receipt of this most obliging letter, however, I had determined to look to no leading bookseller for a launch, but to throw my work before the public at my own risk, and let it sink or swim according to its merits. I wrote to that effect to Scott, and soon received a reply:

  “I observe with pleasure that you are going to come forth in Britain. It is certainly not the very best way to publish on one’s own accompt; for the booksellers set their face against the circulation of such works as do not pay an amazing toll to themselves. But they have lost the art of altogether damming up the road in such cases between the author and the public, which they were once able to do as effectually as Diabolus in John Bunyan’s Holy War closed up the windows of my Lord Understanding’s mansion. I am sure of one thing, that you have only to be known to the British public to be admired by them, and I would not say so unless I really was of that opinion.