Read Complete Fictional Works of Washington Irving (Illustrated) Online
Authors: Washington Irving
Dirk Waldron was the only being that seemed to shed a ray of sunshine into this house of mourning. He came in with cheery look and manly spirit, and tried to reanimate the expiring heart of the poor money-digger, but it was all in vain. Wolfert was completely done over. If any thing was wanting to complete his despair, it was a notice served upon him in the midst of his distress, that the corporation were about to run a new street through the very centre of his cabbage garden. He saw nothing before him but poverty and ruin; his last reliance, the garden of his forefathers, was to be laid waste, and what then was to become of his poor wife and child?
His eyes filled with tears as they followed the dutiful Amy out of the room one morning. Dirk Waldron was seated beside him; Wolfert grasped his hand, pointed after his daughter, and for the first time since his illness broke the silence he had maintained.
“I am going!” said he, shaking his head feebly, “and when I am gone — my poordaughter—”
“Leave her to me, father!” said Dirk, manfully—”I’ll take care of her!”
Wolfert looked up in the face of the cheery, strapping youngster, and saw there was none better able to take care of a woman.
“Enough,” said he, “she is yours! — and now fetch me a lawyer — let me make my will and die.”
The lawyer was brought — a dapper, bustling, roundheaded little man, Roorback (or Rollebuck, as it was pronounced) by name. At the sight of him the women broke into loud lamentations, for they looked upon the signing of a will as the signing of a death-warrant. Wolfert made a feeble motion for them to be silent. Poor Amy buried her face and her grief in the bed-curtain. Dame Webber resumed her knitting to hide her distress, which betrayed itself, however, in a pellucid tear, that trickled silently down and hung at the end of her peaked nose; while the cat, the only unconcerned member of the family, played with the good dame’s ball of worsted, as it rolled about the floor.
Wolfert lay on his back, his nightcap drawn over his forehead; his eyes closed; his whole visage the picture of death. He begged the lawyer to be brief, for he felt his end approaching, and that he had no time to lose. The lawyer nibbed his pen, spread out his paper, and prepared to write.
“I give and bequeath,” said Wolfert, faintly, “my small farm—”
“What — all!” exclaimed the lawyer.
Wolfert half opened his eyes and looked upon the lawyer.
“Yes — all” said he.
“What! all that great patch of land with cabbages and sunflowers, which the corporation is just going to run a main street through?”
“The same,” said Wolfert, with a heavy sigh and sinking back upon his pillow.
“I wish him joy that inherits it!” said the little lawyer, chuckling and rubbing his hands involuntarily.
“What do you mean?” said Wolfert, again opening his eyes.
“That he’ll be one of the richest men in the place!” cried little
Rollebuck.
The expiring Wolfert seemed to step back from the threshold of existence: his eyes again lighted up; he raised himself in his bed, shoved back his red worsted nightcap, and stared broadly at the lawyer.
“You don’t say so!” exclaimed he.
“Faith, but I do!” rejoined the other. “Why, when that great field and that piece of meadow come to be laid out in streets, and cut up into snug building lots — why, whoever owns them need not pull off his hat to the patroon!”
“Say you so?” cried Wolfert, half thrusting one leg out of bed, “why, then I think I’ll not make my will yet!”
To the surprise of everybody the dying man actually recovered. The vital spark which had glimmered faintly in the socket, received fresh fuel from the oil of gladness, which the little lawyer poured into his soul. It once more burnt up into a flame.
Give physic to the heart, ye who would revive the body of a spirit-broken man! In a few days Wolfert left his room; in a few days more his table was covered with deeds, plans of streets and building lots. Little Rollebuck was constantly with him, his right-hand man and adviser, and instead of making his will, assisted in the more agreeable task of making his fortune. In fact, Wolfert Webber was one of those worthy Dutch burghers of the Manhattoes whose fortunes have been made, in a manner, in spite of themselves; who have tenaciously held on to their hereditary acres, raising turnips and cabbages about the skirts of the city, hardly able to make both ends meet, until the corporation has cruelly driven streets through their abodes, and they have suddenly awakened out of a lethargy, and, to their astonishment, found themselves rich men.
Before many months had elapsed a great bustling street passed through the very centre of the Webber garden, just where Wolfert had dreamed of finding a treasure. His golden dream was accomplished; he did indeed find an unlooked-for source of wealth; for, when his paternal lands were distributed into building lots, and rented out to safe tenants, instead of producing a paltry crop of cabbages, they returned him an abundant crop of rents; insomuch that on quarter day, it was a goodly sight to see his tenants rapping at his door, from morning to night, each with a little round-bellied bag of money, the golden produce of the soil.
The ancient mansion of his forefathers was still kept up, but instead of being a little yellow-fronted Dutch house in a garden, it now stood boldly in the midst of a street, the grand house of the neighborhood; for Wolfert enlarged it with a wing on each side, and a cupola or tea room on top, where he might climb up and smoke his pipe in hot weather; and in the course of time the whole mansion was overrun by the chubby-faced progeny of Amy Webber and Dirk Waldron.
As Wolfert waxed old and rich and corpulent, he also set up a great gingerbread-colored carriage drawn by a pair of black Flanders mares with tails that swept the ground; and to commemorate the origin of his greatness he had for a crest a fullblown cabbage painted on the pannels, with the pithy motto
Alles Kopf
that is to say, ALL HEAD; meaning thereby that he had risen by sheer headwork.
To fill the measure of his greatness, in the fullness of time the renowned Ramm Rapelye slept with his fathers, and Wolfert Webber succeeded to the leathern-bottomed armchair in the inn parlor at Corlears Hook; where he long reigned greatly honored and respected, insomuch that he was never known to tell a story without its being believed, nor to utter a joke without its being laughed at.
A SERIES OF TALES AND SKETCHES OF THE MOORS AND SPANIARDS
This collection of short stories, essays and sketches was published in May 1832 by Lea and Carey in America and in England at the same time by Henry Colburn. The collection was marketed as being the ‘Spanish Sketch Book’, hoping to capitalise on the fame of the author’s first success.
Irving was inspired to produce this collection in 1828, when, having recently completed his enormous biography of Christopher Columbus, he left Madrid and visited Granada. At first sight, he described Granada as being “a most picturesque and beautiful city, situated in one of the loveliest landscapes that I have ever seen.” Irving was also preparing a non-fiction book called
A Chronicle of the Conquest of Granada
, which was a history of the years 1478–1492. Intrigued by his research, Irving asked the governor of the historic Alhambra Palace for access to the building, which was granted due to the author’s already considerable literary reputation. Aided by a local guide named Mateo Ximenes, Irving filled his notebooks and journals with descriptions and observations, fearing his writing would never do the grand subject the justice he felt it deserved.
Following the book’s release and warm reception, Irving continued to travel through Spain until he was appointed as secretary of legation at the United States Embassy in London, serving under the incoming minister Louis McLane.
The first American edition
CONTENTS
Important Negotiations. The Author Succeeds to the Throne of Boabdil.
Alhamar. The Founder of the Alhambra.
Yusef Abul Hagig. The Finisher of the Alhambra.
Panorama from the Tower of Comares.
Legend of the Arabian Astrologer.
Note to “The Arabian Astrologer”
Legend of Prince Ahmed al Kamel, or, The Pilgrim of Love.
Legend of the Three Beautiful Princesses.
Legend of the Rose of the Alhambra.
Governor Manco and the Soldier.
Legend of the Two Discreet Statues.
The Crusade of the Grand Master of Alcantara.
Legend of Don Munio Sancho de Hinojosa.
Poets and Poetry of Moslem Andalus.
An Expedition in Quest of a Diploma.
The Legend of the Enchanted Soldier.
Notes to “The Enchanted Soldier”.
The Author’s Farewell to Granada.