Any pleasure Irving may have taken in his business dealings with Murray and Thomas evaporated in early October with news from America that cut Irving to the core. On September 20, 1817, Henry Brevoort married Laura Elizabeth Carson of South Carolina.
Irving was stunned. While Brevoort's letters from this time are missing, it is obvious from Irving's reaction that Brevoort had not informed him of his intentions, perhaps dreading the potential fallout. To his credit, Irving's response was not the near hysterics of 1816, but rather a sad, understated acceptance:
I am almost ashamed to say that at first the news had rather the effect of making me feel melancholy rather than glad. It seemed in a manner to divorce us forever, for marriage is the grave of Bachelors intimacy and after having lived & grown together for many years, so that our habits thoughts & feelings were quite blended and intertwined, a separation of this kind is a serious matter—not so much to you, who are transplanted into the garden of matrimony, to flourish & fructify and be caressed into prosperity—but for poor me, left lonely & forlorn, and blasted by every wind of heaven—However I dont mean to indulge in lamentations on the occasion. Though this unknown piece of perfection has completely usurped my place, I bear her no jealousy or ill will; but hope you may long live happily together, and that she may prove as constant & faithful to you as I have been.19
Shortly after Irving posted this letter, Brevoort abruptly broke off their correspondence for several months—and Irving let the newlywed know that his silence had not gone unnoticed: “I cannot consent to be so completely forgotten. I don't mean to complain for I know it is the nature of things and what we poor Bachelors must make our minds up to—but only do the thing decently and let me down as easy as possible. I wrote to you some time last winter… you have never acknowledged receipt of that letter. I hope it arrived safe and that you did not, in some sudden fit of jealousy suppress our correspondence.”20
The mutual snit eventually blew over—perhaps each knew the other simply needed a good sulk. Their relationship had changed in unstated ways, but they had too much in common, too many shared experiences. The two resumed their warm, sincere correspondence and deep friendship, and continued to seek each other's guidance, solace, and support.
Stewing over Brevoort's marriage that fall, Irving's mood was suitably dark, though in a letter to Mrs. Hoffman in November, he indicated that he was still hoping to “find wholesome fruit springing out of trouble and adversity.”21
Back in the States, William Irving, that most astute of men, saw the writing on the wall regarding the future of the family business. He stepped up his appeals to Henry Clay and others about political posts for both Washington and Peter. Writing to Ebenezer in December 1817 from Washington, D.C., where he had just taken his seat in the 15th Congress, William assured him he was working hard to secure something—anything—for their brothers in Liverpool. “I have not been inattentive to the situation of brothers Washington and Peter,” he wrote firmly. “I have had two conversations with Clay on the subject. He stands ready to aid in anything that can be suggested…. You may rest assured that I will do my best. I need no pressing on my head, for my mind is full of the subject. I think on it night and day.”22
Once again, the sought-for post fell through. Washington thanked William for his efforts, but said—perhaps too proudly—“I should not like to have my name hackneyed about among the office-seekers and office-givers at Washington.” Instead, he told his brother, “I would rather that all consideration should be given to helping up poor Ebenezer and Peter, and let me take care of myself. I feel excessive anxiety on Ebenezer's account, with such a numerous family to support, and I scarcely feel less on Peter's, who is brought down at a period of life when a man begins to crave ease and comfort in the world.”23
As for his own situation, he told William that he did not require much to live and would much rather see his brothers successful and finally be “relieved from this cloud that hangs over us all.” He was done playing businessman. “I certainly think that no hope of gain, however flattering, would tempt me again into the cares and sordid concerns of traffic,” he declared.24
More important, he hinted that he was ready to strike out on his own. Firmly, but cryptically, he told William, “I give you this general assurance, which, I trust, will be received with confidence, and save the necessity of particular explanations, which it would be very irksome for me to make. I feel that my future career must depend very much upon myself, and therefore every step I make at present, is done with proper consideration. I look forward to a life of loneliness and parsimonious and almost painful economy.”25 The underlying implications of this letter were enormous. He gave his brothers no details, other than the pledge that he intended to be his own man and that no matter what happened, he knew what he was doing.
P. Irving and Company came to an end in the winter of 1817. Washington and Peter gave the ledgers a final look and realized they were finished; the business couldn't be saved. There was no other option but to declare bankruptcy.
The formal notice of the firm's bankruptcy appeared in the Times of London on February 2, 1818, and in the Liverpool Mercury on February 6, 1818. Henry Van Wart appeared again before his commission in Birmingham on February 13, 14, and 28, 1818; notice of his bankruptcy and that of the Irvings had appeared together on February 9, 1818, in Aris's Birmingham Gazette. There it was, for all to see. Theirs was among more than 1,300 bankruptcies filed that year. Appearing before their commission in Liverpool, with creditors, commissioners, and fellow debtors coming and going, Washington and Peter could only watch in humiliation as the assignee pored over their books, determining how their assets would be divided.26 The brothers made their last personal appearance before their commission on March 14. Their fate was now in the hands of the commissioners.
On April 30 Irving wrote Brevoort from Liverpool that he and Peter were “waiting here for the final settlement of our concerns; our certificates are going the round for Signature after which Peter will sail for New York.” In the meantime, Irving was pacing the floors in their Bold Street rooms, still tinkering with A History of New York, conjugating verbs in the German he was trying to teach himself at Scott's urging, taking flute lessons, and fine-tuning the essays in his journals. Even Peter had returned to writing, translating Charles Nodier's Jean Sbogar, which had been published in Paris earlier in the year as Giovanni Sbogarro, A Venetian Tale. All things considered, Irving told Leslie, “we get through the day without a moment hanging heavy on our hands. I feel perfectly contented and in fact I do not think my time ever passed away more completely to my satisfaction.”27
The Irvings’ certificates were filed on May 25, 1818. “I am happy to inform you that we have had our Certificates duly signed and they have only now to go through the Lord Chancellor's hands,” he wrote in relief to Brevoort. The firm was finally relieved of its obligations on June 22, 1818. The nightmare that had begun in 1815 was over.28
The bankruptcy finalized, Irving was briefly tempted to return home, but informed Brevoort that he was determined to remain in England for a while longer. He continued to ship British books to Thomas for him to publish in America, using Brevoort as his middleman to collect and remit payments—a system that seemed to work well enough.
He kept his writing close to his chest; so close, in fact, that when Thomas suggested he consider taking up the pen again, Irving dismissed the idea. “I notice what you say on the subject of getting up an original work but I am very squeamish on that point,” he wrote. “Whatever my literary reputation may be worth, it is very dear to me, and I cannot bring myself to risk it by making up books for mere profit.” Meanwhile, he was continuing to teach himself German, hoping to tap German literature and culture for literary inspiration. He reported to Brevoort with some satisfaction that he now knew enough to “read and splutter a little.”29
In late June Irving returned to Birmingham, where he was delighted to learn that Henry Van Wart had already begun to recover from
bankruptcy. “I am happy to say,” he reported to one correspondent, “that Van is full of business and business of the right kind, and is in high spirits.”30
It was hot that summer; one English newspaper reported temperatures as high as 116 degrees.31 In the relative cool of Castle Von Tromp, Irving continued to guide the new edition of A History of New York toward production, mainly through directives to Allston and Leslie. The drawings the two had completed for the new edition were being engraved, and Irving managed their printing with care. Allston was particularly pleased with the quality of the engravings, and apologized to Irving that such work was going to cost more. Irving not only paid for the more expensive engraver, but asked that the engravings be printed on the finest French paper.
Something much more exciting, however, was about to occupy his time. Irving had moped about Castle Van Tromp, his mood somber, his flute quiet. Van Wart watched him staring at the blank sheets of paper in his room, head in his hands; he understood from his own experiences the humiliations of bankruptcy, but also appreciated Irving's tendency to brood. Determined to raise his brother-in-law's spirits, Van Wart pulled Irving aside one evening and spoke to him of New York, the theater, and Sleepy Hollow. The two laughed at the stories and memories, until Irving suddenly bolted from the chamber and fled to his room, slamming the door behind him. His pen scratched and flew all night long, filling sheets of paper with his barely legible handwriting, the words coming almost faster than he could get them down.
In the morning, he was still hunched over his desk while the house awakened, dressed, and breakfasted. As the family dined, Irving emerged from his room, manuscript in hand, flushed but showing no signs of exhaustion, despite having worked all night. It had all come back to him, he explained excitedly to the family—the conversations about Dutch New York and Sleepy Hollow had brought back his inspiration and his energy; he felt like a man waking from a long sleep. Sitting at the breakfast table, he read the Van Warts the opening chapters of what he had written all through the night, the tale of another man who had suddenly awakened from a long sleep: Rip Van Winkle.
Rip came in nearly finished form on his first draft. Irving's satisfaction must have been immense as he tucked the manuscript into his trunk, where it sat with nine near-complete essays. He was becoming more and more certain of what he wanted to do. Resolved, he notified Thomas that he was canceling their arrangement to act as an intermediary between the American and British markets, refusing the rest of his salary and telling him that he did not believe the arrangement had been as productive for Thomas as they had anticipated.32
Irving packed his bags and left for London in the middle of August, determined to earn his living by his pen. His journals were filled with half-finished essays, turns of phrase that appealed to his ear, plot outlines for stories, and long notes to himself. His mind was a jumble; it had been a long year.
Arriving in London, he received word that Allston was preparing to leave for America and rushed in panic to the artist's rooms in Fitzroy Square. They were empty. Frantic, he located Leslie, who told him that Allston was visiting Coleridge. Irving galloped out to Hellgate to meet him, pleading with Allston to remain in London, and trying to convince him he would be more successful and better appreciated in England than in the United States.
It was no use. Allston's mind was made up; he was going to Boston to open his own studio. “As he drove off in the stage and waved his hand to me,” Irving said, “my heart sank within me and I returned gloomy and dispirited to my lodgings.” Allston's departure was a severe blow to Irving. He had adored the painter since their brief time together in Rome in 1805, and Allston had nearly replaced Brevoort in his heart. “He was the most delightful, the most lovable being I ever knew,” Irving sighed many years later, “a man I would like to have had always at my side—to have gone through life with; his nature was so refined, so intellectual, so genial, so pure.33
His absence had a similarly devastating effect on Leslie, who also seemed to have had more than friendly feelings for Allston. Leslie and Irving turned to each other for solace. Two years later, with his own marriage approaching, Leslie expressed his gratitude to Irving for carrying him through this particularly lonely time: “You came to London just when I was losing Allston, and I stood in need of an intimate friend of similar tastes with my own. I not only owe you some of the happiest social hours of my life, but you opened to me a new range of observation in my art, and a perception of qualities and characters of things which painters do not always imbibe from each other.”34
Besides Leslie, Irving became attached to another American painter, Gilbert Stuart Newton, the nephew of the American portrait painter Gilbert Stuart. Newton and Irving soon moved into rooms together on Langham Place. “I often look back with fondness and regret to the times we lived together in London in a delightful community of thought and feeling,” Irving later wrote of his time with Newton, “struggling our way onward in the world, but cheering and encouraging each other. I find nothing to supply the place of that heartfelt fellowship.”
Rounding out Irving's small circle of friends—as he had done in New York, Irving referred to his group as the Lads, with nicknames for each—were the “highly animated” Peter Powell, who was quite a bit older than the others, with a larger-than-life personality that more than compensated for his near-midget stature, and William Willes, an Irish landscape painter who was a student at the Royal Academy.35
Scholars have scratched their heads at this nearly inseparable group of young men, wondering if there was perhaps something more going on. Given Irving's strong attachments to Brevoort, Allston, and Newton, as well as the strong expressions of need and love in their correspondence with each other over the years, it is not unlikely that some element of the homoerotic may have linked the men.36 Regardless, the group cut an impressive picture of talented and handsome young men that would have been very much at home in London's artistic community.
Irving walked the streets of London more deliberately now, filing away information in his notebooks for future use, wandering in thought through Westminster Abbey and taking page after page of notes in the British Museum. The writing frenzy that had seized him in Birmingham had subsided in London. He told Brevoort that he was “nervous and debilitated,” which produced a “great depression of Spirits.”37 The darkness was beginning to close in.
He sorted through the essays he had completed. No cohesive theme bound them together; turning them into a novel would be difficult. But just as Irving had inspired Leslie's art, so had living among artists inspired Irving as a writer. These essays were like a series of sketches—a sketchbook, as it were.
He read with mixed emotions of the birth of Brevoort's son, and at last put the finishing touches on the new edition of A History of New York. He was very pleased with the art he had received from Allston and Leslie, and the quality of the engravings surpassed his expectations. He covered the costs of printing the new plates out of his own pocket, paying an impressive one hundred pounds schilling, or about $11,000 today, which left his purse, as he said understatedly, “dry.” He shipped them to Ebenezer in October, and asked that Moses Thomas be allowed to publish the new edition. In the same letter, there is a cryptic reference to a sealed packet he had sent to Ebenezer earlier, which he now informed his brother he could destroy. “I have nothing now to leave my brothers but a blessing,” Irving wrote, “and that they have whenever I think of them.”38
His brothers thought of him as well. Both Ebenezer and William had been working hard on his behalf since the unsuccessful appeals to Clay months before. In November Irving received the following letter from William, sent from New York in late October 1818:
I added a postscript to a letter of Br[other] Ebenezer to you, written a few days ago. The purport of the letter was to inform you that Commodore Decatur informed me that he had made such arrangements, and such steps would further be made by the Navy Board, as that you will be able to obtain the office of first Clerk in the Na
vy Department, which is indeed similar to that of under secretary in England. The salary is equal to 2,400 Dollars per annum, which as the Commodore says, is sufficient to enable you to live in Washington like a prince. The Secretary of the Navy has resigned, and as harmony in that department is wished, the President wishes that the new one may meet with their approbation. The have been looking round for a suitable person, and they are resolved to make it a sine qua non with him, whoever he may be, that the present chief clerk, who has rendered himself particularly obnoxious to all the fine spirits of the Navy, shall be dismissed; and they have determined to secure the birth for you, until your answer can be obtained. It is a birth highly respectable—Very comfortable in its income, light in its duties, and will afford you a very ample leisure to pursue the bent of your literary inclinations. It may also be a mere stepping stone to higher station and may be considered at any rate permanent.
If you think it will suit, you will return immediately…. My dear brother, how happy I will be to see you all in a comfortable way once more. It will take the only load remaining from my heart.39
For years Irving had sought the relative stability of a political appointment, going hat in hand to Albany in 1810, hearing his name bandied about, without success, in Washington in 1811, and then, in early 1818, having the secretaryship of the American Legation dangled before being snatched away. Now here was a plum, his for the taking, with minimal responsibilities, which would give him the opportunity to use his social skills to make the contacts he needed for his writing or, as William put it, some even “higher station.”
Washington Irving Page 19