Wolfert's Roost, and MiscellaniesIrving, Washington
General
Wolfert's Roost, and Miscellanies
Irving, Washington
American essays; Short stories, American
And for that he had accepted her ring, says the ancient chronicler, she
considered herself wedded to him in her heart, and would never marry;
nor could she be brought to look with eyes of affection upon any other
man; but for the true love which she bore Pelayo, she lived and died a
virgin. And she composed a book which treated of love and chivalry,
and the temptations of this mortal life; and one part discoursed of
celestial matters, and it was called "The Contemplations of Love;"
because at the time she wrote it, she thought of Pelayo, and of his
having accepted her jewel and called her by the gentle appellation of
"Amiga." And often thinking of him in tender sadness, and of her never
having beheld him more, she would take the book and would read it as
if in his stead; and while she repeated the words of love which it
contained, she would endeavor to fancy them uttered by Pelayo, and that
he stood before her.
* * * * *
THE KNIGHT OF MALTA.
TO THE EDITOR OF THE KNICKERBOCKER
SIR: In the course of a tour which I made in Sicily, in the days of my
juvenility, I passed some little time at the ancient city of Catania,
at the foot of Mount Ætna. Here I became acquainted with the Chevalier
L----, an old Knight of Malta. It was not many years after the time that
Napoleon had dislodged the knights from their island, and he still wore
the insignia of his order. He was not, however, one of those reliques of
that once chivalrous body, who had been described was "a few worn-out
old men, creeping about certain parts of Europe, with the Maltese cross
on their breasts;" on the contrary, though advanced in life, his form
was still light and vigorous; he had a pale, thin, intellectual visage,
with a high forehead, and a bright, visionary eye. He seemed to take a
fancy to me, as I certainly did to him, and we soon became intimate,
I visited him occasionally, at his apartments, in the wing of an old
palace, looking toward Mount Ætna. He was an antiquary, a virtuoso, and
a connoisseur. His rooms were decorated with mutilated statues, dug up
from Grecian and Roman ruins; old vases, lachrymals, and sepulchral
lamps. He had astronomical and chemical instruments, and black-letter
books, in various languages. I found that he had dipped a little in
chimerical studies and had a hankering after astrology and alchymy. He
affected to believe in dreams and visions, and delighted in the fanciful
Rosicrucian doctrines. I cannot persuade myself, however, that he really
believed in all these: I rather think he loved to let his imagination
carry him away into the boundless fairy land which they unfolded.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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