Washington Irving

One of the most prolific american authors, Washington Irving was born on April 3rd, 1783 in New York. He was the eleventh son of Sarah Sanders and William Irving. Although having a very poor health during childhood, which would in fact chase him all his life long, he was an adventurous young boy who would sneak out at nights to attend plays. This was very frustrating for his parents who expected a more proper behavior from his youngest son.
Washington Irving started his very successful career as a writer along with his brothers in the short-lived but very popular newspaper "The Salmagundi Papers". After this first appearance in the non-fiction genre, Irving wrote his first novel "Knickerbocker's History of New York" (1809) featuring Diedrich Knickerbocker, an immigrant who tells the history of New York city from "the beginning of the world to the end of the Dutch dynasty". This novel was a hit in the United States and abroad.
Irving's health continued to fail, but nonetheless in 1815 he left to England with the initial purpose of visiting his brother but ended up staying there for the next seventeen years mainly traveling around Europe. Irving preferred the company of men, and had a very easy way with the ladies, he never settled down nor had children only dedicated his youth to enjoy the ways of life and explore the European culture.
During his period in England some mis-fortuned business transactions with his brother forced him to his pen again in hope to bring some income to his relatives, this was indeed a golden enterprise for it was during this period when he wrote two of his most famous short stories: "Rip Van Winkle" and "The Legend of Sleepy Hollow". These stories were published in America under the pseudonym of Geoffrey Crayon and gained him enormous fame back at home and in Europe, but even though his professional profits, his illnesses continued to be an issue and in many occasions did not allowed him to leave bed, even when never stopped his writing.
In 1822 he lived for a short period in Spain, and there he got the inspiration for his "Tales of the Alhambra" and other stories and essays. Finally in 1832 he returned to America for good, and acquired a propriety by the side of the Hudson river in which beautiful landscapes he remained until his death in 1859.
Most of Irving's writings, both fiction and non-fiction, can be described as an illustration of the Dutch heritage in America. Even those texts he wrote while living abroad have are a portrait of the immigrant culture in New York, and that is no doubt his greatest legacy.

Dracula's Guest

This short story written by Bram Stoker is part of an anthology of the same name.
Bram Stoker is known by his Vampires stories and this a good way to start reading him if you are not familiar with the vampire genre.

Bram Stoker-Short Story

Walpurgisnatch

The short story we are reading now takes place during a very popular German Holliday called "Walpurgisnatch". This celebration is held the night before May Day (April 30th to May 1st) and it is very similar to the anglosaxon celebration of Halloween.

In the short story the writer, Bram Stoker; describes it in this way:

"Walpurgis Night was when, according to the belief of millions of people, the devil was abroad--when the graves were opened and the dead came forth and walked. When all evil things of earth and air and water held revel."

In fact, "Wlpurgisnatch" has a pagan origin (the term pagan means basically not christian), and it is a festival in which the natives light bonfires to drive away winter and welcome spring.
Celebrated mainly in Sweden, Finnland, Estonia, Latvia, and Germany, "Walpurgisnacht" gets its name from Saint Walburga (or Walpurga), a woman born in what is now England in 710. Die heilige Walpurga traveled to Germany and became a nun at the convent of Heidenheim in Württemberg. Following her death in 778 (or 779), she was made a saint, with May 1 as her saint day. Later on when the Christians came to Germany and named the bonfire festival "Walpurgis" a time when evil spirits wander on earth and should be driven away usually with loud noises and fire.
In Germany the focal point of "Walpurgisnatch" is The Brocken the highest peak on the Harz Mountains. Also known as the Blocksberg, the 1142-meter peak is often shrouded in mist and clouds, lending it a mysterious atmosphere that has contributed to its legendary status as the home of witches (Hexen) and devils (Teufel).



Speak up! What do you think about this celebration?
What is the relevance of it in the plot of the story?

Auguries of Innocence-William Blake

To see a World in a Grain of Sand
And a Heaven in a Wild Flower,
Hold Infinity in the palm of your hand
And Eternity in an hour.

A Robin Red breast in a Cage
Puts all Heaven in a Rage.
A dove house fill'd with doves & Pigeons
Shudders Hell thro' all its regions.
A dog starv'd at his Master's Gate
Predicts the ruin of the State.
A Horse misus'd upon the Road
Calls to Heaven for Human blood.
Each outcry of the hunted Hare
A fibre from the Brain does tear.
A Skylark wounded in the wing,
A Cherubim does cease to sing.
The Game Cock clipp'd and arm'd for fight
Does the Rising Sun affright.
Every Wolf's & Lion's howl
Raises from Hell a Human Soul.
The wild deer, wand'ring here & there,
Keeps the Human Soul from Care.
The Lamb misus'd breeds public strife
And yet forgives the Butcher's Knife.
The Bat that flits at close of Eve
Has left the Brain that won't believe.
The Owl that calls upon the Night
Speaks the Unbeliever's fright.
He who shall hurt the little Wren
Shall never be belov'd by Men.
He who the Ox to wrath has mov'd
Shall never be by Woman lov'd.
The wanton Boy that kills the Fly
Shall feel the Spider's enmity.
He who torments the Chafer's sprite
Weaves a Bower in endless Night.
The Catterpillar on the Leaf
Repeats to thee thy Mother's grief.
Kill not the Moth nor Butterfly,
For the Last Judgement draweth nigh.
He who shall train the Horse to War
Shall never pass the Polar Bar.
The Beggar's Dog & Widow's Cat,
Feed them & thou wilt grow fat.
The Gnat that sings his Summer's song
Poison gets from Slander's tongue.
The poison of the Snake & Newt
Is the sweat of Envy's Foot.
The poison of the Honey Bee
Is the Artist's Jealousy.
The Prince's Robes & Beggars' Rags
Are Toadstools on the Miser's Bags.
A truth that's told with bad intent
Beats all the Lies you can invent.
It is right it should be so;
Man was made for Joy & Woe;
And when this we rightly know
Thro' the World we safely go.
Joy & Woe are woven fine,
A Clothing for the Soul divine;
Under every grief & pine
Runs a joy with silken twine.
The Babe is more than swadling Bands;
Throughout all these Human Lands
Tools were made, & born were hands,
Every Farmer Understands.
Every Tear from Every Eye
Becomes a Babe in Eternity.
This is caught by Females bright
And return'd to its own delight.
The Bleat, the Bark, Bellow & Roar
Are Waves that Beat on Heaven's Shore.
The Babe that weeps the Rod beneath
Writes Revenge in realms of death.
The Beggar's Rags, fluttering in Air,
Does to Rags the Heavens tear.
The Soldier arm'd with Sword & Gun,
Palsied strikes the Summer's Sun.
The poor Man's Farthing is worth more
Than all the Gold on Afric's Shore.
One Mite wrung from the Labrer's hands
Shall buy & sell the Miser's lands:
Or, if protected from on high,
Does that whole Nation sell & buy.
He who mocks the Infant's Faith
Shall be mock'd in Age & Death.
He who shall teach the Child to Doubt
The rotting Grave shall ne'er get out.
He who respects the Infant's faith
Triumph's over Hell & Death.
The Child's Toys & the Old Man's Reasons
Are the Fruits of the Two seasons.
The Questioner, who sits so sly,
Shall never know how to Reply.
He who replies to words of Doubt
Doth put the Light of Knowledge out.
The Strongest Poison ever known
Came from Caesar's Laurel Crown.
Nought can deform the Human Race
Like the Armour's iron brace.
When Gold & Gems adorn the Plow
To peaceful Arts shall Envy Bow.
A Riddle or the Cricket's Cry
Is to Doubt a fit Reply.
The Emmet's Inch & Eagle's Mile
Make Lame Philosophy to smile.
He who Doubts from what he sees
Will ne'er believe, do what you Please.
If the Sun & Moon should doubt
They'd immediately Go out.
To be in a Passion you Good may do,
But no Good if a Passion is in you.
The Whore & Gambler, by the State
Licenc'd, build that Nation's Fate.
The Harlot's cry from Street to Street
Shall weave Old England's winding Sheet.
The Winner's Shout, the Loser's Curse,
Dance before dead England's Hearse.
Every Night & every Morn
Some to Misery are Born.
Every Morn & every Night
Some are Born to sweet Delight.
Some ar Born to sweet Delight,
Some are born to Endless Night.
We are led to Believe a Lie
When we see not Thro' the Eye
Which was Born in a Night to Perish in a Night
When the Soul Slept in Beams of Light.
God Appears & God is Light
To those poor Souls who dwell in the Night,
But does a Human Form Display
To those who Dwell in Realms of day.