Irving could, for example, have been referring to Mrs. Robert Gamble. The former Catherine Grattan, who had braved Indians and panthers and other perils of the frontier in her youth, was not now to be overawed by a son-in-law who was one of the leading lawyers for the prosecution. Let William Wirt employ his eloquence to get Aaron Burr hanged. Nevertheless Mrs. Gamble felt free to send refreshments from her kitchen to the prisoner. After all, were they not neighbors? The Gray House and the penitentiary occupied adjoining promontories. They shared equally the architectural genius of Benjamin Henry Latrobe. Why should not Catherine Grattan Gamble welcome Burr with all the courtesies customarily extended by Richmonders to a new resident with the proper social background?
Irving’s description of Burr in prison was nothing like so glowing as that of Burr himself. The only reason for immuring the Colonel in that abode of “thieves, cut-throats and incendiaries,” commented Irving, was that it would save the United States a couple of hundred dollars, which would have been the charge for guarding him at his lodgings.
Contrary to Burr’s statement that his friends had ready access to him, Irving reported that, “I found great difficulty gaining admission to him for a few moments. The keeper had orders to admit no one but his counsel and his witnesses—strange measures these!
“That it is not sufficient that a man against whom no certainty of crime is proved, should be confined by bolts, and bars and massy walls in a criminal prison; but he is likewise to be cut off from all intercourse with society, deprived of all the kind offices of friendship, and made to suffer all the penalties and deprivations of a condemned criminal. I was permitted to enter for a few moments, as a special favor, contrary to orders.” Could it have been that the Colonel was afraid the enthusiastic young man might stay too long?
Irving thought the Colonel seemed in lower spirits than formerly. He was composed and collected as usual, but there was not the same cheerfulness that Irving had hitherto remarked. The Colonel told him that it was with difficulty that his very servant was allowed occasionally to see him. “He had a bad cold, which I suppose was occasioned by the dampness of his chamber which had lately been whitewashed.” It was with a heavy heart that Irving left him.
The Colonel’s and Irving’s accounts of the imprisonment could hardly be more contradictory. But then Burr was trying to relieve Theodosia’s anxieties, whereas Irving’s purpose in being in Richmond was to use his talents to turn public opinion in Burr’s favor.
Irving’s obligation to Burr’s friends for enabling him to be present at the trial was not a small one. The young man at this stage of his life delighted in mingling with the great and the near-great and he had had a rare opportunity to do so in Richmond.
To his brother-in-law James Paulding, associate editor of Salmagundi, he wrote enthusiastically of his experience: “I have been treated in the most polite and hospitable manner by the most distinguished persons of the place—those friendly to Burr and those opposed to him, and have intimate acquaintances among his bitterest enemies. I am absolutely enchanted with Richmond, and like it more and more every day. The society is polished, sociable and extremely hospitable, and here is a great variety of distinguished characters assembled on this occasion, which gives a strong degree of interest to passing incidents.”
But there must be an end to all good things. Irving had his magazine in New York to think about. No telling how long the trial would take. He had been in Richmond two months and the Court had done no more than get through the preliminaries. So before the actual business of trying Burr began, Irving had to set out on his return home. On the way he stopped off in Washington and from there wrote a letter to his confidante, Miss Mary Fairlee, a charming young person who then was the reigning belle in New York. To her he confided that, as much as he enjoyed Richmond society, he had been faced by a serious personal problem. It was of a sort that was likely to happen to a handsome and eligible young man on his first appearance in a community. He was pursued by designing young women.
“By some lucky means or other,” Irving informed Miss Fairlee, “I got the character, among three or four novel-read damsels, of being an interesting young man [the italics are Irving’s]; now of all characters in the world, believe me, this is the most intolerable for any young man, who has a will of his own to support, particularly in warm weather. The tender-hearted fair ones think you absolutely at their command; they conclude that you must, of course, be fond of moonlight walks, and rides at daybreak, and red-hot strolls in the middle of the day (Fahrenheit’s Thermom. 98½ in the shade) and ‘melting hot-hissing hot’ tea parties, and what is worse, they expect you to talk sentiment and act Romeo, and Sir Charles and King Pepin all the while! ’Twas too much for me; had I been in love with any one of them, I believe I could have played the dying swain, as eloquently and foolishly as most men, but not having the good luck to be inspired by the tender passion, I found the slavery unsupportable; so I forthwith set about ruining my character as speedily as possible.