HISTORY, SKETCHES, AND SATIRE
AN ANALYSIS OF THE WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING
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A THESIS
PRESENTED TO
THE FACULTY OF THE DEPARTMENT OF ENGLISH
UNIVERSITY OF HOUSTON
____________________________
IN PARTIAL FULFILLMENT
OF THE REQUIREMENTS FOR THE DEGREE
BACHELOR OF ARTS
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BY
MIRIAM FAITH ROUZIEK
DECEMBER 2004
TABLE OF CONTENTS
I. THE HISTORY OF NEW YORK
Introductory remarks and a brief discussion of Washington Irving’s early satirical
work under the pseudonym Diedrich Knickerbocker.
II. THE SKETCH BOOK OF GEOFFREY CRAYON, GENT.
A brief overview and analysis of the language and imagery found in The
Sketchbook of Geoffrey Crayon, Gent.
III. THE ENGLISH TALES
An analysis of Irving’s satire on English Christmas traditions and rural English
ways of life.
IV. THE AMERICAN SKETCHES
An analysis of the American sketches and Irving’s use of satire in the guise of folk
legend in America.
V. CONCLUSION
Concluding remarks and final analysis.
I. The History of New York
Washington Irving‘s later works are widely regarded as sentimental, romanticized
views of the Old World that contrast sharply with the satirical, burlesque comedies that
he wrote during the early years of the nineteenth century. Among these works, The Sketch
Book of Geoffrey Crayon especially seems to be a nostalgic romp through the English
countryside, often focusing on images of country churches, rural manor-homes, and even
the English gentry. Irving provides his readers with a seemingly idealized, romantic
image of England and its peoples. On the other hand, Irving‘s earlier works, such as A
History of New York, exemplify the sharp, acerbic style that is typical of Juvenalian
satire. Irving brutally parodies nineteenth–century New York with the History, taking full
advantage of hyperbole, pseudo-history and crass humor to parody nineteenth-century
figures and events in the guise of authentic history (the ―only Authentic History of the
Times,‖ if we are to believe Knickerbocker).
Although it pretends to be an authentic text, the History is more of a joke than an
actual scholarly document, which is to be expected when one considers the eccentric,
egotistical nature of Diedrich Knickerbocker, the authorial persona of Irving‘s History.
Knickerbocker‘s character and the absolute authority he gives to himself and his work
also serves as a response to the religious histories that dominated American history for so
long. These histories were written by men who had absolute authority in their
communities, being religious leaders and scholars, and their historical narratives were
often seen as infallible documents simply because of the absolute authority of their
authors who were seen as God‘s workers in America. Likewise, Knickerbocker is quick
to ―authenticate‖ his own history by likening himself to Herodotus, the father of History.
In stark contrast, Geoffrey Crayon, the authorial persona of The Sketch Book, asserts
himself as a humble traveler searching for the grandeurs of the past. Lacking in the
grandiose authority of Knicerbocker, Crayon is a simple lover of history, traveling to
places of importance and sketching the local character for the amusement of his friends.
The vast difference between the History of New York and The Sketch Book is the
result of a refinement of style, rather than a rejection of satire and comedy altogether.
While the characters in The Sketch Book are nowhere near as absurd as the Dutchmen of
Knickerbocker’s History, and the tales lack the outlandish hyperbole, The Sketch Book
still retains elements of satire. These elements appear in the caricatures of Rip Van
Winkle and Ichabod Crane, and other minor characters that appear throughout the work,
the premises of each piece, and also in the language found throughout the work. This
thesis seeks to prove that while Irving wrote The Sketch Book in a traditional sentimental
and nostalgic manner, he injected elements of satire into his prose so that the tales offer a
thinly veiled parody English society under the guise of sentimental admiration of Europe
and its culture. Where Irving used Juvenalian satire for The History of New York, he
replaced it with the more refined Horatian satire in The Sketch Book.
Several basic elements play a key role in making Juvenal‘s satires so different
from those of his peers. The first element is that of the author as lofty pedant and moral
judge. Gian Biagio Conte notes that ―…the satiric poet‘s discourse places itself on a
different plane of communication, one that is detached and loftier‖ (467). As a result of
this, the work evolves from a courteous attempt to correct social folly into ―the unsparing
denunciation that humbles and destroys its victim‖ (467). Juvenal is ―a censor of vice and
morals.‖ This role is tied with the second element, that of inner commitment of the part of
the author. Literary critic J.L. Bramble states:
Juvenal‘s poetry aims at being a personal creed, and the poet is always
directly concerned with his subject. Actually, he could be criticized for an
excess of inner commitment rather than the opposite. The subject matter,
as a matter of fact, takes him prisoner, and he hardly ever has the power to
separate himself from it and to raise himself above it (111).
Indeed, Juvenal is almost completely absorbed in his subject, as is Knickerbocker
in Irving‘s A History of New York. Deviating from his predecessors in his intended
audience, Juvenal primarily aimed his satires towards the general public. For Horace and
Lucilius, the intended audience of their satires was generally a close circle of friends and
poets. Juvenal, as moral judge, aims to reach the public at large with his satire, fiercely
examining the flaws of society through hyperbole, one of the most important stylistic
elements of Juvenal‘s satires. Juvenal‘s works are rife with hyperbole and metaphoric
humor. Bramble states, ―he values words too highly, and cannot resist hyperbole: his
verse is loud, though brittle, its texture rich…‖ (118). Because of the coarse, invective
nature of his poetry, Juvenal cannot speak of the present without risking legal recourse on
the part of his satirized subjects. Therefore, through this final element, his solution is to
treat the past as his sole subject, often comparing it to the present, and to Roman
mythological ideals.
It is easy to identify elements of Juvenalian satire in the text of A History of New
York. Like Juvenal, Diedrich Knickerbocker is very much removed from his readership,
and highly grandiose in his use of language. He begins his work with a rather lofty
statement, likening himself to the ―Father of History,‖ Herodotus, and setting himself on
an intellectual pedestal well above any of his readers. He states that his purpose is ―to
rescue from oblivion the memory of former incidents, and to render a just tribute of
renown to the many great and wonderful transactions of our Dutch progenitors, Diedrich
Knickerbocker, native of the city of New York, produces this historical essay‖ (Irving
377). This grandiloquence continues throughout the work, as the reader is constantly
bombarded with pretentious ramblings, philosophizing, and high-handed yet off-topic
ruminations. As such, the piece exemplifies yet another element of Juvenalian satire, that
of the public-at-large as the intended audience. In contrast to Geoffrey Crayon, who is the
purported author of Irving‘s Sketch Book, Knickerbocker intends for the whole world to
read his literary masterpiece, assuring us that he has ―scrupulously discarded many a
pithy tale and marvelous adventure…jealously maintaining that fidelity, gravity and
dignity which should ever distinguish the historian‖ (379). Knickerbocker also makes use
of three other important elements of Juvenalian satire: hyperbole, metaphor, and the past
as primary subject. From the very beginning of the work, the title page itself,
Knickerbocker promises to deliver ―the only Authentic History of the Times that ever
hath been, or ever will be Published‖ (363). This subtitle introduces the hyperbolic nature
of the History, and lays the groundwork for Knickerbocker‘s grandiloquence. Irving‘s
readers would have seen this type of grandiloquence before, though not in the guise of
satirical pseudo-history. Cotton Mather, in the General Introduction to Magnalia Christi
Americana1, introduces his work as one written with assistance by none other than God
himself, ―the holy Author of [Christianity].‖ He writes:
1
Latin: The Great Works of Christ in America. McMichael‘s Anthology of American Literature describes it
as ―a history of the settlement of New England‖ and noteworthy occurrences there, including ―a description
I write the wonders of the Christian religion, flying from the deprivations
of Europe to the American strand, and assisted by the holy Author of that
religion, I do with all conscience of truth, required therein by Him who is
the Truth itself, report the wonderful displays of His infinite power,
wisdom, goodness, and faithfulness, wherewith His divine providence
hath irradiated an Indian wilderness. (McMichael, 210)
In nearly the same manner, Knickerbocker describes the historian early in the
preface as ―the patron of mankind, the guardian priest, who keeps the perpetual lamp of
ages unextinguished‖ (380), and introduces Irving‘s readers to intense hyperbolic
metaphors that resemble those used in
early religious histories. However,
Knickerbocker‘s hyperbole and grandiloquence intensify as the absurdity of
Knickerbocker‘s character increases, far eclipsing the grandiloquence of even Cotton
Mather.
Martin Roth describes this kind of humor as ―burlesque comedy,‖ a style of
comedy in which the works tend to be, as he says, ―large, sprawling, disorganized works,
notorious for their resistance to categorical definition‖ (Roth 6). This assertion is made
after he limits his definition of satire to the arena of Menippean satire (4) and the satirist
as ―rational‖ (5). For Roth, the burlesque nature of the History causes it to defy satiric
boundaries, making the work into ―a humorous extreme, where the humor celebrated is
that of being receptive to humors of all kinds‖ (5-6). However, this limits the authorial
persona to Knickerbocker, who is indeed ―fanciful, whimsical, or mad‖ (5), and leaves
out Irving‘s own voice. Clearly, the piece exhibits satirical elements, being not only
hyperbolic, but also acerbic, outlandish, and at times totally unbelievable. Irving cleverly
of divine providences.‖
disguises his contempt for the politics of his day by altering historical figures and
molding them to better fit the personalities of political figures. As William L. Hedges
notes, Irving uses Wilhelm Kieft, Peter Stuyvesant, and Wouter van Twiller to satirize
Thomas Jefferson, James Madison and John Adams, respectively (158). In this way,
Irving deviates from Juvenal‘s example in his satire. Where Juvenal stayed away from
satirizing contemporary political figures in his works, Irving seems to have no qualms
about doing so in the History. But even so, Hedges notes, ―[t]he political innuendos,
murky and confusing as they are, hardly offer a firm foundation for efforts to construe the
text as a comprehensive statement on American politics or the nature of a good or just
society‖ (159).
Like Juvenal, Irving fervently clings to what Hedges calls ―eloquence and the
poetic‖ (163). Knickerbocker, as implied author, is totally absorbed in his work, drifting
in and out of poetic, philosophical language as he chronicles the history of New
Amsterdam. Such grandiloquence makes it hard to believe that this piece is to be
considered ―real‖ history. In fact, it reads more like the misadventures of an imaginary
people rather than the real and heroic exploits of early Dutch settlers in America.
Animated by this unlooked-for victory our valiant heroes sprang ashore in
triumph, took possession of the soil as conquerors in the name of their
High Mightinessess the lords states general, and marching fearlessly
forward, carried the village of Communipaw by storm—having nobody to
withstand them but some half a score of old squaws, and poppooses,
whom they tortured to death with low dutch. (Irving 436)
It seems as though, like Juvenal, Irving strives ―to intimate that our golden age
yearnings are literary, self-conscious and futile‖ (Bramble 112). As Peter Conn notes,
―the History purports to contrast the decadence of the contemporary New York scene
with the ‗golden age‘ of early Dutch settlements and rule‖ (116). However, it is hard to
believe that this ―golden age‖ is in fact so worthy of our yearning. Knickerbocker writes
early on about the dubious business practices of the Dutch settlers, who used their hands
and feet as weights:
It is true, the simple Indians were often puzzled at the great disproportion
between bulk and weight, for let them place a bundle of furs, never so
large, in one scale, and a Dutchman put his hand or foot in the other, the
bundle was sure to kick the beam…. (439)
Even the supposed ―golden reign of Wouter van Twiller‖ does not seem so
golden. Wouter, an absurd character of ―exactly five feet six inches in height, and six feet
five inches in circumference‖ (465), is a ruler of little integrity. As Knickerbocker says:
He daily took his four stated meals, appropriating exactly an hour to each;
he smoked and doubted eight hours, and he slept the remaining twelve of
the four and twenty. Such was the renowned Wouter Van Twiller—a true
philosopher…. (465)
Kncickerbocker is quick to point out that what makes Wouter a ―true philosopher‖
is the fact that he has lived for years ―without feeling the least curiosity…without once
troubling his head with any of those numerous theories, by which a philosopher would
have perplexed his brain…‖ (465). With a ruler such as Wouter, it is hard to believe that
this era could have been a ―golden age‖ at all! In fact, Knickerbocker later mentions that
the governors of New Amsterdam had ―uncontrolled authority,‖ and were ―accountable to
none but the mother country‖ (468). If this is truly the golden age, then it is a wonder that
anyone should yearn for it.
It must be duly noted that many of the names Irving uses in the history—names
such as Olaf Van Kortland, Abraham Hardenbroek, Jacobus Van Zandt, and Winant Ten
Broek—are those of nineteenth-century New York notables. This would certainly have
caused a scandal within New York‘s Dutch upper class. According to Jeffrey RubinDorsky, the early 1800s were ―an era when Americans were seeking affirmation and
literature was being put to the service of recapturing the heroic past‖ (15). As such, Mary
Weatherspoon-Bowden notes, ―the old Dutch families of New York were not pleased
with Knickerbocker‘s History‖ (35). According to Bowden, Van Courtland was chief
member of a commission that sold confiscated Tory lands, Van Zandt was alderman in
1807, Ten Broek was on the board of the Free School, and Hardenbroek was assistant
alderman of the ninth ward in 1809 (35). To be mentioned in such a volatile satire would
have been bad press at the very least; at worst, it would have been downright shameful.
Bowden notes that ―it is one thing to have one‘s great-grandfather being ridiculed, it is
entirely another thing to realize that one‘s great-grandfather was nowhere near ‗the scene
of the crime,‘ and so the ridicule of the name must apply to oneself‖ (35). This kind of
political and social commentary woven into satire played key roles in his earlier works,
Salmagundi and The Letters of Jonathan Oldstyle, Gent., and would reappear throughout
A History of New York.
Irving writes both the History of New York and The Sketch Book during what
Jeffrey Rubin-Dorsky describes as the ―age of anxiety‖ for America: having won
independence from Britain a mere 33 years before, the young nation was struggling to
secure an identity, and to claim for itself some amount of history and literary authority.
Jeffersonian politics was dominant during the early years of the nineteenth century, and
Americans were beginning to move westward into the newly purchased Louisiana
Territory. To the European eye, America lacked any serious native literature, aside from
Puritan sermons, and the writings of Benjamin Franklin, the latter upon which, according
to English critic Sydney Smith, the young country ―may afford to live for half a century‖
(Conn 113). In a country where literary and political identity was insecure, a writer such
as Irving would have had little to work with but the identity of the Old World. In reality,
American literature was rife with the essays of politicians, Puritan poetry, captivity
narratives, seduction novels, and a host of other literary works. Around the time that The
Sketch Book was published, James Fennimore Cooper was publishing a series of
distinctly American novels that ―wove native scenes and historical incidents into a
revealing pattern of American consciousness‖ (Rubin-Dorsky 15). Although native
literature may have been ―scarce‖ to the Old World, which had several centuries‘ worth
of literary identity upon which it could rest its authority, the early part of the 19th century
represented what Jeffrey Rubin-Dorsky calls the idea of boundlessness for Americans—
―endless possibilities for the physical, intellectual and moral development of the nation‖
(3). Whatever literary void Europeans saw in America, it was quickly being filled.
Given
the
background
of
captivity narratives,
Puritan
sermons,
and
autobiographies in American literature, Irving would certainly have been aware of his
readers‘ desire for ―truth‖ in literature. The Puritan sermons of the early Colonial period
and the numerous captivity narratives that followed suit were written with the readers‘
desire for truth in mind, and provided the foundation for early American writing. The
narratives of slaves, Indian captives, and Christian converts alike are almost obsessed
with the truthfulness of their accounts. Likewise, Irving shows a desire to prove the truth
of his account by making sure that he gives some background for his tales. Each tale has
either footnotes or endnotes to explain people, places, and landmarks that appear in each
tale. The tale ―The Boar‘s Head Tavern,‖ for example, contains a number of footnotes
that detail inscriptions or poems which Irving has spoken of in the tale in an obvious
attempt to verify the truthfulness of his claims. Mary Weatherspoon Bowden notes,
however, that despite this precedent Irving was ―confidently free of any restraints (29).‖
In the History, Irving used his writing to promote Federalist views while he
mocked political leaders in both the national and local arenas. Hedges notes:
…the History embodies the pro-Federalist stance that Irving is known to
have taken in the Salmagundi-Knickerbocker period, 1806-9. This posture
is most visible in Knickerbocker‘s hostility towards the economy-minded
Kieft, who fights wars by proclamation, and in the antiquarian‘s
unwavering loyalty to the feisty, high-handed Stuyvesant. (158)
As with Juvenal, it would have been imprudent for Irving to directly satirize the
political leaders of his day. By weaving events and people from the present into the
colonial history of America, it was possible for Irving to both satirize the present and stay
mostly within the realm of the past. Irving‘s style of satire parallels Juvenal‘s in a number
of other ways: pointed, acerbic commentary on the chosen subject; an author removed
from his readership; a tendency for strong hyperbole; emotional, metaphoric humor; and
an audience composed of the general public. If Irving‘s satire in the History deviates
from the norm, yet still retains identifiable elements of satire, then it stands to reason that
other satirical works would have been written in the same manner. Irving‘s earlier
writings—The Letters of Jonathan Oldstyle, Salmagundi, and A History of New York—all
find their basis in satire. They represent a continual refinement of Irving‘s style in the
genre, each piece representing a different stage of the process. As Bowden notes,
―Washington Irving experimented with a variety of styles, poses and comic effects. His
writing improved tremendously…especially in his control of his persona and his use of
the whimsically turned phrase‖ (20). By the time A History of New York came out in
1809, he seems to have grasped the concept of satire wholeheartedly and made it his own.
II. The Sketch Book of Geoffrey Crayon
In The Sketch Book of Geoffrey Crayon, the style of satire that Irving uses is
closer in style to that of Horace, predecessor of Juvenal and student of Lucilius, and
widely regarded as one of the first satiric poets. Horace‘s satires exemplify five satiric
elements that differ from those elements found in Juvenal‘s poetry. For Horace, the most
important element is the autobiographical nature of his satires, an element he acquired
from Lucilius. As a result, the audience he intends for his satire is composed mainly of
his circle of friends. Conte notes that Horatian satire aims to ―identify a path for a few,
for himself and an enlightened group of friends, cutting across the mistakes of a society
in crisis‖ (300). As such, Horace‘s satires lack the pedantry and moral judgment of
Juvenal‘s, and although they are often aggressive, they lack the pointed, invective
language found in Juvenal‘s satires. Where he lacks such language, Horace implants the
element of amicable irony into his satire, often seeking to understand the weaknesses of
his fellow man rather than to reduce them to absurdity or to mock them in their folly. In
addition, Horace‘s critical observations often include comical representations of
characters (300), rather than the outright critical observations of vice which are found in
Juvenal‘s poetry. Finally, Horace‘s satires often recount a journey taken by the author,
creating a so-called ―satire of the journey‖ within the satire. Horace, ―following the
model of the autobiographical Lucilius, represents a scene, recounts an episode, or
describes a situation‖ (301).
Traditionally, The Sketch Book has been viewed as a romantic, nostalgic
representation of England as seen through the eyes of a traveler. In Comedy and America,
Martin Roth states that, ―The Sketch Book became in part an American‘s testimony to
[Irving‘s] sense of the moral and aesthetic richness of the English countryside‖ (81).
Mary Weatherspoon Bowden seems to agree, stating that, ―The Sketch Book is a
traveler‘s guide to England and the English character…‖ (58). Even the introduction to
the work, ―The Author‘s Account of Himself,‖ attests to the supposed sentimental nature
of the text. Irving writes:
My native country was full of youthful promise; Europe was rich in the
accumulated treasures of age. Her very ruins told the history of times gone
by, and every mouldering stone was a chronicle. I longed to wander over
the scenes of renowned achievement…to escape in short, from the
commonplace realities of the present, and lose myself among the shadowy
grandeurs of the past. (744)
Irving‘s readers are thusly prepared for a sentimental journey through the English
countryside, visiting the ―cottages, and landscapes, and obscure ruins‖ (745) with which
his fellow travelers‘ sketchbooks are filled. Irving sets this tone further by insinuating
that America is even a land of ―degeneration,‖ while England is a ―land of wonders‖
(744). Based on this introduction, The Sketch Book seems to be a book dedicated to
glorifying England and its ―accumulated treasures,‖ while disparaging American values
and history. Based on this, his readers will expect to experience a lively romp through a
wondrous land full of amazing people and places, the likes of which have never been
seen in America.
Irving seems to have forsaken the genre of satire entirely in The Sketch Book,
replacing it with a humble nostalgia for the Old World. The bawdy, raucous humor of A
History of New York is all but gone, and Irving takes on the persona of a traveler
exploring ―the accumulated treasures of age‖ (Irving 744) in which Europe is so rich. The
element of romanticism is vastly different from Irving‘s previous style, and the language
smacks of an almost absurd amount of Eurocentrism, making Irving seem to be nearly
worshipping the glory of England. The Sketch Book is filled with tales of the English
countryside, relating the wonders of the Old World and contrasting them with the
―youthful promise‖ of America. But underneath this literary nostalgia lays the seed of
satire, which resides not in the burlesque wit of Juvenalian satire, but in a genteel manner
typical of Horatian satire.
In examining Irving‘s writing style in The Sketch Book, it is possible to identify
five elements from Horatian satire. Horace‘s satire, though retaining an aggressive edge
in his later works, was inquisitive rather than didactic, and relied on critical observation
of vices through caricature as basis for the satire. Like Horace, who relied on example
rather than argument to establish his satire (Luce 705), Irving‘s Sketch Book is filled with
caricatures found in Irving‘s journeys through the English countryside, representing a
number of follies and vices found in English society. While Irving‘s The Sketch Book is
not absolutely autobiographical, as Horace‘s satires were inclined to be, it still retains a
sense of autobiography through the narration given by the implied author, Geoffrey
Crayon. From the stance of a traveler, Crayon provides his reader with a critical
observation of nineteenth-century England, a moral inquiry or commentary of the
landscapes and people he encounters, and, often, some representation of vice through
caricatures of the people and places that he comes across during his travels.
Although Irving‘s introduction seems to laud England, the language of the
introduction contradicts the romantic, sentimental attitude he seems to hold in regards to
England. Europe may be ―rich in the accumulated treasures of age,‖ and he may long to
visit ―scenes of renowned achievement,‖ but the places to which Irving most desires to go
are the ―ruined castle,‖ and the ―falling tower‖ (744). He longs ―to escape in short, from
the commonplace realities of the present, and lose [him]self among the shadowy
grandeurs of the past‖ (744). From his choice of language, it would seem that Irving is
going to a land whose glory is relegated to the history books, and whose grandeurs are
shadowy and ―mouldering.‖ Literally, Irving is attempting to lose himself in the past,
turning away from the ―commonplace realities of the present‖ in favor of the ―renowned
achievements‖ that make the past so grand. However, as Mary Weatherspoon Bowden
writes, the social and political arenas of 19th century England gave a dismal view of the
country that Irving romanticized in The Sketch Book:
The corn laws left many hungry; …recent inventions had put many out of
work; a public gathering at Manchester had ended with the cavalry
attacking and wounding up to four hundred people; habeas corpus had
been suspended; sedition laws were rigidly enforced; local magistrates had
the power to imprison anyone they thought had made a face at authority.
(57)
This image of 19th-century England is vastly different from the one painted in
―The Author‘s Account of Himself.‖ Irving‘s comments about the ―refinements of highly
cultivated society‖ and the ―accumulated treasures of age‖ seem ironic when compared
with the oppression and poverty that was found throughout England during that time.
19th-century England, as suggested by Irving‘s language, lacks the grandeurs and
achievement that made it so great during previous eras. All of the refinements and
masterpieces that Irving seeks are not in England‘s present, but in ―the shadowy
grandeurs of the past‖—the mouldering stones, the falling towers, and the ruined castles
(744). Indeed, as Jeffrey Rubin-Dorsky writes, ―many American paintings from this era
used architectural ruins to suggest the collapse of American society (though others were
referring to the larger context of Western civilization‖ (14). Using adjectives such as
mouldering, falling, ruined, and shadowy to describe England‘s ―grandeurs,‖ Irving
implies that England‘s claim to grandeur lies only in the past. As such, the tone of The
Sketch Book quickly shifts from one of sentimental nostalgia to one of satire that cautions
against living in the past.
III. The English Tales
The folly of living in the past is a theme that factors heavily in many of the tales
in The Sketch Book. As a traveler, Geoffrey Crayon himself longs to wander through ―the
shadow grandeurs of the past‖ (744) and to become part of history through his travels.
Many of Irving‘s tales reveal such wanderers and sentimentalists to be caricatures of
folly. Under the guise of a traveler‘s holiday tale, the Christmas sketches provide a satire
of English gentry, sentimentalism, and the romanticization (and perhaps even
reinvention) the past. The main character of the tales, the Squire, is a country gentleman
of wealth and stature in the local community, yet he lives completely in the past. He is
described as ―a bigoted devotee of the old school‖ and ―a strenuous advocate for the
revival of old rural games and holyday observances‖ (924). Indeed, he even goes as far as
to ―regret sometimes that he had not been born a few centuries earlier, when England was
itself, and had its peculiar manners and customs‖ (924-25). In the guise of a traveler‘s
holiday tale, Irving uses caricature and loaded language to satirize the Squire‘s
romanticization of the past, and his tendency to relive it through his own ―traditional‖
rural games.
―Christmas,‖ the first of the Christmas Tales, introduces the sketches with a
grandiose appeal to the sentimental side of the holiday season. By emphasizing the ability
of Christmas to bring families together and blend ―all ranks in one warm generous flow
of joy and kindness,‖ Irving sets a tone of romanticism and sentimentalism regarding the
season. The season and spirit of Christmas are nearly deified through its ability to bring
together families, unite social classes, and ―kindling not merely the fire of hospitality in
the hall, but the genial flame of charity in the heart‖ (915). Irving writes:
Of all the old festivals, however, that of Christmas awakens the strongest
and most heartfelt associations. There is a tone of solemn and sacred
feeling that blends with our conviviality, and lifts the spirit to a state of
hallowed and elevated enjoyment…. It is a beautiful arrangement, also,
derived from the days of yore, that this festival, which commemorates the
announcement of the religion of peace and love, has been made the season
for gathering together of family connexions . . . . (911)
Christmas, therefore, is not merely a season, but a way of life in England, one that
is perhaps far superior to that of America. According to Crayon, Christmas ―brought the
peasant and the peer together, and blended all ranks in one warm generous flow of joy
and kindness‖ (913). Even so, the ―traditionary customs of golden hearted antiquity, its
feudal hospitalities, and lordly wassailings, have passed away . . .‖ (914). Echoing the
words of the introduction, Crayon writes:
They flourished in times full of spirit and lustihood, when men enjoyed
life roughly, but heartily and vigorously: times wild and picturesque,
which have furnished poetry with its richest materials, and the drama with
its most attractive variety of characters and manners. The world has
become more worldly. There is more of dissipation, and less of enjoyment.
(914)
Although the true spirit of Christmas lies in its past, it is still a ―sacred and joyous
occasion‖ (915) in England capable of uniting families and bringing good cheer to the
land.
―The Stage Coach‖ alters the perfection and wonder of the Christmas season by
interjecting the caricature of the coachman and his rather uncouth demeanor. The
coachman is a drunkard, ―swelled into jolly dimensions by frequent potations of malt
liquors,‖ with ―a broad full face, curiously mottled with red‖ (918). He is part of what
Crayon asserts to be a ―numerous and important class of functionaries,‖ distinguished in
dress, language, and mannerisms ―so that…he cannot be mistaken for one of any other
craft or mystery‖ (918). The coachman‘s liquored mannerisms, shabby dress, and
―frequent conferences with the village housewives‖ (919) all but strip the romantic ideal
from the sketch. Indeed, Crayon seems to be more ironic than sentimental in his portrayal
of the coach ride to the Squire‘s home. The coachman is looked upon as a kind of
―oracle‖ or sage by the ―hostlers, stables boys, shoeblacks, and those nameless hangers
on, that infest inns and taverns…‖ (919). Curiously, he also has ―frequent conferences‖
with the village housewives, and has ―a good understanding with every bright eyed
country lass‖ (919). Keeping in mind the coachman‘s penchant for ―frequent potations of
malt liquor,‖ it is hard to see his intentions as truly honorable. Despite the obvious
womanizing and alcoholism associated with the coachman, Crayon asserts that he is ―one
of the best fellows in the whole world‖ (918) and consistently returns to the idea of the
coachman as a jolly, romantic character in the English countryside.
The fact that most of this sketch focuses on the coachman‘s raucous, drunken
behavior brings the validity of Crayon‘s sentimentalism and romanticism into question.
Having the coachman as an example of one of England‘s more important classes makes
Crayon‘s words appear more ironic than sentimental. It is hard to believe that England is
truly a land of ―storied and poetical association,‖ filled with ―masterpieces of art,‖ ―the
refinements of highly cultivated society,‖ and ―the quaint peculiarities of ancient and
local custom‖ (744) when the chief example of England‘s working class is a drunk,
womanizing coachman. Crayon‘s fellow passengers, who are ―principally bound to the
mansions of relations or friends, to eat the Christmas dinner‖ (917), further remove any
notion of romantic nostalgia from the sketch. If Christmas is truly ―calling back the
children of a family…to assemble about the paternal hearth,‖ (912), then it is certainly
not for the purpose of enjoying each other‘s company, but merely for the purpose of
enjoying ―the impending feast‖ (917). The young schoolboys who travel in the coach
seem to be chiefly concerned with giving their sisters gifts of dubious nature that they
have crammed into their pockets (917), and riding their pony. By the time he finally
embarks on his visit to ―the old fashioned style‖ Christmas at the Squire‘s home, the
romanticism and sentimentality have been completely stripped from the sketches.
In ―Christmas Eve,‖ Crayon introduces us to the Squire and his peculiar habit of
recreating an old way of life for himself and his family based on his own notions of
ancient English customs. The Squire, a ―tolerable specimen of…the old English country
gentleman‖ (925), seems almost obsessed with the customs and traditions of rural
England and devotes all of his time and energy into recreating his own version of those
traditions. His son, Frank Bracebridge, elaborates on the nature of his father:
He is a strenuous advocate for the revival of the old rural games and
holyday observances, and is deeply read in the writers, ancient and
modern, who have treated of the subject. Indeed, his favourite range of
reading is among the authors who flourished at least two centuries since,
who, he insists, wrote and thought more like true Englishmen than any of
their successors. (924).
Irving‘s word choice in these sketches is telling. While the Squire is painted
literally as an advocate of ―old English hospitality,‖ it is important to note that he is also
called ―a bigoted devotee of the old school‖ (924). From the start, the Squire is described
in terms of his fervent devotion to the past, to the point where he becomes absorbed in his
obsession. Rather than living comfortably in the present, the Squire immerses himself in
the past, even to the point of limiting his reading to that of authors of more than two
hundred years prior to his time. Bracebridge continues his description a little further,
saying, ―He even regrets sometimes that he had not been born a few centuries earlier,
when England was itself, and had its peculiar manners and customs‖ (925).
The Squire‘s devotion to the past makes him seem more like an absurd caricature
than a real country gentleman. The fact that his knowledge of what constitutes ―old
English hospitality‖ comes from a 17th-century etiquette book calls into question his
ability to dictate the purity of such customs. In choosing a character like the Squire to
represent England‘s rural gentry, Irving makes England seem to be populated by
thousands of Jonathan Oldstyles, who dwell constantly on the superiority of the past and
are unable to bring themselves into the present. As they continue their journey to the
manor, Bracebridge must prepare Crayon for his meeting with the Squire by informing
him of his ―little eccentricities:‖
As he lives at some distance from the main road, in a rather lonely part of
the country, without any rival gentry near him, he has that most enviable
of all blessings to an Englishman, an opportunity of indulging the bent of
his own humour, without molestation. Being representative of the oldest
family in the neighbourhood, and a great part of the peasantry being his
tenants, he is much looked up to, and, in general, is known simply by the
appellation of ―The Squire;‖ a title which has been accorded to the head of
the family since time immemorial. (925)
Bracebridge seems almost apologetic in describing his father‘s devotion to ancient
customs, passing them off as ―little eccentricities that might otherwise appear absurd‖
(925). From Bracebridge‘s descriptions, is would seem that the Squire‘s reclusive
demeanor contributes to his obsession with the past, allowing him to dictate ―ancient‖
customs as he pleases to his family and servants. Without anyone around him to
contradict his own version of history, the Squire is capable of reinventing history
however he pleases.
The Squire‘s manor is a testament to his obsession with the past. As Crayon
writes:
It was an irregular building of some magnitude, and seemed to be the
architecture of different periods. One wing was evidently very ancient,
with heavy stone shafted bow windows jutting out and over run with
ivy…. The rest of the house was in the French taste of Charles the
Second‘s time, having been repaired and altered, as my friend told me, by
one of his ancestors, who returned with that monarch at the restoration….
The old gentleman, I was told, was extremely careful to preserve this
obsolete finery in all its original state. (927)
The manor itself is preserved according to the Squire‘s own image of antiquity,
and as a result is an amalgamation of many different styles of architecture. As Crayon
and Bracebridge approach the manor, they are greeted by the sounds of music and
laughter from the servants‘ hall. Here he finds that ―a great deal of revelry was permitted,
and even encouraged, by the Squire, throughout the twelve days of Christmas, provided
every thing was done conformably to ancient usage‖ (927). Crayon finally meets the
Squire‘s family as they are sitting in the parlor, which the Squire has used to restore the
room to its ―primitive state‖ (928). However, like the house, the parlor is an
amalgamation of different ages with a huge set of antlers at one end of the room, fishing
gear in the corner, furniture from modern and ―former‖ days, and an oak floor that has
been carpeted. To Crayon, it is ―an odd mixture of parlour and hall‖ (929), and an odd
mixture of past and present as well.
Through Crayon, Irving has painted a startlingly absurd portrait of English
country gentleman. It is hard to believe that the Squire is truly a romantic and nostalgic
figure, when he is so adamant about preserving the past to his own whim. The Squire, it
would seem, attends to every last detail, in order to perfectly recreate (and relive) ancient
rural customs and traditions. However, these ―longstanding‖ rural traditions seem to be of
dubious nature. Mr Bracebridge takes it upon himself to perform read the Christmas
Morning service, because it ―was once almost universally the case at the seats of the
nobility and gentry of England…‖ (937). After the service, Mr. Bracebridge (the Squire)
insists that they sing ―a Christmas carol, which [he] had constructed from a poem of his
favourite author, Herrick2‖ (936), perhaps another purportedly ―ancient‖ custom that ―is
falling into neglect‖. Even the breakfast served afterwards is not free from the tyranny of
the Squire‘s ancient tastes. ―Our breakfast consisted of what the Squire denominated true
old English fare‖ (937). Outdoors, the Squire again takes full force with the idea that ―the
formal terraces, heavily moulded ballustrades, and clipped yew trees, carried with them
an air of proud aristocracy‖ (938). The flock of peacocks is referred to only as a ―muster‖
of pigeons, in accordance with ―the most ancient and approved treatise on hunting‖ (938),
and kept by Mr. Bracebridge ―partly because they belonged to chivalry, and were in great
request at the stately banquets of the olden time; and partly because they had a pomp and
magnificence about them, highly becoming an old family mansion‖ (938). Time and
again, Crayon provides examples of the Squire‘s absurd reliance on the past. Rather than
seeming to be a romantic or sentimental semblance of the past, the Squire completely
relies on the past and its tradition to govern every aspect of his life, from the contents of
his breakfast to the style of architecture inside and outside of his home. Truly, the Squire
has forsaken nearly all aspects of the present in order to relive the past.
Even the parson, who lives on the Squire‘s land, is completely immersed in the
past. Using the authority of saints and philosophers from centuries past, he gives ―a most
erudite sermon on the rites and ceremonies of Christmas, and the propriety of observing
it…‖ (942). Like the Squire, the parson relied on ancient authors to support his opinions:
Shut up among worm eaten tomes in the retirement of his antiquated little
study, the pages of old times were to him as the gazettes of the day; while
the era of the Revolution was mere modern history. He forgot that nearly
2
Robert Herrick (1591-1674), an English poet. The poem alluded to here is ―A Thanksgiving To God For
His House.‖
two centuries had elapsed since the fiery persecution of poor Mince pie
throughout the land; when plum porridge was denounced as ―mere
popery,‖ and roast beef as antichristian; and that Christmas had been
brought in again triumphantly with the merry court of King Charles at the
restoration. (943)
The parson provides a more extreme example of immersion in the past, but he
does little to offset the absurdity of the Squire‘s notions. Indeed, the Squire spends much
time lamenting ―the deplorable decay of the games and amusements which were once
prevalent‖ throughout the land (945). However, despite his honorable intention of
reliving the past, his version of ancient custom differs vastly from that of actual custom,
resulting in ―uncouth circumstances‖ in which his manor is ―overrun by all the vagrants
of the country‖ who simply do not understand the Squire‘s so-called ―ancient customs‖
(946).
The Squire provides for us an excellent example of caricature and absurdity in
The Sketch Book. Although he is supposedly a landed gentry, he relies on the etiquette
books written for the new rising classes as examples for what makes a ―true country
gentleman.‖ The Squire seems to have little idea of what it takes to be a gentleman: his
house and garden are a confusing mass of differing architectural styles, the dogs he keeps
are ―mongrel, puppy, whelp and hound, and curs of low degree‖ (926) rather than
purebred hounds, and the reliquaries of the supposed ―family hero,‖ as determined by the
Squire, of course, come from a forgotten corner in the lumber room. Crayon writes:
I must own, by the by, I had strong doubts about the authenticity of the
painting and armour as having belonged to the crusader, they certainly
having the stamp of more recent days; but I was told that the painting had
been so considered time out of mind; and that, as to the armour, it had
been found in a lumber room. And elevated to its present situation by the
Squire, who at once determined it to be the armour of the family hero….‖
(949)
As a result of the Squire‘s ―absolute authority on all such subjects in his own
household‖ (949), his whims go unquestioned and he is free to recreate ancient customs,
or invent his own family‘s history, in whatever manner he pleases, and according to
ancient manuscripts which he has interpreted according to his whims. As a result, the
Squire seems to be more of a sentimental fool, rather than a romantic English gentleman.
The irony of the Squire is that, while he is ―a great reader of old legends and romances,‖
he often laments that ―he could not believe in them, for a superstitious person, he thought,
must live in a kind of fairy land‖ (959). However, the Squire himself lives in a ―fairy
land‖ of his own creation, based on the fanciful whims of an old man who is caught up in
the past.
The Squire‘s adherence to customs of dubious origin often puts him at odds with
the parson, who takes his immersion in the past to extremes. ―The Christmas Dinner‖
sketch finds the Squire and the parson arguing over the authenticity of the Squire‘s
version of an old Oxford Christmas carol. The parson, ―more taken up with the text than
the sentiment‖ (951), and the Squire, more taken up with his own sentiments than the
text, drag the matter into an argument of the spirit of the carol versus the text. The parson
continues the discussion ―with the dry perseverance of a commentator…accompanied by
sundry annotations,‖ droning on until his audience has ―diminished…to a fat headed old
gentleman next him, who was silently engaged in the discussion of a huge plate full of
turkey‖ (951). The interaction between the sentimental Squire and the bookish parson,
and the absurd nature of the characters in general, makes it extremely difficult to consider
the Christmas tales to be true nostalgia or romanticism. The caricatures presented in the
liquored coachman, the withered little parson, and the eccentric Squire, are all too similar
to the characters of Wouter Van Twiller, and Diedrich Knickerbocker himself, to
represent romanticism or sentimentalism. The tales themselves exemplify five major
themes of Horatian satire—irony, critical observation of vice through caricature,
recounting of an episode, autobiographical stories, and the understanding of weakness in
man—though they lack the burlesque wit of The History of New York. Irving, through a
comment made by Crayon, speaks to this lack of wit within the tales, stating:
Wit, after all, is a mighty tart, pungent ingredient, and much too acid for
some stomachs; but honest good humour is the oil and wine of a merry
meeting, and there is no jovial companionship equal to that, where the
jokes are rather small, and the laughter abundant. (955)
Here it becomes obvious that, rather than having abandoned satire altogether,
Irving has merely refined his wit, and toned it down for a more ―good-natured‖ satire.
Unlike The History of New York, the satire found in The Sketch Book focuses more on
cultural events, such as Christmas, than on specific people or places. Even in ―toning
down‖ and refining his satire, Irving has still provided his readers with a definitive satire
that manages at once to portray a romantic nostalgia for the past, and then satirize that
nostalgia through absurdity and caricature.
Immediately following the Christmas sketches is the sketch ―London Antiques,‖
which provides a brief glimpse of the fate of men like the Squire. In this sketch, Crayon
travels through London as ―an antiquity hunter… fond of exploring London in quest of
the reliques of old times‖ (963). Hidden away in ―obscure nooks and angles,‖ Crayon
finds a chapel dedicated to the Knights Templar ―strangely situated in the very centre of
sordid traffic,‖ and a ―gothic gate way of mouldering antiquity‖ (964), which is home to a
―most venerable and mysterious pile‖ of gentlemen. Unlike the Squire and his family
home, both the gothic building and the old men living in it are widely ignored by the
average Londoner, although they are located in the middle of the city of London. Crayon
finds these ―reliques of a ‗foregone world‘ locked up in the heart of the city,‖ in a
forgotten alley where there was ―no one either to oppose or rebuke [his] intrusion‖ (964).
Initially mistaking the men for a ―magical fraternity,‖ Crayon soon reveals why they have
been forgotten: the gothic building is ―an ancient asylum for superannuated tradesmen
and decayed householders‖ (966). Many of these old men are former aristocrats,
including John Hallam, who had been ―somewhat of a traveler.‖ Irving writes:
According to his own account he had been somewhat of a traveler; having
been once in France and very near making a visit to Holland. He regretted
not having visited the latter country, ―as then he might have said he had
been there.‖—He was evidently a traveler of the simple kind. (966)
Hallam‘s ―associates‖ include ―a broken down gentleman who had run through a
fortune,‖ which Hallam considers to be ―an indubitable sign of gentle blood‖, ―a blind
man who spoke Latin and Greek‖ (967). These old men are certainly ―obsolete,‖ for they
do not fit anywhere in normal society. They live outside of society—in the city, but not a
part of the city—relegated to a hospital for old aristocrats because they are too old to
function within society. The old men are indeed ―London Antiques,‖ as Irving writes in
the post-script to the sketch:
The picturesque remnant of old times into which I have thus beguiled the
reader is what is called the Charter House, originally the Chartreuse. It
was founded in 1611 on the remains of an ancient convent by Sir Thomas
Sutton, being one of those noble charities set on foot by the individual
munificence, and kept up with the quaintness and sanctity of ancient times
amidst the modern changes and innovations of London. (967)
Unlike the Squire, who considers his endeavors to be of utmost importance and
seriousness, these old men are considered to be mere curiosities, ―not to intermeddle with
any business touching the affairs of the hospital‖ (967). From this sketch, it is apparent
that the Squire‘s obsession with recreating the past is not shared amongst his fellow
Britons. The Squire, like the old men, seems more of a curiosity than a true country
gentleman.
―Little Britain,‖ a bit of local history written by ―an odd looking old gentleman3 in
a small brown wig,‖ and given to Crayon, continues this strain of declining glory and
forgotten grandeur. The authority and authenticity of the history itself is based solely on
the author‘s residency in the neighborhood, which hails back to the dubious authority and
scholarship of Diedrich Knickerbocker in The History of New York. A small
neighborhood of ―very venerable and debilitated houses,‖ Little Britain was ―in ancient
3
Presumably, he is a resident of the hospital, but Crayon only writes that he ―became acquainted with
[him] after my visit to the Charter House‖ (968). Whether he is a resident of the hospital is not made
explicitly clear, though it can be reasonably assumed from his appearance and Crayon‘s wariness regarding
the authenticity of this local history that he is indeed a resident of the Charter House.
times, the residence of the Dukes of Britany‖ (969) but retains little of its original
splendor. Like the ―superannuated tradesmen‖ and aged aristocrats of Charter House, the
neighborhood has fallen into decline and has been handed over to superstitious paupers,
although the author insists that it ―still bears traces‖ of its glory (969). These ―traces‖ are
in fact ―several houses, ready to tumble down,‖ the remains of ―what were once spacious
and lordly family mansions,‖ and the ―decayed gentry [who[ carry a high head among the
plebian society with which they were reduced to associate‖ (970). The ancient customs
and holiday games that the Squire sought to preserve and recreate ―here flourish in great
preservation‖ amongst the residents. But, as in the author‘s introduction to The Sketch
Book, these are merely the ―shadowy grandeurs of the past‖ that are kept alive as
―superstitious veneration,‖ as opposed to beloved traditions passed down from previous
generations.
The neighborhood of Little Britain exemplifies the ―shadowy grandeurs of the
past‖ to which Irving refers in the ―Author‘s Account of Himself.‖ It is filled with the
faded glory of ancient gentry, lost customs, and the decaying mansions of far-gone
nobility. The ―ruined castle,‖ the ―falling tower,‖ the ―scenes of renowned achievement‖
and ―the quaint peculiarities of ancient and local custom‖ amalgamate here in Little
Britain. It is interesting to note that this history mentions time and again that the
neighborhood has ―fallen into decline,‖ having been abandoned by both ―rank and
fashion‖ and the ―prolific race of booksellers.‖ Similar language throughout piece does
not inspire glory or wonder at all; indeed, most of the history focuses on the ―factions and
divisions‖ of Little Britain—most notably its ―burial societies‖ and their feud over the
proper manner of burial, and the feud between the Lamb and Trotter families over French
fashions—rather than its glorious history. The history spends some time on the feuding
burial societies, one of which is led by the ―cadaverous‖ Mr. Skryme, but most especially
on the society led by Wagstaff, ―a jolly publican,‖ and ―a mad cap undertaker‖ (974).
This raucous society, known as ―the Roaring Lads of Little Britain,‖ is of great interest to
the writer of this history. While the other funeral societies argue over ―funeral honours,‖
the ―Roaring Lads‖ spend much of their time in Wagstaff‘s pub drinking ale, reciting
―old catches, flees and choice stories‖ and singing Wagstaff‘s ―famous old drinking trowl
from Gammer Gurton‘s Needle‖ (975). Indeed, the club‘s bawdy meetings draw crowds
of people that stand in the street listening to ―the shouts of merriment, the snatches of
song, and now and then the choral bursts of half a dozen discordant voices‖ (976). In
stark contrast, Mr. Skryme, Little Britain‘s ―wisest sage‖ and leader of the ―most
flourishing burial society,‖ is a rather macabre man obsessed with disaster and ―much
given to pore over alarming accounts of plots, conspiracies, fires, earthquakes, and
volcanic eruptions‖ (972).
Skryme‘s authority is dubious, however, and seems to be based only on his ability
to read ominously into anything, much like a British Ichabod Crane. Irving writes:
He is much thought of by the old women, who consider him as a kind of
conjuror…. He has always some dismal tale of the kind to deal out to his
customers, with their doses; and thus at the same time puts both soul and
body into an uproar. He is a great believer in omens and predictions; and
he has the prophecies of Robert Nixon and Mother Shipton by heart. No
man can make so much out of an eclipse, or even an unusually dark day….
(972)
The character of Skryme, the burial societies, and the raucous behavior of the
―Roaring Lads‖ serve to further assert that, rather than being a place where Crayon might
find ―storied and poetical association…the masterpieces of art, the refinements of highly
cultivated society, [and] the quaint peculiarities of ancient and local custom‖ (744) that
he sought in the introduction, Little Britain is a neighborhood of lost glory, ―wrapped up
in its own concerns, its own habits, and its own opinions,‖ flourishing as ―a sound heart
to this great fungous metropolis‖ (977). In light of this history, the neighborhood seems
far from refined; indeed, it seems to be nothing more than a slum populated by ―decayed
gentry,‖ drunk tavern goers, and divided by uppity families of new wealth, such as the
Lambs. Curiously, this divisiveness within the neighborhood of Little Britain is compared
to the divisiveness of the empire of Britain as a whole. Irving makes this comparison
twice at the end of the sketch:
Thus is this little territory torn by factions and internal dissensions, like
the great empire whose name it bears; and what will be the result would
puzzle the apothecary himself, with all his talent at prognostics, to
determine; though I apprehend that it will terminate in the total downfall
of genuine John Bullism4…. This found, I will…bid a long, though
sorrowful adieu, to my present abode, and leave the rival factions of the
Lambs and the Trotters, to divide the distracted empire of Little Britain.
(982)
Here, Irving strikes his point home: rather than being a land ―of storied and
poetical associations,‖ England is a ―distracted empire‖ that is ―torn by factions and
4
John Bull, a character from John Arbuthnot‘s The History of John Bull (1712), is used in this passage as
an epithet for the ―traditional‖ common Englishman (exemplified by the figure of John Bull), though it
appears that Irving might also be alluding to the English as a whole, rather than just the common classes.
internal dissensions‖ and is in danger of losing that which makes it England—its
ubiquitous John Bullism. The romantic notions that foreigners or Britons themselves may
have had about England at the beginning of these tales have been all but stripped away by
this history and the tales preceding it. The absurdity of the Squire and his obsession with
the past, the ridiculous old men of Charter House, and the bawdy residents of Little
Britain serve as critical observations of vice rather than as romantic representations of
―the accumulated treasures of age.‖ Irving has reduced the sentimentalism of the
countryside, and of the city, to absurdity. The only people upholding the ancient customs
of that he sought in the introduction are a few drunken plebeians in Little Britain, some
infirm old men in a hospital, and an eccentric gentleman far out in the country. A reader
expecting to find romantic, sentimental notions of London or the English countryside
would be hard-pressed to find any such romanticism in these pages. Irving‘s use of
caricature and irony belie any supposed nostalgia, creating instead a humorous satire of
England‘s romantic notions about itself.
In the sketches ―The Art of Book Making‖ and ―English Writers on America,‖
Irving‘s focus is on the accuracy and legitimacy of English writers and English literature
itself. In these sketches, Irving uses both caricature and irony to critically observe the
image of England as a superior nation, and to question its literary authority. ―English
Writers on America‖ is a definite admonishment of English opinion about America. From
the very beginning of the sketch, Irving points out that ―there is no people concerning
whom the great mass of the British public have less pure information, or entertain more
numerous prejudices‖ (786). Although he appears at first to be apologetic towards the
English travelers who set forth these prejudices, Irving quickly shifts the tone of this
sketch to one of disapproval towards English writers, and even England in general. He
writes:
English travelers are the best, and the worst in the world. Where no
motives of pride or interest intervene, none can equal them for profound
and philosophical views of society, or faithful, and graphical descriptions
of external objects; but when either the interest or reputation of their own
country comes in collision with that of another, they go to the opposite
extreme, and forget their usual probity and candour in the indulgence of
splenetic remark and an illiberal spirit of ridicule. Hence, their travels are
more honest and accurate the more remote the country described. (786)
Indeed, the only reason that English travelers could be ―more honest and
accurate‖ about remote countries is because there would be no one else to contradict their
notions. In the case of America, England‘s national pride is very much at stake: the loss
of America in the Revolution struck a severe blow to English pride. How else could they
reclaim their reputation as a superior nation but to denigrate the fledgling country in the
guise of the honest traveler‘s journal.
Irving makes clear the disparity between English travelers and their American
counterparts. He writes:
Nothing can surpass the vigilance with which English critics will examine
the credibility of the traveler, who publishes an account of some distant,
and comparatively unimportant, country. How warily will they compare
the measurements of a pyramid, or the descriptions of a ruin, and how
sternly will they censure any inaccuracy in these contributions of merely
curious knowledge; while they will receive, with eagerness and
unhesitating faith, the gross misrepresentations of coarse and obscure
writers, concerning a country with which their own is placed in the most
important and delicate relations. (788)
From Irving‘s description, England appears to be almost obsessed with its
superiority, going so far as to make such obscure writings ―text books on which to
enlarge with a zeal and an ability worthy of a more generous cause‖ (788-9). It is
England‘s first priority, not to aggrandize itself like the fledgling American nation, but to
reaffirm its own romantic notions about itself. Indeed, the nation goes so far as to
withhold its learned elite from visiting and writing about America, choosing instead to
send their poorest schemers. Irving writes:
While men of philosophical spirit and cultivated minds have been sent
from England to ransack the poles, to penetrate the deserts, and to study
the manners and customs of barbarous nations, with which she can have
no permanent intercourse of profit or pleasure; it has been left to the
broken down tradesman, the scheming adventurer, the wandering
mechanic, the Manchester and Birmingham agent, to be her oracles
representing America. From such sources she is content to receive her
information respecting a country in a singular state of moral and physical
development; a country in which one of the greatest political experiments
in the history of the world is now performing, and which presents the most
profound and momentous studies to the statesman and the philosopher.
(787)
Here it becomes apparent that Irving is asserting America‘s authority, and perhaps
even superiority, in the civilized Western world. Although England may have only seen
America as ―an El Dorado, where gold and silver abounded, and the natives were lacking
in sagacity,‖ the fledgling nation has much more importance than a mere treasure chest.
While the first part of the sketch concerns itself primarily with the English
attitude towards itself and America, Irving quickly brings the focus of his writing to
America. He argues that these ―accumulated treasures of age,‖ with which England is so
concerned, should be of no consequence to America. The superiority in which England
prides itself is based solely on those ―shadowy grandeurs of the past‖ that Irving set out
to find in the introduction. Irving provides numerous comparisons between England and
America in an effort to establish the authority and legitimacy of the nation. He writes:
Over no nation does the press hold a more absolute control than over the
people of America; for the universal education of the poorest classes,
makes every individual a reader. There is nothing published in England on
the subject of our country that does not circulate through every part of it.
There is not a calumny dropt from an English pen, nor an unworthy
sarcasm uttered by an English statesman, that does not go to blight good
will and add to the mass of latent resentment…. The present friendship of
America may be of but little moment to her; but the future destinies of that
country do not admit of a doubt; over those of England there lower some
shadows of uncertainty. (790)
Here it is apparent that Irving is establishing America as the future, and England
as the past. Where there is no doubt to the future destiny of America, England‘s destiny is
covered by ―shadows of uncertainty.‖ England, with its heart so firmly rooted in the past,
is incapable of moving forward. Having spent so much time resting on its laurels and,
like the Squire, attempting to recreate the past, it has essentially eliminated its future.
Later in the sketch, Irving elaborates further on this argument, stating, ―Neither have we
any spirit of national jealousy to gratify, for as yet, in all our rivalships with England we
are the rising and the gaining party‖ (792).
Time and again in this sketch, Irving asserts America‘s superiority to England.
For Irving, England holds the shadowy grandeurs of the past, but America holds the
shining light of the future. He writes:
What have we to do with national prejudices? They are the inveterate
diseases of old countries, contracted in rude and ignorant ages, when
nations knew but little of each other, and looked beyond their own
boundaries with distrust and hostility. We, on the contrary, have sprung
into a national existence in an enlightened and philosophic age; when the
different parts of the habitable world, and the various branches of the
human family, have been indefatigably studied and made known to each
other; and we forego the advantages of our birth, if we do not shake off the
national prejudices, as we would the local superstitions, of the old world.
(793)
England is a ―perpetual volume of reference,‖ from which we may draw the
―golden maxims of practical wisdom, wherewith to strengthen and to embellish our
national character‖ (794). But is England a nation to be emulated? Irving argues that it is
not; rather, it is a nation to be studied, and from which we might draw influence of the
proper (and indeed, the improper) manner of running a country, but not a nation by which
America should model itself exactly.
―The Art of Book Making,‖ especially telling in its language and imagery,
continues in a similar vein the denigration of English superiority. The introductory quote
itself5 prepares the reader for a pointed satire on the art of English book making. Crayon,
Irving‘s wandering alter ego, begins the piece with a seemingly rhetorical statement. He
writes:
I have often wondered at the extreme fecundity of the press, and how it
comes to pass that so many heads, on which nature seemed to have
inflicted the curse of barrenness, should teem with voluminous
productions. (808)
Unlike many of the other tales, which are introduced as sentimental pieces, there
is no doubt as to the nature of this sketch. From the beginning, the tone is one of
disappointment and contempt: Crayon enters the authors‘ chamber thinking that he has
stumbled upon a group of Magi engaged in the ―the study of occult sciences.‖ Instead,
Crayon finds that these men are ―principally authors and in the very act of manufacturing
books‖ (809). Indeed, these ―authors‖ are manufacturing their books by ―borrowing‖
passages from previous authors and using them in their own works. He writes:
I found that these mysterious personages whom I had mistaken for Magi,
were principally authors and in the very act of manufacturing books. I
was, in fact, in the reading room of the great British library, an immense
collection of volumes of all ages and languages, many of which are now
5
―If that severe doom of Synesius be true, ‗it is a greater offence to steal dead men‘s labors than their
clothes,‘ what shall become of most writers?‖ Burton’s Anatomy of Melancholy
forgotten, and most of which are seldom read: one of these sequestered
pools of obsolete literature, to which modern authors repair, and draw
buckets full of classical lore, or ―pure English undefiled‖ wherewith to
swell their own scanty rills of thought. (809)
In this passage, Irving again emphasizes that the grandeurs of England—and its
literature—lie in the past. Crayon‘s discovery of the authors answers the question posed
at the beginning of the sketch: how is it possible for seemingly barren minds to be so
intellectually productive? It is because they are stealing from the past—and not merely
ideas, but entire passages! Here, Irving turns the folly of living in the past on its head:
unlike the Squire or the parson, England‘s literati see the past only as a source for their
own dubious research. However, much like the Squire has done, they are recreating the
past in order to suit their own interests, and not to bring back some ―golden age‖ from
antiquity.
Crayon‘s reconciliation of these pilfering authors is interesting. Rather than being
disappointed, he seems to have reconciled the act of literary pilfering as being not only
natural but necessary to the preservation of great literature. He writes:
After all, thought I, may not this pilfering disposition be implanted in
authors for wise purposes; may it not be the way in which providence has
taken care that the seeds of knowledge and wisdom shall be preserved
from age to age, in spite of the inevitable decay of the works in which they
were first produced. We see that nature has wisely, though whimsically,
provided for the conveyance of seeds from clime to clime in the maws of
certain birds; so that animals which in themselves are little better than
carrion, and apparently the lawless plunderers of the orchard and the corn
field, are in fact natures carriers to disperse and perpetuate her blessings.
(810)
Crayon‘s reconciliation seems hardly flattering, however. These so-called ―Magi‖
seem little better than vultures in light of this reconciliation; they are hardly the learned
researchers one might expect in a land that proposes itself to have ―the masterpieces of
art, the refinements of highly cultivated society, the quaint peculiarities of ancient and
local custom‖ (744). Their book manufacturing is a far cry from the image of the ―sage
Magi‖ that Crayon holds when he first steps into the room. He says of one author, ―He
was evidently constructing some work of profound erudition, that would be purchased by
every man who wished to be thought learned, placed upon a conspicuous shelf of his
library, or laid open upon his table—but never read‖ (810). Of another author, he writes:
He made more stir and shew of business than any of the others; dipping
into various books, fluttering over the leaves of manuscripts, taking a
morsel out of one, a morsel out of another, line upon line, precept upon
precept, here a little and there a little. The contents of his book seemed to
be as heterogeneous as those of the witches‘ cauldron in Macbeth. It was,
here a finger and there a thumb; toe of frog and blind worm‘s sting, with
his own gossip poured in like ―baboon‘s blood,‖ to make the medley ―slab
and good.‖ (810)
In light of these descriptions, it can hardly be said that Irving is being ―nostalgic‖
or even ―romantic‖ in his portrayal of such characters. Irving even goes as far as relating
the pilfering of these men to the natural cycle of decay and rebirth, as when new trees
grow in the fertile mulch where old trees have fallen. However, his choice of language is
ironic: although Crayon is a self-professed sentimentalist, his descriptions of these socalled ―sage Magi‖ make them out to be absurd, almost vile characters. Rather than
referring to these authors and their work in positive terms, he returns to the idea of these
ancient texts as ―mouldering‖ grandeurs, little more than fodder for these carrion Magi.
He writes:
Thus it is in the clearing of our American woodlands; where we burn
down a forest of stately pines, a progeny of dwarf oaks start up in their
place; and we never see the prostrate trunk of a tree, mouldering into the
soil, but it gives birth to a whole tribe of fungi. (811)
Here it becomes obvious that, even though Crayon seems to be a sentimentalist,
his own language says otherwise. The venerable old authors, whose portraits hang on the
walls of this reading room, are not merely forgotten, but ―burn[ed] down‖ like ―a forest
of stately pines‖ to be replaced not with magnificent oaks, but a group of ―dwarf oaks‖
that hardly come close to the magnificence of their predecessors. Irving‘s message is
clear: these authors are not the ―stately pines‖ that their predecessors were, but are
instead a mere group of dwarfish successors who are leeching off of their ―mouldering‖
ancestors.
The absurd caricatures these men represent are very similar to the character of
Diedrich Knickerbocker, as described in the ―Account of the Author‖ in The History of
New York. Indeed, these authors can be seen as the successors of Knickerbocker: learned
little men surrounded by ―mouldering‖ tomes of ancient literature, philosophizing and
manufacturing the histories of their generation. Irving writes:
During the whole time that he stayed with us, we found him a very worthy
good sort of an old gentleman, though a little queer in his ways. He would
keep in his room for days together…which made my wife believe
sometimes that he was not altogether compos. Indeed there was more than
one reason to make her think so, for his room was always covered with
scraps of paper and old mouldy books, laying about at sixes and sevens,
which he would never let any body touch; for he said he had laid them all
away in their proper places, so that he might know where to find them;
though for that matter, he was half his time worrying about the house in
search of some book or writing which he had carefully put out of the way.
(375)
Rather than reinforcing the belief that England is home to great men, Irving has
undercut the nation‘s claims to intellectual superiority with a pointed commentary on the
nature of English literature.
In this reading room of the British library, Crayon has discovered that the socalled ―masterpieces of art‖ have been manufactured from older works. Instead of finding
―scenes of renowned achievement,‖ he finds that the ―masterpieces of art‖ and ―work[s]
of profound erudition‖ are being manufactured by ―predatory authors‖ who have taken to
pilfering entire passages from ancient authors. This scene is a far cry from Crayon‘s
assertions of England in the introduction. There is a definitive lack of the sentimentalism
one might expect from an author who is looking to escape from the so-called
―commonplace realities of the present, and lose [him]self among the shadowy grandeurs
of the past‖ (744). Indeed, Irving shows that, rather than being revered by the Britons,
these shadowy grandeurs are no more than fodder for their intellectual pursuits.
In light of such assertions, it is difficult to see ―The Art of Book Making‖ as
being romantic or even sentimental. Irving‘s language, and the characters he chooses to
represent England‘s learned elite, shows that Irving is not only disappointed, but perhaps
even disillusioned by this image of England as a superior nation. This becomes apparent
during Crayon‘s daydream in the reading room. He writes:
I dreamt that the chamber was still decorated with the portraits of ancient
authors, but that the number was encreased. The long tables had
disappeared and in place of the sage Magi I beheld a ragged, threadbare
throng, such as may be seen plying about the great repository of cast-off
clothes Monmouth Street. Whenever they seized upon a book, by one of
those incongruities common to dreams, methought it turned into a garment
of foreign or antique fashion, with which they proceeded to equip
themselves. I noticed, however, that no one pretended to clothe himself
from any particular suit, but took a sleeve from one, a cape from another, a
skirt from a third, thus decking himself out piece meal, while some of his
original rags would peep out from among his borrowed finery. (811-12)
Seen as a metaphor for the overall state of English authors, it is apparent that
Irving is unhappy with the image England has set for itself. Although these authors seem
to be the learned elite, they are all merely ragamuffins, decked out in finery stolen from
others. Indeed, these so-called ―learned elite‖ seem hardly learned at all, having little
literary authority in and of themselves. In the overall context of The Sketch Book, ―The
Art of Book Making‖ seems to be hailing back to the question of literary authority found
in The History of New York. Using the caricature of the ―sage Magi‖ and the ridiculous
dream sequence, Irving forces his readers to examine the nature of English literature. Is it
truly a superior form of literature, taken from the same vein as the great works from the
ancient world? Or are we deifying literature that is far from superior, and indeed may
even be inferior? Irving writes, ―I was grieved to see many men, to whom I had been
accustomed to look up with awe and reverence, fain to steal off with scarce a rag to cover
their nakedness‖ (813). Irving has indeed challenged England‘s literary superiority with
both the metaphoric humor of Juvenal, and the comical observation of vice used by
Horace. As the old authors—Beaumont and Fletcher, Ben Jonson and others—leap from
their picture frames, it becomes apparent that Irving is not glorifying these predatory
authors as ―sage Magi‖ from a land rife with the ―charms of storied and poetical
associations,‖ but denouncing them as mere animals of carrion, fungi living off of the
ashes of the fallen stately pines.
These two sketches provide clear evidence of Irving‘s satirization of English
character. While ―English Writers on America‖ calls into question England‘s superior
notions of itself, ―The Art of Book Making‖ undermines both its superiority and the
legitimacy of its literature. In these tales, Irving questions the nature of England‘s literary
authority: can it truly be superior to America when it is so prejudiced against other
nations? And how can we take English literature seriously when many of England‘s
modern books have been ―manufactured‖ by the nation‘s supposedly learned elite? Irving
has clearly rejected the notion that England is in some way more legitimate than or
superior to America. The ―sage Magi‖ and the English travelers alike have all fallen into
the folly of living in the past. These so-called ―sage Magi‖ are consumed by the past, not
only obsessing over ancient authors, but stealing from ancient texts to piece together
books that lay conspicuously on a table or shelf, ―but [are] never read.‖ Even the English
travelers, who are ascribed adulation and admiration by Americans, cannot escape from
the past. England places all of its importance and superiority in its ―shadowy grandeurs of
the past,‖ and rejecting any notions to the contrary. Like the Squire, they cannot escape
from their own romantic notions of the past, and of themselves. Just as the Squire fancies
himself as the last bastion of ―old English hospitality,‖ England fancies itself as the last
bastion of refinement and culture. These English sketches follow Crayon through his
journey to find ―the masterpieces of art, the refinements of highly cultivated society, the
quaint peculiarities of ancient and local custom‖ (744). What he finds instead is vastly
different: ―the masterpieces of art‖ are forged from older texts, eccentric Englishmen
invent the ―quaint peculiarities of ancient custom‖ upon their whims, and many of the
―refinements of highly cultivated society‖ are represented by drunken coachmen,
morticians, and an assortment of other unsavory characters. Although Crayon travels to
England to find ―the accumulated treasures of age‖ in which England is so rich, he finds a
culture that has completely immersed itself in ―shadowy grandeurs‖ and false romantic
notions of itself.
IV. American Sketches
Rip Van Winkle, wandering about in his own past in order to avoid the present, is
the first American caricature that Irving presents to us in The Sketch Book. The tale ―Rip
Van Winkle‖ is presented as an extension of the History of New York, having been found
―among the papers of the late Diedrich Knickerbocker‖ (767). Indeed, it seems to be a
more mature version of the History with its amicable irony and critical observations of
vice through caricature and comedy. The tale takes place in ―a little village of great
antiquity‖ (770), which can hardly have been more than 150 years older than either
Knickerbocker‘s History or Crayon‘s Sketch Book. Rip himself is a descendant of the
―gallant‖ Van Winkle family, who served under Peter Stuyvesant during the ―chivalrous
days‖ of his reign (770). Rip is described as being ―a simple good natured man; …a kind
neighbour, and an obedient, henpecked husband‖ (770). However, his actions suggest
that he is more of a weak-willed and immature ―ladies man‖ who lacks discipline and
maturity. Rip‘s greatest fault, according to Knickerbocker, is ―an insuperable aversion to
all kinds of profitable labour‖ (770). While he could ―fish all day without a murmur,‖
―shoot a few squirrels or wild pigeons,‖ or run errands for the village women, he could
not bring himself to do any work on his own farm.
Rip Van Winkle is the exact opposite of the ideal man set forth in Benjamin
Franklin‘s Autobiography. Where Franklin‘s days were structured to optimize the
efficiency and productivity of his work, Rip‘s days are spent idly defiant of his
responsibility, shooting squirrels, fishing, and doing work for everyone but his own
household. Because Dame Van Winkle represents this ideal with her daily ―torrent of
household eloquence‖ (771), Rip does all he can to avoid her and his household. As
Judith Fetterly notes:
Rip‘s refusal to do what he ought is in effect a refusal to be what he ought.
He rejects the role of master, preferring instead to be servant; no father to
his children, he is instead the playmate of others‘ children; his concept of
political responsibility consists of listening to the contents of months-old
newspapers drawled out by the village schoolmaster and commented on by
the puffs from Nicholas Vedder‘s pipe. (4)
Rip is evasive of all real responsibility, and shuns his role in society. Rip and
Dame Van Winkle are opposites on the spectrum: an impractical and idle Rip resides
happily in eternal boyhood, while Dame Van Winkle urges him to become responsible
and employ himself in some profitable endeavors. In escaping his wife, Rip escapes his
proper role in society, and the responsibility of working on his farm.
Rip, seeking shelter from his henpecking wife, spends most of his time playing
with the village children, talking with the village women, and philosophizing with the
local intelligentsia. It was ―a kind of perpetual club of the sages, philosophers and other
idle personages of the village‖ where Rip and his friends sat gossiping, telling ―endless
stories about nothing‖ and arguing about public events ―some months after they had
taken place‖ (772). These ―idle personages‖ are the old men of the village, the
schoolmaster, and Rip, all of whom spend the days in ―profound discussion.‖ The leader
of this ―club of sages‖ is one of the village patriarchs, Nicholaus Vedder, who controls
their opinions completely by the smoking of his pipe. Like Rip, Vedder is an idle person,
much like the figure of Wouter Van Twiller in the history. The absurdity of Vedder‘s
character is emphasized through his lack of actions throughout the day:
…he took his seat from morning till night, just moving sufficiently to
avoid the sun and keep in the shade of a large tree; so that the neighbours
could tell the hour by his movements as accurately as by a sun dial. (773)
Vedder is easily recognizable as caricature in this tale, a human sundial who
whiles away his days smoking and ruminating on the past. Vedder also seems stand as a
metaphor for Rip‘s escapism into the past to avoid working on his farm or listening to his
wife. Vedder‘s ―club of sages‖ is no more than a club of idle old men who retreat into the
past in order to avoid the matters of the present, and most especially Dame Van Winkle.
When Vedder‘s club is no longer safe from the verbal assaults of his wife, Rip
retreats into the forest that populates the Kaatskill mountains. Since before the time of
Shakespeare, the forest has been a place outside of civilization, where the rule of society
is supplanted by the rule of ghosts, fairies, and even the devil. Like the forests found in
Shakespeare‘s A Midsummer Night’s Dream and Hawthorne‘s ―Young Goodman
Brown,‖ the forest in Rip Van Winkle is a strange and uncivilized place ruled by the
fairies and demons. In the tale of ―Rip Van Winkle,‖ the forest is a place ruled by the
ghosts of Dutch men from the ―distant‖ American past who watch over the Kaatskills as
they play their game of ninepins. It is to the forest that Rip escapes not only the duties of
his farm and the abuses of his wife, but his place within society as a whole. In the woods,
Rip can sit idly throughout the day without worrying about his wife chasing after him.
Rip‘s activities rarely consist of anything more than the childish sport of squirrel hunting
or napping at the foot of a tree with his dog, Wolf (773). It is also in the woods that Rip
encounters the past, literally, in the form of the old Dutchmen that spend their days
engaging in the idle tasks of drinking and bowling.
This scene extends the irony of Rip‘s inability to work on his own ventures: Rip,
who cannot perform the slightest duty on his own farm, willingly agrees to not only assist
in carrying a keg of liquor up the mountain for the old men, but also to serve it to them
(775-76). Rip‘s inability to work productively at home is what leads him into this
―amphitheathre…of wonder‖ (775) whereupon he meets these strange men and, like a
mischievous child to satisfy his ―thirsty soul,‖ and, ultimately, to drink himself into a
twenty-year stupor. Though the Dutchmen provide the keg, they, unlike Shakespeare‘s
fairies, do not force mischief upon Rip unwillingly. Rip himself, oblivious to the
consequences of his actions, childishly escapes to the forest to avoid his proper place in
society, and, like Young Goodman Brown walking with the Devil, brings misfortune
upon himself.
Rip‘s personality in the first part of this tale is comparable with the personalities
of the Dutch burghers in Knickerbocker‘s History of New York. Irving writes:
As to the honest dutch burghers of Communipaw, like wise men, and
sound philosophers, they never look beyond their pipes, nor trouble their
heads about any affairs out of their immediate neighbourhood; so that they
live in profound and enviable ignorance of all the troubles anxieties and
revolutions, of this distracted planet. (438)
Like the burghers, Rip lives in complete ignorance of the world around him,
preferring to live in the past. He and the ―club of sages‖ only discuss matters of the past,
debating events that occurred months prior to their discussion. Perhaps owing to the fact
that ―Rip Van Winkle‖ was written as a work of Diedrich Knickerbocker, it is not
surprising that Rip‘s character is almost an exact likeness of these Dutch burghers who
live heart and soul in the past. His personality, however, is described in a more subdued
manner than the burghers in the History. Where the burghers are represented by the most
absurd caricatures, smoking their pipes so vehemently that they ―completely enveloped
and concealed their beloved village‖ from the English Navy (440), Rip is a more subdued
caricature with a genial nature that makes him easy to sympathize with him. His main
character attributes—an extreme aversion to ―profitable labour,‖ an inability to control
his drinking, and a reluctance to live in the present—make Rip into a caricature of vice,
through which it is possible to subtly criticize members of society: sentimentalists,
philosophers, and historians. And yet, Rip is welcomed back into the village as a
historian, revered ―as one of the patriarchs of the village‖ (783). The very behavior that
caused Rip so many problems when he was younger is now perfectly acceptable to a
society that yearns for tales of the good old days. Rip‘s tendency towards sentimentalism
and philosophy, and the dubious history surrounding his tale, retains the satirical nature
of the characters in the History, allowing Irving to criticize the sentimentalism within
society.
Like many other characters in The Sketch Book, Rip Van Winkle, and his dubious
authority as a village patriarch and historian, represents the folly of dwelling in the past.
Having lost twenty years of his life to the Dutchmen‘s liquor, Rip is now completely out
of touch with current matters. Even as he acclimates himself to life in the village, Rip‘s
thoughts still linger in the past, and he settles once more into his old habits:
Having nothing to do at home, and being arrived at that happy age when a
man can be idle, with impunity, he took his place once more on the bench
at the inn door and was reverenced as one of the patriarchs of the village
and a chronicle of the old times ―before the war‖ (783).
Rip is now permanently caught in the past, having become an unofficial pre-war
historian and storyteller in a village that yearns for sentimental tales of days gone by. His
tale, like the History, is ―an absolute fact, narrated with [Knickerbocker‘s] usual fidelity‖
(784). The premise of the tale brings back the absurdity of the tall tale, and the legendary
figures which were satirized in the Juvenalian A History of New York. The figures in the
tale are so absurd, and Rip so childish, that the piece hardly suggests a serious
sentimental desire for nostalgia or history in America. Indeed, Rip‘s tendency to wallow
in the past seems to suggest the opposite. Knickerbocker‘s supposed authorship serves to
reconfirm Irving‘s tendency to satirize such tall tales and the supposed infallibility of
historians. In ―Rip Van Winkle,‖ Irving draws attention to the absurdity of the American
past, and the folly of yearning for its supposed golden age. Rip, who, like Crayon, tries to
escape ―from the commonplace realities of the present‖ (744), literally loses himself
amongst the shadowy grandeurs of the past, leaving his family and his farm to ruin and
decay.
Rip‘s idleness and lack of ambition in The Sketch Book parallels Horace‘s own
―typical day in Rome,‖ seen in Satires I.6:
I lie in bed until mid-morning. After that I wander about or, after I‘ve read
or written something to please me for a quiet moment, I rub myself down
with oil (with something better than what dirty Natta uses after he‘s
robbed the lamps). But when I‘m tired and the midday sun warns me to
bathe, I flee the Campus and the game of ball. After a light lunch—just
enough to keep me from spending the day on an empty stomach, I take my
ease at home. This is the life of those free of the sorrow and burden of
ambition… (I.6.111-131).
Neither Horace nor Rip Van Winkle has any ambition, and both seem to live
carefree, happy lives. Ironically, it is exactly this carefree attitude and lack of ambition
that causes the ruin and decay of Rip‘s farm and family, even while Rip himself is
confidently happy in his own endeavors. But for Rip, who ―would rather starve on a
penny than work for a pound,‖ the lack of order and discipline in his life is of no
consequence. Horace, too, seems confident that a life without ambition is better than any
other, saying, ―…with joys such as these I console myself that I shall live a better life
than if my grandfather, father, and uncle had all been quaestors6‖ (I.6.131).
Irving expands the folly of escaping into the past in ―The Legend of Sleepy
Hollow,‖ another posthumous writing of Diedrich Knickerbocker. Like the other
Knickerbocker pieces, the tale takes place ―in a remote period of American history‖
(1060), which is actually only some thirty years prior to the publishing of the tale. Where
Rip Van Winkle sought escape from the present by dwelling on the past, Ichabod Crane
is both influenced by the past and haunted by the superstitions surrounding it. However,
where Rip represented the folly of escaping into the past, Ichabod represents the folly of
being consumed by the superstitions and folklore of the past. It is Ichabod‘s superstitions
that ultimately lead to his downfall.
6
In Ancient Rome, the quaestors were officials concerned with financial administration, and were no doubt
quite ambitious, in addition to being quite wealthy.
Like Rip Van Winkle, Ichabod Crane is a rather smooth-talking ladies‘ man,
spending much of his time ―peculiarly happy in the smiles of all the country damsels‘
(1063). Unlike Rip, who is simple and carefree, Ichabod is rather duplicitous in nature,
acting as the lord and master of the schoolhouse during school hours, and then laying
aside this ―dominant dignity and absolute sway‖ to become ―wonderfully gentle and
ingratiating.‖ As Irving writes:
He found favour in the eyes of the mothers, by petting the children,
particularly the youngest, and like the lion bold, which whilome7 so
magnanimously the lamb did hold, he would sit with a child on one knee,
and rock a cradle with his foot, for whole hours together. (1062)
Yet it is this same Ichabod who has ―the dilating powers of an Anaconda‖ (1062),
―a soft and foolish heart towards the [female] sex‖ and spent much time lusting after both
―the comforts of the cupboard‖ (1062) and the inheritance of Katrina Van Tassel. Irving
writes:
As the enraptured Ichabod fancied all this, and as he rolled his great green
eyes over the fat meadow lands, the rich fields of wheat, of rye, of
buckwheat, and Indian corn, and the orchards burthened with ruddy fruit,
which surrounded the warm tenement of Van Tassel, his heart yearned
after the damsel who was to inherit these domains…. (1067)
Greedy and duplicitous, Ichabod Crane provides a stark contrast to the simple,
good-natured Dutch boys, especially Brom Bones, the town hero. As a Yankee outsider,
Ichabod represents the Zeitgeist of 19th-century America: although he yearns for Katrina,
the seat of his desire rests in her inheritance, and ―how they might be readily turned into
7
An odd spelling of whilom, from the Middle English word meaning literally ―at times.‖
cash‖ by investing them in new Western endeavors in ―Kentucky, Tennessee, or the Lord
knows where‖ (1067). But however much he may be looking towards the future, Ichabod
―most firmly and potently believed‖ in Cotton Mather‘s ―History of New England
Witchcraft‖8, and all of the superstitions contained therein (1063).
In order to claim Katrina Van Tassel and her inheritance, Ichabod much first beat
out the competition—―Brom‖ Van Brunt, favored among locals as a ―rantipole hero‖ who
has ―singled out the blooming Katrina for the object of his uncouth gallantries‖ (1070). It
is Brom and his ghost stories that ultimately win the quest for Katrina‘s heart, for Ichabod
is so fearful that even a local folk tale is enough to scare him out of his wits, and
ultimately out of the village. Brom is the polar opposite of Ichabod in both nature and
deed. Where Ichabod resembles ―some scarecrow eloped from a cornfield‖ (1061), Brom
is ―the hero of the country round, which run with his feats of strength and hardihood‖
(1069). Irving writes:
He was broad shouldered and double jointed, with short curly black hair,
and a bluff, but not unpleasant countenance, having a mingled air of fun
and arrogance. From his Herculean frame and great powers of limb, he
had received the nick name of Brom Bones, by which he was universally
known. (1069)
Standing in stark contrast to Ichabod‘s condescending attitude and extreme
superstition, Brom Bones is the hero of the story, being neither uppity nor greedy in his
endeavors. When compared to Brom, Ichabod‘s character becomes an absurd caricature
of the traditional Yankee American: a New World figure sent to ―educate‖ the Old World
8
Most likely part of the body of works titled Wonders of the Invisible World, published shortly after the
infamous witch trials of Salem Village in 1692.
in New World ideology. Ichabod‘s self-importance and condescending idealism clash
with the humble practicality of the Dutch townsfolk. Ichabod, haunted by his own
superstitions, is completely incapable of rationalizing the folk tale told by the villagers.
Brom mischievously takes advantage of this and uses Ichabod‘s superstitions to run him
out of town with a mere ghost story.
Unlike other characters in The Sketch Book such as the Squire or Rip Van Winkle,
Ichabod finds little use for the past except as a source of superstition and monetary gain.
The township of Sleepy Hollow and the surrounding farmlands, seen as an antiquity in
and of themselves, are only useful to Ichabod if they can be sold, which is the only reason
for Ichabod‘s courtship of Katrina Van Tassel.
…his heart yearned after the damsel who was to inherit these domains,
and his imagination expanded with the idea, how they might be readily
turned into cash, and the money invested in immense tracts of wild land,
and shingle palaces in the wilderness. Nay, his busy fancy already realized
his hopes…. (1067)
In contrast to Brom Bones and the other residents of Sleepy Hollow, Ichabod does
not appreciate the value of the past at all, and can only see the ―sumptuous promise‖ of
the future in his ―devouring mind‘s eye‖ (1067), impeded only by the folk lore of the
hollow. The tales, especially that of the ―Headless‖ Hessian, are regarded by Sleepy
Hollow‘s residents as simple ghost stories to frighten children. Ichabod, paranoid and
obsessed with Mather‘s accounts of withcraft and demons in the New World, lives in
constant fear of everything he sees and hears around the village, frightening even himself
with ―anecdotes of witchcraft, and of the direful omens and portentious sights and sounds
in the air‖ (1064). Irving writes:
How often was he appalled by some shrub covered with snow, which like
a sheeted spectre beset his very path!—How often did he shrink with
curdling awe at the sound of his own steps on the frosty crust beneath his
feet; and dread to look over his shoulder, lest he should behold some
uncouth being tramping close behind him! (1065)
Caught between the past and the future, Ichabod‘s superstitions hold enormous
sway over his life, rendering him incapable of even walking home without being
paralyzed with fear at every step.
As a result of the inherent differences between Ichabod and the villagers, he is
viewed as an unimportant ―tarrier,‖ even though he views himself as ―a man of some
importance‖ in the village (1063) because of his position as schoolmaster. However,
Ichabod, who duplicitously and greedily pursues the inheritance of the Van Tassels, goes
largely unnoticed by Katrina‘s family as he attempts to woo her during her singing
lessons.
Under cover of his character of singing master, he made frequent visits at
the farm house; not that he had any thing to apprehend from the
meddlesome interference of parents, which is so often a stumbling block
in the path of lovers. (1070)
Indeed, even when he disappears from the village, supposedly after being carried
off by the Headless Horseman, ―nobody troubled his head any more about him, the
school was removed to a different quarter of the hollow, and another pedagogue reigned
in his stead‖ (1086). Ichabod, consumed with Yankee ambitions and superstition, is
largely insignificant in comparison to the overall ―dreamy‖ character of the hollow and
its denizens—for all his attempts at assimilating into Sleepy Hollow culture, he is unable
to make any lasting impression on the village, fleeing in terror to New York where he
remains an insignificant figure in local politics.
Ichabod‘s inability to escape the past even as he yearns for the wealth of future
investments closely resembles the spirit of Americans during the early 1800s. Jeffrey
Rubin-Dorsky writes:
The idea of ―boundlessness‖ exerted a controlling force on American life
during the years Washington Irving sojourned in Europe. From 1815
through the early 1840s, Americans envisioned endless possibilities for the
physical, intellectual, and moral development of the nation…. The
restraints of reason, rank, and reverence for the past, for example, could no
longer hold in check democratic man‘s zeal for self-aggrandizement. (3)
Sleepy Hollow is the ―old‖ America, a ―pleasing land of drowsy head‖ rooted
firmly in the past, mindful of its folk history and the ―ghosts‖ that roam the land. Here,
the simple ideals of pre-Revolutionary America are part of every day life; it is, as RubinDorsky writes, ―the nineteenth-century imagination of an older, more traditional world—
the village of pre-1815 America‖ (8). Residents of the hollow firmly reject the ideas of
land speculation and prospecting that Ichabod brings from New England. He is an
invading presence, bringing the ―zeal for self-aggrandizement‖ and ―the forces of
competition and greed [that] were daily rending the social fabric‖ to the village.
However, as Rubin-Dorsky notes, ―economic competition and social conflict prevailed‖
in many New England cities even before Ichabod and his ilk began invading country
villages. He writes:
But under the pressure of an advancing industrialism that was rapidly
changing the texture of their society and eroding the cherished values of
the Founders, the postheroic generation created in the early nineteenth
century a myth of America‘s colonial simplicity…. (9)
Irving creates this myth in ―Rip Van Winkle,‖ and continues it in ―The Legend of
Sleepy Hollow.‖ This is the supposed ―golden age‖ of America, the standard to which
Americans were supposed to hold themselves if they wanted a prosperous future. On the
surface, it seems as though Ichabod himself is the antithesis to this myth, but he himself
is relegated to the realm of myth. After he flees the hollow, Irving reports that the
schoolhouse was ―haunted by the ghost of the unfortunate pedagogue‖ (1087); even the
sages of Knickerbocker‘s postscript do not believe in Ichabod.
The heart of these tales lies in the American desire for the golden age of the
Founding Fathers. In essence, Irving has created and deconstructed the golden age for
which Americans yearned. Rip‘s village, like Sleepy Hollow, is home to simple Dutch
burghers—folks who value common sense and hard work over the desperate selfaggrandizement of the 19th Century. However, the burghers of ―Rip Van Winkle‖ are also
―idle personages,‖ and even after he returns to a bustling post-Revolutionary town, the
villagers yearn for Rip‘s dubious accounts of pre-Revolutionary America. Indeed, they
become so engrossed in the idealism of this golden age that they might follow in Rip‘s
footsteps:
…it is a common wish of all henpecked husbands in the neighbourhood,
when life hangs heavy on their hands, that they might have a quieting
draught out of Rip Van Winkle‘s flagon. (784)
Ichabod falls into much the same trap: although he wants to press forward with
his Yankee ambition, he finds himself yearning for tales of Colonial America, especially
the fantastic accounts of Cotton Mather. Ichabod becomes obsessed with the folklore and
superstitions of the Colonial period, and of Sleepy Hollow as well. However, as Irving
shows in both sketches, reliance on the past for prosperity in the future is an exercise in
futility. Both Ichabod and Rip are economic failures—Ichabod becomes a judge in the
lowest courts, and Rip becomes an idle old man telling stories to villagers.
According to Jeffrey Rubin-Dorsky, Irving seems to long for the golden age of
cohesiveness and selflessness that was brought on by the American Revolution, and he is
also conscious of the fact that, ―Americans were seeking affirmation and literature was
being put to the service of recapturing the heroic past‖ (15), as with the villagers‘ desire
for Rip‘s tales in ―Rip Van Winkle.‖ Further, Americans believed that the only way to
achieve glory and aggrandizement for the future was to emulate the past, or to ―recreate‖
it. Rubin-Dorsky writes:
Between 1815 and 1832, Americans told themselves repeatedly that the
only way they could ensure the continuity of the virtuous Republic was to
emulate the personal and domestic character of the founders: the nation
had inherited its sacred quality from that character and only through its
imitation could the nation‘s identity be maintained. (10)
However, it becomes obvious that Irving is not only calling into question the
supposed golden age of America, but also America‘s reliance on (and perhaps even
obsession with) the past. Ichabod and Rip are representative of that desire—conscious or
unconscious—to relive the past. These tales, like the English Tales, focus mainly on the
effects of becoming absorbed in the past, providing a critical (as well as comical)
observation of what could be considered the greatest obstacle in America‘s search for
aggrandizement. Rip, who is incapable of adapting to the present, perpetually removes
himself to the past, first in his journey into the mountains and then in the retelling of his
tale. Ichabod, who represents the zeal for self-aggrandizement, is stymied by his
obsession with the past in the form of folklore and superstition. Both characters fall prey
to the folly of living in the past and exemplify the inability to move forward because of
this folly. The implication of Ichabod and Rip‘s America is clear: emulating the past will
only provide more obstacles to America‘s future growth, and its dream of becoming the
wealthy, influential nation that the Founding Fathers tried to create.
V. Conclusion
In the guise of a romantic traveler‘s notebook, Irving provides his readers with a
subtle satire of these ―golden age yearnings,‖ showing time and again the absurdity of
yearning for the past. He posits in ―English Writers on America‖ that America is entering
a new ―enlightened and philosophic age,‖ and in order to reach it, we must ―shake off the
national prejudices, as we would the local superstitions, of the old world‖ (791). Rather
than being a mere sentimental romp through the English countryside, The Sketch Book
shows itself to be a cleverly disguised satire of such sentimentalism. Irving has cleverly
combined subtle tricks of language with absurd caricatures to satirize this mystical
―golden age‖ and reduce our emulation of it to absurdity. As such, the tales and sketches
found in Washington Irving‘s Sketch Book provide an interesting view of England and its
people. On the one hand, Irving sentimentalizes the nation with tales of quaint country
churches, the traditions of rural and urban areas, and characters that exemplify the simple,
harmonious life of the ―golden age‖ of antiquity.
And yet, Irving retains some of that Juvenalian humor from A History of New
York in The Sketch Book. He has refined his satire and made it subtler, using language
and caricature to satirize rather than hyperbole, and outlandish metaphors. Through such
caricatures as the Squire and Ichabod Crane, and the loaded language found throughout
the work, Irving reverses the image of antiquity as a ―golden age‖ by which we should
model our lives. Irving presents his readers with numerous caricatures of varying
absurdity in much the same way as he does in the History: ―to intimate that our golden
age yearnings are literary, self-conscious and futile‖ (Bramble 112). Each caricature
represents varying degrees of the folly of living in the past: the Squire, recreating the past
according to his own whim; Rip Van Winkle, escaping to the past to avoid his duties in
the present; and Ichabod Crane, trapped by the superstitions and folklore of the past.
Rather than presenting these characters as ones to be emulated, Irving presents them as
examples of folly; none of these characters is capable of success because they have all
turned their backs on the present in favor of some golden age yearnings. The Squire‘s
attempt to recreate the past mimics that of Americans attempting to emulate the Founding
Fathers in order to make their new country great. But, as with Ichabod Crane, Irving
shows that such attempts can only end in failure.
Like A History of New York before it, The Sketch Book demonstrates a number of
satiric elements. Throughout the work, Irving‘s language and use of caricature points to
an inherently satiric tone, rather than sentimentalism or romanticism. Irving returns to his
criticism of authority and society, but does so in a subtler manner than before. Rather
than representing an outright rejection of satire, The Sketch Book represents Irving‘s
attempt to satirize a new folly in American society: the folly of living in the past. The
Sketch Book uses this folly to satirize these dubious golden age yearnings, especially
those of English society. Can we truly believe that the Squire is a true representation of
English gentry? Can we trust the authority of the predatory ―sage Magi,‖ stealing from
ancient texts to make their own seem more intelligent? These characters seem too absurd
to be trusted with the faith of readers. In order to trust these characters as faithful
representations of ―true‖ English character, we must ignore the dubious descriptions
given, the duplicitous language, and the irony that is scattered throughout the work.
Indeed, Irving has used these characters to challenge not only England‘s superiority, but
that of the ―golden age‖ of antiquity as well. As a result, The Sketch Book provides for
Irving‘s readers a subtle satire, refining the tactics used in the History, and reducing the
authority of the past to absurdity.
In The Sketch Book, Irving has refined the Juvenalian elements in his satires,
electing to tone down the coarse and invective language that was so prominent in A
History of New York. As with the History, Irving has used the past as his main subject,
reducing our golden age yearnings to absurdity, and manipulating our emotional
connections with the past. However, he strongly embraces Horatian elements, using
loaded language, instead of the wild metaphors and hyperboles of the History. In
combining the elements of Juvenalian and Horatian satire in this way, Irving is able to
subtly undermine the authority of the past with critical observations of vice, caricature,
and irony. Using Ichabod as a Puritan remnant and Rip as a representative of preRevolutionary America, Irving forces his readers to reassess this so-called golden age—
should we hold ourselves to standards of dubious authority and emulate a golden age that
may not have been so golden? While on the surface Irving‘s sketches appear to uphold
this yearning for the golden age, his repeated use of Horatian and Juvenalian elements in
these sketches reduces this golden age to absurdity, and removes any authority that has
been given to it by Irving‘s readers. As a result, The Sketch Book is much more than a
mere romantic frolic through the ―shadowy grandeurs of the past‖—for Irving, it is an
attempt to reverse the trend of emulating these ―shadowy grandeurs‖ of a mystical golden
age, and to reveal the reality behind the notions we create of our own past.
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