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"Rip Van Winkle": Metempsychosis and the
Quest for Self-Reliance
DANIEL L. PLUNG
"Rip Van Winkle," the best known American short story, aff
valuable insights into our national character, but much of our
to interpret Washington Irving's message has been obscured by t
current cries of plagiarism, and by the continued search for simil
rather than differences between the American story and its Euro
counterparts and predecessors. Since the tale's publication in
Sketch Book in 1819, critics have insisted the account of the
farmer who strays from city to mountain where he meets elves, d
becomes enchanted, and sleeps for twenty years, is no more than
transplanting of a German legend that Irving may have read
studying the language in Europe. Though it is true there are anal
that closely parallel portions of Irving's story, there have not be
evaluations of the changes he incorporated into the legend, c
that create specific correspondences to American life and though
investigations of the tale's genesis fail to account for Irving's con
artistry in the genre he was to make an American tradition. If t
is an act of plagiarism then it has no right to remain our most f
short story, but if the tale is reexamined in terms of the chang
and in terms of Irving's artistry, then it may be possible to und
important aspects of the story that have been overlooked for a c
and a half.
Irving was the first American to utilize the short story as a
by which to convey, succinctly and expressly, concepts previousl
sidered the sole domain of the novel in America. He was well awa
Daniel L. Plung teaches in the English Department at Idaho State University, Pocat
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the form's potential, and voiced his belief in an oft-quoted letter to his
friend, Henry Brevoort:
Each story Irving was to write carried this concern for artistry, and the
first story to bring him worldwide acclaim was no exception. Despite
our knowledge that "Rip Van Winkle" is founded upon a common
German legend, one reason the story is "frequently recurred to" is be-
cause we realize the tale is inherently American. Similarly, Irving be-
lieved he had modified the tale enough so that he was willing to ac-
knowledge that which he had borrowed.
'Letter to Henry Brevoort, 11 Dec. 1824, in The Life and Letters of Washington Irving,
ed. Pierre M. Irving, Gale Library of Lives and Letters American Writing Series (1863; rpt.
Detroit: Gale Research Co., 1967), II, 226-27.
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Irving made no attempt to hide his indebtedness to the German
tale that had provided the framework for his own sketch. He appended
a notice to the conclusion of "Rip Van Winkle" that was intended to
inform the reader that some material had been adopted: "The fore-
going tale, one would suspect, had been suggested to Mr. Knicker-
bocker by a little German superstition about the Emperor Frederick
der Rothbart and the Kypphauser mountain; the subjoined note, how-
ever, which he appended to the tale, shows that it is an absolute fact,
narrated with his usual fidelity."2 This allusion, however, was not ac-
ceptable to the critics; they began to question the story's authenticity
and Irving's ethics as a writer.
Irving, continually bothered by accusations of plagiarism, made
reply to the critics in his second collection of sketches, Bracebridge Hall.
In this collection, linked structurally to The Sketch Book, he appended
a footnote to "The Historian":
I find that the tale of Rip Van Winkle given in The Sketch Book, has
been discovered by divers writers in magazines to have been founded on
a little German tradition, and the matter has been revealed to the world
as if it were a foul instance of plagiarism marvelously brought to light.
In a note which follows the tale, I had alluded to the superstition on
which it was founded, and I thought a mere allusion was sufficient, as the
tradition was so notorious as to be inserted in almost every collection of
German legends. I had seen it myself in three. I could hardly have
hoped, therefore, in the present age, when every source of ghost and
goblin story is ransacked, that the origin of the tale would escape dis-
covery. In fact, I had considered popular traditions of the kind as fair
foundations for authors of fiction to build upon, and made use of the
one accordingly.3
These two references to the story's genesis should have led critics to
ascertain that Irving had made use of the German legend for reasons
other than plagiarism.
Washington Irving, "Rip Van Winkle," The Works of Washington Irving, intro. Richard
Henry Stoddard (New York: P. F. Collier, 1904), I, 96.
3 Irving, "The Historian," XI, 652.
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Irving recognized, as is demonstrated in the footnote appended to
"The Historian," that there were ways by which to revitalize and build
upon the frames provided by popular tales and legends; this process of
revitalization he identified as "a kind of metempsychosis":
... the beauties and fine thoughts of ancient and obsolete writers are
caught up... and cast forth, again to flourish and bear fruit in a remote
and distant tract of time. Many of their works, also, undergo a kind of
metempsychosis, and spring up under new forms. What was formerly a
ponderous history revives in the shape of a romance-an old legend
changes into a modern play -and a sober, philosophical treatise fur-
nishes the body for a whole series of bouncing and sparkling essays.4
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Peter Klaus is a goatherd who lives in a small village at the foot
of the Kypphausen mountains. He is in the habit of pasturing his goats
along the hillside; one day while on the hill, he notices that one of his
goats has wandered off, and he sets out in pursuit of it. He follows the
goat into a cave where a mysterious groom beckons for him to follow,
and he is led into an upper region of the cave, a spacious cavern where
twelve knights are engaged in a game of ninepins. At first Peter is
afraid of the mysterious company, but he soon becomes less afraid,
drinks from the wine that is offered, and falls asleep. When he awakens,
he finds himself alone on the hill, and returns to his village only to find
it filled with unfamiliar people. His house is in ruins; his family is
missing; and the friends he seeks are dead. When a familiar-looking
girl arrives, he anxiously questions her about her family and is told the
story of his own disappearance. The tale concludes with Peter's an-
nouncement of his identity, and with the community's gracious wel-
come:
The goatherd could no longer bear this: "I am Peter Klaus," he said
"Peter and no other," and he took his daughter's child and kissed it. The
spectators appeared struck dumb with astonishment, until first one and
then another began to say, "Yes, indeed, this is Peter Klaus! Welcom
good neighbor, after twenty years' absence, welcome home."6
6 Otmar, "Peter Klaus the Goatherd," trans. Thomas Roscoe, Great German Short Storie
ed. Lewis Melville and Reginald Hargreaves (Freeport, New York: Books for Libraries Pre
1971), p. 335.
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after his journey to the mountain. There is no "terrible virago" to force
Peter out of his village, and, as far as can be ascertained from the short
glimpses of his village, there are no changes when he returns. Unlike
the static community of Littendorf from which Peter leaves and to
which he returns, Rip's village undergoes many transformations that
are significant to the story's message; similarly, Rip's position within
society is changed. Irving also transformed the mountains of Otmar's
tale. Each time that Peter climbs the mountain he does it for a practical
reason; he must feed his flock. Rip, on the other hand, will first see the
mountains as a place of daydreams and then as a place of physical dis-
comfort. These modifications, the different picture of the mountains,
and the altered picture of society and the individual's position within
that society, should be considered in any analysis of "Rip Van Winkle."
Irving realized that by building upon a legend, by changing and
emending through the process of metempsychosis, he could depict
characteristics of American life and thought often overlooked or mis-
interpreted by the numerous English authors who were attempting to
portray America and her inhabitants.
The Peter Klaus legend offered Irving an opportunity to invest a
European tale with American character; thus, he could continue to
please his audiences while also portraying America as only an American
could. Here was a chance to rectify some of Europe's misconceptions in
a manner appealing to a general reading audience. In "English Writers
on America," he had noted the inability of English, and, in effect, all
European writers to understand the forces at work in America; a Ger-
man legend that recalled circumstances of his life by the great Appa-
lachians may have been just the tradition upon which to create a valid
representation:
That such men [English] should give prejudiced accounts of America
is not a matter of surprise. The themes it offers for contemplation are
too vast and elevated for their capacities. The national character is yet
in a state of fermentation: it may have its frothiness and sediment, but
its ingredients are sound and wholesome: it has already given proofs of
powerful and generous qualities; and the whole promises to settle down
into something substantially excellent. But the causes which are operat-
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ing to strengthen and ennoble it, and its daily indications of admirable
properties, are all lost upon these purblind observers; who are only
affected by the little asperities incident to its present situation. They are
capable of judging only of the surface of things; of those matters which
come in contact with their private interests and personal gratifications.7
By building upon the legend of Peter Klaus, Irving was able to please
his audience, while at the same time going beneath the surface to reveal
areas rarely penetrated by European authors. He could use the corre-
spondences between the Kypphauser and the Appalachian mountains
to create a story infused with theories of the wilderness and individuality
indigenous to the United States.
The splendors of the wilderness that Irving recalled from his child-
hood along the Hudson could be utilized as the replacement for the
descriptions of the Kypphausen mountains, but more than just a change
of locale, the goatherd could be replaced by the American with dog
and gun who leaves the tormenting wife and bustle of the town, not to
pasture goats, but to spend a few hours amidst the serenity of the magi-
cal hills. Simply by putting a gun in the man's hands and a dog by his
side, Irving could create the picture of the frontiersman. On the sur-
face, Rip would appear to be a pioneer, a man anxious to blaze new
trails.
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possibility of starvation. Irving was not positing the primitivist theories
popularized by contemporaries such as William Cullen Bryant. By
examining the story and by comparing the picture presented with the
ideas of the primitivists and the character of the pioneers, we find Irving
indicating that Rip's life in the city is more suitable for civilized man
than the time he spends on the mountain.
Irving juxtaposes two ideas of the mountains in his tale, as the
world of daydreams and as a place of physical discomfort. These dif-
fering values are highlighted by the changes in Rip's attitudes as he
shifts his perspective, the view from the village and the view from the
mountain. During the particular period of national expansion in which
Irving wrote, many poets glorified the wilderness, proposing the moun-
tains and the wilderness as a place of freedom, as a place where the
civilizing effects of society could be mitigated and a more natural life
attained, as a place where an individual could commune with God.
As shall be seen, however, the reality as perceived from the confines
of the city tended to vary from that which was actually experienced
by those who ventured into the wilderness.
Though at first it may seem as if Irving is portraying the mountains
as sole repository of natural conditions, the descriptions of the hills Rip
actually encounters dispel this primitivist attitude. In the opening para-
graph of the story, the mountains are described as magical:
Whoever has made a voyage up the Hudson must remember the Kaats-
kill mountains. They are a dismembered branch of the great Appa-
lachian family and are seen away to the west of the river, swelling up
to a noble height, and lording it over the surrounding country. Every
change of season, every change of weather, indeed every hour of the day,
produces some change in the magical hues and shapes of these moun-
tains; and they are regarded by all the good wives, far and near, as per-
fect barometers. When the weather is fair and settled they are clothed
in blue and purple, and print their bold outlines on the clear evening
sky; but sometimes, when the rest of the landscape is cloudless, they
will gather a hood of gray vapors about their summits, which, in the
last rays of the setting sun, will glow and light up like a crown of glory.
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However, when Rip actually ascends the mountain, he encounters some-
thing entirely different from that which was depicted in the opening
paragraph: "...he looked down into a deep mountain glen, wild,
lonely, and shagged, the bottom filled with fragments from the im-
pending cliffs, and scarcely lighted by the reflected rays of the setting
sun.'" The magical qualities of the mountains rapidly fade as Rip
makes his ascent; soon all the positive qualities will be forgotten and
Rip will return to the village. With him he will bring hunger, a rusted
rifle, and a case of rheumatism.
The discrepancy between the ideal and romantic wilderness was
not, however, peculiar to Rip, for much of the primitivist idealism was
written in the cities of the East; those who ventured into the wilderness
often returned to outline a much more realistic picture. The discrep-
ancy has been best summarized by Eugene Huddleston in his article
on topographical poetry:
Poems describing the frontier show most strongly how the discrepancy
between convention and experience stultified American nature poetry.
As one might expect, the topography of the East so well conformed with
that of England that Americans found it easy to write local poems using
the language, form, and emphasis of the European picturesque tradition.
The "neat enclosure" alternated with the "happy shade" to present count-
less scenes of idyllic beauty. On the frontier, however, art and nature
were out of balance, and there was little that the eye could seek out as
beautiful. Until such country is put into a "state of complete cultivation,"
it would be, in Timothy Dwight's estimation, "imperfect." This belief, by
and large, determined attitudes toward nature on the frontier, and it
accounts for the relatively few poems written under its influence. In fact,
poems actually concerned with the frontier often exhibit a more en-
trenched conventionality than those describing settled areas.l0
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the mountain. The wilderness was only a proper place when a balance
of nature and industry had acted upon it. The balance of nature and
industry creating a proper home for civilization was a concept that
developed during the seventeenth century, and it was still the most
prominent belief during the eighteenth century.1 By comparing ideas
presented in two such diverse works as Thomas Morton's New English
Canaan, 1637, and John Filson's first-person account of Daniel Boone's
exploits, 1784, it becomes evident that Rip's mountain has neither in-
dustry nor nature, the two components necessary for civilization and
civilized man.
In the Author's Prologue to New English Canaan, Morton wrote:
If art and industry should do so much
As Nature has for Canaan, not such
Another place, for benefit and rest,
In all the universe can be possessed,
The more we prove it by discovery,
The more delight each object to the eye
Procures, as if the elements had here
Been reconciled, and pleased it should appear,
Like a fair virgin, longing to be sped,
And meet her lover in a Nuptial bed,
Decked in rich ornaments to advance her state
And excellence, being most fortunate,
When most enjoyed, so would our Canaan be
If well employed by art and industry.'2
Morton's call for a balance of art and industry in the first part of the
seventeenth century is not very different from Filson's concept of the
wilderness recorded in the second half of the eighteenth century:
Thus we behold Kentucky, lately an howling wilderness, the habitation
of savages and wild beasts, become a fruitful field; this region, so favor-
ably distinguished by nature, now become the habitation of civilization,
' Of course, the best examination of the interaction between nature and industry remains
Leo Marx, The Machine in the Garden (New York: Oxford University Press, 1964).
"Thomas Morton, New English Canaan, The English Experience, No. 140 (1637; rpt.
New York: De Capo Press, 1969), p. 10. I have normalized the spelling.
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at a period unparalleled in history, in the midst of a raging war, and
under all the disadvantages of emigration to a country so remote from
the inhabited parts of the continent. Here, where the hand of violence
shed the blood of the innocent; where the horrid yells of savages, and
the groans of the distressed, sounded in our ears, we now hear the praises
and adorations of our Creator; where wretched wigwams stood, the
miserable abodes of savages, we behold the foundations of cities laid,
that, in all probability, will rival the glory of the greatest upon earth.
And we view Kentucky situated on the fertile banks of the great Ohio,
rising from obscurity to shine with splendor, equal to any other of the
stars in the American hemisphere.13
John Filson, The Discovery and Settlement of Kentucke, March of America Facsimile
Series, No. 50 (1784; rpt. Ann Arbor: University Microfilms, Inc., 1966), pp. 49-50. I have
normalized the spelling.
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By living in or near the woods, their actions are regulated by the wilder-
ness of the neighborhood. The deer often come to eat their grain, the
wolves to destroy their sheep, the bears to kill their hogs, the foxes to
catch their poultry. The surrounding hostility immediately puts the gun
into their hands; they watch these animals, they kill some; and thus by
defending their property, they soon become professed hunters; this is the
progress; once hunters, farewell to the plough. The chase renders them
ferocious, gloomy, and unsociable; a hunter wants no neighbor, he rather
hates them, because he dreads the competition. In a little time their suc-
cess in the woods makes them neglect their tillage.l5
The time Rip spends on the mountain prior to and after the encounter
with the elves is depicted as unsuitable for the civilized man. The
mountain offers neither industry nor nature, and, at best, Rip might
be drawn into a lifestyle similar to that denoted by Crevecoeur.
We are still, however, left to deal with the Dutch elves, a topic of
much critical speculation; this is the point at which the analogues are
of most value. Does Rip actually meet elves and fall asleep after drink-
ing an enchanted potion? Perhaps Rip is using a common legend, one
that he knows the elders of the community will believe, to conceal the
fact that he has really been living or working in some other area of the
country for the past twenty years? Perhaps, as Lewis Mumford has
interpreted the story, Rip's irresponsibility has prompted him to join
other disappointed farmers who have run to the frontier to escape the
tyranny of an overbearing society?1 Numerous ideas present them-
selves, as do questions about the strange, melancholy bowlers, but it
should be remembered that this segment of the tale was one borrowed
by Irving. The mysterious elves, interesting as they are, are not as sig-
nificant to our interpretation of Irving's emendations as are those scenes
that follow Rip's awakening.
After awakening from his sleep, Rip, like Peter Klaus, returns to
his village. However, unlike Peter, who is readily accepted again by his
comrades, and whose story concludes with the recognition scene, Rip's
' J. Hector St. John de Crevecoeur, Letters from an American Farmer (New York: Dutton,
1957), p. 47.
' Lewis Mumford, The Golden Day (New York: Boni and Liveright, 1926), pp. 47-84.
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story does not conclude until after he has fully established himself with-
in the new society. This reentry into the community, peculiar to the
American tale, affords a comparison of Rip's position within the society
to which he returns with his position within the society from which he
had fled to the mountains. It is in this comparison that the second princi-
pal statement incorporated into the legend becomes apparent; Irving
was depicting, twenty-two years before Emerson labeled the idea, the
American concept of self-reliance.
While he lived in the Dutch town, Rip was haunted by his wife's
incessant nagging. This force was temporarily countered by the security
of the local tavern at which the two patriarchs of the city, Derrick Van
Bummel, and Nicholas Vedder, were found. It is not until Dame Van
Winkle, the symbol of the bustle and imprisoning forces of society,
invades this haven that Rip is forced to the mountains. Rip envies the
lifestyle the two patriarchs represent, but they too are incapable of with-
standing the attacks of the "terrible virago." Rip, unable to assert his
individualism, temporarily escapes to the mountain, but when that loca-
tion offers no comfort, he returns to the city.
He no longer has to face his wife (who has died), but he is greeted
by a noisy city momentarily seized by the frenzy of political elections.
The noise and aggravation associated with the first group Rip encounters
is equal to, if not more intense than, that which Dame Van Winkle
produced; this similarity between the boisterous community and Dame
Van Winkle's onslaughts has led several critics to conclude that Rip has
not escaped anything, that he has returned only to find those same forces
that were in power when he left to still be in control. Philip Young's
statements are representative of those who share this opinion: "it is
clear now that Rip escaped no change of life, but his very manhood -
went from childhood to second childhood with next to nothing in be-
tween... he will tell his tale of twenty years' sleep at Mr. Doolittle's
where Irving leaves him for the last time. It has become a symbol for
the sleep that has been his life."" However, this conclusion denies a
significant change that Rip himself initiates soon after his return.
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Originally, Rip was incapable of countering the forces represented
by Dame Van Winkle; now he is successful in denying these forces; he
is also successful in succeeding Nicholas Vedder as village patriarch, the
position he most envied; he simply "took his place once more on the
bench at the inn door...."" However, he combines the characteristics
of the schoolmaster and the lord of the inn, becoming both storyteller
and the judge of all other storytellers. Thus he dominates the perpetual
club of the town sages and philosophers while at the same time ignoring
the hustle and bustle of politics and society at large. He may have re-
quired twenty years to establish his position, but he is finally able to
secure a piece of the world as his private domain. He realizes that it
was not the solitude from society as represented by the mountains that
he wanted, but a solitude within society.
Washington Irving understood the peace and security of a private
domain, and was well aware of the satisfaction that accompanied it:
To a homeless man, who has no spot on this wide world which he can
truly call his own, there is a momentary feeling of something like inde-
pendence and territorial consequence, when, after a weary day's travel,
he kicks off his boots, thrusts his feet into slippers, and stretches himself
before an inn fire. Let the world without go as it may; let kingdoms
rise and fall, so long as he has the wherewithal to pay his bills, he is, for
the time being, the very monarch of all he surveys. The armchair is his
throne, the poker his scepter, and the little parlor... .his undisputed em-
pire. It is a morsel of certainty snatched from the midst of the uncer-
tainties of life; it is a sunny moment gleaming out kindly on a cloudy
day; and he who has advanced some way on the pilgrimage of existence
knows the importance of husbanding even morsels and moments of
enjoyment.'9
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individualism is the American ideal that Alexis de Tocqueville recorded
during his stay in our country in the 1830's: "individualism is a mature
and calm feeling, which disposes each member of the community to
sever himself from the mass of his fellows and to draw apart with his
family and his friends, so that after he has thus formed a little circle of
his own, he willingly leaves society at large to itself."20 However, the
most familiar statement of this principle is contained in Emerson's
"Self-Reliance": "it is easy in solitude to live after our own; but the great
man is he who in the midst of the crowd keeps with perfect sweetness
the independence of solitude."21 After his return from the mountains,
Rip finally achieves this solitude in the midst of society; he manages to
attain the ideal condition.
This ability to dominate one's personal universe is actually what Rip
had been seeking all along. Though Rip is generally identified by his
aversion to profitable labor, he can also be identified as the perfect neigh-
bor, a man always willing to help others:
He would never refuse to assist a neighbor even in the roughest toil, and
was a foremost man at all country frolics for husking Indian corn, or
building stone fences. The women of the village, too, used to employ
him to run their errands, and to do such little odd jobs as their less oblig-
ing husbands would not do for them - in a word, Rip was ready to at-
tend anybody's business but his own; but as to doing family duty, and
keeping his farm in order, he found it impossible.22
When allowed to proceed or act on his own initiative, there was no bet-
ter worker than Rip; when pressured by Dame Van Winkle or other
external forces, he refused to work. It is not the labor or work that he
detests and avoids; it is external pressure he resists. He wants to be self-
reliant.
Ralph Waldo Emerson, "Self-Reliance," The Complete Works of Ralph Waldo Emerson,
intro. Edward Waldo Emerson (New York: Houghton, Mifflin, 1968), II, 53-54.
Irving, "Rip Van Winkle," I, 81.
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When Rip returns to the village after twenty years, he is able to
ignore the politicians and the forces they represent: "Rip, in fact, was
no politician; the changes of states and empires made but little im-
pression on him."23 He is, in essence, able to remain a loyal subject of
George III amidst a society of Democrats and Federalists. He becomes
the personification of American individualism, American self-reliance.
While all about him men argue about politics and other social issues,
Rip is no longer concerned; he has freed himself from all forms of
"petticoat government." Rip realizes that the mountains are not a
suitable alternative to the life in the city, and he learns that total satis-
faction can be secured only when he asserts his individualism.
Thus Irving remade the Peter Klaus legend, changing mountains
into symbols with which to counter the primitivists' contentions, and
Peter into Rip, a man who, after twenty years of searching, becomes a
practitioner of self-reliance. By the process of metempsychosis, Wash-
ington Irving transformed Otmar's "Peter Klaus" into a tale depicting
the American quest for individualism and self-reliance. The Kypp-
hausen mountain was replaced by the Appalachians, and the goat-
herd was replaced by a farmer in pursuit of freedom. The consum-
mate artistry of a poet determined to raise the calibre and reputation
of American literature transformed a common European legend into
the saga of American life.
= Ibid., p. 95.
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