Rip Van Winkle（Washington Irving）

In a village at the foot of the mountains there lived many years ago, a simple good-natured fellow, whose name was Rip Van Winkle. Although a pleasant, kind man, Rip was very lazy. His friends liked him very much, but his wife scolded him all day for his laziness. Rip had only one way to reply to her: he shrugged his shoulders, shook his head, but said nothing. Sometimes he would take his gun and his dog Wolf, leave the house and go for long walks in the mountains.

One fine autumn day Rip and his dog Wolf went out hunting to one of the highest parts of the mountains.

Late in the afternoon he felt tired and lay down under a big tree. Through an opening among the trees he could see all the lower country for many miles. He enjoyed the lovely scenery very much. But it was getting late. He must go back. He sighed as he thought of his wife and her scoldings. He was about to start homeward when suddenly he heard a voice calling him:

“Rip Van Winkle! Rip Van Winkle!”

He looked around, but he could see nobody. He thought it was a mistake, but he heard the same voice calling:

“Rip Van Winkle! Rip Van Winkle!”

At the same time his dog Wolf came to his master’s side, growling and looking fearfully down among the trees.

Rip looked in the same direction and saw a strange figure coming slowly up the mountain. It was a little old man bending under something he carried on his back.

Rip was surprised to see anyone in this lonely place and was still more surprised at the appearance of the old man. The stranger was short, with thick bushy hair and a long grey beard. He was dressed in a strange way. The man made signs for Rip to come down and help him. As usual, Rip was ready to give his help, though he did not quite like the strange man. He took the load from him. It was a keg. It was very heavy, evidently full of wine.

As they went up, Rip heard long rolling sounds, like distant thunder. He stopped and listened. He thought it was one of those thunder storms which often took place in the mountains, and went on. After some time they came to a hollow lying between two high mountains.

In this hollow Rip saw more strange things.

In the middle of the hollow there was a company of old men playing at ninepins. They were also dressed in a strange way, and all had beards of different shapes and colours. Rip was very much surprised to see that their faces were quite serious; they neither spoke nor smiled. Nothing interrupted the stillness of the scene except the noise of the rolling balls which sounded like thunder.

As Rip and his companion came near them, they suddenly stopped their game and looked at him in such a way that fear came into his heart.

His companion now poured the wine from the keg into several big mugs and made a sign for Rip to pass these round to the players. The men drank the wine in deep silence, and then returned to their game.

After a while Rip grew less afraid. When no one was looking at him, he even drank some of the wine, which he found very good, and drank several times. At last his head grew heavy, and before long he fell into a deep sleep.

When he awoke, he found himself lying under the big tree again. He rubbed his eyes. It was a bright sunny morning, and the birds sang in the trees. He remembered all: the strange man with the keg, the hollow among the mountains, the mugs of fine wine.
“Surely someone has played a trick on me,” he thought, suspecting those strange old men in the hollow.
“Oh! that mug! that dreadful mug!” thought Rip.

He looked around for his gun, but in place of his new clean gun he found lying near him an old rusty thing. His dog Wolf was not there. He shouted:

“Wolf! Wolf!”

But Wolf did not appear. Only the echoes of his shouting were heard among the mountains.

Rip was sorry to lose his dog and gun; he was afraid to meet his wife; but he was feeling very hungry and wanted to be home for a good meal. He rose to his feet with great difficulty, for his back ached and his feet were stiff. He shrugged his shoulders, shook his head, took up the rusty gun, and went home.

Near the village he met several people, but he did not know them, which surprised him, for he thought that he knew everyone in that part of the country. Their dress, too, was of a different fashion from that to which he was used. They all looked at him with surprise. Everybody he met stopped to stare at him; and they all stroked their chin. Seeing this, Rip did the same and, to his great surprise, he found that his beard had grown a foot long. In the village the children ran behind him, laughing and pointing at his long grey beard. The village was changed. It was larger, and there were more people in it.

Rip found his house with some difficulty. He approached with fear, thinking every moment that he might hear the angry voice of his wife.

The house looked quite old, its windows were broken. Rip entered the house. It was empty. He called loudly for his wife and children, but nobody answered.

He came out again and walked along the street wondering. His long grey beard, his rusty gun, his strange dress attracted the attention of men, women and children. By this time a crowd had gathered around him, and was looking him over from head to foot.

At this moment a fresh nice-looking woman came up to him. She had in her arms a healthy little child, which began to cry.

“Hush, Rip,” the young woman cried, “hush! The old man will not hurt you!”

The name of the child, the face of the mother, the sound of her voice made Rip Van Winkle think that he knew them.

“What is your name, my good woman?” he asked.

“Judith Gandiner.”

“And your father’s name?”

“Ah, poor man! Rip Van Winkle was his name, but twenty years ago he went away from home with his gun and his dog, and never returned. His dog came home without him the next day. Nobody has heard of him since. I was a little girl then!”

Rip had only one more question to ask, but he put it with a trembling voice: “Where is your mother?” “Oh, she died some time ago.” Rip caught his daughter in his arms. “I am your father!” he cried, “young Rip Van Winkle once, old Rip Van Winkle now! Does nobody know poor Rip Van Winkle? An old woman looked into his face for a moment and exclaimed. “Surely, it is Rip Van Winkle! It is himself! Welcome home again, old neighbour! What happened to you twenty years ago?” Rip soon told everybody his wonderful story, which was not too long, for the whole twenty years were for him only one night. After that nobody in the village doubted the truth of Rip’s story. Whenever people heard the thunder rolling over the mountains on a summer afternoon, they said that the little old men were at their game of ninepins again. And if a woman scolded her husband too often, the poor man remembered Rip Van Winkle’s family life and wished with all his heart to have a drink of Rip Van Winkle’s magic wine.