Rip Van Winkle by Washington Irving

4.8

Part I

Rip Van Winkle lived in a village at the foot of the Catskill mountains not far from the river Hudson. He was not very clever but he had a kind heart. The children in the village loved him because he often took part in their games, made them toys and taught them to fly kites.

He was always ready to help other people even in their hardest work. But he did not like to work on his farm. He was lazy and careless and his wife often scolded him for it. But Rip never answered her and went out with his gun and his dog Wolf into the mountains.

One fine autumn day Rip Van Winkle went shooting squirrels into the mountains. He walked very high up and then felt tired. He lay down to rest. Suddenly he heard a voice calling his name: “Rip Van Winkle! Rip Van Winkle!”

He looked around but could see no one. He thought he had made a mistake, but again he heard the same voice calling his name: “Rip Van Winkle! Rip Van Winkle!” At the same time his dog Wolf began to growl.

Rip looked again and this time he saw an old man carrying a barrel. The barrel was full of wine and was heavy, so the old man made signs to Rip to come and help him.

As usual Rip was ready to give his help and they went up into the mountains. As they were going up Rip heard sounds like distant thunder. Suddenly they stopped and Rip saw before him a group of old men playing at ninepins. When they saw Rip they stopped playing and looked at him for a long time. Rip was frightened.

His companion now opened the barrel, poured the wine into big bottles and made a sign to Rip to give the bottles to the men. They drank the wine and then returned to their game.

After a time Rip was less afraid. When no one was looking at him, he drank some of the wine, and liked it very much. Soon his head grew heavy, and he fell asleep.

Part II

When he awoke he found himself in the wood where he had first seen the old man with the barrel. He rubbed his eyes. It was a bright sunny morning. The birds were singing in the trees. “Have I slept here all night?” thought Rip Van Winkle. “What will my wife say when I come home?” He remembered everything very clearly. The old man with the barrel, the mountains, the men playing ninepins and the bottle from which he had drunk.

He looked round for the nice, clean gun he had taken with him, but he found an old rusty gun. Rip thought that the old man had taken his gun while he slept.

He whistled for his dog, but Wolf did not come.

Then he stood up and wanted to go home but he could not move his arms and legs easily. “Sleeping in the mountains is not good for me,” said Rip to himself, and began to go down.

When he came to the village he met many people but no one whom he knew. He was surprised because he thought he knew everyone in the village. The people were dressed in a different fashion. They looked at Rip with surprise. Rip touched his face and found that he had a long grey beard. There were many new houses in the village but he did not see the houses which he had often visited. Strange names were over the doors, strange faces at the windows.

At last he found his own house. He came up to it with some fear thinking every moment that he would hear the angry voice of his wife.

The house looked old and the windows were broken. A very thin dog that looked like Wolf was near the door. Rip called him by name, but the dog showed his teeth and growled.

“Even my dog has forgotten me,” said Rip. He entered the house, called for his wife and children, but nobody answered him. The house was empty.

Rip then went back to the village. The people seeing his long grey beard, his old gun looked at him with surprise, then they came near him and asked what he was doing in their village and whom he wanted to see.

Rip thought for a moment and then asked. “Where’s Nicholas Vedder?” Nobody answered him. Then an old man said: “Nicholas Vedder! Oh, he is dead these eighteen years!”

“Where’s Tom Smith?”

“Oh, he went to the army and was killed in the war.”

Rip felt very sad when he heard this. At this moment a nice-looking young woman came up to him with a baby in her arms. The child seeing a strange old man began to cry.

“Hush, Rip,” she said, “hush, the old man won’t take you.”

The name of the child, the face of the mother seemed familiar to Rip Van Winkle and he asked her: “What’s your name, my good woman?”

“Judith Gardiner.”

“And your father’s name?”

“Ah, poor man, Rip Van Winkle was his name, but it’s twenty years since he went away from home with his gun and his dog into the mountains and no one has seen him after that. I was then a little girl.”

“And where is your mother?” asked Rip.

“Oh, she died a short time ago!”

Then Rip put his arms round his daughter and her child.

“I am your father!” cried he. “Young Rip Van Winkle once, old Rip Van Winkle now. Does anybody know Rip Van Winkle?”

All were surprised, then an old woman came up to him, looked into his face and said: “Yes, it is Rip Van Winkle, welcome home again. Where have you been these twenty years?”

Rip soon told his story and then his daughter took him home to live with her and her family.