Rip_Van_Winkle

Rip V an Winkle

A POSTHUMOUS WRITING OF DIEDRICH KNICKERBOCKER

By Woden, God of Saxons,

From whence comes Wensday, that is Wodensday,

Truth is a thing that ever I will keep

Unto thylke day in which I creep into

My sepulchre.

CARTWRIGHT

The following Tale was found among the papers of the late Diedrich Knickerbocker, an old gentleman of New Y ork, who was very curious in the Dutch history of the province, and the manners of the descendants from its primitive settlers. His historical researches, however, did not lie so much among books as among men; for the former are lamentably scanty on his favorite topics; whereas he found the old burghers, and still more their wives, rich in that legendary lore, so invaluable to true history. Whenever, therefore, he happened upon a genuine Dutch family, snugly shut up in its low-roofed farmhouse, under a spreading sycamore, he looked upon it as a little clasped volume of black-letter, and studied it with the zeal of a book-worm.

The result of all these researches was a history of the province during the reign of the Dutch governors, which he published some years since. There have been various opinions as to the literary character of his work, and, to tell the truth, it is not a whit better than it should be. Its chief merit is its scrupulous accuracy, which indeed was a little questioned on its first appearance, but has since been completely established; and it is now admitted into all historical collections, as a book of unquestionable authority.

The old gentleman died shortly after the publication of his work, and now that he is dead and gone, it cannot do much harm to his memory to say that his time might have been better employed in weightier labors. He, however, was apt to ride his hobby his own way; and though it did now and then kick up the dust a little in the eyes of his neighbors, and grieve the spirit of some friends, for whom he felt the truest deference and affection; yet his errors and follies are remembered "more in sorrow than in anger," and it begins to be suspected, that he never intended to injure or offend. But however his memory may be appreciated by critics, it is still held dear by many folks, whose good opinion is well worth having; particularly by certain biscuit-bakers, who have gone so far as to imprint his likeness on their new-year cakes; and have thus given him a chance for immortality, almost equal to the being stamped on a Waterloo Medal, or a Queen Anne's Farthing.

Whoever has made a voyage up the Hudson must remember the Kaatskill mountains. They are a dismembered branch of the great Appalachian 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 mountains, and they are regarded by all the good wives, far and near, as perfect 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.

At the foot of these fairy mountains, the voyager may have descried the light smoke curling up from a village, whose shingle-roofs gleam among the trees, just where the blue tints of the upland melt away into the fresh green of the nearer landscape. It is a little village of great antiquity, having been founded by some of the Dutch colonists, in the early times of the province, just about the beginning of the government of the good Peter Stuyvesant, (may he rest in peace!) and there were some of the houses of the original settlers standing within a few years, built of small yellow bricks brought from Holland, having latticed windows and gable fronts, surmounted with weather-cocks.

In that same village, and in one of these very houses (which, to tell the precise truth, was sadly time-worn and weather-beaten), there lived many years since, while the country was yet a province of Great Britain, a simple good-natured fellow of the name of Rip V an Winkle. He was a descendant of the V an Winkles who figured so gallantly in the chivalrous days of Peter Stuyvesant, and accompanied him to the siege of Fort Christina. He inherited, however, but little of the martial character of his ancestors. I have observed that he was a simple good-natured man; he was, moreover, a kind neighbor, and an obedient hen-pecked husband. Indeed, to the latter circumstance might be owing that meekness of spirit which gained him such universal popularity; for those men are most apt to be obsequious and conciliating abroad, who are under the discipline of shrews at home. Their tempers, doubtless, are rendered pliant and malleable in the fiery furnace of domestic tribulation; and a curtain lecture is worth all the sermons in the world for teaching the virtues of patience and long-suffering. A termagant wife may, therefore, in some respects, be considered a tolerable blessing; and if so, Rip V an Winkle was thrice blessed.

Certain it is, that he was a great favorite among all the good wives of the village, who, as usual, with the amiable sex, took his part in all family squabbles; and never failed, whenever they talked those matters over in their evening gossipings, to lay all the blame on Dame V an Winkle. The children of the village, too, would shout with joy whenever he approached. He assisted at their sports, made their playthings, taught them to fly kites and shoot marbles, and told them long stories of ghosts, witches, and Indians. Whenever he went dodging about the village, he was surrounded by a troop of them, hanging on his skirts, clambering on his back, and playing a thousand tricks on him with impunity; and not a dog would bark at him throughout the neighborhood.

The great error in Rip's composition was an insuperable aversion to all kinds of profitable labor. It could not be from the want of assiduity or perseverance; for he would sit on a wet rock, with a rod as long and heavy as a Tartar's lance, and fish all day without a murmur, even though he should not be encouraged by a single nibble. He would carry a fowling-piece on his shoulder for hours together, trudging through woods and swamps, and up hill and down dale, to shoot a few squirrels or wild pigeons. 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 obliging husbands would not do for them. In a word Rip was ready to attend to anybody's business but his own; but as to doing family duty, and keeping his farm in order, he found it impossible.

In fact, he declared it was of no use to work on his farm; it was the most pestilent little piece of ground in the whole country; every thing about it went wrong, and would go wrong, in spite of

him. His fences were continually falling to pieces; his cow would either go astray, or get among the cabbages; weeds were sure to grow quicker in his fields than anywhere else; the rain always made a point of setting in just as he had some out-door work to do; so that though his patrimonial estate had dwindled away under his management, acre by acre, until there was little more left than a mere patch of Indian corn and potatoes, yet it was the worst conditioned farm in the neighborhood.

His children, too, were as ragged and wild as if they belonged to nobody. His son Rip, an urchin begotten in his own likeness, promised to inherit the habits, with the old clothes of his father. He was generally seen trooping like a colt at his mother's heels, equipped in a pair of his father's cast-off galligaskins, which he had much ado to hold up with one hand, as a fine lady does her train in bad weather.

Rip V an Winkle, however, was one of those happy mortals, of foolish, well-oiled dispositions, who take the world easy, eat white bread or brown, whichever can be got with least thought or trouble, and would rather starve on a penny than work for a pound. If left to himself, he would have whistled life away in perfect contentment; but his wife kept continually dinning in his ears about his idleness, his carelessness, and the ruin he was bringing on his family. Morning, noon, and night, her tongue was incessantly going, and everything he said or did was sure to produce a torrent of household eloquence. Rip had but one way of replying to all lectures of the kind, and that, by frequent use, had grown into a habit. He shrugged his shoulders, shook his head, cast up his eyes, but said nothing. This, however, always provoked a fresh volley from his wife; so that he was fain to draw off his forces, and take to the outside of the house - the only side which, in truth, belongs to a hen-pecked husband.

Rip's sole domestic adherent was his dog Wolf, who was as much hen-pecked as his master; for Dame V an Winkle regarded them as companions in idleness, and even looked upon Wolf with an evil eye, as the cause of his master's going so often astray. True it is, in all points of spirit befitting an honorable dog, he was as courageous an animal as ever scoured the woods - but what courage can withstand the ever-during and all-besetting terrors of a woman's tongue? The moment Wolf entered the house his crest fell, his tail drooped to the ground, or curled between his legs, he sneaked about with a gallows air, casting many a sidelong glance at Dame V an Winkle, and at the least flourish of a broom-stick or ladle, he would fly to the door with yelping precipitation.

Times grew worse and worse with Rip V an Winkle as years of matrimony rolled on; a tart temper never mellows with age, and a sharp tongue is the only edged tool that grows keener with constant use. For a long while he used to console himself, when driven from home, by frequenting a kind of perpetual club of the sages, philosophers, and other idle personages of the village; which held its sessions on a bench before a small inn, designated by a rubicund portrait of His Majesty George the Third. Here they used to sit in the shade through a long lazy summer's day, talking listlessly over village gossip, or telling endless sleepy stories about nothing. But it would have been worth any statesman's money to have heard the profound discussions that sometimes took place, when by chance an old newspaper fell into their hands from some passing traveller. How solemnly they would listen to the contents, as drawled out by Derrick V an Bummel, the schoolmaster, a dapper learned little man, who was not to be daunted by the most gigantic word in the dictionary; and how sagely they would deliberate upon public events some months after they had taken place.

The opinions of this junto were completely controlled by Nicholas V edder, a patriarch of the

village, and landlord of the inn, at the door of which 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 neighbors could tell the hour by his movements as accurately as by a sundial. It is true he was rarely heard to speak, but smoked his pipe incessantly. His adherents, however (for every great man has his adherents), perfectly understood him, and knew how to gather his opinions. When anything that was read or related displeased him, he was observed to smoke his pipe vehemently, and to send forth short, frequent and angry puffs; but when pleased, he would inhale the smoke slowly and tranquilly, and emit it in light and plac id clouds; and sometimes, taking the pipe from his mouth, and letting the fragrant vapor curl about his nose, would gravely nod his head in token of perfect approbation.

From even this stronghold the unlucky Rip was at length routed by his termagant wife, who would suddenly break in upon the tranquillity of the assemblage and call the members all to naught; nor was that august personage, Nicholas V edder himself, sacred from the daring tongue of this terrible virago, who charged him outright with encouraging her husband in habits of idleness.

Poor Rip was at last reduced almost to despair; and his only alternative, to escape from the labor of the farm and clamor of his wife, was to take gun in hand and stroll away into the woods. Here he would sometimes seat himself at the foot of a tree, and share the contents of his wallet with Wolf, with whom he sympathized as a fellow-sufferer in persecution. "Poor Wolf," he would say, "thy mistress leads thee a dog's life of it; but never mind, my lad, whilst I live thou shalt never want a friend to stand by thee!" Wolf would wag his tail, look wistfuly in his master's face, and if dogs can feel pity I verily believe he reciprocated the sentiment with all his heart.

In a long ramble of the kind on a fine autumnal day, Rip had unconsciously scrambled to one of the highest parts of the Kaatskill mountains. He was after his favorite sport of squirrel shooting, and the still solitudes had echoed and re-echoed with the reports of his gun. Panting and fatigued, he threw himself, late in the afternoon, on a green knoll, covered with mountain herbage, that crowned the brow of a precipice. From an opening between the trees he could overlook all the lower country for many a mile of rich woodland. He saw at a distance the lordly Hudson, far, far below him, moving on its silent but majestic course, with the reflection of a purple cloud, or the sail of a lagging bark, here and there sleeping on its glassy bosom, and at last losing itself in the blue highlands.

On the other side he looked down into a deep mountain glen, wild, lonely, and shagged, the bottom filled with fragments from the impending cliffs, and scarcely lighted by the reflected rays of the setting sun. For some time Rip lay musing on this scene; evening was gradually advancing; the mountains began to throw their long blue shadows over the valleys; he saw that it would be dark long before he could reach the village, and he heaved a heavy sigh when he thought of encountering the terrors of Dame V an Winkle.

As he was about to descend, he heard a voice from a distance, hallooing, "Rip V an Winkle! Rip V an Winkle!" He looked round, but could see nothing but a crow winging its solitary flight across the mountain. He thought his fancy must have deceived him, and turned again to descend, when he heard the same cry ring through the still evening air: "Rip V an Winkle! Rip V an Winkle!" - at the same time Wolf bristled up his back, and giving a low growl, skulked to his master's side, looking fearfully down into the glen. Rip now felt a vague apprehension stealing over him; he looked anxiously in the same direction, and perceived a strange figure slowly toiling up the rocks, and bending under the weight of something he carried on his back. He was surprised to see any

human being in this lonely and unfrequented place, but supposing it to be some one of the neighborhood in need of his assistance, he hastened down to yield it.

On nearer approach he was still more surprised at the singularity of the stranger's appearance. He was a short square-built old fellow, with thick bushy hair, and a grizzled beard. His dress was of the antique Dutch fashion - a cloth jerkin strapped round the waist - several pair of breeches, the outer one of ample volume, decorated with rows of buttons down the sides, and bunches at the knees. He bore on his shoulder a stout keg, that seemed full of liquor, and made signs for Rip to approach and assist him with the load. Though rather shy and distrustful of this new acquaintance, Rip complied with his usual alacrity; and mutually relieving one another, they clambered up a narrow gully, apparently the dry bed of a mountain torrent. As they ascended, Rip every now and then heard long rolling peals, like distant thunder, that seemed to issue out of a deep ravine, or rather cleft, between lofty rocks, toward which their rugged path conducted. He paused for an instant, but supposing it to be the muttering of one of those transient thunder-showers which often take place in mountain heights, he proceeded. Passing through the ravine, they came to a hollow, like a small amphitheatre, surrounded by perpendicular precipices, over the brinks of which impending trees shot their branches, so that you only caught glimpses of the azure sky and the bright evening cloud. During the whole time Rip and his companion had labored on in silence; for though the former marvelled greatly what could be the object of carrying a keg of liquor up this wild mountain, yet there was something strange and incomprehensible about the unknown, that inspired awe and checked familiarity.

On entering the amphitheatre, new objects of wonder presented themselves. On a level spot in the centre was a company of odd-looking personages playing at nine-pins. They were dressed in a quaint outlandish fashion; some wore short doublets, others jerkins, with long knives in their belts, and most of them had enormous breeches, of similar style with that of the guide's. Their visages, too, were peculiar: one had a large beard, broad face, and small piggish eyes: the face of another seemed to consist entirely of nose, and was surmounted by a white sugar-loaf hat set off with a little red cock's tail. They all had beards, of various shapes and colors. There was one who seemed to be the commander. He was a stout old gentleman, with a weather-beaten countenance; he wore a laced doublet, broad belt and hanger, high-crowned hat and feather, red stockings, and high-heeled shoes, with roses in them. The whole group reminded Rip of the figures in an old Flemish painting, in the parlor of Dominie V an Shaick, the village parson, and which had been brought over from Holland at the time of the settlement.

What seemed particularly odd to Rip was, that though these folks were evidently amusing themselves, yet they maintained the gravest faces, the most mysterious silence, and were, withal, the most melancholy party of pleasure he had ever witnessed. Nothing interrupted the stillness of the scene but the noise of the balls, which, whenever they were rolled, echoed along the mountains like rumbling peals of thunder.

As Rip and his companion approached them, they suddenly desisted from their play, and stared at him with such fixed statue-like gaze, and such strange, uncouth, lack-lustre countenances, that his heart turned within him, and his knees smote together. His companion now emptied the contents of the keg into large flagons, and made signs to him to wait upon the company. He obeyed with fear and trembling; they quaffed the liquor in profound silence, and then returned to their game.

By degrees Rip's awe and apprehension subsided. He even ventured, when no eye was fixed

upon him, to taste the beverage, which he found had much of the flavor of excellent Hollands. He was naturally a thirsty soul, and was soon tempted to repeat the draught. One taste provoked another; and he reiterated his visits to the flagon so often that at length his senses were overpowered, his eyes swam in his head, his head gradually declined, and he fell into a deep sleep.

On waking, he found himself on the green knoll whence he had first seen the old man of the glen. He rubbed his eyes - it was a bright sunny morning. The birds were hopping and twittering among the bushes, and the eagle was wheeling aloft, and breasting the pure mountain breeze. "Surely," thought Rip, "I have not slept here all night." He recalled the occurrences before he fell asleep. The strange man with a keg of liquor - the mountain ravine - the wild retreat among the rocks - the woe-begone party at ninepins - the flagon - "Oh! that flagon! that wicked flagon!" thought Rip - "what excuse shall I make to Dame V an Winkle!"

He looked round for his gun, but in place of the clean well-oiled fowling-piece, he found an old firelock lying by him, the barrel incrusted with rust, the lock falling off, and the stock worm-eaten. He now suspected that the grave roysterers of the mountain had put a trick upon him, and having dosed him with liquor, had robbed him of his gun. Wolf, too, had disappeared, but he might have strayed away after a squirrel or partridge. He whistled after him and shouted his name, but all in vain; the echoes repeated his whistle and shout, but no dog was to be seen.

He determined to revisit the scene of the last evening's gambol, and if he met with any of the party, to demand his dog and gun. As he rose to walk, he found himself stiff in the joints, and wanting in his usual activity. "These mountain beds do not agree with me," thought Rip; "and if this frolic should lay me up with a fit of the rheumatism, I shall have a blessed time with Dame V an Winkle." With some difficulty he got down into the glen: he found the gully up which he and his companion had ascended the preceding evening; but to his astonishment a mountain stream was now foaming down it, leaping from rock to rock, and filling the glen with babbling murmurs. He, however, made shift to scramble up its sides, working his toilsome way through thickets of birch, sassafras, and witch-hazel, and sometimes tripped up or entangled by the wild grapevines that twisted their coils or tendrils from tree to tree, and spread a kind of network in his path.

At length he reached to where the ravine had opened through the cliffs to the amphitheatre; but no traces of such opening remained. The rocks presented a high impenetrable wall over which the torrent came tumbling in a sheet of feathery foam, and fell into a broad deep basin, black from the shadows of the surrounding forest. Here, then, poor Rip was brought to a stand. He again called and whistled after his dog; he was only answered by the cawing of a flock of idle crows, sporting high in air about a dry tree that overhung a sunny precipice; and who, secure in their elevation, seemed to look down and scoff at the poor man's perplexities. What was to be done? the morning was passing away, and Rip felt famished for want of his breakfast. He grieved to give up his dog and gun; he dreaded to meet his wife; but it would not do to starve among the mountains. He shook his head, shouldered the rusty firelock, and, with a heart full of trouble and anxiety, turned his steps homeward.

As he approached the village he met a number of people, but none whom he knew, which somewhat surprised him, for he had thought himself acquainted with every one in the country round. Their dress, too, was of a different fashion from that to which he was accustomed. They all stared at him with equal marks of surprise, and whenever they cast their eyes upon him, invariably stroked their chins. The constant recurrence of this gesture induced Rip, involuntarily, to do the same, when to his astonishment, he found his beard had grown a foot long!

He had now entered the skirts of the village. A troop of strange children ran at his heels, hooting after him, and pointing at his gray beard. The dogs, too, not one of which he recognized for an old acquaintance, barked at him as he passed. The very village was altered; it was larger and more populous. There were rows of houses which he had never seen before, and those which had been his familiar haunts had disappeared. Strange names were over the doors - strange faces at the windows - every thing was strange. His mind now misgave him; he began to doubt whether both he and the world around him were not bewitched. Surely this was his native village, which he had left but the day before. There stood the Kaatskill mountains - there ran the silver Hudson at a distance - there was every hill and dale precisely as it had always been - Rip was sorely perplexed - "That flagon last night," thought he, "has addled my poor head sadly!"

It was with some difficulty that he found the way to his own house, which he approached with silent awe, expecting every moment to hear the shrill voice of Dame V an Winkle. He found the house gone to decay - the roof fallen in, the windows shattered, and the doors off the hinges. A half-starved dog that looked like Wolf was skulking about it. Rip called him by name, but the cur snarled, showed his teeth, and passed on. This was an unkind cut indeed - "My very dog," sighed poor Rip, "has forgotten me!"

He entered the house, which, to tell the truth, Dame V an Winkle had always kept in neat order. It was empty, forlorn, and apparently abandoned. This desolateness overcame all his connubial fears - he called loudly for his wife and children - the lonely chambers rang for a moment with his voice, and then all again was silence.

He now hurried forth, and hastened to his old resort, the village inn - but it too was gone. A large rickety wooden building stood in its place, with great gaping windows, some of them broken and mended with old hats and petticoats, and over the door was painted, "the Union Hotel, by Jonathan Doolittle." Instead of the great tree that used to shelter the quiet little Dutch inn of yore, there now was reared a tall naked pole, with something on the top that looked like a red night-cap, and from it was fluttering a flag, on which was a singular assemblage of stars and stripes - all this was strange and incomprehensible. He recognized on the sign, however, the ruby face of King George, under which he had smoked so many a peaceful pipe; but even this was singularly metamorphosed. The red coat was changed for one of blue and buff, a sword was held in the hand instead of a sceptre, the head was decorated with a cocked hat, and underneath was painted in large characters, GENERAL WASHINGTON.

There was, as usual, a crowd of folk about the door, but none that Rip recollected. The very character of the people seemed changed. There was a busy, bustling, disputatious tone about it, instead of the accustomed phlegm and drowsy tranquillity. He looked in vain for the sage Nicholas V edder, with his broad face, double chin, and fair long pipe, uttering clouds of tobacco-smoke instead of idle speeches; or V an Bummel, the schoolmaster, doling forth the contents of an ancient newspaper. In place of these, a lean, bilious-looking fellow, with his pockets full of handbills, was haranguing vehemently about rights of citizens - elections - members of congress - liberty - Bunker's Hill - heroes of seventy-six - and other words, which were a perfect Babylonish jargon to the bewildered V an Winkle.

The appearance of Rip, with his long grizzled beard, his rusty fowling-piece, his uncouth dress, and an army of women and children at his heels, soon attracted the attention of the tavern politicians. They crowded round him, eyeing him from head to foot with great curiosity. The orator bustled up to him, and, drawing him partly aside, inquired "on which side he voted?" Rip

stared in vacant stupidity. Another short but busy little fellow pulled him by the arm, and, rising on tiptoe, inquired in his ear, "Whether he was Federal or Democrat?" Rip was equally at a loss to comprehend the question; when a knowing, self-important old gentleman, in a sharp cocked hat, made his way through the crowd, putting them to the right and left with his elbows as he passed, and planting himself before V an Winkle, with one arm akimbo, the other resting on his cane, his keen eyes and sharp hat penetrating, as it were, into his very soul, demanded in an austere tone, "what brought him to the election with a gun on his shoulder, and a mob at his heels, and whether he meant to breed a riot in the village?" - "Alas! gentlemen," cried Rip, somewhat dismayed, "I am a poor quiet man, a native of the place, and a loyal subject of the king, God bless him!"

Here a general shout burst from the by-standers - "A tory! a tory! a spy! a refugee! hustle him! away with him!" It was with great difficulty that the self-important man in the cocked hat restored order; and, having assumed a tenfold austerity of brow, demanded again of the unknown culprit, what he came there for, and whom he was seeking? The poor man humbly assured him that he meant no harm, but merely came there in search of some of his neighbors, who used to keep about the tavern.

"Well - who are they? - name them."

Rip bethought himself a moment, and inquired, "Where's Nicholas V edder?"

There was a silence for a little while, when an old man replied, in a thin piping voice, "Nicholas V edder! why, he is dead and gone these eighteen years! There was a wooden tombstone in the church-yard that used to tell all about him, but that's rotten and gone too."

"Where's Brom Dutcher?"

"Oh, he went off to the army in the beginning of the war; some say he was killed at the storming of Stony Point - others say he was drowned in a squall at the foot of Antony's Nose. I don't know - he never came back again."

"Where's V an Bummel, the schoolmaster?"

"He went off to the wars too, was a great militia general, and is now in congress."

Rip's heart died away at hearing of these sad changes in his home and friends, and finding himself thus alone in the world. Every answer puzzled him too, by treating of such enormous lapses of time, and of matters which he could not understand: war - congress - Stony Point; - he had no courage to ask after any more friends, but cried out in despair, "Does nobody here know Rip V an Winkle?"

"Oh, Rip V an Winkle!" exclaimed two or three, "Oh, to be sure! that's Rip V an Winkle yonder, leaning against the tree."

Rip looked, and beheld a precise counterpart of himself, as he went up the mountain: apparently as lazy, and certainly as ragged. The poor fellow was now completely confounded. He doubted his own identity, and whether he was himself or another man. In the midst of his bewilderment, the man in the cocked hat demanded who he was, and what was his name?

"God knows," exclaimed he, at his wit's end; "I'm not myself - I'm somebody else - that's me yonder - no - that's somebody else got into my shoes - I was myself last night, but I fell asleep on the mountain, and they've changed my gun, and every thing's changed, and I'm changed, and I can't tell what's my name, or who I am!"

The by-standers began now to look at each other, nod, wink significantly, and tap their fingers against their foreheads. There was a whisper also, about securing the gun, and keeping the old fellow from doing mischief, at the very suggestion of which the self-important man in the

cocked hat retired with some precipitation. At this critical moment a fresh comely woman pressed through the throng to get a peep at the gray-bearded man. She had a chubby child in her arms, which, frightened at his looks, began to cry. "Hush, Rip," cried she, "hush, you little fool; the old man won't hurt you." The name of the child, the air of the mother, the tone of her voice, all awakened a train of recollections in his mind. "What is your name, my good woman?" asked he.

"Judith Gardenier."

"And your father's name?"

"Ah, poor man, Rip V an Winkle was his name, but it's twenty years since he went away from home with his gun, and never has been heard of since - his dog came home without him; but whether he shot himself, or was carried away by the Indians, nobody can tell. I was then but a little girl."

Rip had but one question more to ask; but he put it with a faltering voice:

"Where's your mother?"

"Oh, she too had died but a short time since; she broke a blood-vessel in a fit of passion at a New-England peddler."

There was a drop of comfort, at least, in this intelligence. The honest man could contain himself no longer. He caught his daughter and her child in his arms. "I am your father!" cried he - "Y oung Rip V an Winkle once - old Rip V an Winkle now! - Does nobody know poor Rip V an Winkle?"

All stood amazed, until an old woman, tottering out from among the crowd, put her hand to her brow, and peering under it in his face for a moment, exclaimed, "Sure enough! it is Rip V an Winkle - it is himself! Welcome home again, old neighbor - Why, where have you been these twenty long years?"

Rip's story was soon told, for the whole twenty years had been to him but as one night. The neighbors stared when they heard it; some were seen to wink at each other, and put their tongues in their cheeks: and the self-important man in the cocked hat, who, when the alarm was over, had returned to the field, screwed down the corners of his mouth, and shook his head - upon which there was a general shaking of the head throughout the assemblage.

It was determined, however, to take the opinion of old Peter V anderdonk, who was seen slowly advancing up the road. He was a descendant of the historian of that name, who wrote one of the earliest accounts of the province. Peter was the most ancient inhabitant of the village, and well versed in all the wonderful events and traditions of the neighborhood. He recollected Rip at once, and corroborated his story in the most satisfactory manner. He assured the company that it was a fact, handed down from his ancestor the historian, that the Kaatskill mountains had always been haunted by strange beings. That it was affirmed that the great Hendrick Hudson, the first discoverer of the river and country, kept a kind of vigil there every twenty years, with his crew of the Half-moon; being permitted in this way to revisit the scenes of his enterprise, and keep a guardian eye upon the river, and the great city called by his name. That his father had once seen them in their old Dutch dresses playing at nine-pins in a hollow of the mountain; and that he himself had heard, one summer afternoon, the sound of their balls, like distant peals of thunder.

To make a long story short, the company broke up, and returned to the more important concerns of the election. Rip's daughter took him home to live with her; she had a snug, well-furnished house, and a stout cheery farmer for a husband, whom Rip recollected for one of the urchins that used to climb upon his back. As to Rip's son and heir, who was the ditto of himself,

seen leaning against the tree, he was employed to work on the farm; but evinced an hereditary disposition to attend to anything else but his business.

Rip now resumed his old walks and habits; he soon found many of his former cronies, though all rather the worse for the wear and tear of time; and preferred making friends among the rising generation, with whom he soon grew into great favor.

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." It was some time before he could get into the regular track of gossip, or could be made to comprehend the strange events that had taken place during his torpor. How that there had been a revolutionary war - that the country had thrown off the yoke of old England - and that, instead of being a subject of his Majesty George the Third, he was now a free citizen of the United States. Rip, in fact, was no politician; the changes of states and empires made but little impression on him; but there was one species of despotism under which he had long groaned, and that was - petticoat government. Happily that was at an end; he had got his neck out of the yoke of matrimony, and could go in and out whenever he pleased, without dreading the tyranny of Dame V an Winkle. Whenever her name was mentioned, however, he shook his head, shrugged his shoulders, and cast up his eyes; which might pass either for an expression of resignation to his fate, or joy at his deliverance.

He used to tell his story to every stranger that arrived at Mr. Doolittle's hotel. He was observed, at first, to vary on some points every time he told it, which was, doubtless, owing to his having so recently awaked. It at last settled down precisely to the tale I have related, and not a man, woman, or child in the neighborhood, but knew it by heart. Some always pretended to doubt the reality of it, and insisted that Rip had been out of his head, and that this was one point on which he always remained flighty. The old Dutch inhabitants, however, almost universally gave it full credit. Even to this day they never hear a thunderstorm of a summer afternoon about the Kaatskill, but they say Hendrick Hudson and his crew are at their game of nine-pins; and it is a common wish of all hen-pecked husbands in the neighborhood, when life hangs heavy on their hands, that they might have a quieting draught out of Rip V an Winkle's flagon.

Rip Van Winkle

Rip Van Winkle” is the quintessential American fairy tale. It gives a very young nation a culture and history equal to Europe’s and is Irving’s way of thumbing his nose at a Europe that saw America as an upstart with no real traditions to make it great. Finally, Irving uses it to take a shot at what he saw was a Europe that was long on talk but short on action. The story is essentially a German folktale transplanted to New York. There are many similarities between “Rip Van Winkle” and traditional German folklore. German folklore is replete with stories of mysterious little men (usually in a forest) who waylay and trouble innocent mortals. Irving has transformed Rumplestilskin into Henry Hudson. Irving mimics the tendency that traditional folktales have for aphorisms to creep into the narrative. He tells the reader that “a sharp tongue is the only edged tool that grows keener from use,” directly echoing the same aphorism in Grimms’ “The Three Wishes” (“a sharp tongue never grows dull”). There is als o the cautionary aspect of folk tales inherent in “Rip Van Winkle.” Dame Van Winkle is a

Rip_Van_Winkle_原文

作者简介： 华盛顿欧文(Washington Irving ) (1789-1895),美国浪漫主义作家，也是一个纯文学作家，他的写作态度是"writing for pleasure and to produce pleasure" 。欧文的代表作有《见闻札记》 (Sketch Book)，这是第一部伟大的青少年读物，也是美国本土作家第一部成功的小说。由于欧文对美国文学的伟大贡献，他获得了“美国文学之父”的光荣称号。这篇短篇小说，《瑞普凡温克尔》便是摘自《见闻札记》。 Rip Van Winkle A Posthumous Writing of Diedrich Knickerbocker By Washington Irving (T HE FOLLOWING tale was found among the papers of the late Diedrich Knickerbocker, an old gentleman of New York, who was very curious in the Dutch history of the province, and the manners of the descendants from its primitive settlers. His historical researches, however, did not lie so much among books as among men; for the former are lamentably scanty on his favorite topics; whereas he found the old burghers, and still more their wives, rich in that legendary lore so invaluable to true history. Whenever, therefore, he happened upon a genuine Dutch family, snugly shut up in its low-roofed farmhouse, under a spreading sycamore, he looked upon it as a little clasped volume of black-letter, and studied it with the zeal of a bookworm. The result of all these researches wasa history of the province during the reign of the Dutch governors, which he published some years since. There have been various opinions as to the literary character of his work, and, to tell the truth, it is not a whit better than it should be. Its chief merit is its scrupulous accuracy, which indeed was a little questioned on its first appearance, but has since been completely established; and it is how admitted into all historical collections as a book of unquestionable authority. The old gentleman died shortly after the publication of his work, and now that he is dead and gone it cannot do much harm to his memory to say that his time might have been much better employed in weightier labors. He, however, was apt to ride his hobby in his own way; and though it did now and then kick up the dust a little in the eyes of his neighbors and grieve the spirit of some friends, for whom he felt the truest deference and affection, yet his errors and follies are remembered“more in sorrow than in anger ”; and it begins to be suspected that he never intended to injure or offend. But however his memory may be appreciated by critics, it is still held dear among many folk whose good opinion is well worth having; particularly by certain biscuit bakers, who have gone so far as to imprint his likeness on their New Year cakes, and have thus given him a chance for immortality almost equal to the being stamped on a Waterloo medal or a Queen Anne 's farth ing.) By Woden, God of Saxons, From whence comes Wensday, that is Wodensday, Truth is a thing that ever I will keep Unto thylke day in which I creep into My sepulchre —

培训分校运营管理方案

学校长春校区市场方案及内部管理的运营报告 试运行版王威 一、定位策划。 培训学校（长春校区）地理位置处于长春市人民大街与繁荣路交汇西行航空国际B座，是以小学、初中、高中文化课小班教学为主的文化课培训学校。集小升初、中高考为主的应试教育培训。 ●前期定位：1个品牌（小学、初中、高中文化课小班授课的文化课培训学校。）●中期定位：2个品牌（1、文化课培训学校、2、一对一专教的个性化辅导学 校。） ●后期定位：4个品牌（1、精品小班为主的文化课辅导学校2、专业的一对 一专教个性化辅导学校（学校）3、先进的少儿英语学习能力提升培训学校4、出国留学外语培训学校） 目标及实现： 前期目标1-3年 中期目标1-2年 长期目标2-3年

二、市场策划。 按照前中后三个目标中的前期目标制定市场策划。 分析。 一）内部优势因素。 1、培训学校具有多年的教育教学经验，在教师招聘、教育教学较其他 培训机构具有明显优势，教师团队以及教学研究具有独到的一面， 是其他机构无法比拟的培训学校。 2、学校在小学、初中教育中数学学科优势明显。 二）弱点因素。 1、在高中文化课、高考辅导中处于弱势，没有高中文化课辅导教学体 系。 2、校区管理没有形成体系。 3、缺少完善的绩效体系。 4、在长春品牌优势不明显。 三）机会因素。 1、长春的家长更重视教育。长春被中国誉为“大学城”，整个城市被 吉林大学等一流大学环抱包围着，有比较浓郁的学习氛围，家长与 孩子都有比较强烈的学习意愿。 2、教育体制未改革的趋势。教育体制一直以来都被国家重视，国家也 在寻找教育体制改革的方法、方案，但是改革需要时间。在这段时 间里我们可以抓住机遇。

RipVanWinkle译文

瑞普-凡-温克尔 卡兹吉尔出脉位于纽约州哈得逊河西边，山峰高耸人云，俯瞰着四周的山村。季节更替，阴晴转换，甚至旦夕间的时辰变幻，都会引来山容峰色午姿百态。所以山区周围的村民只要观看卡兹吉尔山脉就能猜出天气的变化。就在这些山脉下面，航行者可以看见缕缕青烟从一个古老的荷兰小山村袅袅升起。瑞普-凡-温克尔就在这个村里。许多年前，他就住在这里，那时这个国家还发球英国。瑞普-凡-温克尔是一个朴素单纯，性格温和的家伙。在荷兰决督统治时期，他的祖先曾英勇地与英国人战斗过。然而，瑞普的血液里没有多少祖先的军人性格。我已经说了，他是一个朴素单纯，性格温和的家伙。此外他还是一个善良的邻居，也是一个在老婆面前唯唯诺诺的丈夫。由于在家里被老婆管得太严所以他似乎养成了处处与人为善的习惯。因此，除了他老婆外，大这都对他评价很高。当然，他在村子里所有的良家妇女中很受欢迎。每当她们知道了凡-温克尔家吵架，她们总是认定瑞普是对的，而凡-温克尔夫人是错的。孩子们也一样，瑞普-凡-温克尔一来，他们总是欢叫起来。他总是望着他们玩耍，为他们做玩具，教他们怎么玩各种游戏，还给他们讲最精彩的故事。不管他去哪儿，他的四周常常围着一群孩子。村子里没有哪条狗对他狂吠过。瑞普-凡-温克尔有一个缺点：什么赚钱的活儿他都不喜欢，甚至是憎恨。很难理解究竟是什么原因让他不爱劳动。可他从不拒绝帮助邻居，哪怕是干最粗的活儿，比如帮人家砌石墙。村里的妇女也常使唤他，让他传信，或做一些她们的丈夫不愿意做的小活计。换言之，除了自各儿的事情外，别人家的事瑞普都乐意管。至少家庭责任，收拾农场，他觉得这样的活儿绝对做不来。事实上，他宣称在他农场上折腾毫无用处，因为那是整个那一带最差的小块地，一无是处。结果由于他经营不善，失去不少土地，他的小农场比他周围的农场更差了。他的孩子也到处游荡，他们的可怜样和他的农场一样。他的儿子小瑞普，和他很像，整天四处晃荡。他穿着一条他父亲的旧裤子，不得不用一只手提着，免得掉了下来。然而，瑞普-凡-温克尔是那种有福分的人。他一副傻样，与世无争，待人接物从容快乐；他吃好吃差无所谓，只要得来全不费工夫。如果由着他的性子，他会非常心安理得地虚度一生。可是他老婆在他耳朵边不停地数落他，说他游手好闲，对家庭漠不关心，这个家快给他毁了。从早到晚，她唠叨个没完。他说的每句话，做的每件事，定公招徕她一顿臭骂。瑞普对付他那长舌老婆，倒是有个办法，这个办法用多了。已经成了一个习惯。他只是把头耷拉在肩膀上，眼望天空，一言不发。然而，这又引来老婆的一阵发火。这么一来，瑞普无事可做，只有离开家。在家里，瑞普唯一的朋友就是他的狗，名叫沃尔夫。沃尔夫常常是凡-温克尔太太的出气筒，因为她把他们看做是游手好闲的难兄难弟，有时她甚至指责说：瑞普之所以吊儿郎当都是这条狗的错。不错，沃外交活动夫在树林里像条狗，很勇敢，可是再勇敢的狗也经不住一个长舌妇的数落。每当沃尔夫走进家门，他总是耷拉着脑袋，尾巴垂掉在地上或夹在两腿间。他在屋里溜达，一脸心虚的样子，时刻从眼角观察着凡-温克尔太太，一看到她有一丝不快的迹象，便拨腿开溜。瑞普-凡-温克尔结婚后，随着岁月的推移，他的麻烦也越来越多。有很长一段时间，当凡-温克尔太太的唠叨迫使他出门时，他总是和其他闲人坐在一块儿安慰自己。他和这些闲人常坐在村里的小酒馆前面，酒馆的名字就是因英王乔治三世下的肖像而起的。在漫长的夏天里，他们常常坐在树要荫下，没完没了地讲述那些让人打盹的无聊故事。有时候，他们中有

Rip Van Winkle 评论

A Brief Comment on Rip V an Winkle Rip Van Winkle is a short story by American writer Washington Irving, as well as the name of the story's main character. It is part of a collection of stories called The Sketch Book. There is no doubt that rip van winkle is an interesting and attractive story. One day, Rip van winkle went to mountain with his dog named wolf. On the way home, he heard someone calling his name. Then he downed to glen and met a strange person. Rip helped him and went to a palace with him. Rip drank with those folks in the palace and fell asleep. The next morning, he lied in the glen with sand. When rip went back to his village, the strange circumstance and people amazed him. After talking with those folks, he got that his friends and wife all died, and times have gone 20 years since he left his home. I like to read the story because of the fate of the main character and the description of person. The fate of the main character is so pathetic. Rip was henpecked and whatever he did, his wife always blamed him and babbled. It is so horrible. Imagine if a man marry with a woman who is so naggish every day like a bird. It cannot be tolerant as a man. Then, he only drank a little, and was a drink. When he awaked up, it was after 20 years. It is so scared and pathetic. The description of person is very vivid and visual. Author described

rip van winkle中自然描写的作用

The Functions of Nature 王雯In Rip Van Winkle, there are many descriptions about nature. And,it’s obvious that the writer paid much attention to them. In my personal view, nature has three functions in this novel. Firstly, descriptions of nature is necessary for setting the scene. Rip Van Winkle is an imaginative novel,writer uses dreamlike environment description and the people’s fancy experience to create atmosphere. Most of natural environment described in this novel is so beautiful that give people the sense of unreality. Secondly, descriptions of nature express the writer’s preference of nature. The writer himself loves nature in his real life. That makes him use flowery language and fertile imagination to present the expected nature in his heart. And one of the literary characteristics of Romanticism is they have a presumption that the natural world was a source of goodness and man’s society a source of corruption. They want to go back to nature and enjoy the leisure time. Puritan life style are no longer that popular among Americans,they begin to pursue what they really want. Nature is just a sample of what they are seeking. Thirdly, descriptions of nature convey the main idea of the novel--the desire for an escape from society. In this novel,Rip Van Winkle want to escape from his wife who rattles all the time and escape from his family

Ripvanwinkle中英对照

Rip van winkle, however, was one of those happy mortals, of foolish, well-oiled dispositions, who take the world easy, eat white bread or brown, whichever can be got with least thought or trouble, and would rather starve on a penny than work for a pond. If left to himself, he would have whistled life away in perfect contentment; but his wife kept continually dinning in his ears about his idleness, his carelessness, and the ruin he was bringing on his family. Morning, noon, and night, his tongue was incessantly going, and every thing he said or did was sure to produce a torrent of household eloquence. Rip had but one way of replying all lectures of the kind, and that, by frequent use, had grown into a habit. He shrugged his shoulders, shook his head, cast up his eyes, but said nothing. This, however, always provoked a fresh volley from his wife, so that he was fain to draw off his forces, and take to the outside of the house——the only side which, in truth, belongs to a hen-pecked husband. 瑞普.凡.温克尔，一个凡夫俗子，为人乐观，品行憨厚，天生圆滑，与世无争，只要不劳他思索，不费其吹灰之力,粗茶淡饭便可打发他，他宁可缺少一个便士而挨饿，也不愿为挣一英镑而工作。如果依着他的想法，他便会自鸣得意地吹着口哨，以此虚度光阴，但他妻子总会在他耳边唠叨他的好逸恶劳、粗心大意和他给家庭造成的伤害。无论早晨、中午、晚上，他总会滔滔不绝，而他所说或所做

Rip_Van_Winkle_原文

作者简介： 华盛顿·欧文（Washington Irving）（1789-1895）, 美国浪漫主义作家，也是一个纯文学作家，他的写作态度是"writing for pleasure and to produce pleasure"。欧文的代表作有《见闻札记》（Sketch Book），这是第一部伟大的青少年读物，也是美国本土作家第一部成功的小说。由于欧文对美国文学的伟大贡献，他获得了“美国文学之父”的光荣称号。这篇短篇小说，《瑞普·凡·温克尔》便是摘自《见闻札记》。 Rip Van Winkle A Posthumous Writing of Diedrich Knickerbocker By Washington Irving (T HE FOLLOWING tale was found among the papers of the late Diedrich Knickerbocker, an old gentleman of New York, who was very curious in the Dutch history of the province, and the manners of the descendants from its primitive settlers. His historical researches, however, did not lie so much among books as among men; for the former are lamentably scanty on his favorite topics; whereas he found the old burghers, and still more their wives, rich in that legendary lore so invaluable to true history. Whenever, therefore, he happened upon a genuine Dutch family, snugly shut up in its low-roofed farmhouse, under a spreading sycamore, he looked upon it as a little clasped volume of black-letter, and studied it with the zeal of a bookworm. The result of all these researches was a history of the province during the reign of the Dutch governors, which he published some years since. There have been various opinions as to the literary character of his work, and, to tell the truth, it is not a whit better than it should be. Its chief merit is its scrupulous accuracy, which indeed was a little questioned on its first appearance, but has since been completely established; and it is how admitted into all historical collections as a book of unquestionable authority. The old gentleman died shortly after the publication of his work, and now that he is dead and gone it cannot do much harm to his memory to say that his time might have been much better employed in weightier labors. He, however, was apt to ride his hobby in his own way; and though it did now and then kick up the dust a little in the eyes of his neighbors and grieve the spirit of some friends, for whom he felt the truest deference and affection, yet his errors and follies are remembered “more in sorrow than in anger”; and it begins to be suspected that he never intended to injure or offend. But however his memory may be appreciated by critics, it is still held dear among many folk whose good opinion is well worth having; particularly by certain biscuit bakers, who have gone so far as

谷安天下信息安全培训-ISO 27001(2013版)新版换证培训式咨询方案-2015年-V2

【ISO 27001新版（2013版）改版介绍】 国际标准化组织（ISO组织）遵循所有标准每隔5年必须进行升级的原则。当前版本的信息安全管理体系标准ISO 27001：2005已经使用了8年。 ISO 27001：2005版在体系整合、控制项逻辑性与充分性等方面都有改进的空间。 【ISO 27001新版（2013版）改版特点】 管理体系更容易整合：在新版标准中采取Annex SL做结构性要求，使信息安全管理体系更容易与其他管理体系融合。 融入企业面临新安全挑战：对部分控制项进行了合并、删除，并且新增了部分控制项以反映当前信息安全发展趋势。 更多指引延伸参考：新增许多指引供企业参考，组织可以通过不同的面以及风险进行深度的强化。 【ISO 27001新版（2013版）新版认证转换时间安排】2013年7月份，ISO27001:2013 DIS版草稿最终发布。 2013年10月份，ISO组织公布ISO27001:2013标准正式版。 在新版公布后的18至24个月内是认证转换缓冲期，即原有已取得ISO27001证书的企业最迟需要在2015年10月19日前转换到新版标准。 【ISO27001新版（2013版）换证方案目的】 为了能够更好地帮助客户进行ISO 27001（2013版）新版认证换证工作，作为国内第一批提供信息安全管理咨询服务的企业，北京谷安天下科技有限公司，结合以往的咨询实施经验，基于谷安天下的实施过程方法论，特别推出《ISO27001（2013版）新版换证培训式咨询方案》，来解决当前企业所面临的“少花钱、多办事”的挑战。 【ISO27001新版（2013版）换证方案价值】 提升企业信息安全人员对ISO 27001（2013版）新版标准的理解能力，为企业培养能够按照ISO 27001（2013版）新版要求建立、运行与维护信息安全管理体系高级人才。

集控运行人员培训大纲及考核标准[详]

大唐国际红河发电有限责任公司 集控运行人员岗位培训大纲及考核标准 （讨论稿）

发电部二○○四年十二月 一．集控巡视员岗位培训大纲 （一）培训大纲 1．专业知识 掌握≤电业安全工作规程≥； 掌握电力生产安全基本知识和消防知识； 了解火力发电的过程； 了解.热力学、流体力学电工电子学专业基础知识； 了解锅炉设备及原理.锅炉热力系统图、锅炉运行规程； 了解气轮机设备及原理、气轮机热力系统图、气轮机运行规程； 了解发电厂及电力系统、发电厂电气设备及原理、电气一二次结线图、电气运行规程； 了解有关保护、自动控制、连锁的基本原理； 能够识读主要设备和系统的外文缩写；

2．专业技能 掌握热力系统的操作要领，掌握电气倒闸操作的原则，在副值的监护下能够进行设备停、送电和简单的操作； 掌握巡回检查的基本方法，能及时发现设备异常和缺陷，能进行各种表计的记录和计算工作，能根据就地表计数据分析判断 设备、系统的运行状况； 熟悉机组系统设备规、特性及安装位置； 熟悉DCS控制系统各主画面的功能含义，能正确理解和执行值班员的操作命令，能协助值班员进行正常监视、调整和事故处理； 能够正确使用安全用具、防护用品和相关仪器仪表； 能够正确使用各种消防器材。 （二）考核标准

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二、集控副值班员岗位培训大纲及考核标准 （一）培训大纲 1．专业知识 掌握集控巡视员岗位的专业知识培训大纲容； 掌握系统图、运行规程； 掌握《电业生产事故调查规程》有关章节； 熟悉热工保护、自动、机组协调控制的原理及投停方法；熟悉DCS、DEH控制系统的原理及操作方法； 熟悉有关集控的电力英语知识； 熟悉热工、热力系统的各种外文缩写； 了解计算机和网络基本知识； 了解机组经济运行和节能降耗的基本知识； 了解机组实验的目的、方法及注意事项；

Rip Van Winkle &Dame Van Winkle

Rip Van Winkle &Dame Van Winkle Rip Van Winkle written by Washington Irving tells a story that the hero called Rip Van Winkle goes for a walk to the woods and falls asleep for twenty years, missing the Revolutionary war. To start with, Rip Van Winkle and Dame Van Winkle both have distinctive characters. Rip V an Winkle is a kind, easygoing, and peaceful man who is popular with all of his neighbors. His wife’s bad temper earns him the sympathy of women and children love him because he told stories and gave toys to them His only shortcoming is that he was not willing to do any work from which he could make a living. He often helps neighbors work for a day but takes little care of his farm and idles away his time. During his long sleep, his wife supported the family alone and the world gets along fine without him. Dame Van Winkle, Rip Van Winkle’s wife is a sour-tempered woman who spends all her time berating Rip. She is cantankerous and nagging and no one can stand her bad temper. However, when her husband is v ery lazy and don’t want to undertake agricultural work, she worked very hard for the family. Two heroes’ different characters may lead to the unhappy marriage. Then their relationship is not very well and they don’t get along well with each other. Rip’s wife” kept continually dinning in his ears about his idleness, his carelessness, and the ruin he was bringing on his family. Morning, noon, and night, her tongue was incessantly going.” His wife always throws her criticism of him into his face. Rip is very afraid of his wife, even obedient to his quite domineering wife. In this book, readers can see his fear towards Dame from many plots. When Rip woke up after 20 years ago, the first thing he thought was which excuse can be made to explain his late returning. And when Rip went back from the mountain and found that his wife has been dead for years, he felt real freedom. Her death released Rip. It is a heart-breaking thing that husband ignores, even hates his wife who tried her best to plant crops and educate their children to support their family. Someone thought Dame represents colonist, but the theme is changing according to times. Dame is a hardworking, capable and responsible woman and dares to challenge patriarchal society, although she is well known by his bad temper. She cleaned up the room, took care of two young children and farmed the land. The responsibility for her family bears down on a poor woman because Rip is very lazy in life. But everyone in the pleasant village adores Rip and hates Dame. Rip do es nothing and earns people’s sympathy and respect, Dame works diligently and conscientiously and is hated by many people including her husband and dog. Women can’t accept this treatment and discrimination. This comparison shows that it is not fair. And this is the world that men rule everything and women are discriminated, violated and unjustly treated. After reading this book, we should get rid of the belief that every woman should be sympathetic, gentle and pure and struggled to gain equality, respect, freedom and the same right as men.

Rip Van Winkle 译文资料

R i p V a n W i n k l e译 文

瑞普-凡-温克尔 卡兹吉尔出脉位于纽约州哈得逊河西边，山峰高耸人云，俯瞰着四周的山村。季节更替，阴晴转换，甚至旦夕间的时辰变幻，都会引来山容峰色午姿百态。所以山区周围的村民只要观看卡兹吉尔山脉就能猜出天气的变化。就在这些山脉下面，航行者可以看见缕缕青烟从一个古老的荷兰小山村袅袅升起。瑞普-凡-温克尔就在这个村里。许多年前，他就住在这里，那时这个国家还发球英国。瑞普-凡-温克尔是一个朴素单纯，性格温和的家伙。在荷兰决督统治时期，他的祖先曾英勇地与英国人战斗过。然而，瑞普的血液里没有多少祖先的军人性格。我已经说了，他是一个朴素单纯，性格温和的家伙。此外他还是一个善良的邻居，也是一个在老婆面前唯唯诺诺的丈夫。由于在家里被老婆管得太严所以他似乎养成了处处与人为善的习惯。因此，除了他老婆外，大这都对他评价很高。当然，他在村子里所有的良家妇女中很受欢迎。每当她们知道了凡-温克尔家吵架，她们总是认定瑞普是对的，而凡-温克尔夫人是错的。孩子们也一样，瑞普-凡-温克尔一来，他们总是欢叫起来。他总是望着他们玩耍，为他们做玩具，教他们怎么玩各种游戏，还给他们讲最精彩的故事。不管他去哪儿，他的四周常常围着一群孩子。村子里没有哪条狗对他狂吠过。瑞普-凡-温克尔有一个缺点：什么赚钱的活儿他都不喜欢，甚至是憎恨。很难理解究竟是什么原因让他不爱劳动。可他从不拒绝帮助邻居，哪怕是干最粗的活儿，比如帮人家砌石墙。村里的妇女也常使唤他，让他传信，或做一些她们的丈夫不愿意做的小活计。换言之，除了自各儿的事情外，别人家的事瑞普都乐意管。至少家庭责任，收拾农场，他觉得这样的活儿绝对做不来。事实上，他宣称在他农场上折腾毫无用处，因为那是整个那一带最差的小块地，一无是处。结果由于他经营不善，失去不少土地，他的小农场比他周围的农场更差了。他的孩子也到处游荡，他们的可怜样和他的农场一样。他的儿子小瑞普，和他很像，整天四处晃荡。他穿着一条他父亲的旧裤子，不得不用一只手提着，免得掉了下来。然而，瑞普-凡-温克尔是那种有福分的人。他一副傻样，与世无争，待人接物从容快乐；他吃好吃差无所谓，只要得来全不费工夫。如果由着他的性子，他会非常心安理得地虚度一生。可是他老婆在他耳朵边不停地数落他，说他游手好闲，对家庭漠不关心，这个家快给他毁了。从早到晚，她唠叨个没完。他说的每句话，做的每件事，定公招徕她一顿臭骂。瑞普对付他那长舌老婆，倒是有个办法，这个办法用多了。已经成了一个习惯。他只是把头耷拉在肩膀上，眼望天空，一言不发。然而，这又引来老婆的一阵发火。这么一来，瑞普无事可做，只有离开家。在家里，瑞普唯一的朋友就是他的狗，名叫沃尔夫。沃尔夫常常是凡-温克尔太太的出气筒，因为她把他们看做是游手好闲的难兄难弟，有时她甚至指责说：瑞普之所以吊儿郎当都是这条狗的错。不错，沃外交活动夫在树林里像条狗，很勇敢，可是再勇敢的狗也经不住一个长舌妇的数落。每当沃尔夫走进家门，他总是耷拉着脑袋，尾巴垂掉在地上或夹在两腿间。他在屋里溜达，一脸心虚的样子，时刻从眼角观察着凡-温克尔太太，一看到她有一丝不快的迹象，便拨腿开溜。瑞普-凡-温克尔结婚后，随着岁月的推移，他的麻烦也越来越多。有很长一段时间，当凡-温克尔太太的唠叨迫使他出门时，他总是和其他闲人坐在一块儿安慰自己。他和这些闲人常坐在村里的小酒馆前面，酒馆的名字就是因英王乔治三世下的肖像而起的。在漫长的夏天里，他们