The Story of Rip Van Winkle
The Story of Rip Van Winkle, a much-condensed version of the original, was first published in Germany. The 8-page pamphlet contained four illustrations, including three that were full-page and one that was half-page. The story, in its shortened attempt, makes occasional errors when compared to the original.
In a small cottage near the town lived Rip Van Winkle. He was known to everybody as an idle, drinking fellow who would never work. While the men and women of the village scolded Rip and told him he ought to be ashamed of himself the boys always shouted with joy when they saw him. Rip was a great hero with the little ones, for he never tired of joining in their games. In fact this was how he would spend the greater part of his time during the day.
Rip had a good dog named Schneider which he was very fond of, and often when the weather was fine he would take his dog with him and go fishing in some stream near by. It happened one day that he fell asleep whilst he was fishing and so he did not get home till very late. At this his wife was very angry and gave him many a cuff. “Ah!” said Rip, “this is no place for me,” so he went off to the village tavern where he knew he would find many friends. Here he sat for a long time relating tales of his dog and his gun.
It happened one day that Rip Van Winkle sought relief from his cares and sorrows by going into the mountains. He climbed up to a great height thinking all the time of his sad plight, when he suddenly discovered that the sun had already set and that darkness was fast coming on.
It soon grew quite dark and so poor Rip was unable to find his way back again, for he had strayed many miles that day. As he felt tired he lay down to rest and to wait for the break of day, when he would be able to find his way home once more.
He began thinking of the phantom crew who were supposed to make merry in the mountains at night, when he suddenly heard a voice call from a neighboring hill. “Rip Van Winkle!” He looked all about him but could see nothing except a lonely crow. He was beginning to think he must have been mistaken when he once more heard the voice call out!
“Ho, Rip Van Winkle!” Schneider skulked to his master’s side and just at that moment a man came out from the thicket and beckoned to Rip for help. He was very stout and had very short legs. On his shoulder he carried a keg and this he wanted Rip to carry up the mountain for him. Rip complied and when they were on their way several peals of thunder made the mountain tremble.
Up they clambered until at last the funny stranger halted. Rip cast a quick glance round and beheld many strange little men playing at nine-pins. They did not speak a word but went on rolling the balls which made the noise Rip had thought was thunder. The eyes of these peculiar men were very small but their beards and noses were very long. Each one of them took a glass and filled it to the brim from the keg which Rip had carried up. One queer little man made a sign to Rip and asked him if he would like something to drink. Rip did not stop to think very long, for he was very thirsty indeed and felt he needed a little refreshment.
He immediately filled the glass up to the very brim and then drained it. The next thing he did was to stretch himself out on the mossy ground and have a good long sleep, for he felt very tired.
When he awoke he found it was a nice sunny morning and the funny little men who had been playing nine-pins the night before were gone. He straight, rubbed his eyes and looked all around.
“Surely,” said he, “I must have slept all night.” Then he began to wonder what he could say to his wife. “I know she will be very angry,” he murmured to himself. He took up his gun, but strange to say the wood was quite soft and had completely rotted away.
“This is funny” he said to himself, “whatever can have caused my gun to go like that?” Then he raised himself on to his feet and found that his bones and joints were so stiff and sore that he had the greatest difficulty in moving at all. “I must certainly wend my way home at once,” he thought. With a very trembling step he began to wander down the mountain side, but the farther he went the more difficulty he had in walking. Several times he was obliged to stop and rest, but after a very long time of weary journeying he once more found himself in his native town. He looked around and could not understand things at all. Everything seemed to be so different to what it was when he last saw it. He did not know the people in the village, and they, too, did not know him.
Rip Van Winkle was a stranger in his own native place – the place where he had lived so long. He tottered up to his cottage door, and here, too, he found everything different. His poor wife was dead, so she would not be able to be angry with him or scold him any more.
He then made his way, as fast as his poor legs would let him, to the tavern where he had spent so many jolly hours in days gone by. Here he hoped to find some of his old friends. But alas! it was all in vain; he could not find a single face that he knew. All were strange to him.
He next met a youth wo was strolling carelessly along. Rip Van Winkle gazed at him and seemed to recognize in him his own image, but Rip did not know that it was his own darling son whom he had known only when he was very young.
The next thing that drew his attention was a group of little girls who were playing and laughing merrily. He looked into the face of each one of them, hoping to see his own daughter, but although he stood gazing at them for a long time he could not find the dear face he sought for so longingly.
At last, however, he discovered that his daughter was the wife of a very rich farmer. When they met she took his hand and looked at him a puzzled sort of way, for she thought her father was dead and never expected to see him on this earth again. She kissed his cheeks and his forehead which were all covered with marks and wrinkles, for Rip Van Winkle was an old and grey headed man now.
Twenty years had passed away since Rip went to sleep on top of the mountain. He had slept through those twenty summers of bright sunshine and those twenty winters of snow, frost and ice. But his love of stories remained. He delighted to gather the village children round him once again, and play with them and tell them tales as he had done so very many times in the days gone by.
He was very fond of telling them about the ninepin game and the little ones would laugh merrily when he related ho the balls made a noise like thunder. They often questioned him about his nap on the mountain and about the crew of funny little men, and he never tired of answering their questions, and joining in their merry laughter. Rip Van Winkle could not forget the drink he had taken on the mountain, for the taste of it all still lingered on his palate.
This always made him very sad, as it reminded him of the twenty beautiful years which he had lost and which he could never recall, however much he might try. Rip continued to hobble about the town for some time, until at last he lay down to that rest from which he will never more awake on this earth.
They buried him in the village churchyard, and many were the tears shed by the lads and lassies whom he loved so much and who never ceased to love him.
When these little ones grew up to be men and women they never tired of telling their own children the story of Rip Van Winkle.
