瑞普·凡·温克尔Rip-Van-Winkle中英文对照与summary

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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》。RipVanWinkle

APosthumousWritingofDiedrichKnickerbocker

ByWashingtonIrving(THEFOLLOWINGtalewasfoundamongthepapersofthelateDiedrichKnickerbocker,anoldgentlemanofNewYork,whowasverycuriousintheDutchhistoryoftheprovince,andthemannersofthedescendantsfromitsprimitivesettlers.Hishistoricalresearches,however,didnotliesomuchamongbooksasamongmen;fortheformerarelamentablyscantyonhisfavoritetopics;whereashefoundtheoldburghers,andstillmoretheirwives,richinthatlegendaryloresoinvaluabletotruehistory.Whenever,therefore,hehappeneduponagenuineDutchfamily,snuglyshutupinitslow-roofedfarmhouse,underaspreadingsycamore,helookeduponitasalittleclaspedvolumeofblack-letter,andstudieditwiththezealofabookworm.TheresultofalltheseresearcheswasahistoryoftheprovinceduringthereignoftheDutchgovernors,whichhepublishedsomeyearssince.Therehavebeenvariousopinionsastotheliterarycharacterofhiswork,and,totellthetruth,itisnotawhitbetterthanitshouldbe.Itschiefmeritisitsscrupulousaccuracy,whichindeedwasalittlequestionedonitsfirstappearance,buthassincebeencompletelyestablished;anditishowadmittedintoallhistoricalcollectionsasabookofunquestionableauthority.Theoldgentlemandiedshortlyafterthepublicationofhiswork,andnowthatheisdeadandgoneitcannotdomuchharmtohismemorytosaythathistimemighthavebeenmuchbetteremployedinweightierlabors.He,however,wasapttoridehishobbyinhisownway;andthoughitdidnowandthenkickupthedustalittleintheeyesofhisneighborsandgrievethespiritofsomefriends,forwhomhefeltthetruestdeferenceandaffection,yethiserrorsandfolliesareremembered“moreinsorrowthaninanger”;anditbeginstobesuspectedthatheneverintendedtoinjureoroffend.Buthoweverhismemorymaybeappreciatedbycritics,itisstillhelddearamongmanyfolkwhosegoodopinioniswellworthhaving;particularlybycertainbiscuitbakers,whohavegonesofarastoimprinthislikenessontheirNewYearcakes,andhavethusgivenhimachanceforimmortalityalmostequaltothebeingstampedonaWaterloomedaloraQueenAnne’sfarthing.)ByWoden,GodofSaxons,FromwhencecomesWensday,thatisWodensday,TruthisathingthateverIwillkeepUntothylkedayinwhichIcreepintoMysepulchre—

CARTWRIGHT.WhoeverhasmadeavoyageuptheHudsonmustremembertheCatskillMountains.TheyareadismemberedbranchofthegreatAppalachianfamily,andareseenawaytothewestoftheriver,swellinguptoanobleheight,andlordingitoverthesurroundingcountry.Everychangeofseason,everychangeofweather,indeed,everyhouroftheday,producessomechangeinthemagicalhuesandshapesofthesemountains,andtheyareregardedbyallthegoodwives,farandnear,asperfectbarometers.Whentheweatherisfairandsettled,theyareclothedinblueandpurple,andprinttheirboldoutlinesonthecleareveningsky;butsometimes,whentherestofthelandscapeiscloudless,theywillgatherahoodofgrayvaporsabouttheirsummits,which,inthelastraysofthesettingsun,willglowandlightuplikeacrownofglory.Atthefootofthesefairymountainsthevoyagermayhavedescriedthelightsmokecurlingupfromavillagewhoseshingleroofsgleamamongthetrees,justwherethebluetintsoftheuplandmeltawayintothefreshgreenofthenearerlandscape.Itisalittlevillageofgreatantiquity,havingbeenfoundedbysomeoftheDutchcolonists,intheearlytimesoftheprovince,justaboutthebeginningofthegovernmentofthegoodPeterStuyvesant(mayherestinpeace!),andthereweresomeofthehousesoftheoriginalsettlersstandingwithinafewyears,withlatticewindows,gablefrontssurmountedwithweathercocks,andbuiltofsmallyellowbricksbroughtfromHolland.Inthatsamevillage,andinoneoftheseveryhouses(which,totelltheprecisetruth,wassadlytime-wornandweather-beaten),therelivedmanyyearssince,whilethecountrywasyetaprovinceofGreatBritain,asimple,good-naturedfellow,ofthenameofRipVanWinkle.HewasadescendantoftheVanWinkleswhofiguredsogallantlyinthechivalrousdaysofPeterStuyvesant,andaccompaniedhimtothesiegeofFortChristina.Heinherited,however,butlittleofthemartialcharacterofhisancestors.Ihaveobservedthathewasasimple,good-naturedman;hewas,moreover,akindneighborandanobedient,henpeckedhusband.Indeed,tothelattercircumstancemightbeowingthatmeeknessofspiritwhichgainedhimsuchuniversalpopularity;forthosemenaremostapttobeobsequiousandconciliatingabroadwhoareunderthedisciplineofshrewsathome.Theirtempers,doubtless,arerenderedpliantandmalleableinthefieryfurnaceofdomestictribulation,andacurtainlectureisworthallthesermonsintheworldforteachingthevirtuesofpatienceandlong-suffering.Atermagantwifemay,therefore,insomerespects,beconsideredatolerableblessing;andifso,RipVanWinklewasthriceblessed.Certainitisthathewasagreatfavoriteamongallthegoodwivesofthevillage,who,asusualwiththeamiablesex,tookhispartinallfamilysquabbles,andneverfailed,whenevertheytalkedthosemattersoverintheireveninggossipings,tolayalltheblameonDameVanWinkle.Thechildrenofthevillage,too,wouldshoutwithjoywheneverheapproached.Heassistedattheirsports,madetheirplaythings,taughtthemtoflykitesandshootmarbles,andtoldthemlongstoriesofghosts,witches,andIndians.Wheneverhewentdodgingaboutthevillage,hewassurroundedbyatroopofthem,hangingonhisskirts,clamberingonhisback,andplayingathousandtricksonhimwithimpunity;andnotadogwouldbarkathimthroughouttheneighborhood.ThegreaterrorinRip’scompositionwasaninsuperableaversiontoallkindsofprofitablelabor.Itcouldnotbefromthewantofassiduityorperseverance;forhewouldsitonawetrock,witharodaslongandheavyasaTartar’slance,andfishalldaywithoutamurmur,eventhoughheshouldnotbeencouragedbyasinglenibble.Hewouldcarryafowlingpieceonhisshoulder,forhourstogether,trudgingthroughwoodsandswamps,anduphillanddowndale,toshootafewsquirrelsorwildpigeons.Hewouldneverevenrefusetoassistaneighborintheroughesttoil,andwasaforemostmanatallcountryfrolicsforhuskingIndiancorn,orbuildingstonefences.Thewomenofthevillage,too,usedtoemployhimtoruntheirerrands,andtodosuchlittleoddjobsastheirlessobliginghusbandswouldnotdoforthem;inaword,Ripwasreadytoattendtoanybody’sbusinessbuthisown;butastodoingfamilyduty,andkeepinghisfarminorder,itwasimpossible.

Infact,hedeclareditwasofnousetoworkonhisfarm;itwasthemostpestilentlittlepieceofgroundinthewholecountry;everythingaboutitwentwrong,andwouldgowrong,inspiteofhim.Hisfenceswerecontinuallyfallingtopieces;hiscowwouldeithergoastrayorgetamongthecabbages;weedsweresuretogrowquickerinhisfieldsthananywhereelse;therainalwaysmadeapointofsettinginjustashehadsomeoutdoorworktodo;sothatthoughhispatrimonialestatehaddwindledawayunderhismanagement,acrebyacre,untiltherewaslittlemoreleftthanamerepatchofIndiancornandpotatoes,yetitwastheworst-conditionedfarmintheneighborhood.Hischildren,too,wereasraggedandwildasiftheybelongedtonobody.HissonRip,anurchinbegotteninhisownlikeness,promisedtoinheritthehabits,withtheoldclothesofhisfather.Hewasgenerallyseentroopinglikeacoltathismother’sheels,equippedinapairofhisfather’scast-offgalligaskins,whichhehadmuchadotoholdupwithonehand,asafineladydoeshertraininbadweather.

RipVanWinkle,however,wasoneofthosehappymortals,offoolish,well-oileddispositions,whotaketheworldeasy,eatwhitebreadorbrown,whichevercanbegotwithleastthoughtortrouble,andwouldratherstarveonapennythanworkforapound.Iflefttohimself,hewouldhavewhistledlifeaway,inperfectcontentment;buthiswifekeptcontinuallydinninginhisearsabouthisidleness,hiscarelessness,andtheruinhewasbringingonhisfamily.Morning,noon,andnight,hertonguewasincessantlygoing,andeverythinghesaidordidwassuretoproduceatorrentofhouseholdeloquence.Riphadbutonewayofreplyingtoalllecturesofthekind,andthat,byfrequentuse,hadgrownintoahabit.Heshruggedhisshoulders,shookhishead,castuphiseyes,butsaidnothing.This,however,alwaysprovokedafreshvolleyfromhiswife,sothathewasfaintodrawoffhisforces,andtaketotheoutsideofthehouse—theonlysidewhich,intruth,belongstoahenpeckedhusband.Rip’ssoledomesticadherentwashisdogWolf,whowasasmuchhenpeckedashismaster;forDameVanWinkleregardedthemascompanionsinidleness,andevenlookeduponWolfwithanevileye,asthecauseofhismaster’ssooftengoingastray.Trueitis,inallpointsofspiritbefittinganhonorabledog,hewasascourageousananimalaseverscouredthewoods—butwhatcouragecanwithstandtheever-duringandall-besettingterrorsofawoman’stongue?ThemomentWolfenteredthehousehiscrestfell,histaildroopedtotheground,orcurledbetweenhislegs;hesneakedaboutwithagallowsair,castingmanyasidelongglanceatDameVanWinkle,andattheleastflourishofabroomstickorladlewouldflytothedoorwithyelpingprecipitation.TimesgrewworseandworsewithRipVanWinkleasyearsofmatrimonyrolledon;atarttempernevermellowswithage,andasharptongueistheonlyedgedtoolthatgrowskeenerbyconstantuse.Foralongwhileheusedtoconsolehimself,whendrivenfromhome,byfrequentingakindofperpetualclubofthesages,philosophers,andotheridlepersonagesofthevillage,whichhelditssessionsonabenchbeforeasmallinn,designatedbyarubicundportraitofhismajestyGeorgetheThird.Heretheyusedtositintheshade,ofalonglazysummer’sday,talkinglistlesslyovervillagegossip,ortellingendlesssleepystoriesaboutnothing.Butitwouldhavebeenworthanystatesman’smoneytohaveheardtheprofounddiscussionswhichsometimestookplace,whenbychanceanoldnewspaperfellintotheirhands,fromsomepassingtraveler.Howsolemnlytheywouldlistentothecontents,asdrawledoutbyDerrickVanBummel,theschoolmaster,adapper,learnedlittleman,whowasnottobedauntedbythemostgiganticwordinthedictionary;andhowsagelytheywoulddeliberateuponpubliceventssomemonthsaftertheyhadtakenplace.TheopinionsofthisjuntowerecompletelycontrolledbyNicholasVedder,apatriarchofthevillage,andlandlordoftheinn,atthedoorofwhichhetookhisseatfrommorningtillnight,justmovingsufficientlytoavoidthesun,andkeepintheshadeofalargetree;sothattheneighborscouldtellthehourbyhismovementsasaccuratelyasbyasun-dial.Itistrue,hewasrarelyheardtospeak,butsmokedhispipeincessantly.Hisadherents,however(foreverygreatmanhashisadherents),perfectlyunderstoodhim,andknewhowtogatherhisopinions.Whenanythingthatwasreadorrelateddispleasedhim,hewasobservedtosmokehispipevehemently,andsendforthshort,frequent,andangrypuffs;butwhenpleased,hewouldinhalethesmokeslowlyandtranquilly,andemititinlightandplacidclouds,andsometimestakingthepipefromhismouth,andlettingthefragrantvaporcurlabouthisnose,wouldgravelynodhisheadintokenofperfectapprobation.FromeventhisstrongholdtheunluckyRipwasatlengthroutedbyhistermagantwife,whowouldsuddenlybreakinuponthetranquillityoftheassemblage,andcallthemembersalltonought;norwasthataugustpersonage,NicholasVedderhimself,sacredfromthedaringtongueofthisterriblevirago,whochargedhimoutrightwithencouragingherhusbandinhabitsofidleness.PoorRipwasatlastreducedalmosttodespair;andhisonlyalternative,toescapefromthelaborofthefarmandclamorofhiswife,wastotakeguninhandandstrollawayintothewoods.Herehewouldsometimesseathimselfatthefootofatree,andsharethecontentsofhiswalletwithWolf,withwhomhesympathizedasafellow-suffererinpersecution.“PoorWolf,”hewouldsay,“thymistressleadstheeadog’slifeofit;butnevermind,mylad,whileIlivethoushaltneverwantafriendtostandbythee!”Wolfwouldwaghistail,lookwistfullyinhismaster’sface,andifdogscanfeelpity,Iverilybelievehereciprocatedthesentimentwithallhisheart.Inalongrambleofthekindonafineautumnalday,RiphadunconsciouslyscrambledtooneofthehighestpartsoftheCatskillMountains.Hewasafterhisfavoritesportofsquirrelshooting,andthestillsolitudeshadechoedandreëchoedwiththereportsofhisgun.Pantingandfatigued,hethrewhimself,lateintheafternoon,onagreenknoll,coveredwithmountainherbage,thatcrownedthebrowofaprecipice.Fromanopeningbetweenthetreeshecouldoverlookallthelowercountryformanyamileofrichwoodland.HesawatadistancethelordlyHudson,far,farbelowhim,movingonitssilentbutmajesticcourse,thereflectionofapurplecloud,orthesailofalaggingbark,hereandtheresleepingonitsglassybosom,andatlastlosingitselfinthebluehighlands.Ontheothersidehelookeddownintoadeepmountainglen,wild,lonely,andshagged,thebottomfilledwithfragmentsfromtheimpendingcliffs,andscarcelylightedbythereflectedraysofthesettingsun.ForsometimeRiplaymusingonthisscene;eveningwasgraduallyadvancing;themountainsbegantothrowtheirlongblueshadowsoverthevalleys;hesawthatitwouldbedarklongbeforehecouldreachthevillage,andheheavedaheavysighwhenhethoughtofencounteringtheterrorsofDameVanWinkle.Ashewasabouttodescend,heheardavoicefromadistance,hallooing,“RipVanWinkle!RipVanWinkle!”Helookedaround,butcouldseenothingbutacrowwingingitssolitaryflightacrossthemountain.Hethoughthisfancymusthavedeceivedhim,andturnedagaintodescend,whenheheardthesamecryringthroughthestilleveningair:“RipVanWinkle!RipVanWinkle!”—atthesametimeWolfbristleduphisback,andgivingalowgrowl,skulkedtohismaster’sside,lookingfearfullydownintotheglen.Ripnowfeltavagueapprehensionstealingoverhim;helookedanxiouslyinthesamedirection,andperceivedastrangefigureslowlytoilinguptherocks,andbendingundertheweightofsomethinghecarriedonhisback.Hewassurprisedtoseeanyhumanbeinginthislonelyandunfrequentedplace,butsupposingittobesomeoneoftheneighborhoodinneedofassistance,hehasteneddowntoyieldit.Onnearerapproach,hewasstillmoresurprisedatthesingularityofthestranger’sappearance.Hewasashort,square-builtoldfellow,withthickbushyhair,andagrizzledbeard.HisdresswasoftheantiqueDutchfashion—aclothjerkinstrappedaroundthewaist—severalpairofbreeches,theouteroneofamplevolume,decoratedwithrowsofbuttonsdownthesides,andbunchesattheknees.Heboreonhisshouldersastoutkeg,thatseemedfullofliquor,andmadesignsforRiptoapproachandassisthimwiththeload.Thoughrathershyanddistrustfulofthisnewacquaintance,Ripcompliedwithhisusualalacrity,andmutuallyrelievingoneanother,theyclamberedupanarrowgully,apparentlythedrybedofamountaintorrent.Astheyascended,Ripeverynowandthenheardlongrollingpeals,likedistantthunder,thatseemedtoissueoutofadeepravine,orrathercleftbetweenloftyrocks,towardwhichtheirruggedpathconducted.Hepausedforaninstant,butsupposingittobethemutteringofoneofthosetransientthundershowerswhichoftentakeplaceinmountainheights,heproceeded.Passingthroughtheravine,theycametoahollow,likeasmallamphitheater,surroundedbyperpendicularprecipices,overthebrinksofwhichimpendingtreesshottheirbranches,sothatyouonlycaughtglimpsesoftheazureskyandthebrighteveningcloud.Duringthewholetime,Ripandhiscompanionhadlaboredoninsilence;forthoughtheformermarveledgreatlywhatcouldbetheobjectofcarryingakegofliquorupthiswildmountain,yettherewassomethingstrangeandincomprehensibleabouttheunknownthatinspiredaweandcheckedfamiliarity.Onenteringtheamphitheater,newobjectsofwonderpresentedthemselves.Onalevelspotinthecenterwasacompanyofodd-lookingpersonagesplayingatninepins.Theyweredressedinaquaint,outlandishfashion:someworeshortdoublets,othersjerkins,withlongknivesintheirbelts,andmosthadenormousbreeches,ofsimilarstylewiththatoftheguide’s.Theirvisages,too,werepeculiar:onehadalargehead,broadface,andsmall,piggisheyes;thefaceofanotherseemedtoconsistentirelyofnose,andwassurmountedbyawhitesugar-loafhatsetoffwithalittleredcock’stail.Theyallhadbeards,ofvariousshapesandcolors.Therewasonewhoseemedtobethecommander.Hewasastoutoldgentleman,withaweather-beatencountenance;heworealaceddoublet,broadbeltandhanger,high-crownedhatandfeather,redstockings,andhigh-heeledshoes,withrosesinthem.ThewholegroupremindedRipofthefiguresinanoldFlemishpainting,intheparlorofDominieVanSchaick,thevillageparson,andwhichhadbeenbroughtoverfromHollandatthetimeofthesettlement.WhatseemedparticularlyoddtoRip,wasthatthoughthesefolkswereevidentlyamusingthemselves,yettheymaintainedthegravestfaces,themostmysterioussilence,andwere,withal,themostmelancholypartyofpleasurehehadeverwitnessed.Nothinginterruptedthestillnessofthescenebutthenoiseoftheballs,which,whenevertheywererolled,echoedalongthemountainslikerumblingpealsofthunder.AsRipandhiscompanionapproachedthem,theysuddenlydesistedfromtheirplay,andstaredathimwithsuchfixedstatue-likegaze,andsuchstrange,uncouth,lack-lustercountenances,thathisheartturnedwithinhim,andhiskneessmotetogether.Hiscompanionnowemptiedthecontentsofthekegintolargeflagons,andmadesignstohimtowaituponthecompany.Heobeyedwithfearandtrembling;theyquaffedtheliquorinprofoundsilence,andthenreturnedtotheirgame.

Bydegrees,Rip’saweandapprehensionsubsided.Heevenventured,whennoeyewasfixeduponhim,totastethebeverage,whichhefoundhadmuchoftheflavorofexcellentHollands.Hewasnaturallyathirstysoul,andwassoontemptedtorepeatthedraught.Onetasteprovokedanother,andhereiteratedhisvisitstotheflagonsooften,thatatlengthhissenseswereoverpowered,hiseyesswaminhishead,hisheadgraduallydeclined,andhefellintoadeepsleep.Onawaking,hefoundhimselfonthegreenknollfromwhencehehadfirstseentheoldmanoftheglen.Herubbedhiseyes—itwasabrightsunnymorning.Thebirdswerehoppingandtwitteringamongthebushes,andtheeaglewaswheelingaloftandbreastingthepuremountainbreeze.“Surely,”thoughtRip,“Ihavenotslepthereallnight.”Herecalledtheoccurrencesbeforehefellasleep.Thestrangemanwithakegofliquor—themountainravine—thewildretreatamongtherocks—thewoe-begonepartyatninepins—theflagon—“Oh!thatflagon!thatwickedflagon!”thoughtRip—“whatexcuseshallImaketoDameVanWinkle?”Helookedroundforhisgun,butinplaceoftheclean,well-oiledfowlingpiece,hefoundanoldfirelocklyingbyhim,thebarrelincrustedwithrust,thelockfallingoff,andthestockworm-eaten.Henowsuspectedthatthegraveroystersofthemountainhadputatrickuponhim,andhavingdosedhimwithliquor,hadrobbedhimofhisgun.Wolf,too,haddisappeared,buthemighthavestrayedawayafterasquirrelorpartridge.Hewhistledafterhim,shoutedhisname,butallinvain;theechoesrepeatedhiswhistleandshout,butnodogwastobeseen.Hedeterminedtorevisitthesceneofthelastevening’sgambol,andifhemetwithanyoftheparty,todemandhisdogandgun.Asherosetowalk,hefoundhimselfstiffinthejoints,andwantinginhisusualactivity.“Thesemountainbedsdonotagreewithme,”thoughtRip,“andifthisfrolicshouldlaymeupwithafitoftherheumatism,IshallhaveablessedtimewithDameVanWinkle.”Withsomedifficultyhegotdownintotheglen;hefoundthegullyupwhichheandhiscompanionhadascendedtheprecedingevening;buttohisastonishmentamountainstreamwasnowfoamingdownit,leapingfromrocktorock,andfillingtheglenwithbabblingmurmurs.He,however,madeshifttoscrambleupitssides,workinghistoilsomewaythroughthicketsofbirch,sassafras,andwitch-hazel,andsometimestrippeduporentangledbythewildgrapevinesthattwistedtheircoilsandtendrilsfromtreetotree,andspreadakindofnetworkinhispath.Atlengthhereachedtowheretheravinehadopenedthroughthecliffstotheamphitheater;butnotracesofsuchopeningremained.Therockspresentedahigh,impenetrablewall,overwhichthetorrentcametumblinginasheetoffeatheryfoam,andfellintoabroad,deepbasin,blackfromtheshadowsofthesurroundingforest.Here,then,poorRipwasbroughttoastand.Heagaincalledandwhistledafterhisdog;hewasonlyansweredbythecawingofaflockofidlecrows,sportinghighinairaboutadrytreethatoverhungasunnyprecipice;andwho,secureintheirelevation,seemedtolookdownandscoffatthepoorman’sperplexities.Whatwastobedone?themorningwaspassingaway,andRipfeltfamishedforwantofhisbreakfast.Hegrievedtogiveuphisdogandgun;hedreadedtomeethiswife;butitwouldnotdotostarveamongthemountains.Heshookhishead,shoulderedtherustyfirelock,and,withaheartfulloftroubleandanxiety,turnedhisstepshomeward.Asheapproachedthevillage,hemetanumberofpeople,butnonewhomheknew,whichsomewhatsurprisedhim,forhehadthoughthimselfacquaintedwitheveryoneinthecountryround.Theirdress,too,wasofadifferentfashionfromthattowhichhewasaccustomed.Theyallstaredathimwithequalmarksofsurprise,andwhenevertheycasttheireyesuponhim,invariablystrokedtheirchins.TheconstantrecurrenceofthisgestureinducedRip,involuntarily,todothesame,when,tohisastonishment,hefoundhisbeardhadgrownafootlong!Hehadnowenteredtheskirtsofthevillage.Atroopofstrangechildrenranathisheels,hootingafterhim,andpointingathisgraybeard.Thedogs,too,noneofwhichherecognizedforhisoldacquaintances,barkedathimashepassed.Theveryvillagewasaltered:itwaslargerandmorepopulous.Therewererowsofhouseswhichhehadneverseenbefore,andthosewhichhadbeenhisfamiliarhauntshaddisappeared.Strangenameswereoverthedoors—strangefacesatthewindows—everythingwasstrange.Hismindnowbegantomisgivehim;hedoubtedwhetherbothheandtheworldaroundhimwerenotbewitched.Surelythiswashisnativevillage,whichhehadleftbutthedaybefore.TherestoodtheCatskillMountains—thereranthesilverHudsonatadistance—therewaseveryhillanddalepreciselyasithadalwaysbeen—Ripwassorelyperplexed—“Thatflagonlastnight,”thoughthe,“hasaddledmypoorheadsadly!”Itwaswithsomedifficultyhefoundthewaytohisownhouse,whichheapproachedwithsilentawe,expectingeverymomenttoheartheshrillvoiceofDameVanWinkle.Hefoundthehousegonetodecay—therooffallenin,thewindowsshattered,andthedoorsoffthehinges.Ahalf-starveddog,thatlookedlikeWolf,wasskulkingaboutit.Ripcalledhimbyname,butthecursnarled,showedhisteeth,andpassedon.Thiswasanunkindcutindeed—“Myverydog,”sighedpoorRip,“hasforgottenme!”Heenteredthehouse,which,totellthetruth,DameVanWinklehadalwayskeptinneatorder.Itwasempty,forlorn,andapparentlyabandoned.Thisdesolatenessovercameallhisconnubialfears—hecalledloudlyforhiswifeandchildren—thelonelychambersrungforamomentwithhisvoice,andthenallagainwassilence.Henowhurriedforth,andhastenedtohisoldresort,thelittlevillageinn—butittoowasgone.Alargericketywoodenbuildingstoodinitsplace,withgreatgapingwindows,someofthembroken,andmendedwitholdhatsandpetticoats,andoverthedoorwaspainted,“TheUnionHotel,byJonathanDoolittle.”InsteadofthegreattreewhichusedtoshelterthequietlittleDutchinnofyore,therenowwasrearedatallnakedpole,withsomethingonthetopthatlookedlikearednightcap,andfromitwasflutteringaflag,onwhichwasasingularassemblageofstarsandstripes—allthiswasstrangeandincomprehensible.Herecognizedonthesign,however,therubyfaceofKingGeorge,underwhichhehadsmokedsomanyapeacefulpipe,buteventhiswassingularlymetamorphosed.Theredcoatwaschangedforoneofblueandbuff,aswordwasstuckinthehandinsteadofascepter,theheadwasdecoratedwithacockedhat,andunderneathwaspaintedinlargecharacters,GENERALWASHINGTON.Therewas,asusual,acrowdoffolkaboutthedoor,butnonewhomRiprecollected.Theverycharacterofthepeopleseemedchanged.Therewasabusy,bustling,disputatioustoneaboutit,insteadoftheaccustomedphlegmanddrowsytranquillity.HelookedinvainforthesageNicholasVedder,withhisbroadface,doublechin,andfairlongpipe,utteringcloudsoftobaccosmokeinsteadofidlespeeches;orVanBummel,theschoolmaster,dolingforththecontentsofanancientnewspaper.Inplaceofthese,alean,bilious-lookingfellow,withhispocketsfullofhandbills,washaranguingvehementlyaboutrightsofcitizens—election—membersofCongress—liberty—Bunker’sHill—heroesof’76—andotherwords,thatwereaperfectBabylonishjargontothebewilderedVanWinkle.TheappearanceofRip,withhislonggrizzledbeard,hisr