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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 Vanderdonk, 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 Catskill 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 ninepins in a hollow of the mountain; and that he himself had heard, one summer afternoon, the sound of their balls, like long 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 do nothing 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 III., 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 Van 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 Dr. 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 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 thunder-storm of a summer afternoon, about the Catskills, but they say Hendrick Hudson and his crew are at their game of ninepins; and it is a common wish of all henpecked husbands in the neighborhood, when life hangs heavy on their hands, that they might have a quieting draught out of Rip Van Winkle?s flagon.

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-温克尔发球那种有福分的人。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，他们中有人碰巧发现一张过路的游客扔下来的旧报纸，这时他们会非常认真地听报纸上的内容，因为德瑞克-凡-巴梅尔会读给他们听（德瑞克-凡-巴梅尔是村里的小学教师，很有学问，词典里最长的词也难不倒他）。接着他们会露出很有学问的样子讨论几个月前发生的新闻。众人发表的看法完全由尼古拉斯德维达裁决，他是村里岁数最大的老人，是酒馆的主人。他从早到晚坐在门口，只有为了避开太阳要蹲在大树树荫下面的时候，他才挪一下位置。的确，他很少开口讲话，而是不停地抽着烟斗，但是他的崇拜者们最了解他，他们知道怎么才能让他就某个话题发

表他的高见。要是读的什么内容或讲的什么话让他不开心，他就会狠狠地抽着烟斗；要是他高兴起来，他会慢慢而静静地抽烟。有时候，他从嘴里拿开烟斗，让烟雾在鼻子上方萦绕，点头以示同意大家正在讨论的内容。可是就连这帮能安慰瑞普的人也最终被迫离开倒霉的瑞普。他老婆突然破门而入，直接冲着谈笑正欢的俱乐部，将俱乐部的成员骂得一文不值。甚至了不起的尼古拉斯-维达也难逃这位凶悍的泼妇的一顿肆意辱骂。她指着他的鼻子责骂说，她丈夫游手好闲他要负主要责任。可怜的瑞普因此几乎被逼上了绝路。他唯一能逃避的办法就是拿着猎枪到深山老林去。在山林里，他有时和他忠实的狗一起坐在树下，沃尔夫是他同病相怜的伙伴。“可怜的沃尔夫，”他常这么对他说，“你的日子也不好过，不过别害怕。只要我活着，总有一个朋友和你站在一边！”沃尔夫听罢总是摇摆着尾巴，伤心地望着他的主人。如果狗能有怜悯之心，我坚信他会真心实意地同情瑞普的。在某个秋天就这样长时间地漫步后，瑞普发现自己爬到了卡兹吉尔山脉最大的山峰。他专心于他喜爱的消遣---打猎，枪声划破了山林荒凉的宁静。他累得气喘吁吁，到了傍晚，便在悬崖上一个长满绿草的小土丘上躺了下来。有一会儿，他躺在地上观看着山景。夜色快要降临；君山开始在山谷投下长长的蓝色影子。他知道他没到村里，天早就黑了；一想到凡-温克尔太太生气的脸，他就深深在叹气。就在他准备下山时，他突然听到远处有人喊他，“瑞普-凡-温克尔！瑞普-凡-温克尔！”他看了看周围，除了一只大鸟孤单地飞越大山外，什么也没看到。他判断这声音只是他的想象。他转身准备下山，他又听到那喊叫声在寂静的夜空回荡；“瑞普-凡-温克尔！” 时他的狗感到毛骨悚然，他跑到主人身边，恐怖地望着山谷。瑞普心里心感到害怕，不安地朝着同一方向看去。他看到了一个奇怪的身影在岩石上攀登着，背上驮着什么沉甸甸的东西。瑞普感到惊讶；在这样荒无人烟的地方竟然看到有人。可是一想到可能是哪一个需要帮忙的邻居，瑞普赶紧冲了下去。他再往前一靠近，陌生人古怪的模样让他更加吃惊了。他是一个个头矮小的老头，膀大腰粗，头发浓密，还长着一撮灰白色的山羊胡子。他穿的是以前的荷兰老款式服装---系着腰带的短布外套产层层相叠的裤子。最外面一层裤子又大又宽，裤脚管两侧镶着几排纽扣。他肩上扛着一只木桶，里面似乎装满了酒。他示意瑞普过来帮他卸下肩上的东西。瑞普虽然不完全信任这个长相古怪的陌生人，但还是走了过去帮他一把。他们搭手抬着木桶，里面似乎装满了酒。

他示意瑞普过来帮他卸下肩上的东西。瑞普虽然不完全信任这个长相古怪的陌生人，但还是走了过去帮他一把。他们搭手抬着木桶，沿着山腰狭窄的溪沟小道向高耸的岩石山峰攀登时，瑞普开始听到一些异常的声音，有点儿像打雷声，似乎是从山峰间狭窄的山谷深渊中传出来的。他止步听了听，觉得一定是不远处经过的雷暴。穿过溪沟小道后，他们来到了一个小山洞，山洞像古希腊时期建造的地下剧场。一路上，瑞普和他的同伴一声不吭地爬着山路，因为瑞普尽管对有人在这荒山野岭竟然扛着装着酒的木桶感到不解，但他缺乏勇气去问这个陌生的新朋友。走进山洞，只见各种令人惊奇的新鲜玩意儿。洞里的中央有一小块平地，一帮面貌古怪的人正在玩九木柱游戏。他们身着非常奇特的服装，有些腰带上还佩着刀，他们大部分都穿着又长双宽的裤子，和瑞普的向导的裤子差不多。他们的长相也是古里古怪的，其中有一位，满脸似乎就是一个大鼻子，头顶一顶大白帽。他们都有胡子，形状和颜色各异。有一位好像这帮人的头儿，他是一个身体厚实的老者，佩着宽腰带，戴着一顶插着羽毛的高顶帽，脚上穿着红袜子和高跟鞋。还有一点让瑞普感到特别奇怪。这帮人显然是在玩游戏，可是他们个个表情认真严肃。他们默默地打着球，事实上是他见过的最死气沉沉的游戏聚会。场上除了森柱的滚动声外没有任何声音。木柱滚动时，撞击声像雷声一样响彻山空。当瑞普和他的同伴走近他们的时候，他们突然停下手中的游戏，用奇怪的眼光盯着他看，看得他浑身发毛，两腿颤抖。此时他的同伴将木桶里的东西倒进几个大金属杯子里，示意他端给那帮人。他胆战心惊地照做了。他们一声不吭地喝掉了杯中之物，然后继续他们的游戏。瑞普的紧张和害怕渐渐离他而去。他甚至趁别人不注意地时候壮着胆子尝了一口酒，他很喜欢。不一会儿，他觉得再尝一口的时机到了。他一口接着一口，到了最后，他的眼睛怎么也睁不开，头也耷拉在胸前；他进入了梦乡。醒来时，他发现自己躺在那个长满绿草的小土丘上，他就是在这儿看到那个扛着木桶的老者的。他擦了擦眼睛，知道现在已经是阳光明媚的早晨。鸟儿在树丛中欢唱，树叶随着一阵阵清新的山风摇动着。 “当然，”瑞普心想，“我没有在这儿睡上一夜吧！”他记得他睡着前发生的一切：那个扛着酒桶的怪老头-----他们攀越的岩石山路---表情严肃的九木柱游戏者-----金属杯里的美酒。“哦！好杯子！那神奇的杯子！”瑞普想起来了。“我该找个什么借口对凡-温克尔太太说呢？”他环顾四周找他的枪，可是在他身边找到的不是那支擦得锃亮的，上好