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 3» BY **- Vl 
 
 company 
 
 John Wilson 
 
 BRnfoetsttS Press : 
 and Son, Cambridge, U.S.A. 
 

 
 
PUBLISHERS' NOTE 
 
 THE text of Rip Van Winkle, as played 
 by Joseph Jefferson, is here for the 
 first time published. The aim has been to sup- 
 ply such illustrations and explanations as will 
 best recall the play to those who have seen it. 
 
 To this end, Mrs. CORA Hamilton Bell has, 
 with Mr. Jefferson's approval, amplified and 
 supplemented the stage directions, and has sup- 
 plied descriptive prefaces to each act. Many 
 of the illustrations are direct reproductions from 
 photographs of Mr. Jefferson in the character of 
 " Rip." Those in the text are mostly from draw- 
 ings by Richard Creifelds, made directly 
 from scenes in the play. 
 
 The portrait is from a photograph of Mr. 
 Jefferson recently taken, and is the one best 
 liked by him. 
 
 Most interesting of all, perhaps, will be the 
 reproductions of paintings by Mr. Jefferson him- 
 self of scenes in the Catskilt Mountains, and the 
 illustration facing page 120, wherein the figure 
 is by F. Eugene Smith, and the background 
 by Mr. Jefferson. 
 
rv- 
 
 Lias 
 
 Page 
 
 Portrait of Joseph Jefferson (from pho- 
 tograph by Pach). Photogravure 
 
 Frontispiece 
 Old Darn in Paradise Valley. Photo- 
 gravure ] 2 
 
 Scene in Catskill Mountains (from paint- 
 ing by Joseph Jefferson). Photo- 
 gravure 22 
 
 Decoration to precede Act 1 23 
 
 Rip Van Winkle 2 5 
 
 " I '11 show you why " 3 1 
 
 " Are you truly miserable with Rip ?" . 34 
 "Looks like the father of the village" 41 
 " Well, here 's your good health." 
 
 Photogravure 4° 
 
 " Suppose you were to hang this bagful 
 
 of money inside " 5 2 
 
 ''Yes, and I'll have Hendrick, too'' 
 
 Photogravure 5^ 
 
 " What are you readin' ? " . . • • 7 1 
 Scene in the Catskill Mountains (from 
 painting by Joseph Jefferson). 
 Photogravure 7 6 
 
ri 
 
 Ll 55 
 
 ^ /o f- luyVzMtion sj^ 
 
 Page 
 Decoration to precede Act II. ... yy 
 " Shall I lay the table for two, mother, 
 or for three?'' S2 
 
 S6 
 
 93 
 106 
 10S 
 
 "4 
 
 " Oh, dear ! did he say so ? " . . 
 " There is some one outside" . . . 
 " How do I know what I got to say to 
 
 that" 
 
 " I rolled over on the other side " . . 
 " Don't cry, my daarlin' " .... 
 " No ; you have driven me from your 
 
 house." Photogravure .... 
 Scene in the Catskill Mountains (from 
 
 painting by Joseph Jefferson). 
 
 Photogravure 116 
 
 Decoration to precede Act III. . . . 117 
 " What 's the matter with Schneider? " 
 
 Photogravure 120 
 
 " What a funny thing is that a comin' 
 
 up the hill ? " . . o . . . . 121 
 
 "Well, I'll help you" 125 
 
 "What for licker is that ! "' . . . . 1^:1 
 
Jiof' luyrszMztonbifa 
 
 Scene in the Catskill Mountains (from 
 
 painting by Joseph Jefferson). 
 
 Photogravure 
 
 Decoration to precede Act IV. . . . 
 
 "Oh, I feel very bad ! " 
 
 " My gun must have cotched the rheu- 
 
 matix too " 
 
 " Why, is that the Village of Falling 
 
 Waters?" 
 
 " Oh, you shall pay for this ! " . . . 
 " Why, what queer looking creature is 
 
 this?' - 
 
 "No. She's alive" 
 
 " No one remembers Rip Van Winkle.'' 
 
 Photogravure 
 
 " If vou come home to-day with red 
 
 eyes 
 
 136 
 
 137 
 140 
 
 M3 
 149 
 
 154 
 164 
 
 176 
 
 "That's just the way I feit for 
 Gretchen " 
 
 " One moment, my dear " . . 
 
 "Ah, my child! Somebody knows 
 me now ! Photogravure . . . 
 
 1S2 
 185 
 
 iSS 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 "DIP VAN WINKLE has been received by 
 the American public for so many years 
 that I feel emboldened to bespeak a little of 
 your favour for his new appearance in another 
 form. This version, now printed for the first 
 time, may be regarded perhaps as a souvenir 
 of a greater number of performances than I 
 can possibly count, and as such I hope may 
 be acceptable. 
 
 I have endeavoured to select from my Auto- 
 biography (with the kind consent of the Cen- 
 tury Company) such passages relating to the 
 history of the play and my performance of the 
 part as may be of interest to the readers of 
 this volume, and to give the desultory gossip 
 of the Autobiography a rather more historical 
 sequence. 
 
 I can lay no claim to having invented Rip. 
 The Greeks knew him; the Germans made a 
 
io INTRODUCTION. 
 
 home for him in their Hartz Mountains, calling 
 him Carl, the Shepherd ; and the genius of 
 Washington Irving transplanted him to our 
 own Kaatskills. Yates, Hackett, and Burke had 
 each made him the hero of separate dramas and 
 representations before I tried my hand upon 
 the legend. 
 
 The idea of acting Rip Van Winkle came to 
 me in the summer of '59. I had arranged to 
 board with my family at a queer old Dutch 
 farm-house in Paradise Valley, at the foot of 
 Pocono Mountain in Pennsylvania. A ridge of 
 hills covered with tall hemlocks surrounds the 
 vale, and numerous trout-streams wind through 
 the meadows and tumble over the rocks. Stray 
 farms are scattered through the valley, and the 
 few old Dutchmen and their families who till 
 the soil were born upon it; there and only 
 there they have ever lived. The valley har- 
 monised with me and our resources. The scene 
 was wild, the air was fresh, and the board was 
 cheap. What could the light heart and purse 
 of a poor actor ask for more than this? 
 
 On one of those long rainy days that always 
 render the country so dull, I had climbed to 
 the loft of the barn, and, lying upon the hay, 
 
INTRODUCTION. 1 1 
 
 was reading that delightful book, " The Life 
 and Letters of Washington Irving." I had got 
 well into the volume, and was much interested 
 in it, when, to my surprise, I came upon a 
 passage which said that he had seen me at 
 Laura Keene's theatre, as Goldfinch, in Holcroft's 
 comedy of "The Road to Ruin," and that I 
 reminded him of my father "in look, gesture, 
 size, and make." Till then, I was not aware 
 that he had ever seen me. I was comparatively 
 obscure, and to find myself remembered and 
 written of by such a man gave me a thrill of 
 pleasure I can never forget. I put down the 
 book, and lay there thinking how proud I was, 
 and ought to be, at the revelation of this com- 
 pliment. What an incentive to a youngster like 
 me to go on ! 
 
 And so I thought to myself, " Washington 
 Irving, the author of ' The Sketch-Book,' in 
 which is the quaint story of Rip Van Winkle." 
 Rip Van Winkle ! There was to me magic in 
 the sound of the name as I repeated it. Why, 
 was not this the very character I wanted? An 
 American story by an American author was 
 surely just the theme suited to an American 
 actor. 
 
12 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 In ten minutes I had gone to the house and 
 returned to the barn with " The Sketch-Book. " 
 I had not read the story since I was a boy. 
 I was disappointed in it; not as a story, of 
 course, but the tale was purely a narrative. 
 The theme was interesting, but not dramatic. 
 The silver Hudson stretches out before you as 
 you read ; the quaint red roofs and queer gables 
 of the old Dutch cottages stand out against the 
 the mist upon the mountains ; but all this is 
 descriptive. The character of Rip does not 
 speak ten lines. What could be done dramati- 
 cally with so simple a sketch? How could it 
 be turned into an effective play? 
 
 Three or four bad dramatisations of the story 
 had already been acted, but without marked 
 success. Yates, of London, had given one in 
 which the hero dies; one had been acted by my 
 father, one by Hackett, and another by Burke. 
 Some of these versions I had remembered when 
 I was a boy, and I should say that Burke's play 
 and the performance were the best ; but nothing 
 that I remembered gave me the slightest en- 
 couragement that I could get a good play out 
 of any of the existing materials. Still, I was so 
 bent upon acting the part that I started for the 
 
INTRODUCTION. I3 
 
 city; and in less than a week, by industriously 
 ransacking the theatrical wardrobe establish- 
 ments for old leather and mildewed cloth, and 
 by personally superintending the making of the 
 wigs, each article of my costume was com- 
 pleted; and all this too before I had written a 
 line of the play or studied a word of the part. 
 
 This is working in an opposite direction from 
 all the conventional methods in the study and 
 elaboration of a dramatic character, and cer- 
 tainly not following the course I would advise 
 any one to pursue. I merely mention the out- 
 of-the-way, upside-down manner of going to 
 work as an illustration of the impatience and 
 enthusiasm with which I entered upon the task. 
 I can only account for my getting the dress 
 ready before I studied the part to the vain 
 desire I had of witnessing myself in the glass, 
 decked out and equipped as the hero of the 
 Kaatskills. 
 
 I got together three old printed versions of 
 the drama and the story itself. The plays were 
 all in two acts. I thought it would be an im- 
 provement in the drama to arrange it in three, 
 making the scene with the spectre crew an act 
 by itself. This would separate the poetical from 
 
i 4 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 the domestic side of the story. But by far the 
 most important alteration was in the interview 
 with the spirits. In the old versions, they spoke 
 and sang. I remember that the effect of this 
 ghostly dialogue was dreadfully human, so I 
 arranged that no voice but Rip's should be 
 heard. This was entirely my own invention. 
 I was quite sure that the silence of the crew 
 would give a lonely and desolate character to 
 the scene, and add to its supernatural weirdness. 
 By this means, too, a strong contrast with the 
 single voice of Rip was obtained by the death- 
 like stillness of the " demons " as they glided 
 about the stage in solemn silence. It required 
 some thought to hit upon just the best ques- 
 tions that could be answered by a nod and 
 shake of the head, and to arrange that at times 
 even Rip should propound a query to himself, 
 and answer it; but I availed myself of so much 
 of the old material that in a few days after I 
 had begun my work, it was finished. 
 
 In the seclusion of the barn, I studied and 
 rehearsed the part; and by the end of the 
 summer, I was prepared to transplant it from 
 the rustic realms of an old farm-house to a 
 cosmopolitan audience, in the city of Washing- 
 
Scene in the Catskill Mountains. 
 From Painting by Joseph Jefferson. 
 
\ 
 
INTRODUCTION. 15 
 
 ton, where I opened at Carusi's Hall, under the 
 management of John T. Raymond. I had gone 
 over the play so thoroughly that each situa- 
 tion was fairly engraved on my mind. The 
 rehearsals were therefore not tedious to the 
 actors ; no one was delayed that I might con- 
 sider how he or she should be disposed of in 
 the scene. I had by repeated experiments so 
 saturated myself with the action of the play that 
 a few days served to perfect the rehearsals. I 
 acted, on these occasions, with all the point and 
 feeling that I could muster. This answered the 
 double purpose of giving me freedom, and 
 observing the effect of what I was doing on 
 the actors. They seemed to be watching me 
 closely, and I could tell by little nods of approval 
 when the points hit. 
 
 To be brief, the play was acted with a result 
 that was, to me, both satisfactory and disap- 
 pointing. I was quite sure that the character 
 was what I had been seeking, and I was equally 
 satisfied that the play was not. The action had 
 neither the body nor the strength to carry the 
 hero ; the spiritual quality was there, but the 
 human interest was wanting. 
 
 This defect was not remedied until five years 
 
1 6 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 later, when I met Dion Boucicault, in London. 
 Then, he agreed to rewrite the drama for a 
 consideration agreed upon between us. He 
 never seemed to think much of his labour in 
 this play; but I did, and do still, with good 
 reason. 
 
 His version was still cast in three acts. Later, 
 I divided the first act into two, making the end 
 of the dance the end of an act, rather than the 
 end of a scene, and enlarged and strengthened 
 it in various ways suggested by my experience. 
 It will thus be seen that the play is by no 
 means the work of one mind, but both as to 
 its narrative and dramatic form, has been often 
 moulded, and by many hands. 
 
 In acting the part of Rip, I have always 
 found that what to do was simple enough, but 
 what not to do was the important and difficult 
 point to determine. The earlier scenes of the 
 play being of a natural and domestic character, 
 I had only to draw upon my experience for 
 their effect. But from the moment Rip meets 
 the spirits of Hendrick Hudson and his crew, 
 I felt that the colloquial speech and lazy and 
 commonplace actions of Rip should cease. 
 After he meets the elves, in the third act, the 
 
 
INTRODUCTION. 1 7 
 
 play drifts from realism into idealism, and be- 
 comes poetical. After this, it is a fairy tale, 
 and the prosaic elements of the character should 
 be eliminated. 
 
 Rip's sympathy with nature is always very 
 keen, and he talks to the trees and his dog as 
 if they were human. The fairy element in the 
 play seems to be attached to it as the fairy 
 element in a " Midsummer Night's Dream." 
 And because Rip is a fairy, he neither laughs 
 nor eats in the fourth act. For this reason, 
 also, when they wanted me to reform at the end 
 of the play, I said, "No. Should Rip refuse 
 the cup, the drama would become a temperance 
 play; and I should as soon expect to hear of 
 Cinderella striking for higher wages, or of a 
 speech on Woman's Rights from Old Mother 
 Hubbard, as to listen to a temperance lecture 
 from Rip Van Winkle. It would take all the 
 poetry completely out of it." So one might 
 suppose that when Rip wakes up, he would 
 yawn; but a yawn, being expressive of a night's 
 sleep, would destroy the harmony of the twenty 
 years' sleep. If the sleep of twenty years were 
 merely incongruous, there would be room for 
 argument pro and con; but being an impossi- 
 
iS INTRODUCTION. 
 
 bility, the mind accepts it, not because it is an 
 impossibility, but from curiosity to know the 
 psychological result if such an event could 
 happen. And it is this strange and original 
 attitude of the characters that has kept my 
 interest in it alive for so many years. 
 
 I have never " staged " Rip with the realism 
 in fashion of late years, though I have had 
 various suggestions made to me for elaborating 
 the spectacular and scenic effects of the play, 
 among which were the introduction of several 
 fat old Knickerbockers smoking their long 
 pipes and quarrelling in Dutch ; a large wind- 
 mill, with sails to work ; dairy-maids, with real 
 cows; mechanical effects for the sudden and 
 mysterious appearance and disappearance of 
 Hendrick Hudson's crew; and, in the last act, 
 the Continental army with drums and fifes; a 
 militia training; and the further introduction of 
 patriotic speeches about American independence. 
 
 So unreal a theme could not have been inter- 
 woven with all this realism without marring 
 the play. 
 
 For this reason, when a lady once asked me, 
 "Why don't you have a dog in the play?" 
 I replied that I disliked realism in art; and 
 
INTRODUCTION. i 9 
 
 realism alive, with a tail to wag at the wrong 
 time, would be abominable. 
 
 "But don't you think that the public would 
 like to see Schneider?" 
 
 "The public could not pay him a higher 
 compliment, for it shows how great an interest 
 they take in an animal that has never been 
 exhibited. No, no; 'hold the mirror up to 
 nature,' if you like, but don't hold nature up, — 
 a reflection of the thing, but not the thing 
 itself. How badly would a drunken man give 
 an exhibition of intoxication on the stage ? 
 Who shall act as a madman but one who is 
 perfectly sane? We must not be natural, but 
 appear to be so." 
 
 So, too, I have never felt that the dialect was 
 an important element in the presentation of the 
 character. I do not make it so prominent or 
 so consistent as they would do in a variety show. 
 If I were to do that, I would destroy the larger 
 element. I am a Pennsylvanian myself, and I 
 lived very much among the Pennsylvania Dutch 
 in the mountains, when I was studying the part, 
 and I got the flavour of it; but I regard it only 
 ■as an accompaniment. 
 
 I would like to repeat here a curious incident 
 
20 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 connected with " Rip Van Winkle," and I have 
 done. 
 
 There is in the village of Catskill a Rip Van 
 Winkle Club. This society did me the honour to 
 invite me to act the character in their town. I 
 accepted, and when I arrived was met by the 
 worthy president and other members of the club, 
 among whom was young Nicholas Vedder, who 
 claimed to be a lineal descendant of the original 
 "Old Nick." Emulating the spirit of evolution, 
 the citizens had turned the skating-rink into a 
 theatre, and a very respectable-looking establish- 
 ment it made, though in its transition state the 
 mark of rollers did " cling to it still." I was 
 taking a cup of tea at the table in the hotel, 
 when I was attracted to the coloured waiter, who 
 was giving a graphic and detailed account of 
 this legend of the Kaatskill Mountains to one 
 of the boarders who sat nearly opposite to me. 
 
 " Yes, sah," he continued ; " Rip went up into 
 de mountain, slep' for twenty years, and when he 
 came back hyar, in dis berry town, his own folks 
 didn'y know him." 
 
 " Why," said his listener, " you don't believe 
 the story 's true? " 
 
 "True? Ob course it is; why," pointing at 
 me, " dat 's de man." 
 
INTRODUCTION. 21 
 
 The town was filled with farmers and their 
 wives, who had come from far and near to see 
 the opening of the new theatre, and also, I think 
 I may say, to see for the first time on the stage 
 the story which Washington Irving had laid 
 almost at their very doors. 
 
 As I drove to the theatre, the rain came down 
 in torrents, the thunder rolled, and the lightning 
 played around the peaks of the distant moun- 
 tains under the very shadow of which I was to 
 act the play. It gave me a very strange sensa- 
 tion. When I got to the theatre, I could scarcely 
 get in, the crowd was so great about the door, — 
 countrymen trying to get into the ticket-office 
 instead of the proper entrance, and anxious and 
 incredulous old ladies endeavouring to squeeze 
 past the doorkeeper, but refusing to give up their 
 tickets. The rush over, the play began. The 
 audience was intent on the scene as it progressed, 
 and seemed anxious not to lose a word. During 
 the scene in the last act where Rip inquires of 
 the innkeeper, " Is this the village of Falling 
 Waters? " I altered the text, and substituted the 
 correct name, " Is this the village of Catskill?" 
 The crowded house almost held its breath. The 
 name of the village seemed to brincr the scene 
 
22 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 home to every man, woman, and child that was 
 looking at it. From this time on the interest was 
 at its full tension. Surely, I had never seen an 
 audience so struck with the play before. 
 
 There was a reception held at the club after 
 the play, and the worthy president, in introduc- 
 ing me to the company, was so nervous that he 
 announced me as "Mr. Washington Irving." 
 
 Joseph Jefferson. 
 
 New York, 
 
 October, 1895. 
 
RIP VAN WINKLE. 
 
 ACT I. 
 Scene i. 
 
 The village of Falling Waters, set amid 
 familiar and unmistakable Hudson River 
 scenery, with the shining river itself and 
 the noble heights of the Kaatskills visible 
 in the distance. In the foreground, to the 
 left of the stage, is a country inn bearing 
 the sign of George III. In the wall of the 
 inn, a window closed by a solid wooden 
 shutter. To the right of the stage, an old 
 cottage with a door opening into the inte- 
 rior; before the cottage stands a bench 
 holding a wash-tub, with washboard, soap, 
 and clothes in the tub. In the centre of 
 the stage, a table and chairs, and on the 
 table a stone pitcher and two tin cups. 
 As the curtain rises, Gretchen is discovered 
 washing, and little Meenie sitting near by 
 on a low stool. The sound of a chorus 
 and laughter comes from the inn. 
 
 Gretchex. 
 Shouting and drinking day and night. 
 
 Laughter is heard from the inn. 
 
2 8 RIP VAN WINKLE. 
 
 Hark how they crow over their cups while 
 their wives are working at home, and their chil- 
 dren are starving. 
 
 Enter Derrick from the inn with a green bag, 
 
 followed by Nick Vedder. Derrick places 
 
 his green bag on the table. 
 
 Derrick. 
 Not a day, not an hour. If the last two 
 quarters' rent be not paid by this time to-mor- 
 row, out you go ! 
 
 Nick. 
 Oh, come, Derrick, you won't do it. Let 
 us have a glass, and talk the matter over ; 
 good liquor opens the heart. Here, Hendrick ! 
 
 Hendrick ! Enter Hendrick. 
 
 Hendrick. 
 Yes, father. 
 
 Derrick. 
 
 So that is your brat? 
 
 Nick. 
 Yes, that is my boy. 
 
 Derrick. 
 Then the best I can wish him is that he won't 
 take after his father, and become a vagabond and 
 a penniless outcast. 
 
RIP VAN WINKLE. 29 
 
 Nick. 
 Those are hard words to hear in the presence 
 of my child. 
 
 Hendrick. 
 Then why don't you knock him down, father? 
 
 Gretchen. 
 I '11 tell you why — 
 
 Derrick. 
 Gretchen ! 
 
 Gretchen. 
 
 Wiping her arms and coming to front of tub. 
 It is because your father is in that man's 
 power. And what 's the use of getting a man 
 down, if you don't trample on him? 
 
 Nick. 
 Oh, that is the way of the world. 
 
 Gretchen. 
 
 To Hendrick. 
 Go in, boy. I want to speak to your father, 
 and my words may not be fit for you to hear. 
 Yonder is my little girl ; go and play with her. 
 
 Hendrick and Meenie exeunt into the cottage. 
 
 Gretchen. 
 Now, Derrick, Vedder is right : you won't turn 
 him out of his house yonder. 
 
3 o RIP VAN WINKLE. 
 
 Derrick. 
 And why not? Don't he owe me a year's 
 rent? 
 
 Gretchen. 
 
 And what do you owe him? Shall I sum up 
 
 your accounts for you? Ten years ago, this 
 
 was a quiet village, and belonged mostly to my 
 
 husband, Rip Van Winkle, a foolish, idle fellow. 
 
 That house yonder has since been his ruin. 
 
 Yes ; bit by bit, he has parted with all he had, 
 
 to fill the mouths of sots and boon companions, 
 
 gathered around him in yonder house. And 
 
 you, Derrick, — you supplied him with the money 
 
 to waste in riot and drink. Acre by acre, you've 
 
 sucked in his land to swell your store. Yonder 
 
 miserable cabin is the only shelter we have left; 
 
 but that is mine. Had it been his, he would 
 
 have sold it to you, Derrick, long ago, and 
 
 wasted its price in riot. 
 
 Vedder, who has been enjoying Derrick's 
 discomfiture during this speech, is unable 
 to control himself, and at the end of speech 
 bursts into a loud laugh. 
 
 Gretchen. 
 Aye, and you too, Nick Vedder; you have 
 ruined my husband between you. 
 
RIP VAN WINKLE. 
 
 3 1 
 
 Nick. 
 Oh, come, Mrs. Van Winkle, you 're too hard. 
 I could n't refuse Rip's money in the way of 
 business ; I had my rent to pay. 
 
 Gretchen. 
 
 And shall I tell you why you can't pay it? it 
 is because you have given Rip credit, and he 
 
 has ended by drinking 
 you out of house and 
 home. Your win- 
 dow-shutter is not 
 wide enough to hold 
 the score against 
 him; it is full of 
 chalk. Deny it if 
 you can. 
 
 Nick. 
 I do deny it. 
 There now ! 
 
 Gretchen. 
 Then why do you keep that shutter closed? 
 
 I '11 show you why. 
 
 Goes to inn, opens shutter, holds it open, 
 pointing at Rip's score. 
 That 's whv. 
 
32 RIP VAN WINKLE. 
 
 Nick Vedder, you 're a good man in the main, 
 
 if there is such a thing. 
 
 Derrick laughs. 
 Aye, and I doubt it 
 
 Turning on him. 
 
 But you are the pest of this village ; and the 
 hand of every woman in it ought to help to 
 pull down that drunkard's nest of yours, stone 
 by stone. 
 
 Nick. 
 
 Come, Dame Van Winkle, you 're too hard 
 entire ; now a man must have his odd time, and 
 he 's none the worse for being a jolly dog. 
 
 GRETCHEN. 
 No, none the worse. He sings a good song ; he 
 tells a good story, — oh, he's a glorious fellow! 
 Did you ever see the wife of a jolly dog? Well, 
 she lives in a kennel. Did you ever see the 
 children of a jolly dog? They are the street 
 curs, and their home is the gutter. 
 
 Goes up to wash-tub, and takes revenge on 
 the clothing she scrubs. 
 
 Nick. 
 
 Getting up and approaching Gretchen timidly. 
 
 I tell you what it is, Dame Van Winkle, I 
 
 don't know what your home may be, but judg- 
 
RIP VAN WINKLE. 33 
 
 ing from the rows I hear over there, and the 
 
 damaged appearance of Rip's face after having 
 
 escaped your clutches — 
 
 Gretchen looks up angrily ; Nick retreats a 
 few paces hastily — 
 
 I should say that a gutter was a luxurious abode 
 
 compared with it, and a kennel a peaceful 
 
 retreat. 
 
 Exit hurriedly, laughing, into the inn. Gretchen 
 looks up angrily, and throws the cloth she 
 has been wringing after him, then re- 
 sumes washing. Derrick laughs at Ved- 
 der's exit, walks up to Gretchen, and puts 
 one foot on bench. 
 
 Derrick. 
 Is it true, Gretchen? Are you truly miserable 
 with Rip? ^ 
 
 Gretchen. 
 
 Ain't you pleased to hear it? Come then and 
 warm your heart at my sorrow. Ten years ago 
 I might have had you, Derrick. But I despised 
 you for your miserly ways, and threw myself 
 away on a vagabond. 
 
 Derrick. 
 You and I shared him between us. I took his 
 estate, and you took his person. Now, I 've 
 improved my half. What have you done with 
 yours? 
 
34 
 
 RIP VAN WINKLE. 
 
 Gretchen. 
 
 I can't say that I Ve prospered with it. I 've 
 
 tried every means to reclaim him, but he is as 
 
 obstinate and perverse as a Dutch pig. But the 
 
 worst in him — and what I can't stand — is his 
 
 good-humour. It drives me 
 
 frantic when, night after night, 
 
 he comes home drunk and 
 
 ] helplessly good - humoured ! 
 
 Oh, I can't stand that! 
 
 Derrick. 
 Where is he now? 
 
 Gretchen. 
 We had a tiff yes- 
 terday, and he started. 
 He has been out all 
 night. Only wait un- 
 til he comes back! The longer he stops out, 
 the worse it will be for him. 
 
 Derrick. 
 Gretchen, you 've made a great mistake, but 
 there is time enough to repair it. You are 
 
RIP VAN WINKLE. 35 
 
 comely still, thrifty, and that hard sort of grain 
 that I most admire in woman. 
 
 Looks cautiously around. Leans on tub 
 Why not start Rip for ever, and share my for- 
 tune? 
 
 Gretchen. 
 Oh, no, Derrick ; you 've got my husband in 
 your clutches, but you can't get them around me. 
 If Rip would only mend his ways, he would see 
 how much I love him; but no woman could love 
 you, Derrick; for woman is not a domestic ani- 
 mal, glad to serve and fawn upon a man for the 
 food and shelter she can get ; and that is all she 
 would ever get from you, Derrick. 
 
 Piling the clothes on the washboard, and 
 shouldering it. 
 
 Derrick. 
 
 The time may come when you '11 change your 
 tune. 
 
 Gretchen. 
 
 Not while Rip lives, bad as he is. 
 
 Exit into cottage. 
 
 Derrtck. 
 Then I '11 wait until you 've killed him. Her 
 spirit is not broken yet. But patience, Derrick, 
 
3 6 RIP VAN WINKLE. 
 
 patience; in another month I'll have my claws 
 
 on all that remains of Rip's property, — yonder 
 
 cottage and grounds ; then I '11 try you again, 
 
 my lady. 
 
 Enter Cockles, with papers in his hand, run- 
 ning towards the inn. 
 
 Derrick. 
 How now, you imp? What brings you here so 
 full of a hurry? Some mischief's in your head, 
 or your heels would not be so busy. 
 
 Cockles. 
 
 I 've brought a letter for you from my employer. 
 
 There it is. 
 
 Derrick. 
 
 Examining letter. 
 Why, the seal is broken ! 
 
 Cockles. 
 Yes ; I read it as I came along. 
 
 Derrick. 
 Now I apprenticed this vagabond to my law- 
 yer, and this is his gratitude. 
 
 Cockles. 
 Don't waste your breath, Nunky, for you '11 
 want it; for when you read that, if it don't take 
 you short in the wind I '11 admire you. 
 
RIP VAN WINKLE. 37 
 
 Derrick. 
 
 Reads. 
 " You must obtain from Rip Van Winkle a 
 proper conveyance of the lands he has sold to 
 you. The papers he has signed are in fact noth- 
 ing but mortgages on his estate. If you fore- 
 close, you must sell the property, which has 
 lately much advanced in value ; and it would sell 
 for enough to pay off your loan, and all your 
 improvements would enure to the benefit of Rip 
 Van Winkle." 
 
 Cockles. 
 
 There, now, see what you Ve been doing of! — 
 wasting your money and my expectations on 
 another chap's property. Do you want to leave 
 me a beggar? 
 
 Derrick. 
 
 Reads. 
 " I enclose a deed for him to sign that will 
 make him safe." 
 
 Cockles. 
 Of course he '11 sign it ; he won't wait to be 
 asked — he '11 be in such a hurry. 
 
 Derrick. 
 All my savings — all my money — sunk in 
 improving this village ! 
 
3 8 RIP VAN WINKLE. 
 
 Cockles. 
 Yes, instead of physicking Rip, as you thought, 
 you 've been coddling him all the while. 
 
 Derrick. 
 
 All these houses I 've built are on another 
 man's land. What shall I do? 
 
 Cockles. 
 Pull them down again ; pull them down. 
 
 Derrick. 
 Ass ! — dolt that I have been ! 
 
 Cockles. 
 Calling yourself names won't mend it, Nunky. 
 
 Derrick. 
 
 The imp is right. Rip must be made to sign 
 this paper. But how — how? 
 
 Cockles. 
 How? How? How 's a big word sometimes, 
 ain't it, Nunky? 
 
 Derrick. 
 Rip would not do it if he knew what he was 
 about. But he can't read — nor write, for the 
 
RIP VAN WINKLE. 39 
 
 matter of that. But he can make his cross, and 
 I can cajole him. 
 
 Cockles. 
 Look sharp, Nunky. The man that 's looking 
 round for a fool, and picks up Rip Van Winkle, 
 will let him drop again very quick. 
 
 Derrick. 
 He is poor: I '11 show him a handful of money. 
 He's a drunkard: I'll give him a stomachful of 
 liquor. Go in, boy, and leave me to work this; 
 and let this be a lesson to you hereafter: beware 
 of the fatal effects of poverty and drink. 
 
 Cockles. 
 Yes, — and parting with my money on bad 
 
 security. 
 
 Exit. Laughter outside. 
 
 Derrick. 
 
 Here he comes now, surrounded by all the 
 
 dogs and children in the district. They cling 
 
 around him like flies around a lump of sugar. 
 
 Rip enters, running and skipping, carrying 
 one small child pickaback, and surrounded 
 by a swarm of others hanging on the skirts 
 of his coat. He is laughing like a child 
 himself, and his merry blue eyes twinkle 
 
4 o RIP VAN WINKLE. 
 
 with delight. He is dressed in an old deer- 
 skin coat, a pair oi breeches which had 
 once been red, now tattered, patched, and 
 frayed, leather gaiters and shoes equally 
 dilapidated, a shapeless felt hat with a bit 
 of the brim hanging loose, — the whole 
 stained and weatherworn to an almost uni- 
 form clay-colour, except for the bright blue 
 of his jean shirt and the scarlet of his long 
 wisp of a necktie. One of the boys carries 
 his gun. 
 
 Rip. 
 
 Taking his gun from the boy. 
 There, run along rnit you ; run along. 
 
 Derrick. 
 
 The children scamper off. 
 The vagabond looks like the father of the 
 village. 
 
 Rip. 
 
 Who has stood laughing, and watching the 
 children, suddenly calls after them. 
 
 Hey! You let my dog Schneider alone there; 
 you hear that Sock der Jacob dcr bist cine for 
 donner spits poo — yah — 
 
 Derrick. 
 Why, what's the matter, Rip? 
 
RIP VAN WINKLE. 
 
 4i 
 
 RIP. 
 
 Coming down, and shaking hands with Derrick. 
 Oh, how you was, Derrick? how you was? 
 
 
 Derrick. 
 You seem in trouble. 
 
42 RIP VAN WINKLE. 
 
 RIP. 
 Oh, yah; you know them fellers. Veil, I tole 
 you such a funny thing. 
 
 Laughing. 
 
 Just now, as me and Schneider was comin' along 
 through the willage, — Schneider 's my dawg ; I 
 don't know whether you know him ? 
 
 Rip always speaks of Schneider at if he were 
 a person, and one in whom his hearer took 
 as profound an interest as he does himself. 
 
 Well, them fellers went an' tied a tin kettle mit 
 Schneider's tail, and how he did run then, mit the 
 kettle hanging about. Well, I did n't hi him 
 comin'. He run betwixt me an' my legs, an' 
 spilt me an' all them children in the mud ; — 
 yah, that 's a fact. 
 
 Rip leans his gun against the cottage 
 
 Derrick. 
 
 Aside. 
 Now 's my time. 
 
 Aloud. 
 Vedder ! Vedder ! 
 
 Vedder appears at the door of the inn. 
 
 Bring us a bottle of liquor. Bring us your best, 
 and be quick. 
 
RIP VAN WINKLE. A * 
 
 Nick. 
 What's in the wind now? The devil 's to pay 
 when Derrick stands treat ! 
 
 Exit. Re-enters, with bottle and cups in left 
 hand. Hands bottle to Derrick. 
 
 Rip lounges forward, and perches on the cor- 
 ner of the table. 
 
 Derrick. 
 
 Rising and approaching Rip. 
 Come, Rip, what do you say to a glass? 
 
 Rip. 
 
 Takes a cup, and holds it to be filled. 
 Oh, yah; now what do I generally say to a 
 glass? I say it's a fine thing — when there's 
 plenty in it. (Ve gates ! Ve gates !) 
 
 Shakes hands with Nick. 
 An' then I says more to what 's in it than I do to 
 the glass. Now you would n't believe it, — that 's 
 the first one I 've had to-day. 
 
 Derrick. 
 How so ? 
 
 Rip. 
 
 ., ^ Dryly. 
 
 Because I could n't get it before, I suppose. 
 
 Derrick. 
 Then let me fill him up for you. 
 
44 RIP VAN WINKLE. 
 
 Rip. 
 
 No, that is enough for the first one. 
 
 Nick. 
 Come, Rip, a bumper for the first one. 
 
 Rip. 
 
 That is enough for the first one. 
 
 Derrick. 
 Come, Rip, let me fill him up for you. 
 
 Rip. 
 
 With ludicrous decision and dignity. 
 I believe I know how much to drink. When I 
 says a thing, I mean it. 
 
 Derrick. 
 Oh, well — 
 
 Turns aside, and starts to fill his own cup. 
 
 Rip. 
 
 All right ; come along. 
 
 Holding out his glass, and laughing at his 
 own inconsistency. 
 
 Here 's your good health and your families', and 
 
 may they live long and prosper ! 
 
 They all drink. At the end, Nick smacks his 
 lips and exclaims " Ah ! " Derrick repeats 
 same, and Rip repeats after Derrick. 
 
RIP VAN WINKLE. 45 
 
 Rip. 
 
 To Nick, sadly. 
 
 Ah, you may well go " Ah ! " and smack your 
 
 chops over that. You don't give me such 
 
 schnapps when I come. Derrick, my score is 
 
 too big now. 
 
 Jerking his head towards the shutter, he 
 notices for the first time that it is open. 
 
 What you go and open that window for? — 
 That 's fine schnapps, Nick. Where you got 
 that? 
 
 Nick. 
 
 That's high Dutch, Rip, — high Dutch, and 
 ten years in bottle. Why, I had that in the very 
 day of your wedding. We broached the keg 
 under yonder shed. Don't you recollect? 
 
 Rip. 
 Is that the same? 
 
 Nick. 
 Yes. 
 
 Rip. 
 
 I thought I knowed that licker. You had it 
 ten years ago ? 
 
 Laughing suddenly 
 I would not have kept it so long. But stop, 
 mein freund ; that's more than ten years ago. 
 
46 RIP VAN WINKLE. 
 
 Nick. 
 No, it ain't. 
 
 Rip. 
 It 's the same day I got married ? 
 
 Nick. 
 Yes. 
 
 Rip. 
 Well, I know by that. You think I forgot the 
 day I got married? Oh, no, my friend; I re- 
 member that day long as I live. 
 
 Serious for a moment. Takes off his hat, 
 and puts it on the table. 
 
 Derrick. 
 Ah ! Rip, I remember Gretchen then, ten 
 years ago. — Zounds, how I envied you ! 
 
 Rip. 
 
 Looking up, surprised. 
 Did you? 
 
 Winks at Nick. Then, suddenly remembering. 
 
 So did I. You did n't know what was comin', 
 Derrick. 
 
 Derrick. 
 
 She was a beauty. 
 
RIP VAN WINKLE. 47 
 
 Rip. 
 What, Gretchen? — Yes, she was. She was a 
 pretty girl. My! My! Yah, we was a fine 
 couple altogether. Well, come along. 
 
 Holding out his cup to Derrick, who fills it 
 from the bottle. 
 
 Nick. 
 Yes, come along. 
 
 Takes water pitcher from table, and starts to 
 fill up Rip's cup. Rip stops him. 
 
 Rip. 
 
 Who has been lounging against the table, sits 
 on it. and puts his feet on the chair. 
 
 Stop ! I come along mitou't that, Nick Vedder. 
 
 Sententiously, 
 
 Good licker and water is like man and wife. 
 
 Derrick and Nick. 
 How's that, Rip? 
 
 Rip. 
 
 Laughing. 
 
 They don't agree together. I always like my 
 
 licker single. Well, here 's your good health, 
 
 and your families', and may they live long and 
 
 prosper ! 
 
 They all drink. 
 
4 8 RIP VAN WINKLE. 
 
 Nick. 
 That's right, Rip; drink away, and drown 
 your sorrow. 
 
 Rip. 
 
 D roily. 
 Yes ; but she won't drown. My wife is my 
 sorrow, and you cannick drown her. She tried 
 it once, but could n't do it. 
 
 Derrick and Nick. 
 Why, how so? 
 
 Rip. 
 
 Puts down his cup and clasps his knee, still 
 perched on the corner of the table. 
 
 Did n't you know that Gretchen like to got 
 drown? 
 
 Derrick and Nick. 
 No. 
 
 Rip. 
 
 Puts hat on. 
 
 That's the funniest thing of the whole of it. 
 
 It s the same day I got married ; she was 
 
 comin' across the river there in the ferry-boat 
 
 to get married mit me — 
 
 Derrick and Nick. 
 Yes. 
 
 Rip. 
 Well, the boat she was comin' in got upsetted. 
 
RIP VAN WINKLE. 49 
 
 Derrick and Nick. 
 Ah! 
 
 Rip. 
 Well, but she was n't in it. 
 
 Derrick and Nick. 
 Oh! 
 
 Rip. 
 
 Explaining quite seriously. 
 
 No, that 's what I say : if she had been in the 
 
 boat what got upsetted, maybe she might have 
 
 got drowned. 
 
 More and more reflective. 
 
 I don't know how it was she got left some- 
 how or other. Women is always behind that 
 way — always. 
 
 Derrick. 
 But surely, Rip, you would have risked your 
 life to save such a glorious creature as she was. 
 
 Rip. 
 
 Incredulously. 
 You mean I would yump in and pull Gretchen 
 out? 
 
 Derrick. 
 Yes. 
 
5 o RIP VAN WINKLE. 
 
 Rip. 
 
 Oh, would I ? 
 
 Suddenly remembering. 
 
 Oh, you mean then — yes, I believe I would 
 
 then. 
 
 With simple conviction. 
 
 But it would be more my duty now than it 
 
 was then. 
 
 Derrick. 
 How so? 
 
 Rip. 
 
 Quite seriously. 
 Why, you see when a feller gets married a 
 good many years mit his wife, he gets very 
 much attached to her 
 
 Nick. 
 
 Pompously. 
 Ah, he does indeed. 
 
 Rip. 
 
 Winks at Derrick, and points at Nick with 
 his thumb. 
 
 But if Mrs. Van Winkle was a-drowning in 
 
 the water now, an' she says to me, " Rip, come 
 
 an' save your wife ! " I would say, " Mrs. Van 
 
 Winkle, I will yust go home and think about 
 
 it." Oh, no, Derrick, if ever Gretchcn tumbles 
 
 in the water, she's got to swim now, you mind 
 
 that. 
 
RIP VAN WINKLE. 51 
 
 Derrick. 
 
 She was here just now, anxiously expecting 
 
 you home. 
 
 Rip. 
 
 I know she 's keeping it hot for me. 
 
 Nick. 
 What, your dinner, Rip? 
 
 Rip. 
 No, the broomstick. 
 
 Exit Nick into house, laughing. 
 
 Rip. 
 
 Confidentially. 
 Derrick, whenever I come back from the 
 mountains, I always stick the game-bag in the 
 window and creep in behind. 
 
 Derrick. 
 
 Seating himself on the table by the side of 
 Rip. 
 Have you anything now? 
 
 Rip. 
 
 Dropping into the chair Derrick has just 
 left. Leaning back, and putting hands 
 behind his head. 
 
 What for game? No, not a tail, I believe, 
 
 not a feather. 
 
 With humorous indifference. 
 
52 
 
 RIP VAN WINKLE. 
 
 Derrick. 
 
 Touching Rip on the shoulder and shaking 
 a bag of money. 
 
 Rip, suppose you were to hang this bagful of 
 
 money inside, don't you think it would soothe 
 
 her down, eh ? 
 
 Rip. 
 
 Sitting up. 
 For me, is that? 
 
 Derrick. 
 Yes. 
 
 Rip. 
 
 With a shrewd 
 glance. 
 
 Ain't you yokin' 
 mit me? 
 
 Derrick. 
 No, Rip, I 've prospered with the lands you 've 
 sold me, and I '11 let you have a loan on easy 
 terms. I '11 take no interest. 
 
 Rip. 
 
 Getting up and walking forward, with decision. 
 No, I 'm afraid I might pay you again some 
 day, Derrick. 
 
RIP VAN WINKLE. 53 
 
 Derrick. 
 
 And so you shall, Rip, pay me when you 
 
 please. 
 
 Puts the bag in Rip's hands, and forces his 
 
 ringers over it, turns, and goes to table, 
 
 speaking as he goes. 
 
 Say, in twenty years, — twenty years from this 
 
 day. Ah, where shall we be then? 
 
 Rip. 
 
 Quizzically, and half to himself. 
 I don't know about myself; but I think I can 
 guess where you '11 be about that time. 
 
 Takes chair and sits down. 
 
 Derrick. 
 Well, Rip, I'll just step into the inn and 
 draw out a little acknowledgment. 
 
 Rip. 
 
 Who has been sitting, leaning forward with 
 his elbows on his knees, softly chinking 
 the bag of money in his hand, looks up 
 suddenly. 
 
 Knowledgment— for what is that? 
 
 Derrick. 
 Yes, for you to put your cross to. 
 
54 RIP VAN WINKLE. 
 
 RIP. 
 
 Indifferently. 
 All right; bring it along. 
 
 Derrick. 
 No fear of Gretchen now, eh, Rip? 
 
 Rip. 
 
 Plunged in thought. 
 Oh, no. 
 
 Derrick. 
 You feel quite comfortable now, don't you, 
 Rip? 
 
 Oh, yah ! 
 
 Exit into inn. 
 
 Rip. 
 
 Suddenly becoming serious and much mysti- 
 fied at Derrick's conduct. 
 
 Well, I don't know about that, Derrick ! 
 
 Derrick ! 
 
 Holding up the bag and chinking it. 
 
 It don't chink like good money neither. It 
 
 rattles like a snake in a hole. 
 
 Grimly. 
 
 Gretchen. 
 
 Inside the cottage. 
 Out with that lazy, idle cur! I won't have him 
 here. Out, I sav ! 
 
RIP VAN WINKLE. 55 
 
 Rip. 
 
 I 'm glad I 'm not in there now. I believe 
 
 that's Schneider what she's lickin' ; he won't 
 
 have any backbone left in him. 
 
 Sadly. 
 
 I would rather she would lick me than the 
 
 dog ; I 'm more used to it than he is. 
 
 Gets up, and looks in at the window. 
 
 There she is at the wash-tub. 
 
 Admiring her energy, almost envying it. 
 
 What a hard-workin' woman that is ! Well, 
 
 somebody must do it, I suppose. 
 
 With the air of a profound moral reflection. 
 
 She 's comin' here now ; she 's got some 
 
 broomstick mit her, too. 
 
 Rip snatches up his gun and slinks off 
 around the corner of the house. 
 
 Enter Gretchen with broomstick, followed 
 by Hendrick and Meenie, carrying clothes- 
 basket. 
 
 Gretchen. 
 Come along, children. Now, you take the 
 washing down to Dame Van Sloe's, then call at 
 the butcher's and tell him that my husband has 
 not got back yet, so I will have to go down 
 myself to the marsh, and drive up the bull we 
 
56 RIP VAN WINKLE. 
 
 have sold to him. Tell him the beast shall be 
 
 in his stable in half an hour; so let him have 
 
 the money ready to pay me for it. 
 
 During this Rip has crept in and sat on the 
 bench by the side of the tub behind 
 Gretchen. 
 
 Ah, it is the last head of cattle we have left. 
 Houses, lands, beasts, everything gone, — every- 
 thing except a drunken beast who nobody 
 would buy or accept as a gift. 
 
 Rip ! Rip ! wait until I get you home ! 
 
 Threatening an imaginary Rip with broom- 
 stick. 
 
 With a comical grimace, Rip tiptoes back 
 behind the house. 
 
 Come, children, to work, to work ! 
 
 Exit. 
 Re-enter Rip cautiously. 
 
 Rip. 
 
 Laughing to himself. 
 
 She gone to look after the bull. She better 
 
 not try the broomstick on him ; he won't stand 
 
 it. 
 
 Drops into the chair with his back to the 
 
 audience. 
 
 Hendrick. 
 Oh, Meenie, there 's your father. 
 
RIP VAN WINKLE. 57 
 
 RIP. 
 
 Holds out his arms, and Meenie runs into 
 
 them. 
 Taking her in his arms, and embracing her 
 
 with great tenderness. 
 
 Ah, little god, was you glad to see your 
 father come home? 
 
 Meenie. 
 Oh, yes ! 
 
 Rip. 
 
 Holding her close. 
 
 I don't believe it, was you? Come here. 
 
 Getting up and leading her to the chair by 
 the side of the table. 
 
 Let me look at you ; I don't see you for such 
 a long time; come here. I don't deserve to 
 have a thing like that belong to me. 
 
 Takes his hat off as if in reverence. 
 
 You're too good for a drunken, lazy feller 
 like me, that 's a fact. 
 
 Bites his underlip, looks up, and brushes 
 away a tear. 
 
 Meenie. 
 
 Kneeling by him. 
 Oh, no, you are a good papa! 
 
5 8 RIP VAN WINKLE. 
 
 Rip. 
 
 No, I was n't : no good father would go and 
 
 rob his child ; that 's what I 've done. Why, 
 
 don't you know, Meenie, all the houses and 
 
 lands in the village was mine — they would all 
 
 have been yours when you grew up? Where 
 
 they gone now? I gone drunk 'em up, that's 
 
 where they gone. Hendrick, you just take 
 
 warnin' by that ; that 's what licker do ; see 
 
 that? 
 
 Holds up the skirt of coat. 
 
 Bring a man to hunger and rags. Is there 
 
 any more in that cup over there? Give it to 
 
 me. 
 
 Drinks. 
 Rip makes this confession with a childlike 
 simplicity. The tears come, and he brushes 
 them away once or twice. When he asks 
 for the cup, at the end, it seems but the 
 natural conclusion of his speech. 
 
 Hendrick. 
 
 Hands him cup. 
 Don't cry, Rip; Meenie does not want your 
 money, for when I 'm a big man I shall work 
 for her, and she shall have all I get. 
 
 Meenie. 
 Yes, and I '11 have Hendrick, too. 
 
Yes, and I'll have Hendrich, too." 
 
RIP VAN WINKLE. 59 
 
 RIP. 
 
 Greatly amused. 
 
 You '11 have Hendrick, too. 
 
 With mock gravity. 
 Well, is this all settled? 
 
 Hendrick. 
 Yes, Meenie and me have made it all up. 
 
 Rip. 
 
 I did n't know, I only thought you might 
 speak to me about it; but if it's all settled, 
 Meenie, then git married mit him. 
 
 Laughing silently, and suddenly. 
 
 You goin' to marry my daughter? well, now 
 
 that's very kind of you. Marry one another? 
 
 The children nod. 
 Rip, with immense seriousness. 
 
 Well, here 's your good health, and your 
 
 family, may they live long and prosper. 
 
 To Hendrick. 
 
 What you goin' to do when you get married, 
 
 and grow up and so? 
 
 Leans forward. 
 
 Hendrick. 
 I 'm not going to stop here with father ; oh, 
 no, that won't do. I 'm going with Uncle Hans 
 in his big ship to the North Pole, to catch 
 whales. 
 
60 RIP VAN WINKLE. 
 
 RIP. 
 Goin' to cotch wahales mit the North Pole? 
 That's a long while away from here. 
 
 Hendrick. 
 
 Yes, but uncle will give me ten shillings a 
 month, and I will tell him to pay it all to 
 Meenie. 
 
 Rip. 
 
 There ! He 's goin' to pay it all to you ; 
 that 's a good boy, that 's a good boy. 
 
 Meenie. 
 Yes, and I '11 give it all to you to keep for us. 
 
 Rip. 
 
 With one of his little explosive silent laughs. 
 
 I would n't do that, my darlin' ; maybe if you 
 
 give it to me, you don't get it back again. 
 
 Hendrick ! 
 
 Suddenly earnest. 
 
 You shall marry Meenie when you grow up, 
 but you must n't drink. 
 
 Hendrick. 
 
 Slapping Rip on the knee. 
 I'll never touch a drop. 
 
RIP VAN WINKLE. 61 
 
 Rip. 
 
 Quite seriously. 
 You won't, nor me neither; shake hands upon 
 it. Now we swore off together. 
 
 With a change of tone. 
 I said so so many times, and never kept my 
 
 word once, never. 
 
 Drinks. 
 
 Hendrick. 
 I 've said so once, and I '11 keep mine. 
 
 Derrick. 
 
 Outside. 
 Well, bring it along with you. 
 
 Rip. 
 Here comes Derrick : he don't like some 
 children; run along mit you. 
 
 Exit children with basket. 
 Enter Derrick from inn with document. 
 
 Derrick. 
 
 There, Rip, is the little acknowledgment. 
 
 Handing it to him. 
 
 Rip. 
 
 Knowledgment. 
 
 Putting on hat. 
 For what is that? 
 
62 RIP VAN WINKLE. 
 
 Derrick. 
 That is to say I loaned you the money. 
 
 Rip. 
 
 Lounging back in his chair. 
 
 I don't want that ; I would lose it if I had it. 
 
 Fills his cup from the bottle. 
 
 I don't want it. 
 
 Blandly. 
 
 Derrick. 
 Don't you? But I do. 
 
 Rip. 
 
 With simple surprise. 
 For what? 
 
 Derrick. 
 Why, for you to put your cross to. Why, 
 bless me, I've forgotten my pen and ink. 
 
 Enter Cockles. 
 But luckily here comes my nephew with it. 
 
 Aside. 
 And in time to witness the signature. 
 
 Rip. 
 
 Say, Derrick, have you been writing all that 
 
 paper full in the little time you been in the 
 
 house there? 
 
 Turns the paper about curiously. 
 Pours out more schnapps. 
 
RIP VAN WINKLE. 63 
 
 Derrick. 
 Yes, every word of it. 
 
 Rip. 
 
 Have you? Well, just read it out loud to me. 
 With an air of great simplicity. 
 
 Derrick. 
 
 Aside. 
 Does he suspect? 
 
 Aloud. 
 
 Why, Rip, this is the first time you ever 
 
 wanted anything more than the money. 
 
 Rip. 
 
 Clasping his hands behind his head with an 
 air of lordly indifference. 
 
 Yes, I know; but I got nothing to do now. 
 I 'm a little curious about that, somehow. 
 
 Cockles. 
 
 Aside to Derrick. 
 The fish has taken the ground bait, but he 's 
 curious about the hook. 
 
 Derrick. 
 I dare not read a word of it. 
 
 Aside. 
 
64 RIP VAN WINKLE. 
 
 Cockles. 
 
 Aside. 
 Nunkey 's stuck. 
 
 Derrick. 
 Well, Rip, I suppose you don't want to hear 
 the formalities. 
 
 Rip. 
 The what? 
 
 Derrick. 
 The preliminaries. 
 
 Rip. 
 
 Indolently. 
 I '11 take it all, — Bill, Claws, and Feathers. 
 Leans forward and rests his head on his 
 hand, and looks at the ground. 
 
 Derrick. 
 " Know all men by these presents that I, Rip 
 Van Winkle, in consideration of the sum of 
 sixteen pounds received by me from Derrick 
 Von Beekman " — 
 
 Looks around at Cockles: they wink know- 
 ingly at each other. Continues as if 
 reading. Watching Rip — 
 
 Do promise and undertake to pay the same 
 
 in twenty years from date. 
 
 Rip looks up ; as he does so, Derrick drops 
 his eyes on document, then looks as if he 
 had just finished reading. 
 
 There, now are you satisfied? 
 
RIP VAN WINKLE. 65 
 
 RIP. 
 
 Takes the document. In childlike surprise. 
 Well, well, and does it take all that pen and 
 ink to say such a little thing like that? 
 
 Derrick. 
 Why, of course it does. 
 
 Cockles. 
 
 Aside to Derrick. 
 Oh, the fool ! he swallows it whole, hook and 
 all. 
 
 Rip. 
 
 Spreading the paper on the table. 
 Where goes my cross, Derrick? 
 
 Derrick. 
 
 Pointing. 
 There, you see I 've left a nice little white 
 
 corner for you. 
 
 Rip. 
 
 Folds up paper in a leisurely manner, and 
 puts it in game-bag. 
 
 W-e-1-1, I'll yust think about it. 
 
 Looks up at Derrick, innocently. 
 
 Derrick. 
 Think about it? Why, what's the matter, 
 Rip, isn't the money correct? 
 
 5 
 
66 RIP VAN WINKLE. 
 
 RIP. 
 
 Oh, yes, I got the money all right. 
 
 Chuckling. 
 Oh ! you mean about signing it. 
 
 Rising. At a loss, for a moment. 
 Stop, yesterday was Friday, wasn't it? 
 
 Derrick. 
 
 So it was. 
 
 Rip. 
 
 With an air of conviction. 
 Well, I never do nothing like that the day 
 after Friday, Derrick. 
 
 Rip walks away towards his cottage. 
 
 Derrick. 
 
 Aside. 
 
 The idiot! what can that signify? But I 
 
 must not arouse his suspicions by pressing 
 
 him. 
 
 Aloud. 
 
 You are right, Rip : sign it when you please ; 
 
 but I say, Rip, now that you 're in funds, won't 
 
 you help your old friend Nick Vedder, who 
 
 owes me a year's rent? 
 
 Rip. 
 
 Coming back to the tabic. 
 Oh, yah, I will wipe off my schore, and stand 
 treat to the whole willace. 
 
RIP VAN WINKLE. 67 
 
 Derrick. 
 Run, boy, and tell all the neighbours that Rip 
 stands treat. 
 
 Rip. 
 
 Leans on back of chair. 
 An', Cockles, tell them we '11 have a dance. 
 
 Cockles. 
 
 A dance ! 
 
 Runs off. 
 
 Derrick. 
 
 And I '11 order the good cheer for you. 
 
 Exit. 
 
 Rip. 
 
 So do ! so do ! 
 
 Cogitating dubiously. 
 
 I don't understand it. 
 
 Re-enter Hendrick with the basket over his 
 head, followed by Meenie. 
 
 Oh, you've come back? 
 
 Hendrick. 
 Yes, we 've left the clothes. 
 
 Rip. 
 
 Meenie, you take in the basket. 
 
 Exit Meenie with basket into cottage. 
 Hendrick is following. 
 
68 RIP VAN WINKLE. 
 
 Hendrick, come here. 
 
 Hendrick kneels between Rip's knees. 
 
 So you are going to marry my daughter? 
 
 Hendrick nods. 
 
 So, so. That 's very kind of yer. 
 
 Abruptly. 
 
 Why you don't been to school to-day, you 
 
 go to school sometimes, don't you? 
 
 Hendrick. 
 Yes, when father can spare me. 
 
 Rip. 
 
 What do you learn mit that school, — pretty 
 
 much something? 
 
 Laughing at his mistake. 
 
 I mean, everything? 
 
 Hendrick. 
 Yes ; reading, writing, and arithmetic. 
 
 Rip. 
 
 Reading, and what? 
 
 Hendrick. 
 And writing, and arithmetic. 
 
 Rip. 
 
 Puzzled. 
 Writing, and what? 
 
RIP VAN WINKLE. 69 
 
 HENDRICK. 
 Arithmetic. 
 
 Rip. 
 
 More puzzled. 
 Whatmeticks is that? 
 
 HENDRICK. 
 Arithmetic. 
 
 Rip. 
 
 With profound astonishment and patting 
 Hendrick's head. 
 I don't see how the little mind can stand it 
 all. Can you read? 
 
 HENDRICK. 
 
 Oh, yes! 
 
 Rip. 
 
 With a serious affectation of incredulity. 
 
 I don't believe it; now, I'm just goin' to see 
 
 if you can read. If you can't read, I won't let 
 
 you marry my daughter. No, sir. 
 
 Very drolly. 
 
 I won't have nobody in my family what can't 
 
 read. 
 
 Taking out the paper that Derrick has given 
 
 him. 
 Can you read ritmatics like that? 
 
 HENDRICK. 
 Yes, that 's writing. 
 
7 o RIP VAN WINKLE. 
 
 Rip. 
 
 Nonplussed. 
 Oh ! I thought it was reading. 
 
 Hendrick. 
 It 's reading and writing, too. 
 
 Rip. 
 What, both together. 
 
 Suspiciously looking at the paper. 
 Oh, yes ; I did n't see that before ; go long 
 with it. 
 
 Hendrick. 
 
 Reads. 
 "Know all men by these presents" — 
 
 Rip. 
 
 Pleased, leaning back in his chair. 
 Yah! That's right, what a wonderful thing 
 der readin' is ; why, you read it pretty nigh as 
 good as Derrick, yes, you do ; go long. 
 
 Hendrick. 
 "That I, Rip Van Winkle" — 
 
 Rip. 
 
 Taking off his hat, and holding it with his 
 hands behind his head. 
 
 Yah, that's right; you read it yust as well as 
 
 Derrick; go long. 
 
RIP VAN WINKLE. 
 
 7i 
 
 Hendrick. 
 " In consideration of the sum of sixteen 
 pounds received do hereby sell and convey to 
 
 Derrick Von Beekman all my estate, houses, 
 lands whatsoever" — 
 
 Hat drops. 
 
72 RIP VAN WINKLE. 
 
 Rip. 
 
 Almost fiercely. 
 What are you readin', some ritmatics what 
 ain't down there: Where you got that? 
 
 Looking sharply at Hendrick. 
 
 Hendrick. 
 
 Pointing. 
 There. Houses ! Lands, whatsoever. 
 
 Rip. 
 
 Looking not at the paper but at Hendrick 
 very earnestly, as if turning over in his 
 mind whether the boy has read it correctly. 
 Then satisfied of the deception Derrick 
 has practised upon him, and struck by 
 the humour of the way in which he has 
 discovered it, he laughs exultantly and 
 looks towards the inn-door through which 
 Derrick disappeared a short time before. 
 
 Yes, so it is; go long mit the rest. 
 
 He leans forward, and puts his ear close to 
 Hendrick, so as not to miss a word. 
 
 Hendrick. 
 
 " Whereof he now holds possession by mort- 
 gaged deeds, from time to time executed by 
 me." 
 
RIP VAN WINKLE. 73 
 
 Rip. 
 
 Takes paper, and looks towards the inn 
 fiercely exultant. 
 
 You read it better than Derrick, my boy, 
 much better. 
 
 After a moment's pause recollects himself. 
 Kindly, to Hendrick. 
 That will do; run along mit you. 
 
 Exit Hendrick. 
 
 Rip. 
 
 Triumphantly. 
 
 Aha, my friend, Derrick ! I guess you got 
 
 some snakes in the grass. Now keep sober, 
 
 Rip; I don't touch another drop so long what 
 
 I live; I swore off now, that's a fixed fact. 
 
 Enter Derrick, Vedder, Stein, and villagers. 
 
 Derrick. 
 Come, Rip, we'll have a rouse. 
 
 Rip. 
 
 Seriously; half fiercely still. 
 Here, Nick Vedder, here is the gelt; wipe off 
 my score, and drink away. I don't join you ; I 
 swore off. 
 
 Nick. 
 Why, Rip, you 're king of the feast. 
 
74 RIP VAN WINKLE. 
 
 Rip. 
 
 Absently. Still intent on Derrick. 
 Am I dat? 
 
 Omnes. 
 
 Swore off? What for? 
 
 Rip. 
 I don't touch another drop. 
 
 Jacob Stein. 
 
 Coming down towards Rip with cup. 
 Come, Rip, take a glass. 
 
 Rip. 
 
 Turning on him, almost angry. 
 Jacob Stein, you hear what I said? 
 
 Stein. 
 Yes. 
 
 Rip. 
 
 Firmly. 
 Well, when I said a thing, I mean it. 
 
 Leans back in chair with his hands behind 
 his head. 
 
 Stein. 
 Oh, very well. 
 
 Turns away; Nick comes down and holds 
 cup under Rip's nose. Rip looks to see 
 if they are watching him. He can resist 
 no longer, and takes the cup. 
 
RIP VAN WINKLE. 75 
 
 RIP. 
 
 Laughing. 
 
 Well, I won't count this one. Here's your 
 good health and your families', may they all live 
 long and prosper. 
 
 Derrick. 
 Here come the fiddlers and the girls. 
 
 Enter girls. 
 
 Rip walks over and closes the shutter which 
 has held his score, then returns and seats 
 himself on a low stool, and keeps time to 
 the music as the villagers dance. 
 
 Finally, the rhythm tires his blood. He 
 jumps to his feet, snatches one of the 
 girls away from her partner, and whirls 
 into the dance. After a round or two, 
 he lets go of her, and pirouettes two 
 or three times by himself. Once more 
 he catches her in h^fs arms, and is in 
 the act of embracing her, when he per- 
 ceives Gretchen over her shoulder. He 
 drops the girl, who falls on her knees at 
 Gretchen's feet. There is a general laugh 
 at his discomfiture, in which he joins half- 
 heartedly. As the curtain descends, Rip 
 is seen pointing at the girl as if seeking, 
 like a modern Adam, to put the blame 
 on her. 
 
Scene in the Catskill Mount a ins. 
 From Painting by Joseph Jefferson. 
 
ACT II. 
 Scene i. 
 
 The dimly lighted kitchen of Rip's cottage. 
 The door and window are at the back. 
 It is night, and through the window a 
 furious storm can be seen raging, with 
 thunder, lightning, and rain. 
 
 A fire smoulders on the hearth, to the right, 
 and a candle gutters on the table in the 
 centre ; a couple of chairs, a low stool, 
 and a little cupboard, meagrely provided 
 with cups and platters, complete the furni- 
 ture of the room. Between the door and 
 the window a clothes-horse, with a few 
 garments hanging on it, forms a screen. 
 To the left is a small door leading to the 
 other rooms of the cottage. 
 
 As the curtain rises, Meenie is seen sitting 
 by the window, and Gretchen enters, takes 
 off cloak, and throws a broomstick on the 
 table. 
 
 Gretchen. 
 Meenie! Has your father come yet? 
 
 Meenie. 
 No, mother. 
 
 Gretchen. 
 So much the better for him. Never let him 
 show his face in these doors a^ain — never ! 
 
So RIP VAN WINKLE. 
 
 Meenie. 
 Oh, mother, don't be so hard on him. 
 
 Gretchen. 
 
 I 'm not hard ; how dare you say so. 
 
 Meenie approaches her. 
 
 There, child, that father of yours is enough 
 
 to spoil the temper of an angel. I went down 
 
 to the marsh to drive up the bull. I don't know 
 
 what Rip has been doing to the beast ; he was 
 
 howling and tearing about. I barely escaped 
 
 with my life. 
 
 A crash outside. 
 
 What noise is that? 
 
 Meenie. 
 That 's only Schneider, father's dog. 
 
 Gretchen. 
 
 Picking up broomstick. 
 
 Then, I '11 Schneider him. I won't have him 
 
 here. 
 
 Exit through the door leading to the rest of 
 the cottage. 
 
 Out, you idle, vagabond cur; out, I say! 
 Meenie. 
 
 Following her to the door, and crying. 
 Oh, don't, don't hurt the poor thing! 
 
 Re-enter Gretchen. 
 
RIP VAX WINKLE. 81 
 
 Gretciiex. 
 He jumped out of the window before I could 
 catch him. He 's just like his master. Now, 
 what are you crying for? 
 
 MEENIE. 
 
 Because my poor father is out in all this rain. 
 A peal of thunder is heard. 
 Hark, how it thunders ! 
 
 Gretciiex. 
 Serve him right — do him good. Is the sup- 
 per ready? 
 
 MEENIE. 
 
 Yes, mother; it is there by the fireside. 
 
 Pointing to a soup-bowl by the fire. 
 Shall I lay the table? 
 
 Gretchex. 
 Yes. 
 
 Again it thunders. 
 
 It's a dreadful night; I wonder where Rip is? 
 Meenie. 
 
 Bringing the cups and platters from the 
 sideboard, together with a loaf of bread. 
 
 Shall I lay the table for two, mother, or for 
 
 three? 
 
 6 
 
82 
 
 RIP VAN WINKLE. 
 
 
 ; 
 
 --■^J... 
 
 Gretchen. 
 
 Fof two, girl; he gets no supper here to-night. 
 
 Another peal of thunder. 
 Mercy, how the storm rages ! The fool, to 
 
RIP VAN WINKLE. 83 
 
 stop out in such a down-pour. I hope he's 
 
 found shelter. I must look out the old suit I 
 
 washed and mended for him last week, and put 
 
 them by the fire to air. The idiot, to stop out 
 
 in such a down-pour! I'll have him sick on 
 
 my hands next ; that 's all I want to complete 
 
 my miser)-. 
 
 She fetches clothes from the horse, and 
 hangs them on the back of the chair in 
 front of the fire. 
 
 He knows what I am suffering now, and that's 
 
 what keeps him out. 
 
 Lightning. 
 
 Mercy, what a flash that was ! The wretch 
 will be starved with the cold ! Meenie ! 
 
 MEENIE. 
 Yes, mother. 
 
 Gretchen. 
 
 You may lay the table for three. 
 
 Lhere is a knock at the outer door. 
 
 There he is now ! 
 
 Enter Hendrick, who shakes the rain from 
 his hat. 
 
 Where's Rip? Is he not at your father's? 
 
 Hendrick. 
 No; I thought he was here. 
 
84 RIP VAN WINKLE. 
 
 Gretciiex. 
 He 's gone back to the mountain. He 's done 
 it on purpose to spite me. 
 
 Hendrick. 
 
 Going to the fire. 
 
 Shall I run after him, and bring him home? 
 
 I know the road ; we 've often climbed it 
 
 together. 
 
 Gretchen. 
 
 No; I drove Rip from his house, and it's for 
 me to bring him back again. 
 
 Meenie. 
 
 Still arranging the supper-table. 
 But, mother — 
 
 She pauses, with embarrassment. 
 
 If he hears your voice behind him, he will only 
 
 run away the faster. 
 
 Gretchen. 
 Well, I can't help it; I can't rest under cover, 
 while he is out in the storm. I shall feel better 
 when I 'm outside sharing the storm with him. 
 Sit down, and take your suppers. I '11 take my 
 cloak along with me. 
 
 Exit. Meenie has seated herself by the 
 window. Hendrick carries stool to the 
 centre of the statue, in front of the table. 
 
RIP VAN WINKLE. 85 
 
 H END RICK. 
 
 Meenie ! Meenic ! 
 
 Meenie. 
 Eh? 
 
 Hendrick beckons to her. She runs to him. 
 
 He stops her suddenly, then puts the 
 stool down with great deliberation, and 
 sits on it, while Meenie kneels beside 
 him. 
 
 Hendrick. 
 
 In a very solemn tone. 
 I hope your father ain't gone to the mountains 
 to-night, Meenie? 
 
 Meenie. 
 
 In distress. 
 Oh, dear! he will die of the cold there. 
 
 Hendrick. 
 
 Suddenly. 
 
 Sh! 
 
 Meenie starts. 
 It ain't for that. 
 
 Mysteriously. 
 
 I 've just heard old Clausen, over at father's, 
 
 saying, that on this very night, every twenty 
 
 years, the ghosts — 
 
 Meenie. 
 
 Catching his wrist. 
 The what? 
 
86 
 
 RIP VAX WINKLE. 
 Hexdrick. 
 
 In an awed tone. 
 The ghosts of Hendrick Hudson, and his 
 pirate crew, visit the Kaatskills above here. 
 
 The two children look around, frightened. 
 
 Meenie. 
 
 Oh, dear! did he say so? 
 
 Sh! 
 
 Hexdrick. 
 
 Again they look around, frightened. 
 
RIP VAN WINKLE. 87 
 
 Yes; and the spirits have been seen there 
 smoking, drinking, and playing at tenpins. 
 
 Meexie. 
 Oh, how dreadful ! 
 
 Hendrick. 
 Sh! 
 
 He goes cautiously to the chimney, and 
 looks up. while Meenie looks under the 
 table ; then, he returns to the stool, 
 speaking as he comes. 
 
 Yes; and every time that Hendrick Hudson 
 lights his pipe there's a flash of lightning 
 
 Lightning, and Meenie gives a gasp of fear. 
 
 And when he rolls the balls along, there is a 
 peal of thunder. 
 
 Loud rumble of thunder. :Jeenie screams, 
 and throws herself into Hendrick's arms. 
 Don't be frightened, Meenie; I'm here. 
 
 In a frightened tone, but with a manly effort 
 to be courageous. 
 
 Re-enter Gretchen with her cloak. 
 
 Gretciikx. 
 Here, stop that ! 
 
 The children separate quickly. Hendrick 
 looks up at the ceiling and whistles, 
 with an attempt at unconsciousness, and 
 Meenie assumes an innocent and uncon- 
 cerned expression. 
 
88 
 
 RIP VAN WINKLE. 
 
 Now, don't you be filling that child's head with 
 nonsense, but remain quietly here until I return. 
 
 Hush, what noise is that? 
 There is some one out- 
 side the window. 
 
 She steps behind the 
 clothes-horse. Rip ap- 
 pears at the window, 
 which he opens, and 
 leans against the frame. 
 
 Rip. 
 
 Meenie ! 
 
 Meexieaxd Hexdrick. 
 
 Trying to make him per- 
 ceive Gretchen, by a 
 gesture in her direc- 
 tion. 
 
 Sh! 
 Rip turns, and looks a- 
 round outside to see 
 what they mean, then, 
 discovering nothing, 
 drops his hat in at 
 the window, and calls 
 again, cautiously. 
 
 Rip. 
 
 Meenie ! 
 
RIP VAN WINKLE. 89 
 
 Meenie and Hendrick. 
 
 With the same warning gesture. 
 
 Sh! 
 
 Gretchen shakes her fist at the children, 
 who assume an air of innocence. 
 
 Rip. 
 
 What's the matter? Meenie, has the wild-, 
 
 cat come home? 
 
 Rip reaches in after his hat. Gretchen 
 catches him by his hair, and holds his 
 head down. 
 
 Och, my darlin', don't do that, eh ! 
 Hendrick and Meenie. 
 
 Who run towards Gretchen. 
 Don't, mother ! Don't, mother ! Don't ! 
 
 Rip. 
 
 Imitating their tone. 
 Don't, mother, don't ! Don't you hear the 
 children? Let go my head, won't you? 
 
 Getting angry. 
 
 Gretchen. 
 
 Still holding his head down. 
 No ; not a hair. 
 
 Rip. 
 
 Bantering. 
 Hold on to it then, what do I care? 
 
9 o RIP VAN WINKLE. 
 
 Hexdrick and Meenie. 
 
 Catching Gretchen's dress. 
 Don't, mother ! Don't, mother ! Don't ! 
 
 Gretchen lets go of Kip, and turns upon 
 them. They escape, and disappear through 
 the door to the left. 
 
 Rip. 
 
 Getting in through the window, and coming 
 forward, apparently drunk, but jolly; and 
 his resentment for the treatment he has 
 just received is half humourous. 
 
 For what you do dat, hey? You must want 
 
 a bald-headed husband, I reckon ! 
 
 Gretchen picks up chair, and bangs it down; 
 Rip imitates her with the stool. She sits 
 down, angrily, and slaps the table. Rip 
 throws down his felt hat with a great 
 show of violence, and it makes no noise, 
 then seats himself on the stool. 
 
 Gretchen. 
 
 Now, then ! 
 
 Rip. 
 
 Now, den; I don't like it den, neider. 
 
 When Rip is drunk, his dialect grows more 
 pronounced. 
 
 Gretchf.n. 
 Who did vou call a wildcat? 
 
RIP VAN WINKLE. 91 
 
 RIP. 
 
 With a sudden little tipsy laugh, and con- 
 fused. 
 
 A wildcat — dat \s when I come in at the 
 
 window? 
 
 G RETCH EX. 
 
 Yes; that's when you came in the window. 
 
 Rip. 
 
 Rising, and with a tone of finality. 
 Yes; that's the time I said it. 
 
 GRETCHEX. 
 Yes; and that's the time I heard it. 
 
 Rip. 
 
 With drunken assurance. 
 That 's all right ; I was afraid you would n't 
 hear it. 
 
 Gretchex. 
 
 Now, who did you mean by that wildcat? 
 
 Rip. 
 
 Confused. 
 Who did I mean? Now, let me see. 
 
 Gretchex. 
 Yes; who did you mean? 
 
9 2 RIP VAN WINKLE. 
 
 RIP. 
 How do I know who-oo I mean? 
 
 With a sudden inspiration. 
 Maybe, it 's the dog Schneider, I call that. 
 
 Gretchen. 
 
 Incredulously. 
 The dog Schneider; that's not likely. 
 
 Rip. 
 
 Argumentative!)?. 
 
 Of course it is likely; he's my dog. I'll 
 
 call him a wildcat much as I please. 
 
 Conclusively. 
 He sits down in the chair on which his 
 clothes are warming, in front of the lire. 
 
 Gretchen. 
 
 And then, there's your disgraceful conduct 
 
 this morning. What have you got to say to 
 
 that? 
 
 Rip. 
 
 How do I know what I got to say to that, 
 when I don't know what I do-a, do-a? 
 
 Hiccoughs. 
 Gretchen. 
 Don't know what you do-a-oo ! Hugging 
 and kissing the girls, before my face; you 
 thought I would n't see you. 
 
RIP VAN WINKLE. 95 
 
 RIP. 
 
 Boldly. 
 
 I knowed you would — I knowed you would; 
 because, because — ■ 
 
 Losing the thread of his discourse. 
 Oh-h, don' you bodder me. 
 
 He turns, and leans his head against the 
 back of the chair. 
 
 Gretchen. 
 You knew I was there? 
 
 Laughing. 
 
 Rip. 
 
 I thought I saw you. 
 
 Gretchen. 
 I saw you myself, dancing with the girl. 
 
 Rip. 
 You saw the girl dancin' mit me. 
 
 Gretchen remembers Rip's clothes, and goes 
 over to see if he is wet, and pushes him 
 towards the centre of the stage. Rip 
 mistakes her intention. 
 
 You want to pull some more hair out of my 
 head? 
 
 Gretchen. 
 
 Why, the monster ! He is n't wet a bit ! 
 He 's as dry as if he 'd been aired ! 
 
9 6 RIP VAN WINKLE. 
 
 RIP. 
 
 Of course I 'm dry. 
 
 Laughing. 
 I'm always dry — always dry. 
 
 Gretchen. 
 
 Examines game-bag, and pulls out a flask, 
 which she holds under Rip's nose. 
 
 Why, what's here? Why, it's a bottle — a 
 
 bottle ! 
 
 Rip. 
 
 Leaning against the table. 
 Yes; it's a bottle. 
 
 Laughs. 
 
 You think I don't know a bottle when I 
 
 see it? 
 
 Gretchen. 
 
 That's pretty game for your game-bag, ain't 
 
 it? 
 
 Rip. 
 
 Assuming an innocent air. 
 Somebody must have put it there. 
 
 Gretchen. 
 
 Putting the flask in her pocket. 
 Then, you don't get it again. 
 
 Rip. 
 
 With a show of anger. 
 Now mind if I don't get it again — well — all 
 there is about it — 
 
RIP VAN WINKLE. 97 
 
 Breaking clown. 
 I don't want it. I have had enough. 
 
 With a droll air of conviction. 
 
 Gretchen. 
 I 'm glad you know when you 've had enough. 
 
 Rip. 
 Still leaning against the table. 
 That 's the way mit me. I 'm glad I know 
 
 when I got enough — 
 
 Laughs. 
 
 An' I 'm glad when I 've got enough, too. Give 
 me the bottle ; I want to put it in the game-bag. 
 
 Gretchen. 
 For what? 
 
 Rip. 
 
 Lounging off the table, and coming forward 
 and leaning his arms on Gretchen's 
 shoulders. 
 
 So that I can't drink it. Here 's the whole 
 
 business — 
 
 He slides his hand down to Gretchen's pocket, 
 and tries to find the bottle while he talks 
 to her. 
 
 Here 's the whole business about it. What is 
 the use of anybody — well — wash the use of 
 anybody, anyhow — well — oh — 
 
 Missing the pocket. 
 7 
 
9 8 RIP VAN WINKLE. 
 
 What you talkin' 'bout — 
 
 Suddenly his hand slips into her pocket, and 
 he begins to pull the bottle out, with great 
 satisfaction. 
 
 Now, now I can tell you all 'bout it. 
 Gretchen. 
 
 Discovering his tactics, and pushing him away. 
 
 Pshaw ! 
 
 Rip. 
 
 If you don't give me the bottle, I just break 
 
 up everything in the house. 
 
 Gretchen. 
 If you dare ! 
 
 Rip. 
 
 If I dare ! Have n't I done it two or three 
 
 times before? I just throw everything right out 
 
 of the window. 
 
 Rip throws the plates and cups on the floor, 
 and overturns a chair, and seats himself on 
 the table. Gretchen picks them up again. 
 
 Gretchen. 
 
 Don't, Rip ; don't do that ! Now stop, Rip, 
 
 stop ! 
 
 Gretchen bangs down a chair by the table, 
 
 and seats herself. 
 Now, then, perhaps you will be kind enough to 
 tell where you 've been for the last two days. 
 Where have you been? Do you hear? 
 
RIP VAN WINKLE. 
 
 99 
 
 Rip. 
 Where I've been? Well, it's not my bottle, 
 anyhow. I borrowed that bottle from another 
 feller. You want to know where I been? 
 
 GRETCHEN. 
 Yes ; and I will know. 
 
 Rip. 
 
 Good-humouredly. 
 Let me see. Last night I stopped out all 
 night. 
 
 GRETCHEN. 
 But why? 
 
 Rip. 
 
 Why? You mean the reason of it? 
 
 GRETCHEN. 
 Yes, the reason. 
 
 Rip. 
 
 Inconsequently. 
 The reason is why? Don't bother me. 
 
 GRETCHEN. 
 
 Emphasising each word with a bang on the 
 table. 
 Why — did — you — stop — out — all — night? 
 
 Rip. 
 
 Imitating her tone. 
 Because — I — want — to — get — up — early 
 
 — in — the — morning. 
 
 Hiccough. 
 
ioo RIP VAN WINKLE. 
 
 Come, don't get so mad mit a feller. Why, 
 I 've been fillin' my game-bag mit game. 
 
 Rip gets down off the table, and Gretchen 
 comes towards him and feels his game-bag. 
 
 Gretchen. 
 ' Your game-bag is full of game, isn't it? 
 
 Rip. 
 
 Taking her hand and holding it away from 
 her pocket. 
 
 That? Why, that would n't hold it. 
 
 Finding his way into Gretchen's pocket. 
 Now I can tell you all about it. You know 
 last night I stopped out all night — 
 
 Gretchen. 
 Yes ; and let me catch you again. 
 
 He is pulling the bottle out, when Gretchen 
 catches him, and slaps his hand. 
 
 You paltry thief! 
 
 Rip. 
 Oh, you ain't got no confidence in me. Now 
 what do you think was the first thing I saw in 
 the morning? 
 
 Dragging a chair to the front of the stage. 
 
 Gretchen. 
 I don't know. What? 
 
RIP VAN WINKLE. 101 
 
 RIP. 
 
 Seating himself. 
 A rabbit. 
 
 GRETCHEN. 
 
 Pleased. 
 I like a rabbit. I like it in a stew. 
 
 Rip. 
 
 Looking at her, amused. 
 I guess you like everything in a stew — every- 
 thing what 's a rabbit I mean. Well, there was a 
 rabbit a-feedin' mit the grass, — you know they 
 always come out early in der mornin' and feed 
 mit the grass ? 
 
 Gretchen. 
 Never mind the grass. Go on. 
 
 Rip. 
 
 Don't get so patient ; you wait till you get the 
 
 rabbit. 
 
 Humourously. 
 Well, I crawl up — 
 
 Gretchen. 
 Yes, yes ! 
 
 Rip. 
 
 Becoming interested in his own powers of 
 invention. 
 
 An' his little tail was a-stickin' up so — 
 
 With a gesture of his forefinger. 
 
102 RIP VAN WINKLE. 
 
 Gretchen. 
 
 Impatiently. 
 Never mind his tail. Go on. 
 
 Rip. 
 
 Remonstrating at her interruption. 
 The more fatter the rabbit, the more whiter is 
 his tail — 
 
 Gretchen. 
 Well, well, go on. 
 
 Rip. 
 
 Taking aim. 
 Well, I haul up — 
 
 Gretchen. 
 Yes, yes ! 
 
 Rip. 
 
 And his ears was a-stickin' up so — 
 
 Making the two ears with his two forefingers. 
 
 Gretchen. 
 Never mind his ears. Go on. 
 
 Rip. 
 I pull the trigger. 
 
 Gretchen. 
 Bang went the gun, and — 
 
 Eagerly. 
 
RIP VAN WINKLE. 103 
 
 Rip. 
 
 And the rabbit run away. 
 
 Gretchen. 
 And so you shot nothing ? 
 
 Seriously. 
 
 Angrily. 
 
 Rip. 
 How will I shot him when he run away? 
 
 He laughs at her disappointment. 
 
 There, don't get so mad mit a feller. Now I 'm 
 
 going to tell you what I did shot; that 's what I 
 
 did n't shot. You know that old forty-acre field 
 
 of ours? 
 
 Gretchen. 
 
 Scornfully. 
 Ours! Ours, did you say? 
 
 Rip. 
 
 Shamefacedly. 
 You know the one I mean well enough. It 
 used to be ours. 
 
 Gretchen. 
 
 Regretfully. 
 Yes ; it used, indeed ! 
 
 Rip. 
 It ain't ours now, is it? 
 
104 RIP VAN WINKLE. 
 
 Gretchex. 
 
 Sighing. 
 No, indeed, it is not. 
 
 Rip. 
 No? Den I would n't bodder about it. Better 
 let somebody bodder about that field what belongs 
 to it. Well, in that field dere 's a pond ; and 
 what do you think I see in that pond? 
 
 Gretchen. 
 
 I don't know. Ducks? 
 
 Rip. 
 Ducks ! More an' a thousand. 
 
 Gretchen. 
 
 Walking to where broomstick is. 
 More than a thousand ducks? 
 
 Rip. 
 I haul up again — 
 
 Gretchen. 
 
 Picking up broomstick. 
 
 Yes, and so will I. And if you miss fire this 
 
 time — 
 
 She holds it threateningly over Rip's shoulder. 
 
RIP VAN WINKLE. 
 
 io 5 
 
 RIP. 
 
 Looking at it askance out of the corner of 
 
 his eye, then putting up his hand and 
 
 pushing it aside. 
 
 You will scare the ducks mit that. Well, I 
 
 take better aim this time as I did before. I pull 
 
 the trigger, and — bang ! 
 
 Gretchen. 
 How many down? 
 
 Rip. 
 
 Indifferently. 
 
 One. 
 
 Gretchen. 
 
 Indignantly. 
 What! only one duck out of a thousand? 
 
 Rip. 
 Who said one duck? 
 
 Gretchen. 
 
 You did. 
 
 Rip. 
 
 Getting up, and leaning on the back of the 
 chair. 
 I did n't say anything of the kind. 
 
 Gretchen. 
 
 You said "one." 
 
 Rip. 
 
 Ah ! One. But I shot more as one duck. 
 
io6 
 
 RIP VAN WINKLE. 
 
 Did you 
 
 GRETCHEN. 
 
 Rip. 
 
 :-^^SpE^, 
 
 Crosses over, and sits on the low stool, and 
 
 laughs silently. 
 
 I shot our old bull. 
 
 Gretchen flings down 
 the broomstick, 
 and throws her- 
 self into the chair 
 at the right of the 
 table, in dumb 
 
 I did n't kill him. 
 I just sting him, you 
 know. Well, then 
 the bull come right 
 after me ; and I come 
 right away from him. 
 O Gretchen, how you 
 would laugh if you 
 could see that — 
 
 With a vain appeal to her sense of humour, 
 the bull was a-comin', and I was a-goin. Well, 
 he chased me across the field. I tried to climb 
 over the fence so fast what I could, — 
 
 Doubles up with his silent laugh. 
 
RIP VAN WINKLE. 107 
 
 an' the bull come up an' save me the trouble of 
 that. Well, then, I rolled over on the other side. 
 
 GRETCHEN. 
 
 With disgust. 
 
 And then you went fast asleep for the rest of 
 
 the day. 
 
 Rip. 
 
 That 's a fact. That 's a fact. 
 
 Gretchen. 
 
 Bursting into tears, and burying her head in 
 her arms on the table. 
 
 Rip, you '11 break my heart! You will. 
 
 Rip. 
 Now she gone crying mit herself! Don't cry, 
 Gretchen, don't cry. My d-a-r-1-i-n', don't cry. 
 
 Gretchen. 
 
 Angrily. 
 
 1 will cry ! 
 
 Rip. 
 
 Cry 'way as much you like. What do I care? 
 
 All the better soon as a woman gets cryin' ; den 
 
 all the danger 's over. 
 
 Rip goes to Gretchen, leans over, and puts 
 his arm around her. 
 
ioS 
 
 RIP VAN WINKLE. 
 
 Gretchen, don't cry; my angel, don't. 
 
 He succeeds in getting his hand into her 
 pocket, and steals the bottle. 
 
 : 
 
 Don't cry, my daarlin'. 
 
 Humourously. 
 
 Gretchen, won't you give me a little drop out 
 
 of that bottle what you took away from me? 
 
RIP VAN WINKLE. 109 
 
 He sits on the table, just behind her, and 
 takes a drink from the bottle. 
 
 Gretchen. 
 Here 's a man drunk, and asking for more. 
 
 Rip. 
 
 I was n't. I swore off. 
 
 Coaxingly. 
 
 You give me a little drop, an' I won't count it. 
 Gretchen. 
 
 Sharply. 
 
 No! 
 
 Rip. 
 
 Drinking again. 
 Well, den, here 's your good health, an' your 
 family, and may they live long and prosper ! 
 
 Puts bottle in his bag. 
 
 Gretchen. 
 You unfeeling brute. Your wife \s starving. 
 And, Rip, your child 's in rags. 
 
 Rip. 
 
 Holding up his coat, and heaving a sigh of 
 resignation. 
 
 Well, I 'm the same way ; you know dat. 
 Gretchen. 
 
 Sitting up, and looking appealingly at Rip. 
 Oh, Rip, if you would only treat me kindly ! 
 
no RIP VAN WINKLE. 
 
 RIP. 
 
 Putting his arms around her. 
 Well, den, I will. I 'm going to treat you 
 kind. I '11 treat you kind. 
 
 Gretchen. 
 
 Why, it would add ten years to my life. 
 Rip. 
 
 Over her shoulder, and after a pause. 
 That's a great inducement; it is, my darlin'. 
 I know I treat you too bad, an' you deserve to 
 be a widow. 
 
 Gretchen. 
 
 Getting up, and putting her arms on Rip's 
 shoulders. 
 
 Oh, Rip, if you would only reform ! 
 
 Rip. 
 Well, den, I will. I won't touch another drop 
 so long what I live. 
 
 Gretchen. 
 Can I trust you? 
 
 Rip. 
 You must n't suspect me. 
 
RIP VAN WINKLE. in 
 
 Gretchen. 
 
 Embracing him. 
 There, then, I will trust you. 
 
 She takes the candle, and goes to fetch the 
 children. 
 
 Here, Hendrick, Meenie. Children, where are 
 you ? 
 
 Exit through the door on the left. 
 
 Rip. 
 
 Seats himself in the chair to the right of the 
 table, and takes out flask. 
 
 Well, it 's too bad ; but it 's all a woman's fault 
 any way. When a man gets drinkin' and that, 
 they ought to let him alone. So soon as they 
 scold him, he goes oft' like a sky-rocket. 
 
 Re-enter Gretchen and the children. 
 
 Gretchen. 
 
 Seeing the flask in Rip's hand. 
 I thought as much. 
 
 Rip. 
 
 Unconscious of her presence. 
 
 How I did smooth her down ! I must drink 
 her good health. Gretchen, here 's your good 
 
 health. 
 
 About to drink. 
 
ii2 RIP VAN WINKLE. 
 
 Gretchen. 
 
 Snatching the bottle, and using it to gesticu- 
 late with. 
 
 Oh, you paltry thief! 
 
 Rip. 
 
 Concerned for the schnapps. 
 
 What you doin'? You'll spill the licker out 
 
 of the bottle. 
 
 He puts in the cork. 
 
 Gretchen. 
 
 Examining the flask. 
 Why, the monster, he 's emptied the bottle ! 
 
 Rip. 
 That 's a fac'. That 's a fac'. 
 
 Gretchen. 
 
 Throwing down the flask. 
 Then that is the last drop you drink under my 
 
 roof! 
 
 Rip. 
 
 What ! What ! 
 
 Meenie approaches her father on tiptoe, and 
 kneels beside him. 
 
 Gretchen. 
 Out, you drunkard ! Out, you sot ! You 
 disgrace to your wife and to your child ! This 
 house is mine. 
 
RIP VAN WINKLE. 113 
 
 RIP. 
 
 Dazed, and a little sobered. 
 Yours ! Yours ! 
 
 Gretchen. 
 
 Raising her voice above the storm, which 
 seems to rage more fiercely outside. 
 
 Yes, mine, mine ! Had it been yours to sell, it 
 
 would have gone along with the rest of your 
 
 land. Out, then, I say — 
 
 Pushing open the door. 
 
 for you have no longer any share in me or mine. 
 
 A peal of thunder. 
 
 Meenie. 
 
 Running over, and kneeling by Gretchen. 
 Oh, mother, hark at the storm ! 
 
 Gretchen. 
 
 Pushing her aside. 
 Begone man, can't you speak ? Are you struck 
 dumb ? You sleep no more under my roof. 
 
 Rip. 
 
 Who has not moved, even his arm remaining 
 outstretched, as it was when Meenie slipped 
 from his side, murmurs in a bewildered, 
 incredulous way. 
 
 Why, Gretchen, are you goin' to turn me out 
 
 like a dog? 
 
 s 
 
ii 4 RIP VAN WINKLE. 
 
 Gretchen points to the door. Rip lises and 
 leans against the table with a groan. His 
 conscience speaks. 
 
 Well, maybe you are right. 
 
 His voice breaks, and with a despairing 
 gesture. 
 
 I have got no home. I will go. But mind, 
 Gretchen, after what you say to me to-night, I 
 can never darken your door again — never — 
 
 Going towards the door, 
 I will go. 
 
 Hendrick. 
 
 Running to Rip. 
 Not into the storm, Rip. Hark, how it 
 thunders ! 
 
 Rip. 
 
 Putting his arm round him. 
 Yah, my boy; but not as bad to me as the 
 storm in my home. I will go. 
 
 At the door by this time. 
 
 MEENIE. 
 
 Catching Rip's coat. 
 
 No, father, don't go ! 
 
 Rip. 
 
 Bending over her tenderly, and holding her 
 close to him. 
 
 My child ! Bless you, my child, bless you ! 
 
 Meenie faints. Rip gives a sobbing sigh. 
 
No ; yon have driven me from your bouse. 
 
RIP VAN WINKLE. 115 
 
 Gretchen. 
 
 Relenting. 
 No, Rip — I — 
 
 Rip. 
 
 Waving her off. 
 
 No ; you have drive me from your house. You 
 
 have opened the door for me to go. You may 
 
 never open it for me to come back. 
 
 Leans against the doorpost, overcome by his 
 emotion. His eye rests on Meenie, who 
 lies at his feet. 
 
 You say I have no share in this house. 
 
 Points to Meenie in profound despair. 
 
 Well, see, then, I wipe the disgrace from your 
 
 door. 
 
 He staggers out into the storm. 
 
 Gretchen. 
 No, Rip ! Husband, come back ! 
 
 Gretchen faints, and the curtain falls. 
 
ACT III. 
 Scene i. 
 
 A steep and rocky clove in the Kaatskill 
 Mountains, down which rushes a torrent, 
 swollen by the storm. Overhead, the hem- 
 locks stretch their melancholy boughs. It 
 is night. Rip enters, almost at a run, 
 with his head down, and his coat-collar 
 turned up, beating his way against the 
 storm. With the hunter's instinct, he pro- 
 tects the priming of his gun with the 
 skirt of his jacket. Having reached a 
 comparatively level spot, he pauses for 
 breath, and turns to see what has become 
 of his dog;. 
 
 Rip. 
 
 Whistling to the dog. 
 
 Schneider! Schneider! What's the matter 
 
 with Schneider? Something must have scared 
 
 that dog. There he goes head over heels down 
 
 the hill. Well, here I am again— another night 
 
 in the mountains ! Heigho ! these old trees 
 
 begin to know me, I reckon. 
 
 Taking off his hat. 
 
 How are you, old fellows? Well, I like the 
 
 trees, they keep me from the wind and the rain, 
 
 and they never blow me up ; and when I lay me 
 
120 RIP VAN WINKLE. 
 
 down on the broad of my back, they seem to 
 bow their heads to me, an' say : Go to sleep, 
 
 Rip, go to sleep. 
 
 Lightning. 
 
 My, what a flash that was! Old Hendrick 
 
 Hudson 's lighting his pipe in the mountains 
 
 to-night; now, we '11 hear him roll the big balls 
 
 along. 
 
 Thunder. 
 
 Rip looks back over the path he has come, 
 
 and whistles again for his dog. 
 
 Well, I — no — Schneider ! No ; whatever it 
 is, it's on two legs. Why, what a funny thing 
 is that a comin' up the hill? I thought nobody 
 but me ever come nigh this place. 
 
 Enter a strange dwarfish figure, clad all in 
 gray like a Dutch seaman of the seven- 
 teenth century, in short-skirted doublet, 
 hose, and high-crowned hat drawn over 
 his eyes. From beneath the latter his 
 long gray beard streams down till it 
 almost touches the ground. He carries a 
 keg on his shoulder. He advances slowly 
 towards Rip, and, by his gesture, be^s Rip 
 to set the keg clown for him. Rip does 
 so, and the dwarf seats himself upon it. 
 
 Rip. 
 
 With good-humoured sarcasm. 
 Sit down, and make yourself comfortable. 
 
 A long pause and silence. 
 

RIP VAN WINKLE. 123 
 
 What? What's the matter? Ain't ye goin' 
 to speak to a feller? I don't want to speak to 
 you, then. Who you think you was, that I 
 want to speak to you, any more than you want 
 to speak to me; you hear what I say? 
 
 Rip pokes the dwarf in the ribs, who turns, 
 and looks up. Rip retreats hastily. 
 
 Donner an' Blitzen ! What for a man is das? 
 I have been walking over these mountains ever 
 since I was a boy, an' I never saw a queer- 
 looking codger like that before. He must be 
 an old sea-snake, I reckon. 
 
 The dwarf approaches Rip, and motions 
 Rip to help him up the mountain with 
 the keg. 
 
 Rip. 
 
 Well, why don't you say so, den? You 
 mean you would like me to help you up with 
 
 that keg? 
 
 The dwarf nods in the affirmative. 
 
 Well, sir, I don't do it. 
 
 The dwarf holds up his hands in supplica- 
 tion. 
 No ; there 's no good you speakin' like that. 
 I never seed you before, did I ? 
 
 The dwarf shakes his head. Rip, with 
 great decision, walking away, and leaning 
 against a tree. 
 
i2 4 RIP VAN WINKLE. 
 
 I don't want to see you again, needer. What 
 have you got in that keg, schnapps? 
 
 The dwarf nods. 
 I don't believe you. 
 
 The dwarf nods more affirmatively. 
 
 Is it good schnapps? 
 
 The dwarf again insists. 
 
 Well, I'll help you. Go 'long pick up my 
 gun, there, and I follow you mit that keg on my 
 shoulder. I '11 follow you, old broadchops. 
 
 As Rip shoulders the keg, a furious blast 
 whirls up the valley, and seems to carry 
 him and his demon companion before 
 it. The rain that follows blots out the 
 landscape. For a few moments, all is 
 darkness. Gradually, the topmost peak 
 of the Kaatskill Mountains becomes visi- 
 ble, far above the storm. Stretching 
 below, the country lies spread out like a 
 map. A feeble and watery moonlight 
 shows us a weird group, gathered upon the 
 peak, — Hendrick Hudson, and his ghostly 
 crew. In the foreground, one of them 
 poises a ball, about to bowl it. while the 
 others lean forward in attitudes of watch- 
 ful expectancy. Silently he pitches it: 
 and, after a momentary pause, a long 
 and rumbling peal of thunder reverberates 
 among the valleys below. 
 
 At this moment, the demon, carrying Rip's 
 gun, appears over the crest of the peak 
 in the background, and Rip toils after 
 
f 
 
' ' What 's the matter with Schneider ? " 
 
 From Painting', — the figure by F. Eugene Smith: the landscape 
 background by Joseph Jefferson. 
 
Scene in Catskill Mountains. 
 Frora Painti "S by Joseph Jefferson. 
 
" No one remembers Rip Van Winkle.'" 
 
RIP VAN WINKLE. 
 
 127 
 
 with the keg on his shoulder. Arrived at 
 the summit, he drops the keg on his knee, 
 and gasps for breath. 
 
 Rip. 
 
 Glancing out over the landscape. 
 
 I say, old gentleman, I never was so high up- 
 
 in the mountains before. Look down into the 
 
 valley there; it seems more as a mile. I — 
 
 Turning to speak to his companion, and 
 perceiving another of the crew. 
 
 You 're another feller ! 
 
 The second demon nods assent. 
 
 You're that other chap's brother? 
 
 The demon again assents. Rip carries the 
 keg a little further, and comes face to 
 face with a third. 
 
 Rip. 
 
 You 're another brother? 
 
 The third demon nods assent. Rip takes 
 another step, and perceives Hendrick Hud- 
 son in the centre, surrounded by many 
 demons. 
 
 You're his old gran'father? 
 
 Hudson nods. Rip puts down the keg in 
 perplexity, not untinged with alarm. 
 
 Donner and Blitzen ! here's the whole family;. 
 I 'm a dead man to a certainty. 
 
128 RIP VAN WINKLE. 
 
 The demons extend their arms to Hudson, 
 as if inquiring what they should do. He 
 points to Rip, they do the same. 
 
 Rip. 
 My, my, I suppose they 're speakin' about 
 
 me ! 
 
 Looking at his gun, which the first demon 
 has deposited on the ground, and which 
 lies within his reach. 
 
 No good shootin' at 'em ; family 's too big 
 
 for one gun. 
 
 Hendrick Hudson advances, and seats him- 
 self on the keg facing Rip. The demons 
 slowly surround the two. 
 
 Rip. 
 
 Looking about him with growing apprehension. 
 
 My, my, I don't like that kind of people at 
 
 all ! No, sir ! I don't like any sech kind. I 
 
 like that old gran'father worse than any of 
 
 them. 
 
 With a sheepish attempt to be genial, and 
 appear at his ease. 
 
 How you was, old gentleman? I did n't mean 
 
 to intrude on you, did I? 
 
 Hudson shakes his head. 
 What? 
 
 No reply. 
 
 I'll tell you how it was; I met one of your 
 gran'children, I don't know which is the one — 
 
 Glancing around. 
 
RIP VAN WINKLE. 129 
 
 They're all so much alike. Well — 
 
 Embarrassed, and looking at one demon. 
 
 That 's the same kind of a one. Any way 
 
 this one, he axed me to help him up the 
 
 mountain mit dat keg. Well, he was an old 
 
 feller, an' I thought I would help him. 
 
 Pauses, troubled by their silence. 
 
 Was I right to help him? 
 
 Hudson nods. 
 
 I say, was I right to help him? 
 
 Hudson nods again. 
 
 If he was here, he would yust tell you the 
 same thing any way, because — 
 
 Suddenly perceiving the demon he had met 
 below. 
 
 Why, dat 's the one; ain't it? 
 
 The demon nods. 
 Yes ; dat is the one, dat 's the same kind of 
 a one dat I met. Was I right to come? 
 
 Hudson nods approval. 
 
 I didn't want to come here, anyhow; no, sir, 
 
 I did n't want to come to any such kind of a 
 
 place. 
 
 After a pause, seeing that no one has any- 
 thing to say. 
 
 I guess I better go away from it. 
 
 Rip picks up his gun, and is about to return 
 by the way he came ; but the demons raise 
 
 9 
 
i 3 o RIP VAN WINKLE. 
 
 their hands threateningly, and stop him. 
 He puts his gun down again. 
 
 I did n't want to come here, anyhow — 
 
 Grumbling to himself, then pulling him- 
 self together with an effort, and facing 
 Hudson. 
 
 Well, old gentleman, if you mean to do me 
 
 any harm, just speak it right out — • 
 
 Then with a little laugh. 
 
 Oh ! I will die game — 
 
 Glancing round for a means of escape, and 
 
 half to himself. 
 
 If I can't run away. 
 
 Hudson extends a cup to Rip, as if inviting 
 him to drink. 
 
 Rip. 
 
 Doubtfully. 
 You want me to drink mit you? 
 
 Hudson nods. Rip approaches him cau- 
 tiously, unable to resist the temptation of 
 a drink. 
 
 Well, I swore off drinkin' ; but as this is the 
 
 first time I see you, I won't count this one — 
 
 He takes the cup. Hudson holds up an- 
 other cup. Rip is reassured, and his old 
 geniality returns. 
 
 You drink mit me? We drink mit one 
 
 another? 
 
RIP VAX WINKLE. 
 
 *33 
 
 Hudson nods affirmatively. Rip feels at 
 home under these familiar circumstances, 
 and becomes familiar and colloquial again. 
 
 What's the matter mit you, old gentleman, 
 
 anyhow? You go and make so 
 
 Imitating the demon. 
 
 mit your head every time; was you deaf? 
 
 Hudson shakes his head. 
 
 Oh, nein. 
 
 Laughing at his error. 
 
 If you was deaf, you would n't hear what I 
 
 was savin'. Was you dumb? 
 
 Hudson nods yes. 
 So? You was dumb? 
 
 Hudson nods again. 
 
 Has all of your family the same complaint? 
 
 Hudson nods. 
 
 All the boys dumb, hey? All the boys dumb. 
 
 All the demons nod. Then, suddenly, as if 
 struck with an idea. 
 
 Have you got any girls? 
 
 Hudson shakes his head. 
 
 Don't you? Such a big family, and all boys? 
 
 Hudson nods. 
 
 Rip, 
 
 With profound regret. 
 
 That's a pity; my, that's a pity. Oh, my, 
 
 if you had some dumb girls, what wives they 
 
 would make — 
 
 Brightening up. 
 
i 3 4 RIP VAN WINKLE. 
 
 Well, old gentleman, here's your good health, 
 
 and all your family — 
 
 Turning, and waving to them. 
 
 may they live long and prosper. 
 
 Rip drinks. As he does so, all the demons 
 lean forward, watching the effect of the 
 liquor. Rip puts his hand to his head. 
 The empty cup falls to the ground. 
 
 Rip. 
 
 In an awed and ecstatic voice. 
 What for licker is that ! 
 
 As he turns, half reeling, he sees Hudson 
 holding out to him another cup. He 
 snatches it with almost frantic eagerness. 
 
 Rip. 
 Give me another one ! 
 
 He empties it at a draught. A long pause 
 follows, during which the effect of the 
 liquor upon Rip becomes apparent; the 
 light in his eyes fades, his exhilaration dies 
 out, and he loses his grasp on the reality 
 of his surroundings. Finally, he clasps 
 his head with both hands, and cries in a 
 muffled, terrified voice. 
 
 Rip. 
 
 Oh, my, my head was so light, and now, 
 
 it's heavy as lead'! 
 
 He reels, and falls heavily to the ground. 
 A long pause. The demons begin to 
 
RIP VAN WINKLE. 
 
 J 35 
 
 disappear. Rip becomes dimly conscious 
 of this, and raises himself on his elbow. 
 
 Rip. 
 
 Are you goin' to leave me, boys ? Are you 
 
 goin' to leave me all alone? Don't leave me; 
 
 don't go away. 
 
 With a last effort. 
 
 I will drink your good health, and your 
 
 family's — 
 
 He falls back heavily, asleep. 
 
 [curtain.] 
 
ACT IV. 
 
 Scene i. 
 
 As the curtain rises, the same high peaks of 
 the Kaatskills, and the far-stretching valley 
 below, are disclosed in the gray light of 
 dawn. 
 
 Rip is still lying on the ground, as in the last 
 act ; but he is no longer the Rip we knew. 
 His hair and beard are long and white, 
 bleached by the storms that have rolled 
 over his head during the twenty years he 
 has been asleep. 
 
 As he stirs and slowly rises to a half-sitting 
 posture, we see that his former picturesque 
 rags have become so dilapidated that it is 
 a matter of marvel how they hold together. 
 They have lost all traces of colour, and 
 have assumed the neutral tints of the moss 
 and lichens that cover the rocks. 
 
 His voice, when he first speaks, betrays even 
 more distinctly than his appearance the 
 lapse of time. Instead of the full round 
 tones of manhood, he speaks in the high 
 treble of feeble old age. His very hands 
 have grown old and weatherbeaten. 
 
 Rip. 
 
 Staring vacantly around. 
 
 I wonder where I was. On top of the Kaat- 
 
 skill Mountains as sure as a gun ! Won't my wife 
 
140 
 
 RIP VAN WINKLE. 
 
 give it to me for stopping out all night? I must 
 
 get up and get home with myself. 
 
 Trying to rise. 
 
 Oh, I feel very bad ! Vat is the matter with 
 
 my elbow? 
 
 In trying to rub it, the other one gives him 
 such a twinge that he cries out. 
 
 Oh ! The other elbow is more badder than 
 the other one. I must have cotched the rheuma- 
 tix a-sleepin' mit the wet grass. 
 
 He rises with great difficulty. 
 
 Och ! I never had such rhcumatix like that. 
 
 He feels himself all over, and then stands for 
 a moment pondering, and bewildered by a 
 strange memory. 
 
RIP VAN WINKLE. 
 
 141 
 
 I was n't sleeping all the time, needer. I know 
 I met a queer kind of a man, and we got drinkin', 
 
 and I guess I got pretty drunk. Well, I must 
 pick up my gun, and get home mit myself. 
 
1 42 RIP VAN WINKLE. 
 
 After several painful attempts, he succeeds in 
 picking up his gun, which drops all to 
 pieces as he lifts it. Rip looks at it in 
 amazement. 
 
 My gun must have cotched the rheumatix 
 too. Now that 's too bad. Them fellows have 
 gone and stole my good gun, and leave me this 
 rusty old barrel. 
 
 Rip begins slowly to climb over the peak 
 towards the path by which he had ascended, 
 his memory seeming to act automatically. 
 When he reaches the highest point, where 
 he can look out over the valley, he stops in 
 surprise. 
 
 Why, is that the village of Falling Waters that 
 
 I see? Why, the place is more than twice the 
 
 size it was last night. I — 
 
 He sinks down. 
 
 I don't know whether I am dreaming, or sleep- 
 ing, or waking. 
 
 Then pulling himself together with a great 
 effort, and calling up the image of his wife 
 to act as whip and spur to his waning pow- 
 ers, he says, with humourous conviction, as 
 he gets up painfully again : — 
 
 I go home to my wife. She '11 let me know 
 whether I 'm asleep or awake or not. 
 
 Almost unable to proceed. 
 
RIP VAN WINKLE. 145 
 
 I don't know if I will ever get home, my k-nees 
 
 are so stiff. My backbone, it 's broke already. 
 
 As the curtain falls, Rip stands leaning on 
 the barrel of his gun as on a staff, with 
 one hand raised, looking out over the valley. 
 
 Scene ii. 
 
 A comfortable-looking room in Derrick's 
 house. As the curtain rises, Meenie and 
 Gretchen enter. Meenie is a tall young 
 woman of twenty-six, and Gretchen is a 
 matronly figure with white hair. They are 
 well dressed, and have every appearance of 
 physical and material prosperity. 
 
 Gretchen. 
 I am sent to you by your father, Meenie. 
 
 Meenie. 
 Oh, don't call him so; he is not my r father! 
 He is your husband, mother; but I owe him no 
 love. And his cruel treatment of you — 
 
 Gretchen. 
 Hush, child ! Oh, if he heard you, he would 
 make me pay for every disrespectful word you 
 utter. 
 
146 RIP VAN WINKLE. 
 
 Meenie. 
 
 Yes; he would beat you, starve and degrade 
 you. You are not his wife, mother, but his 
 menial. 
 
 GRETCHEN. 
 
 My spirit is broken, Meenie. I cannot resent 
 it. Nay, I deserve it ; for as Derrick now treats- 
 me, so I treated your poor father when he was 
 alive. 
 
 Meenie. 
 
 You, mother? You, so gentle ? You, who are 
 weakness and patience itself? 
 
 Gretchen. 
 
 Yes ; because for fifteen years I have been 
 Derrick's wife. But it was my temper, my 
 cruelty, that drove your father from our home 
 twenty years ago. You were too young then to 
 remember him. 
 
 Meenie. 
 
 No, mother, I recollect my dear father taking 
 me on his knee, and saying to Hendrick that I 
 should be his wife ; and I promised I would. 
 
 Gretchen. 
 Poor Rip ! Poor, good-natured, kind creature 
 that he was ! How gently he bore with me ; and 
 
RIP VAN WINKLE. 147 
 
 I drove him like a dog from his home. I hunted 
 him into the mountains, where he perished of 
 hunger or cold, or a prey to some wild beast. 
 
 Meenie. 
 Don't cry, mother ! 
 
 Enter Derrick, now grown old and bent over 
 his cane, and infinitely more disagreeable 
 than before. He, too, has thriven, and is 
 dressed in a handsome full suit of black 
 silk. 
 
 Derrick. 
 Snivelling again, eh? Teaching that girl of 
 yours to be an obstinate hypocrite? 
 
 Meenie. 
 Oh, sir, she — 
 
 Derrick. 
 Hold your tongue, miss. Speak when you 're 
 spoken to. I '11 have you both to understand that 
 there 's but one master here. Well, mistress, 
 have you told her my wishes ; and is she pre- 
 pared to obey them? 
 
 Gretchen. 
 Indeed, sir, I was trying to — 
 
 Derrick. 
 Beating about the bush, prevaricating, and 
 sneaking, as you usually do. 
 
148 RIP VAN WINKLE. 
 
 Meexie. 
 If you have made her your slave, you must 
 expect her to cringe. 
 
 Derrick. 
 
 Approaching her threateningly. 
 What's that? 
 
 Gretchen. 
 
 Meenie ! Meenie! For Heaven's sake, do not 
 anger him ! 
 
 Derrick. 
 
 Raising his cane. 
 She had better not. 
 
 Meenie. 
 
 Defiantly. 
 
 Take care how you raise your hand to me, for 
 
 I '11 keep a strict account of it. And when Hen- 
 
 drick comes back from sea, he '11 make you smart 
 
 for it, I promise you. 
 
 Derrick. 
 Is the girl mad? 
 
 Meexie. 
 He thrashed your nephew once for being inso- 
 lent to me. Go and ask him how Hendrick pays 
 my debts ; and then when you speak to me you '11 
 mind your stops. 
 
RIP VAN WINKLE. 
 
 Derrick. 
 Oh, you shall pay for this ! 
 
 149 
 
 To Gretchen. 
 
 Gretciien. 
 No, Derrick, indeed, indeed I have not urged 
 her to this ! O Meenie, do not speak so to him ; 
 for my sake forbear ! 
 
 Meenie. 
 For your sake, yes, dear mother. I forgot 
 that he could revenge himself on you. 
 
150 RIP VAN WINKLE. 
 
 Derrick. 
 As for your sailor lover, Hendrick Vedder, 
 I 've got news of him at last. His ship, the 
 " Mayflower," was lost, three years ago, off Cape 
 Horn. 
 
 Meenie. 
 No, no. Not lost? 
 
 Derrick. 
 If you doubt it, there 's the " Shipping Ga- 
 zette," in on my office table. You can satisfy 
 yourself that your sailor bully has gone to the 
 bottom. 
 
 Gretchen. 
 Oh, sir, do not convey the news to her so 
 cruelly. 
 
 Derrick. 
 That 's it. Because I don't sneak and trick and 
 lie about it, I 'm cruel. The man 's dead, has 
 been dead and gone these two years or more. 
 The time of mourning is over. Am I going to 
 be nice about it this time of day? 
 
 Meenie. 
 Then all my hope is gone, gone forever ! 
 
RIP VAN WINKLE. 151 
 
 Derrick. 
 So much the better for you. Hendrick's 
 whole fortune was invested in that ship. So 
 there 's an end of him and your expectations. 
 Now you are free, and a beggar. My nephew 
 has a fancy for you. He will have a share of my 
 business now, and my money when — when I 
 die. 
 
 Gretchen. 
 
 Do not ask her to decide now ! 
 
 Derrick. 
 Why not? If she expects to make a better 
 bargain by holding off, she 's mistaken. 
 
 Gretchen. 
 How can you expect her to think of a husband 
 at this moment? 
 
 Derrick. 
 Don't I tell you the other one is dead these 
 two years? 
 
 Gretchen. 
 
 Leading Meenie away 
 Come, my child. Leave her to me, sir; I will 
 try and persuade her. 
 
iS 2 
 
 RIP VAN WINKLE. 
 
 Derrick. 
 Take care that you do ; for if she don't consent 
 to accept my offer, she shall pack bag and bag- 
 gage out of this house. Aye, this very day ! 
 Not a penny, not a stitch of clothes but what 
 she has on her back, shall she have ! Oh, I 've 
 had to deal with obstinate women before now, 
 and I 've taken them down before I 've done 
 with them. You know who I mean? Do you 
 know who I mean? Stop. Answer me! Do 
 you know who I mean ? 
 
 Submissively. 
 
 Gretchen. 
 Yes, sir. 
 
 Derrick. 
 Then why did n't you say so before? Sulky, 
 I suppose. There, you may be off. 
 
 Exeunt. 
 
RIP VAN WINKLE. 15. 
 
 Scene hi. 
 
 The village of Falling Waters, which has 
 grown to be a smart and flourishing 
 town, but whose chief features remain 
 unchanged. 
 To the left, as of yore, is the inn, bearing 
 scarcely any mark of the lapse of time, 
 save that the sign of George III. has 
 been replaced by a portrait of George 
 Washington. To the right, where Rip's 
 cottage used to stand, nothing remains, 
 however, but the blackened and crumbling 
 ruins of a chimney. A table and chairs 
 stand in front of the Inn porch. 
 Into this familiar scene Rip makes his 
 entrance, but not as before, — in glee, with 
 the children clinging about him. Faint, 
 weak, and weary he stumbles along, 
 followed by a jeering, hooting mob of 
 villagers ; while the children hide from 
 him in fear, behind their elders. His 
 eyes look dazed and uncomprehending, 
 and he catches at the back of a chair 
 as if in need of physical as well as mental 
 support. 
 
 KATCHEN. 
 
 As Rip enters. 
 
 Why, what queer looking creature is this, 
 
 that all the boys are playing — 
 
 Seth. 
 Why, he looks as though he'd been dead 
 for fifty years, and dug up again ! 
 
*54 
 
 RIP VAN WINKLE. 
 
 RIP. 
 My friends, Kanst du Deutsch sprechen? 
 
 First Villager. 
 I say, old fellow, you ain't seen anything of 
 an old butter-tub with no kiver on, no place 
 about here, have you? 
 
RIP VAN WINKLE. 155 
 
 Rip. 
 Bewildered, but with simplicity. 
 What is that? I don't know who that is. 
 
 Second Villager. 
 
 I say, old man, who's your barber? 
 
 The crowd laughs, and goes off repeating, 
 " Who 's your barber?" Some of the chil- 
 dren remain to stare at Rip: but when he 
 holds out his hand to them, they, too, 
 run off frightened. 
 
 Rip. 
 
 Who's my barber; what dey mean by dat? 
 
 Noticing his beard. 
 
 Why, is that on me? I didn't see that 
 
 before. My beard and hair is so long and 
 
 white — Gretchen won't know me with that, when 
 
 she gets me home. 
 
 Looking towards the cottage. 
 
 Why, the home 's gone away ! 
 
 Rip becomes more and more puzzled, like 
 a man in a dream who sees unfamiliar 
 things amid familiar surroundings, and 
 cannot make out what has happened; 
 and as in a dream a man preserves his in- 
 dividuality, so Rip stumbles along through 
 his bewilderment, exhibiting flashes of his 
 old humour, wit, and native shrewdness. 
 But with all this he never laughs. 
 
i 5 6 RIP VAN WINKLE. 
 
 Seth. 
 I say, old man, hadn't you better go home 
 and get shaved? 
 
 Rip. 
 
 Looking about for the voice. 
 What? 
 
 Seth. 
 Here, this way. Had n't you better go home 
 and get shaved? 
 
 Rip. 
 
 My wife will shave me when she gets me 
 home. Is this the village of " Falling Waters," 
 where we was? 
 
 SETH. 
 Yes. 
 
 Rip. 
 
 Still more puzzled, not knowing his face. 
 Do you live here? 
 
 Seth. 
 
 Well, rather. I was born here. 
 
 Rip. 
 
 Reflectively. 
 Then you live here? 
 
 Setii. 
 Well, rather; of course I do. 
 
RIP VAN WINKLE. 157 
 
 RIP. 
 
 Feeling that he has hold of something 
 certain. 
 
 Do you know where I live? 
 
 Seth. 
 No ; but I should say you belong to Noah's 
 Ark. 
 
 Rip. 
 
 Putting his hand to his ear. 
 That I belong mit vas ? 
 
 Seth. 
 
 Noah's Ark. 
 
 Rip. 
 
 Very much hurt. 
 
 Why will you say such thing like that? 
 
 Then, with a flash of humour, and drawing 
 his beard slowly through his fingers. 
 
 Well, look like it, don't I? 
 
 Beginning all over again to feel for his clue. 
 My friend, did you never hear of a man in 
 this place whose name was Rip Van Winkle? 
 
 Seth. 
 Rip Van Winkle, the laziest, drunken vagabond 
 in the country? 
 
15S RIP VAN WINKLE. 
 
 Rip. 
 
 Somewhat taken aback by this description, 
 but obliged to concur in it. 
 
 Yah, that is the one ; there is no mistaking 
 him, eh? 
 
 Seth. 
 I know all about him. 
 
 Rip. 
 Do you? 
 
 Hopefully 
 
 Seth. 
 
 Yes. 
 
 Rip. 
 
 Quite eagerly. 
 Well, if you know all about him ; well, what 
 has become of him? 
 
 Seth. 
 What has become of him ? Why, bless your 
 soul, he 's been dead these twenty years ! 
 
 Rip. 
 
 Looking at Seth. 
 
 Then I am dead, I suppose. So Rip Van 
 
 Winkle was dead, eh? 
 
 Seth. 
 Yes; and buried. 
 
RIP VAN WINKLE. 159 
 
 Rip. 
 
 Humourously. 
 I 'm sorry for that ; for he was a good fellow, 
 so he was. 
 
 Seth. 
 
 Aside. 
 There appears to be something queer about 
 this old chap ; I wonder who he is. 
 
 Rises, and taking chair over to Rip. 
 There, old gentleman, be seated. 
 
 Rip. 
 
 Seating himself with great difficulty, aided 
 by Seth. 
 
 Oh, thank you ; every time I move a new 
 
 way, I get another pain. My friend, where is 
 
 the house what you live in? 
 
 Seth. 
 
 Pointing at inn- 
 There. 
 
 Rip. 
 Did you live there yesterday? 
 
 Seth. 
 Well, rather. 
 
 Rip. 
 No ; it is Nick Vedder what live in that house- 
 Where is Nick Vedder? 
 
i6o RIP VAN WINKLE. 
 
 Seth. 
 Does he? Then I wish he 'd pay the rent for 
 it. Why, Nick Vedder has been dead these fif- 
 teen years. 
 
 Rip. 
 
 Did you know Jacob Stine, what was with him? 
 
 Seth. 
 No ; but I 've heard of him. He was one of 
 the same sort as Rip and Nick. 
 
 Rip. 
 Yes, them fellows was all pretty much alike. 
 
 Seth. 
 Well, he went off the hooks a short time after 
 Rip. 
 
 Rip. 
 Where has he gone ? 
 
 Seth. 
 Off the hooks. 
 
 Rip. 
 What is that, when they go off the hooks? 
 
 Seth. 
 Why, he died. 
 
RIP VAN WINKLE. 161 
 
 Rip. 
 
 With an air of hopelessness. 
 Is there anybody alive here at all? 
 
 Then, with a sudden revulsion of feeling, 
 convinced of the impossibility of what he 
 hears. 
 
 That mail is drunk what talks to me. 
 
 Seth. 
 Ah, they were a jolly set, I reckon. 
 
 Rip. 
 
 Oh, they was. I knowed them all. 
 
 Seth. 
 Did you? 
 
 Rip. 
 
 Yes, I know Jacob Stine, and Nick Vedder, 
 and Rip Van Winkle, and the whole of them. 
 
 A new idea strikes him, and he beckons to 
 Seth, whom he asks, very earnestly. 
 
 Oh, my friend, come and see here. Did you 
 know Schneider? 
 
 Seth. 
 Schneider ! Schneider ! No, I never heard of 
 him. 
 
 Rip. 
 
 Simply. 
 
 He was a dog. I thought you might know 
 
 him. Well, if dat is so, what has become of my 
 
 ii 
 
1 62 RIP VAN WINKLE. 
 
 child Meenie, and my wife Gretchen? Are they 
 
 gone, too? 
 
 Turning to look at the ruins of the house. 
 
 Yah, even the house is dead. 
 
 Seth. 
 
 Poor old chap ! He seems quite cast down at 
 
 the loss of his friends. I '11 step in and get a 
 
 drop of something to cheer him up. 
 
 Exit. 
 
 Rip. 
 
 Puzzling it out with himself. 
 
 I can't make it out how it all was ; because if 
 
 this here is me, what is here now, and Rip Van 
 
 Winkle is dead, then who am I ? That is what I 
 
 would like to know. Yesterday, everybody was 
 
 here ; and now they was all gone. 
 
 Very forlorn. 
 Re-enter Seth, followed by the villagers. 
 
 Seth. 
 
 Offering Rip the cup. 
 There, old gent, there 's a drop of something 
 
 to cheer you up. 
 
 Rip. 
 
 Shaking hands with Seth and Katchen. 
 Oh, thank you. I — I — I swore off; but this 
 is the first time what I see you. I won't count 
 this one. 
 
RIP VAN WINKLE. 163 
 
 His voice breaks. 
 
 My friend, you have been very kind to me. 
 
 Here is your good health, and your family's, and 
 
 may they all live long and prosper ! 
 
 Seth. 
 I say, wife, ain't he a curiosity fit for a show? 
 
 Rip. 
 
 Aside. 
 
 That gives me courage to ask these people 
 
 anodder question. . 
 
 i He begins with difficulty. 
 
 My friend, I don't know whether you knowed 
 it or not, but there was a child of Rip,- Meenie 
 
 her name was. 
 
 Seth. 
 
 Oh, yes; that's all right. 
 Rip. 
 
 With great emotion, leaning forward. 
 She is not gone? She is not dead? No, no! 
 
 Seth. 
 No. She 's alive. 
 
 Rip. 
 
 Sinking back with relief. 
 Meenie is alive. It 's all right now, - all right 
 now. 
 
164 
 
 RIP VAN WINKLE. 
 
 Seth. 
 
 She 's the prettiest girl in the village. 
 
 Rip. 
 I know dat. 
 
 Seth. 
 
 But if she wastes her time waiting on Hen- 
 drick Vedder, she '11 be a middle-aged wo- 
 man before long. 
 
 Rip. 
 
 Incredulously. 
 She's a little 
 child, only six 
 years old. 
 
 Seth. 
 Six - and - 
 twenty, you 
 mean. 
 
 Rip. 
 
 Thinking they 
 are making 
 fun of him. 
 
 She 's a little child no bigger than that. Don't 
 
 bodder me ; I don't like that. 
 
 Seth. 
 
 Why, she 's as big as her mother. 
 
RIP VAN WINKLE. 165 
 
 Rip. 
 
 Very much surprised that Seth knows Gretchen. 
 What, Gretchen? 
 
 Seth. 
 Yes, Gretchen. 
 
 Rip. 
 Is n't Gretchen dead? 
 
 Seth. 
 No ; she 's alive. 
 
 Rip. 
 
 With mixed emotions. 
 Gretchen is alive, eh ! Gretchen 's alive ! 
 
 Seth. 
 Yes ; and married again. 
 
 Rip. 
 
 Fiercely 
 
 How would she do such a thing like that? 
 
 Seth. 
 Wh^^easj^-en^agb?- After Rip died, she was 
 a widow, was n't she? 
 
 Rip. 
 Oh, yes. I forgot about Rip's being dead. 
 Well, and then? 
 
1 66 RIP VAN WINKLE. 
 
 Seth. 
 Well, then Derrick made love to her. 
 
 Rip. 
 
 Surprised, and almost amused. 
 What for Derrick? Not Derrick Von Beek- 
 man? 
 
 Seth. 
 Yes, Derrick Von Beekman. 
 
 Rip. 
 
 Still more interested. 
 Well, and then? 
 
 Seth. 
 Well, then her affairs went bad ; and at last she 
 married him. 
 
 Rip. 
 
 Turning it over in bis mind. 
 Has Derrick married Gretchen? 
 
 Seth. 
 Yes. 
 
 Rip. 
 
 With a flash of his old humour, but still with 
 no laughter. 
 
 Well, I did n't think he would come to any 
 
 good ; I never did. So she cotched Derrick, eh ! 
 
 Poor Derrick ! 
 
RIP VAN WINKLE. 167 
 
 Seth. 
 
 Yes. 
 
 Rip. 
 
 Well, here 's their good health, and their fam- 
 ily's, and may they all live long and prosper ! 
 
 Drinks. 
 
 Seth. 
 Now, old gent, had n't you better be going 
 home, wherever that is? 
 
 Rip. 
 
 With conviction. 
 Where my home was? Here's where it is. 
 
 Seth. 
 What, here in this village? Now do you think 
 we 're going to keep all the half-witted strays 
 that choose to come along here? No; be off 
 with you. Why, it's a shame that those you 
 belong to should allow such an old tramp as you 
 to float around here. 
 
 Villagers. 
 
 Roughly, and trying to push him along. 
 Yes ; away with him ! 
 
 Rip. 
 
 Frightened, and pleading with them. 
 Are you going to drive me away into the hills 
 aeain ? 
 
1 68 RIP VAN WINKLE. 
 
 First Villager. 
 Yes ; away with him ! He 's an old tramp. 
 
 Enter Hendrick, with stick and bundle, fol- 
 lowed by some of the women of the village. 
 
 Villagers. 
 Away with him ! 
 
 Hendrick. 
 
 Throwing down bundle. 
 Avast there, mates. Where are you towing 
 that old hulk to? What, you won't? 
 
 Pushing crowd aside, and going forward. 
 Where are you towing that old hulk to? 
 
 Seth. 
 Who are you? 
 
 Hendrick. 
 
 I 'm a man, every inch of me ; and if you doubt 
 
 it, I '11 undertake to remove the suspicions from 
 
 any two of you in five minutes. Ain't you 
 
 ashamed of yourselves? Don't you see the poor 
 
 old creature has but half his wits? 
 
 Seth. 
 Well, this is no asylum for worn out idiots. 
 
 Villagers. 
 
 Coming forward. 
 No, it ain't! 
 
RIP VAN WINKLE. 169 
 
 Hendrick. 
 
 Ain't it? 
 
 Omnes. 
 No, it ain't. 
 
 Hendrick. 
 
 Then I '11 make it a hospital for broken heads 
 if you stand there much longer. Clear the decks, 
 you lubberly swabs ! 
 
 Drives them aside. Turns to Rip, who stands 
 bewildered. 
 
 What is the cause of all this? 
 
 Helplessly. 
 
 To villagers. 
 
 Rip. 
 I don't know; do you? 
 
 Hendrick. 
 Do any of you know him? 
 
 First Villager. 
 No ; he appears to be a stranger. 
 
 Hendrick. 
 
 To Rip. 
 You seem bewildered. Can I help you? 
 
 Rip. 
 
 Feebly. 
 Just tell me where I live. 
 
170 RIP VAN WINKLE. 
 
 Hendrick. 
 And don't you know? 
 
 Rip. 
 No, I don't. 
 
 Hendrick. 
 
 Why, what's your name? 
 
 Rip. 
 
 Almost childishly. 
 
 I don't know ; but I believe I know vat it used 
 
 to be. My name, it used to be Rip Van Winkle. 
 
 Villagers. 
 
 In astonishment. 
 Rip Van Winkle ? 
 
 Hendrick. 
 Rip Van Winkle? Impossible ! 
 
 Rip. 
 
 Pathetically feeble, and old. 
 
 Well, I would n't swear to it myself. I tell 
 
 you how it was : Last night, I don't know about 
 
 the time, I went away up into the mountains, 
 
 and while I was there I meet a queer kind o' man, 
 
 and we got drinkin' ; and I guess I got pretty 
 
 drunk. And then I went to sleep ; and when I 
 
 woke up this morning, I was dead. 
 
 All laugh. 
 
RIP VAN WINKLE. 171 
 
 HENDRICK. 
 Poor old fellow ; he 's crazy. Rip Van Winkle 
 has been dead these twenty years. I knew him 
 when I was a child. 
 
 RIP. 
 
 Clutching at a faint hope. 
 You don't know me? 
 
 HENDRICK. 
 No ; nor anybody else here, it seems. 
 
 The villagers, finding that there is to be no 
 amusement for them, straggle off to their 
 occupations. 
 
 Seth. 
 
 As he goes into the inn. 
 Why, wife, he 's as cracked as our old teapot. 
 
 Rip. 
 
 With simple pathos. 
 Are we so soon forgot when we are gone? 
 No one remembers Rip Van Winkle. 
 
 HENDRICK. 
 Come, cheer up, my old hearty, and you shall 
 share my breakfast. 
 
 Assists Rip to sit at the table. Rip has 
 fallen into a dream again. 
 
 To Katchen. 
 
 Bring us enough for three, and of your best. 
 
1 72 RIP VAN WINKLE. 
 
 Katchen. 
 
 That I will. 
 
 Exit into inn. 
 
 Hendrick. 
 
 So here I am, home again. And yonder 's the 
 
 very spot where, five years ago, I parted from 
 
 Meenie. 
 
 Rip. 
 
 Roused by the name. 
 What, Meenie Van Winkle? 
 
 Hendrick. 
 
 And she promised to remain true to Hendrick 
 
 Vedder. 
 
 Rip. 
 
 Oh, yah ; that was Nick Vedder's son. 
 Hendrick. 
 
 Turning to Rip. 
 That 's me. 
 
 Rip. 
 
 Resentfully. 
 
 That was you ! You think I 'm a fool? He 's 
 
 a little child, no bigger than that, — the one I 
 
 mean. 
 
 Hendrick. 
 
 How mad he is ! 
 
 Enter Katchen from inn with tray, on which 
 is laid a breakfast. She puts it on table, 
 and exits into inn. 
 
RIP VAN WINKLE. 173 
 
 There, that 's right. Stow your old locker full 
 while I take a cruise around yonder house, where, 
 five years ago, I left the dearest bit of human 
 nature that was ever put together. I '11 be back 
 directly. 
 
 Who comes here? It 's surely Derrick and his 
 wife. Egad, I 'm in luck; for now the old birds 
 are out, Meenie will surely be alone. I '11 take 
 advantage of the coast being clear, and steer into 
 harbour alongside. 
 
 Exit. Enter Derrick, followed by Gretchen. 
 
 Derrick. 
 
 So you have come to that conclusion, have 
 
 you ? 
 
 Gretchen. 
 
 I cannot accept this sacrifice. 
 Rip. 
 
 Starting from his reverie, and turning to 
 look at her. 
 
 Why, that is Gretchen's voice. 
 
 As he recognises her, and sees how aged 
 . she is. 
 
 My, my ! Is that my wife ? 
 
 Derrick. 
 Oh, you can't accept ! Won't you kindly allow 
 me a word on the subject? 
 
i 7 4 RIP VAN WINKLE. 
 
 Rip. 
 
 Aside, humourously. 
 No, indeed, she will not. Now, my friend, you 
 are going to cotch it. 
 
 GRETCHEN. 
 There is a limit even to my patience. Don't 
 drive me to it. 
 
 Rip. 
 
 Aside, drolly. 
 
 Take care, my friend, take care. 
 
 Derrick. 
 
 Look you, woman; Meenie has consented to 
 
 marry my nephew. She has pledged her word 
 
 to do so on condition that I settle an annuity 
 
 on you. 
 
 GRETCHEN. 
 
 I won't allow my child to break her heart. 
 
 Derrick. 
 
 You won't allow? Dare to raise your voice, 
 
 dare but to speak except as I command you, 
 
 you shall repent it to the last hour of your 
 
 life. 
 
 Rip. 
 
 Expectantly. 
 Now she '11 knock him down, flat as a flounder. 
 
RIP VAN WINKLE, 175 
 
 Derrick. 
 
 Sneeringly. 
 You won't allow? This is something new. 
 Who are you ; do you think you are dealing, 
 with your first husband? 
 
 Gretchen. 
 Alas, no ; I wish I was. 
 
 Rip. 
 
 Lost in wonderment. 
 
 My, my, if Rip was alive, he never would 
 
 have believed it ! 
 
 Derrick. 
 So you thought to get the upper hand of me, 
 when you married me ; did n't you ? 
 
 Gretchen. 
 I thought to get a home for my little girl — 
 shelter, and food ; want drove me to your door, 
 and I married you for a meal's victuals for my 
 sick child. 
 
 Derrick. 
 So you came to me as if I was a poor-house, 
 eh ? Then you can't complain of the treat- 
 ment you received. You sacrificed yourself for 
 
i-j6 
 
 RIP VAN WINKLE. 
 
 Meenie ; and the least she can do now, is to do 
 the same for you. In an hour, the deeds will be 
 ready. Now, just you take care that no insolent 
 interference of yours spoils my plans ; do you 
 hear? 
 
 Gretchen. 
 Yes, sir. 
 
 Derrick. 
 Why can't you 
 be kind and affec- 
 tionate to her, as I 
 am to you. There, 
 go and blubber over her; that's your way. You 
 are always pretending to be miserable. 
 
RIP VAN WINKLE. 177 
 
 Gretchen. 
 Alas, no, sir ! I am always pretending to be 
 happy. 
 
 Derrick. 
 Don't cry. I won't have it; come now, none 
 of that. If you come home to-day with red 
 eyes, and streaky cheeks, I '11 give you some- 
 thing to cry for; now you know what's for 
 
 supper. 
 
 Exit. 
 
 Rip. 
 
 Still amazed. 
 Well, if I had n't seen it, I never would have 
 believed it ! 
 
 Gretchen. 
 
 Absorbed in her grief. 
 
 Oh, wretch that I am, I must consent, or that 
 
 man will surely thrust her out of doors to starve, 
 
 to beg, and to become — 
 
 Seeing Rip. 
 
 Yes, to become a thing of rags and misery, 
 like that poor soul. 
 
 Rip. 
 She always drived the beggars away; I sup- 
 pose I must go. 
 
 Getting up, and starting to go. 
 
i 7 8 RIP VAN WINKLE. 
 
 Gretchen. 
 
 Taking penny from her pocket. 
 
 Here, my poor man, take this. It is only a 
 
 penny; but take it, and may God bless you, 
 
 poor wanderer, so old, so helpless. Why do 
 
 you come to this strange place, so far from 
 
 home? 
 
 Rip. 
 
 Keeping his face turned away from her. 
 She don't know me ; she don't know me ! 
 
 Gretchen. 
 Are you alone in the world? 
 
 Rip. 
 
 Trying to bring himself to look directly at 
 Gretchen. 
 
 My wife asks me if I 'm alone. 
 
 Gretchen. 
 Come with me. How feeble he is ; there, lean 
 on me. Come to yonder house, and there you 
 shall rest your limbs by the fire. 
 
 Gretchen takes his arm, and puts it in her 
 own. As they move towards her house, 
 Rip stops, and, with an effort, turns and 
 looks her full in the face, with a penetrat- 
 ing gaze, as if imploring recognition, but 
 there is none; and, sadly shaking his head, 
 he shrinks into himself, and allows her to 
 lead him totterintr off. 
 
RIP VAN WINKLE. 179 
 
 Scene iv. 
 
 The same room in Derrick's home as in 
 Scene II. 
 
 Enter Derrick. 
 
 Derrick. 
 I don't know what women wore invented for, 
 except to make a man's life miserable. I can get 
 a useful, hard-working woman to keep my house 
 clean, and order my dinner for me, for half that 
 weak snivelling creature costs me. 
 
 Enter Cockles. 
 
 Cockles. 
 Well, uncle, what news; will she have me? 
 
 Derrick. 
 Leave it to me; she must, she shall. 
 
 Cockles. 
 If she holds out, what are we to do? It was 
 all very well, you marrying Rip's widow, that 
 choked off all inquiry into his affairs; but here 's 
 Meenie, Rip's heiress, who rightly owns all this 
 property ; if we don't secure her, we 're not 
 safe. 
 
 Derrick. 
 You 've got rid of Hendrick Vedder ; that 's 
 one obstacle removed. 
 
i8o RIP VAN WINKLE. 
 
 Cockles. 
 I'm not so sure about that. His ship was 
 wrecked on a lonely coast ; but some of the 
 crew may have, unfortunately, been saved. 
 
 Derrick. 
 If he turns up after you're married, what 
 need you care? 
 
 Cockles. 
 I'd like nothing better; I'd like to see his 
 face when he saw my arm around his sweet- 
 heart — my wife. But if he turns up before 
 our marriage — 
 
 Derrick. 
 I must put the screw on somewhere. 
 
 Cockles. 
 I '11 tell you, Meenie will do anything for her 
 mother's sake. Now you are always threatening 
 to turn her out, as she turned out Rip. That's 
 the tender place. Meenie fears more for her 
 mother, than she cares for herself. 
 
 Derrick. 
 Well, what am I to do? 
 
RIP VAN WINKLE. 181 
 
 Cockles. 
 Make Gretchen independent of you ; settle 
 the little fortune on her, that you are always 
 talking about doing, but never keeping your 
 word. The girl will sell herself to secure her 
 mother's happiness. 
 
 Derrick. 
 And it would be a cheap riddance for me. I 
 was just talking about it to Gretchen this morn- 
 ing. You shall have the girl ; but I hope you 
 are not going to marry her out of any weak 
 feeling of love. You 're not going to let her 
 make a fool of you by and by? 
 
 Cockles. 
 I never cared for her until she was impudent 
 to me, and got that sailor lover of hers to 
 thrash me ; and then I began to feel a hunger 
 for her I never felt before. 
 
 Derrick. 
 That's just the way I felt for Gretchen. 
 
 Cockles. 
 'T ain't revenge that I feel ; it 's enterprise. I 
 want to overcome a difficulty. 
 
182 
 
 RIP VAN WINKLE. 
 Derrick. 
 
 Chuckling. 
 
 And so you shall. Come, we '11 put your 
 
 scheme in train at once; and let this be a warn- 
 
 ing to you hereafter, never marry another man's 
 
 widow. 
 
 Cockles. 
 
 No, uncle; I'll take a leaf out of your book, 
 
 and let it be a warning to her. 
 
 Exeunt. 
 
RIP VAN WINKLE. x s 3 
 
 Scene v. 
 
 A plain sitting-room in Derrick's house. A 
 table stands in the centre with several 
 chairs around it. There are cups, a jug, 
 and a work-basket on the table. As the 
 curtain rises, Meenie is discovered seated 
 by the table. 
 
 Meenie. 
 Why should I repine? Did my mother hesi- 
 tate to sacrifice her life to make a home for me? 
 No ; these tears are ungrateful, selfish. 
 
 The door at the back opens, and Gretchen 
 enters, leading Rip, who seems very feeble 
 and a little wild. 
 
 Gretchen. 
 Come in and rest awhile. 
 
 Rip. 
 This your house, your home? 
 
 Gretchen. 
 Yes. Meenie, Meenie, bring him a chair. 
 
 Rip. 
 
 Turning aside so as to shield his face from 
 Meenie. 
 
 Is that your daughter? 
 
184 RIP VAN WINKLE. 
 
 Gretchen. 
 
 That is my daughter. 
 
 Rip. 
 
 Looking timidly at Meenie, as Gretchen 
 helps him into a chair. 
 
 I thought you was a child. 
 Gretchen. 
 
 Crossing to go into another room, and 
 speaking to Meenie, who starts to follow 
 her. 
 
 Stay with him until I get some food to fill his 
 wallet. Don't be frightened, child, he is only 
 a simple, half-witted creature whose misery has 
 touched my heart. 
 
 Exit. Meenie takes her work-basket, and 
 starts to follow. 
 
 Rip. 
 
 Holding out his hand to detain her, and 
 speaking with hardly suppressed excite- 
 ment. 
 One moment, my dear. Come here, and let 
 
 me look at you. 
 
 Pathetically. 
 
 Are you afraid? I won't hurt you. I only 
 
 want to look at you; that is all. Wont you 
 
 come? 
 
RIP VAN WINKLE. 
 
 iS = 
 
 Meenie puts down her work-basket ; and Rip 
 is relieved of his great fear that she might 
 leave him. His excitement increases as 
 he goes on in his struggle to make her 
 recognise him. 
 
 Yes; I thought you would. Oh, yah, that is 
 
 Meenie ! But you are grown ! 
 
 Meenie smiles. 
 
 But see the smile and the eyes ! That is just 
 the same Meenie. You are a woman, Meenie. 
 Do you remember something of your father? 
 
1 86 RIP VAN WINKLE. 
 
 He looks at her eagerly and anxiously, as if 
 on her answer hung his reason and his 
 life. 
 
 Meenie. 
 I do. I do. Oh, I wish he was here now ! 
 
 Rip. 
 
 Half rising in his chair, in his excitement. 
 Yah? But he is n't? No? No? 
 
 Meenie. 
 No; he 's dead. I remember him so well. No 
 one ever loved him as I did. 
 
 Rip. 
 
 No; nobody ever loved me like my child. 
 
 Meenie. 
 
 Never shall I forget his dear, good face. Tell 
 
 me — 
 
 Rip. 
 
 Eagerly and expectantly. 
 Yah? — 
 
 Meenie. 
 
 Did you know him? 
 
RIP VAN WINKLE. 187 
 
 Rip. 
 
 Confused by her question, and afraid to 
 answer. 
 
 Well— I thought I did. But I — When I 
 say that here, in the village, the people all laugh 
 at me. 
 
 Meenie. 
 
 He is wandering. 
 
 She starts to go. 
 
 Rip. 
 
 Making a great effort of will, and resolved 
 to put the question of his identity to the 
 test. 
 
 Don't go away from me. I want you to look 
 
 at me now, and tell me if you have ever seen me 
 
 before. 
 
 Meenie. 
 
 Surprised. 
 No. 
 
 Rip. 
 
 Holding out his arms to her. 
 Try, my darlin,' won't you ? 
 
 Meenie. 
 
 Frightened. 
 What do you mean? Why do you gaze so 
 earnestly and fondly on me? 
 
1 88 RIP VAN WINKLE. 
 
 Rip. 
 
 Rising from his chair, in trembling excite- 
 ment, and approaching her. 
 
 I am afraid to tell you, my dear, because if 
 
 you say it is not true, it may be it would break 
 
 my heart But, Meenie, either I dream, or I am 
 
 mad ; but I am your father. 
 
 Meenie. 
 My father ! 
 
 Rip. 
 Yes ; but hear me, my dear, and then you will 
 
 know. 
 
 Trying to be logical and calm, but labouring 
 under great excitement. 
 
 This village here is the village of Falling 
 
 Waters. Well, that was my home. I had here 
 
 in this place my wife Gretchen, and my child 
 
 Meenie — little Meenie — 
 
 A long pause, during which he strives to 
 re-assemble his ideas and memories more 
 accurately. 
 
 and my dog Schneider. That 's all the family 
 
 what I 've got. Try and remember me, dear, 
 
 won't you ? 
 
 Pleadingly. 
 
 I don't know when it was — This night there 
 
 was a storm ; and my wife drived me from my 
 
"Ah, my child! Somebody knows me now! " 
 
RIP VAN WINKLE. 189 
 
 house; and I went away — I don't remember any 
 more till I come back here now. And see, I get 
 back now, and my wife is gone, and my home is 
 gone. My home is gone, and my child — my 
 child looks in my face, and don't know who I 
 
 am ! 
 
 Meenie. 
 
 Rushing into his arms. 
 I do ! Father ! 
 
 Rip. 
 
 Sobbing. 
 Ah, my child ! Somebody knows me now ! 
 Somebody knows me now ! 
 
 Meenie. 
 But can it be possible? 
 
 Rip. 
 
 Oh, yah ; it is so, Meenie ! 
 
 With a pathetic return of his uncertainty. 
 
 Don't say it is not, or you will kill me if you 
 
 do. 
 
 Meenie. 
 
 No. One by one your features come back to 
 
 my memory. Your voice recalls that of my 
 
 dear father, too. I cannot doubt; yet it is so 
 
 strange. 
 
 Rip. 
 
 Yah, but it is me, Meenie ; it is me. 
 
190 RIP VAN WINKLE. 
 
 Meenie. 
 
 I am bewildered. Surely mother will know 
 you. 
 
 Rip. 
 No, I don't believe she'll know me. 
 
 Smilinsr. 
 
 Meenie. 
 
 She can best prove your identity. I will call 
 
 her. 
 
 Rip. 
 
 No. You call the dog Schneider. He '11 
 know me better than my wife. 
 
 They retire to a sofa in the background, 
 where Rip sits with his arm around 
 Meenie. * 
 
 Enter Derrick, with documents. 
 
 1 In reply to a question, why Rip should sit with his arm 
 around Meenie, during the next scene, when the other persons 
 in the drama are present, and are still ignorant of his identity, 
 Mr. Jefferson said : " The other persons are occupied with 
 their own affairs, and are not supposed to see this. It is 
 natural that Rip should embrace his daughter whom he has 
 just found ; but the others are not supposed to see it. It is 
 like a side speech on the stage. I went to a Chinese theatre 
 once, and after the Chinese lady got through with her song, 
 they brought her a glass of gin ; she turned her back to the 
 audience, and drank it, as much as to say, 'That's not in the 
 play.' We are dealing with the impossible all the time on the 
 stage ; and we have got to make it appear possible. Dramati- 
 cally, things may often be right, when, realistically, they are 
 wrong. What we do is often the result of averaging the 
 thing, determining how far good taste will admit of an error, 
 you see; like the discord in music, — not good in itself, but 
 good in its place." 
 
RIP VAN WINKLE. 19 1 
 
 Derrick. 
 
 What old vagabond is this? 
 
 Meenie starts to resent insult. 
 
 Rip. 
 Don't you say a word. 
 
 Derrick. 
 
 Here, give him a cold potato, and let him go. 
 To Gretchen, who has entered, followed by 
 Cockles. Gretchen seats herself in the 
 chair at the right of the table. 
 Come you here, mistress. Here are the papers 
 for the young couple to sign. 
 
 Cockles. 
 
 Aside. 
 And the sooner the better. Hush, uncle. 
 Hendrick is here. 
 
 Derrick. 
 
 Young Vedder? Then we must look sharp. 
 
 To Gretchen. 
 
 Come, fetch that girl of yours to sign this 
 
 deed. 
 
 Gretchen. 
 
 Never shall she put her name to that paper 
 
 with my consent. Never. 
 
1 92 RIP VAN WINKLE. 
 
 Derrick. 
 Dare you oppose me in my own house? Dare 
 you preach disobedience under my roof? 
 
 Gretchen. 
 I dare do anything when my child's life 's at 
 stake. No, a thousand times, no ! You shall not 
 make of her what you have of me. Starvation 
 and death are better than such a life as I lead. 
 
 Derrick. 
 
 Raising cane. 
 Don't provoke me. 
 
 Gretchen. 
 
 Kneeling. 
 
 Beat me, starve me. You can only kill me. 
 
 After all, I deserve it. 
 
 Rising. 
 
 But Meenie has given her promise to Hendrick 
 
 Vedder, and she shall not break her word. 
 
 Cockles. 
 
 Seated at right of table. 
 But Hendrick Vedder is dead. 
 
 The door is flung open, and Hendrick enters. 
 
 Hendrick. 
 That 's a lie ! He 's alive ! 
 
RIP VAN WINKLE. 193 
 
 Gretchen AND Meenie. 
 
 Rushing to him. 
 Alive ! 
 
 Hendrick. 
 
 To Meenie. 
 
 I 've heard all about it. They made you 
 
 believe that I was dead. 
 
 To Derrick. 
 Only wait till I get through here. 
 
 Embracing Meenie. 
 
 What a pleasure I 've got to come ! 
 
 To Derrick. 
 
 And what a thrashing I 've brought back for 
 
 you two swabs. 
 
 Derrick. 
 
 Angrily. 
 
 Am I to be bullied under my own roof by a 
 
 beggarly sailor? Quit my house, all of you. 
 
 Seizes Gretchen, and drags her away from 
 the crowd. 
 
 As for you, woman, this is your work, and I '11 
 make you pay for it. 
 
 Gretchen. 
 Hendrick, save me from him. He will kill me. 
 
 Hendrick. 
 Stand off! 
 
I94 RIP VAN WINKLE. 
 
 Derrick. 
 No ; she is my wife, mine. 
 
 Raisins: cane. 
 
 Gretchen. 
 Heaven help me, I aril ! 
 
 Rip has risen from the sofa, and come for- 
 ward, and leans against the centre of the 
 table, with one hand in his game-bag. He 
 is fully awake now, and has recovered all 
 his old shrewdness. 
 
 Rip. 
 Stop. I am not so sure about that. If that is 
 so, then what has become of Rip Van Winkle? 
 
 Cockles. 
 He 's dead. 
 
 Rip. 
 That's another lie. He's no more dead than 
 Hendrick Vedder. Derrick Von Beekman, you 
 say this house and land was yours? 
 
 Derrick. 
 Yes. 
 
 Rip. 
 
 Where and what is the paper what you wanted 
 Rip Van Winkle to sign when he was drunk, but 
 sober enough not to do it? 
 
RIP VAN WINKLE. 195 
 
 Taking an old paper out of game-bag, and 
 turning to Hendrick. 
 
 Have you forgot how to read? 
 
 Hendrick. 
 
 No. 
 
 Rip. 
 
 Then you read that. 
 
 Hendrick takes the document from Rip, and 
 looks it over. 
 
 Derrick. 
 What does this mad old vagabond mean to 
 
 say? 
 
 Rip. 
 
 I mean, that is my wife, Gretchen Van Winkle. 
 
 GRETCHEN. 
 
 Rushing to Rip. 
 
 Rip ! Rip ! 
 
 Cockles. 
 
 I say, uncle, are you going to stand that? That 
 
 old impostor is going it under your nose in fine 
 
 style. 
 
 Derrick. 
 
 I 'm dumb with rage. 
 
 To the villagers, who have come crowding in. 
 Out of my house, all of you ! Begone, you 
 old tramD ! 
 
196 RIP VAN WINKLE. 
 
 Hendrick. 
 
 Stay where you are. 
 
 To Derrick. 
 
 This house don't belong to you. Not an acre 
 
 of land, not a brick in the town is yours. They 
 
 have never ceased to belong to Rip Van Winkle ; 
 
 and this document proves it. 
 
 Derrick. 
 'T is false. That paper is a forgery. 
 
 Hendrick. 
 Oh, no, it is not ; for I read it to Rip twenty 
 years ago. 
 
 Rip. 
 Clever boy ! Clever boy ! Dat 's the reason I 
 did n't sign it then, Derrick. 
 
 Derrick. 
 
 Approaching Hendrick. 
 And do you think I 'm fool enough to give up 
 my property in this way? 
 
 Hendrick. 
 No. You 're fool enough to hang on to it, 
 until we make you refund to Rip every shilling 
 over and above the paltry sum you loaned him 
 
RIP VAN WINKLE. 197 
 
 upon it. Now, if you are wise, you '11 take a hint. 
 There 's the door. Go ! And never let us see 
 your face again. 
 
 Rip. 
 
 Yah ; give him a cold potato, and let him go. 
 
 Exit Derrick in a great rage. All the vil- 
 lagers laugh at him. Hendrick follows 
 him to the door. 
 
 Cockles. 
 
 Kneeling by Meenie. 
 
 Meenie ! Meenie ! 
 
 Hendrick. 
 
 Coming down, and taking him by ear. 
 
 1 '11 Meenie you ! 
 
 Takes him and pushes him out. All the 
 villagers laugh. Meenie gives Rip a chair. 
 
 Gretchen. 
 
 Kneeling by the side of Rip. 
 
 O Rip ! I drove you from your home ; but 
 
 do not desert me again. I '11 never speak an 
 
 unkind word to you, and you shall never see a 
 
 frown on my face. And Rip — 
 
 Rip. 
 
 Yah. 
 
198 RIP VAN WINKLE. 
 
 Gretchen. 
 You may stay out all night, if you like. 
 
 Rip. 
 
 Leaning back in his chair. 
 No, thank you. I had enough of that. 
 
 Gretchen. 
 And, Rip, you can get tight as often as you 
 please. 
 
 Taking bottle, and filling the cup from it. 
 
 Rip. 
 No ; I don't touch another drop. 
 
 Meenie. 
 
 Kneeling by the other side of Rip. 
 Oh, yes, you will, father. For see, here are all 
 the neighbours come to welcome you home. 
 
 Gretchen offers Rip the cup. 
 
 Rip. 
 
 With all his old kindliness and hospitality- 
 Well, bring in all the children, and the neigh- 
 bours, and the dogs, and — 
 
 Seeing the cup which Gretchen is offering 
 to him. 
 
 I swore off, you know. Well, I won't count 
 this one ; for this will go down with a prayer. 
 
RIP VAN WINKLE. 
 
 99 
 
 I will take my cup and pipe, and tell my 
 strange story to all my friends. Here is my 
 child Meenie, and my wife Gretchen, and my boy 
 Hendrick. I '11 drink all your good health, and 
 I '11 drink your good health, and your families', 
 and may they all live long and prosper ! 
 
 [CURTAIN.] 
 
Lb 19