Greetings. Tis I, the Headless Horseman. Welcome to a very special five-part Halloween presentation from Gen Z Media. If you liked listening to The Hollow, then you probably know it was based on The Legend of Sleepy Hollow. a short story written by Washington Irving, 200 years ago. It is one of the most famous scary stories of all time. We present it here as an audiobook in its original text. A warning to all mortals. What you're about to hear is a tale from 1820.
Many things have changed in our culture since then. You're going to hear some outdated language, some outdated gender roles, and references to things like corporal punishment in schools and bullying behavior. Also, it's kinda scary. Listener discretion. In this way matters went on for some time without producing any material effect on the relative situations of the contending powers. On a fine autumnal afternoon,
Ichabod, in pensive mood, sat enthroned on the lofty stool from whence he usually watched all the concerns of his little literary realm. In his hand he swayed a ferrule, that scepter of despotic power. The birch of justice reposed on three nails behind the throne, a constant terror to evildoers. While on the desk before him might be seen sundry contraband articles and prohibited weapons detected upon the persons of idle urchins, such as half-munched apples.
pop guns, whirligigs, fly cages, and whole legions of rampant little paper gamecocks. Apparently, There had been some appalling act of justice recently inflicted, for his scholars were all busily intent upon their books. Or, slyly whispering behind them with one eye kept on the master, and a kind of buzzing stillness reigned throughout the classroom. All was now bustle and hubbub in the late, quiet schoolroom. The scholars were hurried through their lessons without stopping at trifles.
Those who were nimble skipped over half with impunity, and those who were tardy had a smart application now and then in the rear to quicken their speed or help them over a tall word. Books were flung aside without being put away on the shelves. Ink stands were overturned, benches thrown down, and the whole school was turned loose an hour before the usual time. bursting forth like a legion of young imps, yelping and racketing around the green in joy at their early emancipation.
The gallant Ichabod now spent at least an extra half hour at his toilet, brushing and furbishing up his best, and indeed only suit of rusty black. and arranging his locks by a bit of broken looking-glass that hung up in the schoolhouse, that he might make his appearance before his mistress in the true style of a cavalier. He borrowed a horse from the farmer with whom he was domicilated. She's the best horse I'll have, mystery. A clerical Dutchman named Hans van Ripper.
Well, yes, I suppose she'll work. And thus gallantly mounted, issued forth like a knight errant in quest of adventures. But... It is meat I should, in the true spirit of romantic story, give some account of the looks and equipments of my hero and his steed. The animal he bestrode was a... broken-down plow horse that had outlived almost everything but its viciousness. He was gaunt and shagged with a u-neck and head like a hammer.
His rusty mane and tail were tangled and knotted with burrs. One eye had lost its pupil and was glaring and spectral, but the other had the gleam of a genuine devil in it. Still, he must have had fire and metal in his day if we may judge from the name he bore of gunpowder. He had, in fact, been a favorite steed of his masters, the choleric Van Ripper, who was a furious writer.
and had infused very probably some of his own spirit into the animal. For old and broken down as he looked, there was more of the lurking devil in him than in any young filly in the country. Ichabod was a suitable figure for such a steed. He rode with short stirrups, which brought his knees nearly up to the pommel of the saddle. His sharp elbows stuck out like a grasshopper's. He carried the whip perpendicularly in his hand like a scepter. And as his horse jogged on...
The motion of his arms was not unlike the flapping of a pair of wings. A small wool hat rested on the top of his nose, for so his scanty strip of forehead might be called. and the skirts of his black coat fluttered out almost to the horse's tail. Such was the appearance of Ichabod and his steed as they shambled out of the gate of Hans von Ripper. and it was altogether such an apparition as is seldom to be met with in broad daylight. It was, as I have said, a fine autumnal day.
The sky was clear and serene, and nature wore that rich and golden livery which we always associate with the idea of abundance. The forests had put on their somber brown and yellow, while some trees of the tenderer kind had been nipped by the frosts into brilliant dyes of orange and purple and scarlet. Streaming files of wild ducks began to make their appearance high in the air. The bark of a squirrel might be heard from the groves of beech and hickory nuts
and the pensive whistle of the quail at intervals from the neighboring stubblefield. The small birds were taking their farewell banquets. In the fullness of their revelry, they fluttered. chirping and frolicking from bush to bush and tree to tree, capricious from the very profusion and variety around them. There was the honest robin, the favorite game of stripling sportsmen.
with its loud querulous note and the twittering blackbirds flying in sable clouds and the golden-winged woodpecker with its crimson crest his broad black gorget and
splendid plumage. And the cedar bird, with its red-tipped wings and yellow-tipped tail and its little Monteiro cap of feathers, and the blue jay, that noisy coxcomb with his gay light blue coat and white underclothes, screaming and chattering, nodding and bobbing and bowing and pretending to be on good terms with every songster of the Grove. As Ichabod jogged slowly on his way, His eye, ever open to every symptom of culinary abundance, ranged with delight over the treasures of jolly autumn.
On all sides he beheld vast stores of apples, some hanging in oppressive opulence on the trees, some gathered into baskets and barrels for the market. Others heaped up in rich piles for the cider press. Farther on, he beheld great fields of Indian corn with its golden ears peeping from their lofty coverts and holding out the promise.
of cakes and hasty pudding, and the yellow pumpkins lying beneath them, turning up their fair round bellies in the sun and giving ample prospects of the most luxurious of pies. And anon. He passed the fragrant buckwheat fields, breathing the odor of the beehive, and as he beheld them, soft anticipations stole over his mind of dainty slapjacks. well buttered and garnished with honey or treacle by the delicate little dimpled hand of katrina van tassel thus feeding his mind with many sweet
thoughts and sugared suppositions, he journeyed along the side of a range of hills which look upon some of the goodliest scenes of the mighty Hudson. The sun gradually wheeled his broad disc down in the west. The wide bosom of the Tappan Zee lay motionless and glassy, except in... that here and there a gentle undulation waved and prolonged the blue shadow of the distant mountain. A few amber clouds floated in the sky,
without a breath of air to move them. The horizon was of a fine golden tint, changing gradually into a pure apple green. And from that... into the deep blue of the midheaven. A slanting ray lingered on the woody crests of the precipices that... overhung some parts of the river, giving greater depth to the dark gray and purple of the rocky sides. A sloop was loitering in the distance.
dropping slowly down with the tide, her sail hanging uselessly against the mast, and as the reflection of the sky gleamed along the still water, It seemed as if the vessel was suspended in the air. It was toward evening that Ichabod arrived.
at the castle of Hirvan Tassel, which he found thronged with the pride and flower of the adjacent country. Old farmers, a spare leathern-faced race, In homespun coats and breeches, blue stockings, huge shoes, and magnificent pewter buckles, their brisk, withered little dames in close-crimped caps,
long-waisted short gowns, homespun petticoats, with scissors and pin cushions and gay calico pockets hanging on the outside, buxom lasses, almost as antiquated as their mothers, excepting where a straw had a fine ribbon or perhaps a white frock gave symptoms of city innovation. The Sons in short, square-skirted coats with rows of stupendous brass buttons and their hair generally cued in the fashion of the times.
especially if they could procure an eel skin for the purpose, it being esteemed throughout the country as a potent nourisher and strengthener of the hair. Brom bones, however, was the hero of the scene. Having come to the gathering on his favorite steed, Daredevil, a creature like himself, full of metal and mischief and which no one but himself could manage, He was, in fact, noted for preferring vicious animals, given to all kinds of tricks which kept the writer in constant risk of his neck.
for he held a tractable, well-broken horse as unworthy of a lad of spirit. Fain would I pause to dwell upon the world of charms that burst upon the enraptured gaze of my hero. as he entered the state parlor of Van Tassel's mansion. Not those of the bevy of buxom lasses with their luxurious display of red and white?
but the ample charms of a genuine Dutch country tea-table in the sumptuous time of autumn. Such heaped-up platters of cakes of various and almost indescribable kinds known only to experienced Dutch housewives, there was the doughty doughnut, the tender orlicook, and the crisp and crumbling kruller. Sweet cakes and short cakes, ginger cakes and honey cakes, and the whole family of cakes. And then...
There were apple pies and peach pies and pumpkin pies, besides slices of ham and smoked beef, and moreover, delectable dishes of preserved plums and peaches and pears and quinces. not to mention broiled shad and roasted chickens, together with bowls of milk and cream, all mingled higgledy-piggledy, pretty much as I've enumerated them, with the motherly teapot.
sending up its clouds of vapor from the midst. Heaven bless the mark. I want breath and time to discuss this banquet as it deserves and am too eager to get on with my story. Happily, Ichabod Crane was not in so great a hurry as his historian, but did ample justice to every dainty. He was a kind and thankful creature, whose heart dilated in proportion as his skin was filled with good cheer, and whose spirits rose with eating as some men's do with drink.
He could not help, too, rolling his large eyes round him as he ate and chuckling with the possibility that he might one day be lord of all this scene of... almost unimaginable luxury and splendor. Then he thought how soon he'd turn his back upon the old schoolhouse, snap his fingers in the face of Hans von Ripper and every other patron and... kick any itinerant pedagogue out of the doors that should dare to call him comrade.
like to propose a toast to the wonderful bounty you see before you and that the lord blessed us all with its abundance Yes, Mr. Ichabod. Amen. Now, everyone, as my grandfather used to say, Old Baltus Van Tassel moved about among his guests with a... face dilated with content and good humor, round and jolly as the harvest moon. His hospitable attentions were brief but expressive, being confined to a shake of the hand.
A slap on the shoulder, a loud laugh, and a pressing invitation to fall to and help themselves. And now, the sound of the music from the common room or hall summoned the dance. Ichabod prided himself upon his dancing as much as upon his vocal powers. Not a limb, not a fiber about him was idle. And to have seen his loosely hung frame in full motion and clattering about the room, you would have thought St. Vitus himself, that blessed patron of the dance, was figuring before you in person.
How could the flogger of urchins be otherwise than animated and joyous? The lady of his heart was his partner in the dance, and smiling graciously in reply to all his amorous oaklings. While Brom Bones, sorely smitten with love and jealousy, sat brooding by himself in one corner. When the dance was at an end, Ichabod was attracted to a knot of the Sager folks, who, with old Van Tassel sat smoking at one end of the piazza, gossiping over former times and Drawing out long stories about the war.
On horseback they ran him down he was on foot. That Hashan just rode right by him and swung his sword. Chop that man's head right off. Yeah, I saw that. That's right now. You, schoolmaster. Me? Did you? You ever heard of a Haitian? No. They ride right up on you and... Your head right off your shoulders with their sabers They ride on horseback and chase you down like a dog Just like The headless Orsian. Oh, I will take my leave of you now, gentlemen. Good evening.
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