Текст книги "Страна Северного Ветра / At the Back of the North Wind"

Автор книги: Джордж МакДональд

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 17 (всего у книги 35 страниц)

_{ГЛАВА ТРИДЦАТЬ ВОСЬМАЯ}
Страна Северного Ветра

Я не видел Алмаза около недели, а когда мы снова встретились, мальчик рассказал мне то, что я поведал вам. Меня бы, конечно, удивила точность, с которой Алмаз смог передать их разговоры с Царицей Северного Ветра, если бы я не знал к тому времени, как мудры бывают иные дети, когда речь идёт о чём-то сверхъестественном. Только вот боюсь, как бы из-за моих многочисленных рассказов люди не приняли бы мальчика за одного из тех важничающих и самодовольных маленьких чудовищ, которые всегда стараются произнести нечто умное и ждут одобрения окружающих. Если такой ребёнок умирает, из него впору делать чучело для музея, а не писать про него наивную и добрую книжку. Но Алмаза никогда не волновало, что о нём думают люди. И он никогда не стремился быть умнее всех. Самые мудрые слова слетали с его уст, когда он просил помочь ему в чём-нибудь разобраться. Он даже на Нэнни с Джимом не обижался, когда те звали его дурачком. Мальчик думал, что просто не совсем их понимает. Однако, мне кажется, что другое прозвище, которое ему дали, – Божий ребёнок – отчасти помогло ему смириться с первым.

К счастью, всё сверхъестественное интересовало меня не меньше Алмаза и поэтому, когда он пересказывал мне свои разговоры с Царицей Северного Ветра, я вовсе не чувствовал себя в незнакомом море, и хотя точно определить, насколько оно глубоко, я мог не всегда, но был совершенно уверен, что до дна здесь не достать.

– Как вы думаете, сэр, мне всё это просто приснилось? – с тревогой спросил мальчик.

– Не могу тебе ответить, Алмаз, – произнёс я. – Но в одном ты можешь быть твёрдо уверен: существует любовь ещё прекраснее той, которую дарит тебе та, кого ты зовёшь Царицей Северного Ветра. Даже если она всего лишь твой сон, такое бесконечно красивое создание не случайно приснилось именно тебе.

– Да, я знаю, – отозвался Алмаз. – Знаю.

Он замолк, но, признаюсь, выглядел скорее задумчивым, чем удовлетворённым.

Когда я увидел мальчика в следующий раз, он выглядел бледнее обычного.

– Ты снова видел свою Царицу? – спросил я.

– Да, – ответил он очень серьёзно.

– Вы куда-нибудь вместе летали?

– Нет, она со мной даже не заговорила. Я неожиданно проснулся, как всегда бывает, когда она приходит, и увидел её напротив двери в большую комнату. Она сидела точно так, как тогда на пороге своего дома, белая, как снег, а глаза её отливали синевой айсберга. Она на меня смотрела, но не пошевелилась и не произнесла ни звука.

– Ты испугался? – поинтересовался я.

– Нет. Почему я должен был испугаться? – ответил Алмаз. – Я лишь чуть-чуть замёрз.

– Долго она там оставалась?

– Не знаю. Я снова заснул. Но с тех пор я так и не смог согреться, – добавил он с улыбкой.

Слова мальчика немного меня встревожили, однако я промолчал.

Спустя четыре дня я снова заглянул в Холмы. Горничная, что отворила дверь, выглядела печальной, но я ничего не заподозрил. Когда же я вошёл в гостиную, то увидел заплаканную миссис Реймонд.

– Вы разве не слышали? – сказала она в ответ на мой вопросительный взгляд.

– Нет, а что случилось? – спросил я.

– Этим утром мы нашли нашего славного маленького Алмаза на полу большой комнаты на чердаке. Он лежал сразу за порогом, и нам показалось, что он крепко спит. Но когда мы его подняли, то увидели, что он не спит. Он…

Тут добрая женщина снова залилась слезами.

– Можно мне его увидеть? – попросил я.

– Да, – ответила она сквозь рыдания. – Вы ведь сможете сами найти дорогу наверх.

Я поднялся по винтовой лестнице и вошёл в комнату мальчика. Он неподвижно лежал на кровати, а его лицо отливало белизной мрамора. Он был прекрасен. Я сразу обо всём догадался. Все решили, что он умер. Но я-то знал, что Алмаз отправился в Страну Северного Ветра.

Послесловие издателя второй версии файла.

 Перевод О. Антоновой при всей аккуратности лишил сказку атмосферы времени. Мелочи, вроде замены ночной сорочки на пижаму делают текст более понятным современному ребёнку и снимают его вопрос – «А почему сорочка?». Повседневная мода изменилась за век. Но разве это хорошо, когда ребёнок не задаёт вопросов? Не заменяют же кэбы на такси?

 Вызывает некоторое удивление и перевод имён, но может быть тут и стоило перевести, так как имя главному герою дали в честь коня и в тексте есть момент, когда коней уже два – Алмаз и Рубин, что и обыгрывается в шутке. Так или иначе, это всё дало идею переиздать сказку так, как сейчас и должны делаться электронные издания – снабдив всей информацией, которая может быть полезна читателю.

В самом начале оригинала есть список иллюстраций:

Это издательская вежливость того времени – облегчить покупателю просмотр товара для более справедливой оценки.

Вместо этой страницы в электронной книге создан альбом, в котором можно просмотреть все иллюстрации: русские и английские.

Английский текст требует вычитки хорошо знающим английский, так как взят как есть из интернет архива https://archive.org/details/atbackofnorthwin00macd/mode/1up

Внимание: В некоторых программах для чтения, ссылки в примечаниях не работают. Это баг. Спецификация Fb2 не ограничивает ссылки во всех текстах. Пожалуйста, обращайтесь к разработчикам читалки. В этом файле внешние ссылки в примечаниях используются только для указания источников.

At the Back of the North Wind

Project Gutenberg's At the Back of the North Wind, by George MacDonald

This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with

almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or

re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included

with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org

Title: At the Back of the North Wind

Author: George MacDonald

Release Date: July 8, 2008 [EBook #225]

Last Updated: March 9, 2018

Language: English

Character set encoding: UTF-8

*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK AT THE BACK OF THE NORTH WIND ***

Produced by Martin Ward

AT THE BACK OF THE NORTH WIND

By George Mac Donald

Author of “Dealings with Fairies,” “Ranald Bannerman,” etc., etc.

 

CHAPTER I. THE HAY-LOFT

I HAVE been asked to tell you about the back of the north wind. An old

Greek writer mentions a people who lived there, and were so comfortable

that they could not bear it any longer, and drowned themselves. My

story is not the same as his. I do not think Herodotus had got the right

account of the place. I am going to tell you how it fared with a boy who

went there.

He lived in a low room over a coach-house; and that was not by any means

at the back of the north wind, as his mother very well knew. For one

side of the room was built only of boards, and the boards were so old

that you might run a penknife through into the north wind. And then let

them settle between them which was the sharper! I know that when you

pulled it out again the wind would be after it like a cat after a mouse,

and you would know soon enough you were not at the back of the north

wind. Still, this room was not very cold, except when the north wind

blew stronger than usual: the room I have to do with now was always

cold, except in summer, when the sun took the matter into his own hands.

Indeed, I am not sure whether I ought to call it a room at all; for it

was just a loft where they kept hay and straw and oats for the horses.

And when little Diamond–but stop: I must tell you that his father, who

was a coachman, had named him after a favourite horse, and his mother

had had no objection:–when little Diamond, then, lay there in bed, he

could hear the horses under him munching away in the dark, or moving

sleepily in their dreams. For Diamond's father had built him a bed in

the loft with boards all round it, because they had so little room in

their own end over the coach-house; and Diamond's father put old Diamond

in the stall under the bed, because he was a quiet horse, and did not

go to sleep standing, but lay down like a reasonable creature. But,

although he was a surprisingly reasonable creature, yet, when young

Diamond woke in the middle of the night, and felt the bed shaking in the

blasts of the north wind, he could not help wondering whether, if the

wind should blow the house down, and he were to fall through into

the manger, old Diamond mightn't eat him up before he knew him in his

night-gown. And although old Diamond was very quiet all night long, yet

when he woke he got up like an earthquake, and then young Diamond knew

what o'clock it was, or at least what was to be done next, which was–to

go to sleep again as fast as he could.

There was hay at his feet and hay at his head, piled up in great trusses

to the very roof. Indeed it was sometimes only through a little lane

with several turnings, which looked as if it had been sawn out for him,

that he could reach his bed at all. For the stock of hay was, of course,

always in a state either of slow ebb or of sudden flow. Sometimes the

whole space of the loft, with the little panes in the roof for the

stars to look in, would lie open before his open eyes as he lay in bed;

sometimes a yellow wall of sweet-smelling fibres closed up his view at

the distance of half a yard. Sometimes, when his mother had undressed

him in her room, and told him to trot to bed by himself, he would

creep into the heart of the hay, and lie there thinking how cold it was

outside in the wind, and how warm it was inside there in his bed, and

how he could go to it when he pleased, only he wouldn't just yet; he

would get a little colder first. And ever as he grew colder, his bed

would grow warmer, till at last he would scramble out of the hay, shoot

like an arrow into his bed, cover himself up, and snuggle down, thinking

what a happy boy he was. He had not the least idea that the wind got in

at a chink in the wall, and blew about him all night. For the back of

his bed was only of boards an inch thick, and on the other side of them

was the north wind.

Now, as I have already said, these boards were soft and crumbly. To be

sure, they were tarred on the outside, yet in many places they were more

like tinder than timber. Hence it happened that the soft part having

worn away from about it, little Diamond found one night, after he lay

down, that a knot had come out of one of them, and that the wind was

blowing in upon him in a cold and rather imperious fashion. Now he had

no fancy for leaving things wrong that might be set right; so he jumped

out of bed again, got a little strike of hay, twisted it up, folded it

in the middle, and, having thus made it into a cork, stuck it into the

hole in the wall. But the wind began to blow loud and angrily, and, as

Diamond was falling asleep, out blew his cork and hit him on the

nose, just hard enough to wake him up quite, and let him hear the wind

whistling shrill in the hole. He searched for his hay-cork, found it,

stuck it in harder, and was just dropping off once more, when, pop! with

an angry whistle behind it, the cork struck him again, this time on the

cheek. Up he rose once more, made a fresh stopple of hay, and corked the

hole severely. But he was hardly down again before–pop! it came on his

forehead. He gave it up, drew the clothes above his head, and was soon

fast asleep.

Although the next day was very stormy, Diamond forgot all about the

hole, for he was busy making a cave by the side of his mother's fire

with a broken chair, a three-legged stool, and a blanket, and then

sitting in it. His mother, however, discovered it, and pasted a bit of

brown paper over it, so that, when Diamond had snuggled down the next

night, he had no occasion to think of it.

Presently, however, he lifted his head and listened. Who could that be

talking to him? The wind was rising again, and getting very loud, and

full of rushes and whistles. He was sure some one was talking–and very

near him, too, it was. But he was not frightened, for he had not yet

learned how to be; so he sat up and hearkened. At last the voice, which,

though quite gentle, sounded a little angry, appeared to come from the

back of the bed. He crept nearer to it, and laid his ear against the

wall. Then he heard nothing but the wind, which sounded very loud

indeed. The moment, however, that he moved his head from the wall, he

heard the voice again, close to his ear. He felt about with his hand,

and came upon the piece of paper his mother had pasted over the

hole. Against this he laid his ear, and then he heard the voice quite

distinctly.

 There was, in fact, a little corner of the paper loose, and

through that, as from a mouth in the wall, the voice came.

“What do you mean, little boy–closing up my window?”

“What window?” asked Diamond.

“You stuffed hay into it three times last night. I had to blow it out

again three times.”

“You can't mean this little hole! It isn't a window; it's a hole in my

bed.”

“I did not say it was a window: I said it was my window.”

“But it can't be a window, because windows are holes to see out of.”

“Well, that's just what I made this window for.”

“But you are outside: you can't want a window.”

“You are quite mistaken. Windows are to see out of, you say. Well, I'm

in my house, and I want windows to see out of it.”

“But you've made a window into my bed.”

“Well, your mother has got three windows into my dancing room, and you

have three into my garret.”

“But I heard father say, when my mother wanted him to make a window

through the wall, that it was against the law, for it would look into

Mr. Dyves's garden.”

The voice laughed.

“The law would have some trouble to catch me!” it said.

“But if it's not right, you know,” said Diamond, “that's no matter. You

shouldn't do it.”

“I am so tall I am above that law,” said the voice.

“You must have a tall house, then,” said Diamond.

“Yes; a tall house: the clouds are inside it.”

“Dear me!” said Diamond, and thought a minute. “I think, then, you can

hardly expect me to keep a window in my bed for you. Why don't you make

a window into Mr. Dyves's bed?”

“Nobody makes a window into an ash-pit,” said the voice, rather sadly.

“I like to see nice things out of my windows.”

“But he must have a nicer bed than I have, though mine is very nice–so

nice that I couldn't wish a better.”

“It's not the bed I care about: it's what is in it.–But you just open

that window.”

“Well, mother says I shouldn't be disobliging; but it's rather hard. You

see the north wind will blow right in my face if I do.”

“I am the North Wind.”

“O-o-oh!” said Diamond, thoughtfully. “Then will you promise not to blow

on my face if I open your window?”

“I can't promise that.”

“But you'll give me the toothache. Mother's got it already.”

“But what's to become of me without a window?”

“I'm sure I don't know. All I say is, it will be worse for me than for

you.”

“No; it will not. You shall not be the worse for it–I promise you that.

You will be much the better for it. Just you believe what I say, and do

as I tell you.”

“Well, I can pull the clothes over my head,” said Diamond, and feeling

with his little sharp nails, he got hold of the open edge of the paper

and tore it off at once.

In came a long whistling spear of cold, and struck his little naked

chest. He scrambled and tumbled in under the bedclothes, and covered

himself up: there was no paper now between him and the voice, and he

felt a little–not frightened exactly–I told you he had not learned

that yet–but rather queer; for what a strange person this North Wind

must be that lived in the great house–“called Out-of-Doors, I suppose,”

 thought Diamond–and made windows into people's beds! But the voice

began again; and he could hear it quite plainly, even with his head

under the bed-clothes. It was a still more gentle voice now, although

six times as large and loud as it had been, and he thought it sounded a

little like his mother's.

“What is your name, little boy?” it asked.

“Diamond,” answered Diamond, under the bed-clothes.

“What a funny name!”

“It's a very nice name,” returned its owner.

“I don't know that,” said the voice.

“Well, I do,” retorted Diamond, a little rudely.

“Do you know to whom you are speaking!”

“No,” said Diamond.

And indeed he did not. For to know a person's name is not always to know

the person's self.

“Then I must not be angry with you.–You had better look and see,

though.”

“Diamond is a very pretty name,” persisted the boy, vexed that it should

not give satisfaction.

“Diamond is a useless thing rather,” said the voice.

“That's not true. Diamond is very nice–as big as two–and so quiet all

night! And doesn't he make a jolly row in the morning, getting upon his

four great legs! It's like thunder.”

“You don't seem to know what a diamond is.”

“Oh, don't I just! Diamond is a great and good horse; and he sleeps

right under me. He is old Diamond, and I am young Diamond; or, if you

like it better, for you're very particular, Mr. North Wind, he's big

Diamond, and I'm little Diamond; and I don't know which of us my father

likes best.”

A beautiful laugh, large but very soft and musical, sounded somewhere

beside him, but Diamond kept his head under the clothes.

“I'm not Mr. North Wind,” said the voice.

“You told me that you were the North Wind,” insisted Diamond.

“I did not say Mister North Wind,” said the voice.

“Well, then, I do; for mother tells me I ought to be polite.”

“Then let me tell you I don't think it at all polite of you to say

Mister to me.”

“Well, I didn't know better. I'm very sorry.”

“But you ought to know better.”

“I don't know that.”

“I do. You can't say it's polite to lie there talking–with your head

under the bed-clothes, and never look up to see what kind of person you

are talking to.–I want you to come out with me.”

“I want to go to sleep,” said Diamond, very nearly crying, for he did

not like to be scolded, even when he deserved it.

“You shall sleep all the better to-morrow night.”

“Besides,” said Diamond, “you are out in Mr. Dyves's garden, and I can't

get there. I can only get into our own yard.”

“Will you take your head out of the bed-clothes?” said the voice, just a

little angrily.

“No!” answered Diamond, half peevish, half frightened.

The instant he said the word, a tremendous blast of wind crashed in a

board of the wall, and swept the clothes off Diamond. He started up in

terror. Leaning over him was the large, beautiful, pale face of a woman.

Her dark eyes looked a little angry, for they had just begun to flash;

but a quivering in her sweet upper lip made her look as if she were

going to cry. What was the most strange was that away from her head

streamed out her black hair in every direction, so that the darkness in

the hay-loft looked as if it were made of her hair but as Diamond gazed

at her in speechless amazement, mingled with confidence–for the boy was

entranced with her mighty beauty–her hair began to gather itself out

of the darkness, and fell down all about her again, till her face looked

out of the midst of it like a moon out of a cloud. From her eyes came

all the light by which Diamond saw her face and her hair; and that was

all he did see of her yet. The wind was over and gone.

“Will you go with me now, you little Diamond? I am sorry I was forced to

be so rough with you,” said the lady.

“I will; yes, I will,” answered Diamond, holding out both his arms.

“But,” he added, dropping them, “how shall I get my clothes? They are in

mother's room, and the door is locked.”

“Oh, never mind your clothes. You will not be cold. I shall take care of

that. Nobody is cold with the north wind.”

“I thought everybody was,” said Diamond.

“That is a great mistake. Most people make it, however. They are cold

because they are not with the north wind, but without it.”

If Diamond had been a little older, and had supposed himself a good deal

wiser, he would have thought the lady was joking. But he was not older,

and did not fancy himself wiser, and therefore understood her well

enough. Again he stretched out his arms. The lady's face drew back a

little.

“Follow me, Diamond,” she said.

“Yes,” said Diamond, only a little ruefully.

“You're not afraid?” said the North Wind.

“No, ma'am; but mother never would let me go without shoes: she never

said anything about clothes, so I dare say she wouldn't mind that.”

“I know your mother very well,” said the lady. “She is a good woman.

I have visited her often. I was with her when you were born. I saw her

laugh and cry both at once. I love your mother, Diamond.”

“How was it you did not know my name, then, ma'am? Please am I to say

ma'am to you, ma'am?”

“One question at a time, dear boy. I knew your name quite well, but I

wanted to hear what you would say for it. Don't you remember that day

when the man was finding fault with your name–how I blew the window

in?”

“Yes, yes,” answered Diamond, eagerly. “Our window opens like a door,

right over the coach-house door. And the wind–you, ma'am–came in, and

blew the Bible out of the man's hands, and the leaves went all flutter,

flutter on the floor, and my mother picked it up and gave it back to him

open, and there–”

“Was your name in the Bible–the sixth stone in the high priest's

breastplate.”

“Oh!–a stone, was it?” said Diamond. “I thought it had been a horse–I

did.”

“Never mind. A horse is better than a stone any day. Well, you see, I

know all about you and your mother.”

“Yes. I will go with you.”

“Now for the next question: you're not to call me ma'am. You must call

me just my own name–respectfully, you know–just North Wind.”

“Well, please, North Wind, you are so beautiful, I am quite ready to go

with you.”

“You must not be ready to go with everything beautiful all at once,

Diamond.”

“But what's beautiful can't be bad. You're not bad, North Wind?”

“No; I'm not bad. But sometimes beautiful things grow bad by doing

bad, and it takes some time for their badness to spoil their beauty.

So little boys may be mistaken if they go after things because they are

beautiful.”

“Well, I will go with you because you are beautiful and good, too.”

“Ah, but there's another thing, Diamond:–What if I should look ugly

without being bad–look ugly myself because I am making ugly things

beautiful?–What then?”

“I don't quite understand you, North Wind. You tell me what then.”

“Well, I will tell you. If you see me with my face all black, don't be

frightened. If you see me flapping wings like a bat's, as big as the

whole sky, don't be frightened. If you hear me raging ten times worse

than Mrs. Bill, the blacksmith's wife–even if you see me looking in at

people's windows like Mrs. Eve Dropper, the gardener's wife–you must

believe that I am doing my work. Nay, Diamond, if I change into a

serpent or a tiger, you must not let go your hold of me, for my hand

will never change in yours if you keep a good hold. If you keep a hold,

you will know who I am all the time, even when you look at me and can't

see me the least like the North Wind. I may look something very awful.

Do you understand?”

“Quite well,” said little Diamond.

“Come along, then,” said North Wind, and disappeared behind the mountain

of hay.

Diamond crept out of bed and followed her.