The Red House Mystery and Other Novels. A. A. Milne
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Название: The Red House Mystery and Other Novels
Автор: A. A. Milne
Издательство: Ingram
Жанр: Контркультура
isbn: 9781456614010
isbn:
MOTHER. I don't suppose you'd ask me, dear.
DAUGHTER (sighing). Oh, well! We must make the best of it, I suppose. Perhaps one day something will happen. (She goes back to the spinet and sings again.)
_Lads and lasses, what will you sell, What will you sell?_
Four stout walls and a roof atop, Warm fires gleaming brightly, Well-stored cellar and garnered crop, Money-bags packed tightly; An ordered task in an ordered day, And a sure bed nightly; Years which peacefully pass away, Until Death comes lightly.
_Lads and lasses, what will you buy? What will you buy?_
Here is a cap to cover your head, A cap with one red feather; Here is a cloak to make your bed Warm or winter weather; Here is a satchel to store your ware, Strongly lined with leather; And here is a staff to take you there When you go forth together.
_Lads and lasses, what will you gain, What will you gain?_
Chatter of rooks on tall elm-trees New Spring houses taking; Daffodils in an April breeze Golden curtsies making; Shadows of clouds across the weald From hill to valley breaking, The first faint stir which the woodlands yield When the world is waking.
_Lads and lasses, this is your gain, This is your gain._
(Towards the end of the song the face and shoulders of the TALKER appear at the open lattice window on the left. He listens with a bland and happy smile until the song is finished.)
TALKER. Brava! Brava! (They turn round towards the window in astonishment.) A vastly pleasing song, vastly well sung. Mademoiselle Nightingale, permit me to felicitate you. (Turning to the Mother) The Mother of the Nightingale also. Mon Dieu, what is voice, of a richness, of a purity! To live with it always! Madame, I felicitate you again.
MOTHER. I must ask you, sir, to explain the meaning of this intrusion.
TALKER. Intrusion? Oh, fie! Madame, not intrusion. My feet stand upon the highway. The road, Madame, is common to all. I can quote you Rex--What does Rex, cap. 27, para. 198, say? _Via_, says Rex, meaning the road; _communis_ is common; _omnibus_ to all, meaning thereby--but perchance I weary you?
DAUGHTER. Mother, who is he?
TALKER. Ah, Mademoiselle Nightingale, you may indeed ask. Who is he? Is he the Pope of Rome? Nay, he is not the Pope of Rome. Is he the Cham of Tartary? Nay, he is not the Cham of Tartary, for an he were the Cham of Tartary--
MOTHER. I beg you, sir, to tell us as shortly as you can who you are and what you want.
TALKER. Madam, by nature I am a taciturn man; Silent John I am named by my friends. I am a glum body, a reserved creature. These things you will have already noticed. But now I will commit to you it secret, known only to my dearest friends. Uncommunicative as I am by nature (he disappears and reappears at the middle window), I am still more so when compelled to hold converse with two such ornaments of their sex (he disappears and reappears at the right-hand window) through a lattice window. Am I getting any nearer the door?
MOTHER (resigned). Pray, sir, come in and tell us all about it. I see that we must have your tale.
TALKER. To be exact, Madame, I have two tails who follow me about everywhere. One is of my own poor sex, a man, a thing of whiskers; the other has the honour to belong to that sex which--have I said it?--you and Mademoiselle so adorn. Have I your ladyship's permission?
DAUGHTER (eagerly). Oh, Mother, let them come.
MOTHER. Well, I suppose I must have you all.
TALKER (with a bow). Madame, I shall never forget this. Though I live to be ninety-three, this will always be engraved upon my memory. My grandchildren climbing upon my knee will wonder sometimes of what the old man is thinking. Little will they know-- But I will attend you further within. [He bows and disappears.]
DAUGHTER. Mother, something _is_ going to happen at last.
MOTHER. Oh, child, were you as weary as that?
[The TALKER comes in at the door, followed by the SINGER and the FIDDLER. The SINGER is a pleasant-looking man of middle height, the FIDDLER a tall, silent girl. The TALKER himself is short and round, with a twinkling eye. Each wears a cap with a red feather in it.]
TALKER. Madame, your humble and most devoted servants. I have the honour to present to you her Royal Sweetness the Princess Carissima, His Flutiness the Duke of Bogota, and myself a mere Marquis.
DAUGHTER. Oh, Mother, they're wandering minstrels.
MOTHER. I bid you all welcome, sir.
TALKER. Permit me to expound further. The Princess--a courtesy title bestowed by myself last Michaelmas Day--plays upon the fiddle with an unerring beauty which makes strong men weep. You shall hear her. I pray you have your handkerchers ready. His Flutiness the Duke--the title was granted last Candlemas--has a voice of a rare richness. He is cursed with a melancholy disposition most pleasing. He suffers from a surfeit of rejected love. A most waggish companion withal.
DAUGHTER. Oh, what a shame!
SINGER. You must not believe all that Johannes says, ladies.
MOTHER. I had already learnt that much, sir.
TALKER. For myself, I play upon the pipe. You shall hear. (He plays "cuckoo" with an air.)
SINGER. The only notes he knows, ladies.
TALKER (indignantly). Oh, fie, Sir, fie! I protest, Madame, he maligns me. Have I not a G of surpassing splendour, of a fruitiness rarely encountered in this vale of tears? Madame, you must hear my G. Now, where is it? (He arranges his fingers with great care on the pipe.) I have it. (He blows a G, and bows deeply first to MOTHER and then to DAUGHTER.)
SINGER. Marvellous!
MOTHER (to TALKER). I thank you, Sir.
DAUGHTER. Oh, Mother, isn't he splendid?
TALKER (to MOTHER). Would you like my G again, Madame?
MOTHER. Not just now, I thank you, sir. Doubtless we shall feel more in need of it a little later on. But tell me, Sir, have you no other talent to match the singing and playing of your friends?
FIDDLER. He talks.
MOTHER. I had noticed it.
TALKER. This gift of talking with which her Royal Sweetness is good enough to credit me, irksome though it is to a man of silent habit like myself, a creature, as you will have noticed, СКАЧАТЬ