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 think it would be better, Sir.
TALKER. Then, to put it shortly, Madame--
MOTHER. If you could, sir.
TALKER. To be completely frank in this matter, Madame, I--er--go round with the hat. It is a sordid but necessary business.
DAUGHTER (eagerly). Oh, I hope they give you plenty of money.
TALKER. Enough to support life, Mademoiselle. The hungry look which you observe upon His Flutiness is, as I have explained, due to melancholy.
DAUGHTER. You are going to perform, aren't you?
TALKER. Of a surety, Mademoiselle. Perhaps I should add that for myself I am resting just now, and that my part of the performance will be limited to nothing more than a note or two upon the pipe.
MOTHER (with a friendly smile). Sir, you are generous. We shall be glad to hear your friends.
(The TALKER bows and turns to his company.)
TALKER. A song, good Master Duke, a song which her Royal Sweetness will accompany upon the fiddle. Let it end, I pray you, with a G, so that I may bring the thing to a climax upon the last note.
FIDDLER (to SINGER). Morland Hill.
SINGER. You like that? (She nods.) Very well. (He sings.)
Oh, when the wind is in the North, I take my staff and sally forth; And when it whistles from the East I do not mind it in the least; The warm wind murmurs through the trees Its messages from Southern seas; But after all perhaps the best Is that which whispers from the West.
Oh let the wind, the wind be what it will, So long as I may walk on Morland Hill!
The staff which helps to carry me, I cut it from the Hazel-tree; But once I had a cudgel torn Most circumspectly from the Thorn; I know a fellow, far from rash, Who swears entirely by the Ash; And all good travellers invoke A blessing on the mighty Oak.
Oh let the wood, the wood be what it will, So long as I may walk on Morland Hill!
Some years ago I gave my heart To Prue until we had to part; Then, seeing Susan's pretty face, I left it with her for a space; And Susan had my heart until I wanted it for Mistress Jill; I think, although I am not clear, That Chloe's had it this last year.
Oh let the wench, the wench be whom you will, So long as I may walk on Morland Hill!
(The TALKER comes in proudly on the last note and takes most of the applause.)
DAUGHTER. I'm not sure that I like that last verse.
TALKER. Oh, you mustn't believe all he sings. A cursed melancholy fellow by nature. But waggish--waggish withal.
SINGER (to DAUGHTER). We have to sing what the poets write for us, Mademoiselle. Had I written a song myself, it had been about one woman only.
TALKER. And there would have been a hundred and twenty-five verses to it.
MOTHER. Your song was well sung, sir; I thank you for it. (To the FIDDLER) Will you not play us something now?
FIDDLER. If you wish it.
TALKER. You would wish me to accompany her, of course.
MOTHER (with a smile). It is kind of you, sir, but I think perhaps my daughter--
DAUGHTER (eagerly). Yes, of course, I will if I can. (She goes to the spinet.)
FIDDLER (playing a few notes). Do you know this?
DAUGHTER. Yes, I think so. (She plays. At the end of it the TALKER finds himself bowing to the applause.)
TALKER. And now, Madame, you have had a sample of all our poor talents, save and except that paltry talent of mine which in other company concludes such a performance. I pray you tell me what you think of the entertainment.
MOTHER. I have enjoyed it immensely, good Master Johannes. And if you did wish to exercise that talent of yours, of which so far we have only heard--
TALKER. Nay, nay, Madame, I beg you.
MOTHER. Then, Sir, I offer you my grateful thanks for your entertainment.
DAUGHTER. And I too.
TALKER. Ladies, you are too kind--er--(he hesitates)--er--
MOTHER. Yes?
TALKER, The fact is, Madame, that now we approach or, so to speak, draw nigh or adjacent--in other words, Madame, we are perilously approximate--
FIDDLER. Tell her straight out.
MOTHER. Tell her what?
FIDDLER. What we've come for.
SINGER. Master Johannes, Madam, is so accustomed when he goes round with the hat to disguise under it flow of words the fact that money is as necessary to an artist as applause, that he has lost the habit of saying anything in less than ten sentences.
TALKER (mournfully). And yet I am a taciturn man.
MOWER. Well, will somebody tell me, for I confess I have been wondering what is behind it all.
FIDDLER. Tell her, Johannes.
TALKER. If you will allow me, Madame. But tell me first, did you notice anything lacking in our performance?
MOTHER (surprised). No; I don't think so.
TALKER (to DAUGHTER). Perhaps you, Mademoiselle?
DAUGHTER (shyly). It seemed to lack a woman's voice, sir.
TALKER (admiringly). What intelligence! What profundity! (To MOTHER) Madam, I felicitate you again on your daughter. Unerringly she has laid her finger on the weak joint in our armour. We have no woman's voice.
MOTHER. Well, Sir, I don't see how I can help you.
TALKER. Madame, you have a nightingale. It has lived in a cage all its life. It looks through the bars sometimes, and sees the great world outside, and sighs and turns back to its business of singing. Madame, it would sing better outside in the open air, with the other birds.
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