Вильгельм фон Шмиц (3 перевода и оригинал)
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Presently the Poet reached a small rising ground at the end of the gravel walk, where he found a seat commanding a view of the sea, and here he sunk down wearily.
For a while he gazed dreamily upon the expanse of ocean, then, struck by a sudden thought, he opened a small pocket book, and proceeded to correct and complete his last poem. Slowly to himself he muttered the words "death — saith — breath", impatiently tapping the ground with his foot. "Ah, that'll do," he said at last, with an air of relief, "breath":
"His barque had perished in the storm,
Whirled by its fiery breath
On sunken rocks, his stalwart form
Was doomed to watery death."
"That last line's good," he continued exaltingly, "and on Coleridge's principle of alliteration, too — W. D., W. D. — was doomed to watery death."
"Take care," growled a deep voice in his ear, "what you say will be used in evidence against you — now it's no use trying that, we've got you tight," this last remark being caused by the struggles of the Poet, naturally indignant at being unexpectedly collared by two men from behind.
"He's confessed to it, constable? you heard him?" said the first speaker (who rejoiced in the euphonious title of Muggle, and whom it is almost superfluous to introduce to the reader as the elder traveler of Chapter One)! "it's as much as his life is worth."
"I say, stow that——" warmly responded the other; "seems to me the gen'leman was a spouting potry."
"What — what's the matter?" here gasped our unfortunate hero, who had recovered his breath; "you — Muggle — what do you mean by it?"
"Mean by it!" blustered his quondam friend, "what do you mean by it, if it comes to that? You're an assassin, that's what you are! Where's the waiter you had with you last night? answer me that!"
"The — the waiter?" slowly repeated the Poet, still stunned by the suddenness of his capture, "why, he's dr ——"
"I knew'it!" cried his friend, who was at him in a moment, and choked up the unfinished word in his throat, "drowned. Constable! I told you so — and who did it?" he continued, loosing his grip a moment to obtain an answer.
The Poet's answer, so far as it could be gathered (for it came out in a very fragmentary state, and as it were by crumbs, in intervals of choking), was the following: "It was my — my — you'll kill me — fault — I say, fault — I — I — gave him — you — you're suffoca — I say — I gave him ——" "a push I suppose," concluded the other, who here "shut off" the slender supply of breath he had hitherto allowed his victim "and he fell in: no doubt. I heard some one had fallen off the Bridge last night," turning to the Constable; "no doubt this unfortunate waiter. Now mark my words! from this moment I renounce this man as my friend: don't pity him, constable! don't think of letting him go to spare my feelings!"
Some convulsive sounds were heard at this moment from the Poet, which, on attentive consideration, were found to be "the punch — was — was too much — for him — quite — it — quite ——" "Miserable man!" sternly interposed Muggle; "can you jest about it? You gave him a punch, did you? and what then?"
"It quite — quite — upset him," continued the unhappy Schmitz, in a sort of rambling soliloquy, which was here cut short by the impatience of the Constable, and the party set forth on their return to the town.
But an unexpected character burst upon the scene and broke into a speech far more remarkable for energetic delivery than for grammatical accuracy: "I've only just 'erd of it — I were hasleep under table — 'avin' taken more punch than I could stand — he's as hinnocent as I am — dead indeed! I'm more alive than you, a precious sight!"
This speech produced various effects on its hearers: the Constable calmly released his man, the bewildered Muggle muttered "Impossible! Conspiracy — perjury — have it tried at assizes": while the happy Poet rushed into the arms of his deliverer crying in a broken voice: "No, never from this hour to part. We'll live and love so true!" a sentiment which the waiter did not echo with the cordiality that might have been expected.
Later in the day, Wilhelm and Sukie were sitting conversing with the waiter and a few friends, when the penitent Muggle suddenly entered the room, placed a folded paper on the knees of Schmitz, pronounced in a hollow tone the affecting words "be happy!" vanished, and was seen no more.
After perusing the paper, Wilhelm rose to his feet; in the excitement of the moment he was roused into unconscious and extempore verse:
"My Sukiel He hath bought, yea, Maggie's self.
Convinced at last of deeds unjust and foul.
The licence of a vacant public-house.
We are licensed here to sell to all,
Spirits, porter, snuff, and ale!"
So we leave him: his after happiness who dare to doubt? has he not Sukie? and having her, he is content.
1854
ПРИМЕЧАНИЯ
1. Эпиграфы к этому рассказу служат очевидной пародией на Вальтера Скотта, который зачастую сам придумывал эпиграфы к главам своих романов, ссылаясь на «старинные пьесы». Только вместо стихотворных «отрывков» собственного сочинения Кэрролл ставит эпиграфами банальнейшие выражения.
2. В рассказе действие происходит в приморском городке Уитби, что в Йоркшире, куда в 1854 г. Ч.Л. Доджсон (будущий Льюис Кэрролл) в компании студентов отправился на летние каникулы и для подготовки к выпускным экзаменам и где состоялся дебют Доджсона как литератора — наряду с настоящим рассказом там было напечатано стихотворение «Леди Поварешка», герой которого также влюблен в девушку низшего класса и даже схожей профессии — кухарку:
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