О.Уайльд. Преданный друг. Ч.5

Oscar Wilde

THE DEVOTED FRIEND

Part 5

‘Is that the end of the story?’ asked the Water-rat.

‘Certainly not,’ answered the Linnet, ‘that is the beginning.'

‘Then you are quite behind the age,’ said the Water-rat. ‘Every good story-teller nowadays starts with the end, and then goes on to the beginning, and concludes with the middle. That is the new method. I heard all about it the other day from a critic (критик) who was walking round the pond with a young man. He spoke of the matter at great length, and I am sure he must have been right, for he had blue spectacles and a bald head, and whenever the young man made any remark, he always answered ‘Pooh!’ (Ха! Фи!) But pray go on with your story. I like the Miller immensely. I have all kinds of beautiful sentiments myself, so there is a great sympathy between us.'

‘Well,’ said the Linnet, hopping now on one leg and now on the other, ‘as soon as the winter was over, and the primroses began to open their pale yellow stars, the Miller said to his wife that he would go down and see little Hans.

‘Why, what a good heart you have!’ cried his Wife; ‘you are always thinking of others. And mind you take the big basket with you for the flowers.'

So the Miller tied the sails of the windmill (крылья мельницы) together with a strong iron chain, and went down the hill with the basket on his arm.

‘Good morning, little Hans,’ said the Miller.

‘Good morning,’ said Hans, leaning on his spade, and smiling from ear to ear.

‘And how have you been all the winter?’ said the Miller.

‘Well, really,’ cried Hans, ‘it is very good of you to ask, very good indeed. I am afraid I had rather a hard time of it, but now the spring has come, and I am quite happy, and all my flowers are doing well.'

‘We often talked of you during the winter, Hans,’ said the Miller, ‘and wondered how you were getting on.'

‘That was kind of you,’ said Hans; ‘I was half afraid you had forgotten me.'

‘Hans, I am surprised at you,’ said the Miller; ‘friendship never forgets. That is the wonderful thing about it, but I am afraid you don’t understand the poetry of life. How lovely your primroses are looking, by the bye! (кстати, между прочим)’

‘They are certainly very lovely,’ said Hans, ‘and it is a most lucky thing for me that I have so many. I am going to bring them into the market and sell them to the Burgomaster’s daughter, and buy back my wheelbarrow (тачка) with the money.'

‘Buy back your wheelbarrow? You don’t mean to say you have sold it? What a very stupid thing to do!’

‘Well, the fact is,’ said Hans, ‘that I was obliged to. You see the winter was a very bad time for me, and I really had no money at all to buy bread with. So I first sold the silver buttons off my Sunday coat, and then I sold my silver chain, and then I sold my big pipe, and at last I sold my wheelbarrow. But I am going to buy them all back again now.'