Who knows what secrets the paintings, known to us from childhood, hold in every line and detail? What if Aivazovsky’s “The Ninth Wave” is not just a story about the meeting of man and the elements, but an encrypted message, where the top of the mast serves as a compass needle, and the number of people on the raft indicates the meters or steps that need to be overcome to get to the cache with the treasure? Three generations of the family, carried away and disappointed, going through crimes and betrayals, will look for the answer to finally open the treasured box of Ivan Aivazovsky...
Yulia Aleynikova
Aivazovsky's secret treasure
Prologue
On the night of May 1-2, 1900, the great marine painter Hovhannes Aivazovsky died peacefully in his sleep. He was eighty-two years old. He died without knowing the answer to the question that haunted him all his life.
Early in the morning of April 2 of the same year, Palm Sunday, a bell rang in Aivazovsky’s Feodosia house - a messenger brought a basket of blooming lilies of the valley. The first basket was followed by others - poppies, mimosas, tulips, daffodils... On holidays, city residents showered the adored artist with flowers. In the evening, Ivan Konstantinovich wished to drink tea on the balcony, which was surrounded by flowers. A basket of lilies of the valley stood on an inlaid tea table.
Aivazovsky looked at them and felt a vague melancholy. It seemed to him as if he had already seen these lilies of the valley somewhere. The artist shared with his wife, Anna Nikitichna - a young blooming beauty - answered with a smile that she sees exactly such a basket every Palm Sunday year after year and keeps wanting to ask who it is from, but forgets.
Didn't he notice it himself before? It turns out not. There are too many flowers in the house.
Who are these lilies of the valley from? There is no note or business card here. How mysterious! He only remembered the messenger - tall, gray-haired, in a shabby frock coat, he wanted to draw someone like that. Anya tried to reassure her husband: aren’t there many old men in shabby frock coats in Feodosia? Next Palm Sunday will come, and everything will become clearer, so there is no need to worry. But Aivazovsky never calmed down, he was sure that something important was hidden here, without which his life, happy and long, would remain incomplete.
The year was 1839. Ivan Aivazovsky, a talented aspiring artist, then lived in St. Petersburg. On that fateful day, he was returning from the Academy of Arts and did not notice the team rushing at a gallop. He managed to run away, but lost his balance and almost fell. In the carriage sat a lady under a white veil. Frightened, she said something excitedly in French. The aroma of perfume, grace, elegance - everything turned the head of the ardent young man. While the stranger was driving the young man to his house, he kept muttering: “Don’t worry, don’t worry.” At parting, the lady asked what the name of the victim of the coachman's negligence was, but she did not introduce herself.
Aivazovsky was sitting at home and dreaming about a wondrous stranger when his friends burst into his room, upset that they could not get tickets to “La La Sylphide” with the divine Taglioni in the main role. Suddenly a messenger appears on the threshold with a letter. Aivazovsky opens the scented envelope and tickets fall out... To Taglioni herself, and not to the gallery, but to the fourth row! There is no end to the bewilderment.
Having rented tailcoats, the friends went to the theater and applauded the beautiful Italian louder than anyone else. Maria Taglioni was divinely graceful that evening. And then the young people ran to the artistic entrance to see the light-footed ballerina again. Taglioni rushed out of the door, the excited audience rushed towards her. The young men, intending to hold back the crowd, grabbed hands. Having reached the carriage, Taglioni suddenly looked back. She recognized Aivazovsky.
Monsieur Gaivazovsky! - The charming ballerina threw him a bouquet of roses. Yes, it was she, his beautiful lady!
One hundred rubles for a flower, young man, I beg you! - maddened balletomanes immediately flew up to him. But he rushed to run, clutching the precious bouquet to his chest, followed by envious cries: “Lucky!”
A few days later, the ballerina left St. Petersburg, and Aivazovsky, whose thoughts were only about her, completely lost his head. In the autumn of the same year, he received a certificate of graduation from the academy, his first rank and personal nobility. But career prospects were of little interest to the lover, and he began to worry about a retirement trip to Italy to see the lovely Maria again. And he was able to convince the president of the academy that he, as a marine painter, needed to be in Venice. In the summer of 1840 he arrived in Italy.
Alas, the ballerina was not in her Venetian house. Having twirled on a gondola around the palazzo with dark windows, Aivazovsky decided to wait for her, using the time usefully, and devoted himself to work.
While waiting for Taglioni's arrival, the artist painted Venice. His paintings were sold out, Pope Gregory XVI himself bought his “Chaos” for the Vatican. It was a resounding success. Aivazovsky was once told that Taglioni herself had bought a couple of his paintings. For him, this meant that she had returned to Italy. He had not yet had time to think under what pretext he would show himself to the object of his dreams, when a letter was delivered to the hotel in a familiar blue envelope, in which tickets for La Sylphide were again found. And again she, airy and graceful, danced on stage, and again Aivazovsky stood at the artistic entrance. Along the path strewn with flowers, Taglioni ran to her gondola and called: “Signor Aivazovsky, what are you doing, I’m waiting!”
That evening they rode around Venice for a long time. Happy days have come for him. He lived in her house. In the morning he painted, listening to the music from Marie’s rooms - she was rehearsing. At noon they met for breakfast, and then rode along the canals, intoxicated by the sea air. He is twenty-five, she is thirty-eight. But for the lover there was no age; he was captivated by his Sylphide. Aivazovsky dreamed that this happiness would last forever. And he ruined everything himself, he couldn’t cope with the surging feelings. He asked for her hand. But then she would have to choose between family life and art, and quarrels with Hovhannes over her employment had already become painful. One day she came into his studio and handed him a ballet slipper with the words:
This shoe trampled my love. Take it as a souvenir and return to Russia. Your life is there, and you will meet your woman.
But at least leave me hope!
No, dear boy. I will never love you...
Aivazovsky was killed by refusal. He suffered and cried over the pink ballet slipper given to him by Taglioni. Then he traveled around Europe and returned to Russia. And here he admitted that the great ballerina was right. His life is in Russia. In his homeland, he discovered that fashion for him was growing rapidly. After the Italian success, St. Petersburg aristocrats bought his paintings for crazy money. A little more time passed, and, as Taglioni prophesied, Aivazovsky met a new love.
And yet these lilies of the valley did not give him peace. He began searching for the messenger; it seemed to him that he would not wait for the next Palm Sunday. And so it happened.
When Aivazovsky died, Feodosia dressed in mourning. Schools and shops closed, the market fell silent. Hundreds of people cried bitterly. Among those walking behind the coffin was an old man in a shabby frock coat. Those who were nearby in the crowd heard him lament: “Now there is no one to carry the parcel from Trubetskoy! The Italian Maria Taglioni, who married her daughter to the prince, dying, bequeathed to send lilies of the valley to Ivan Konstantinovich every year on Palm Sunday. And if he asks from whom ", to say that from the one who rejected him many years ago, although all her life she loved only him. I took sixteen baskets to Ivan Konstantinovich, but he never asked anything. Maybe he knew what these lilies of the valley were for?"
Part I
Chapter 1
Leningrad, 1975
The icy old trees creaked sadly outside the window, alarming shadows darted along the walls and ceiling of the dilapidated mansion. The halls explored in daylight seemed unfamiliar, mysterious, like illustrations from a Gothic novel.
The quiet whistle of drifting snow on the stone steps of the terrace floated through the old, withered frames, sloppily covered with cotton wool.
They knew for sure that at this hour of the night there was not a soul in the entire building, but for some reason they trembled and crept so uncertainly, as if they were afraid of scaring off a ghost.
Where to now? - a heavy, tall man in a padded jacket and a worn-out hat stopped in the middle of the cold lobby. - Don’t delay, we won’t manage it until the morning.
Don’t be afraid, we should all be in time,” answered a quiet voice. The owner of the voice was short, thin, wearing a shabby, ridiculous coat that fit his stooped figure as if it had come from someone else's shoulder. - Let's go to. We're on the second floor.
We carefully climbed the creaky oak staircase, holding on to the wide railings, polished over two centuries by hundreds of hands. We entered the front enfilade.
One, two, third halls. Decorated with stucco, abandoned and sad, like cemetery crypts, they evoked horror.
Or maybe it only seemed so, because they were going on a secret business, uninvited and strangers in this old house. A dark, swift shadow flashed outside the window, their hearts beat in fear, and they froze, listening.
“Crow,” the stocky man explained hoarsely.
Yes,” the thin man hastily agreed with his friend, and both moved on.
They reached the corner office. The moon looked through the tall bare windows, piercing the room through and through, as if filling it with light that was palpable to the touch.
Lewis Carroll.
SNARK HUNTING
So don’t ask, dear reader, for whom Balabon’s bell tolls.
Martin Gardner
Hunting is worse than bondage
Russian proverb
TRANSLATOR'S PROLOGUE
First, two words about
What is Snark and what is it eaten with?
(Of course, after asking for forgiveness
those readers who know very well
what is snark
(although, to be honest,
Firstly, secondly and thirdly
Firstly, there were two founders of absurd literature - Edward Lear, who published several “Books of Nonsense,” and Lewis Carroll, who first published “Alice in Wonderland,” then “Alice Through the Looking Glass,” and then (in March 1876) “The Hunt.” on Snark."
Secondly, Lewis Carroll taught mathematics for thirty years at Christ Church College in Oxford, wrote many scientific books and almost a hundred thousand letters to different people - adults and children, stuttered a little and took wonderful photographs.
Thirdly, he wrote his poem for children and dedicated it to a little girl (but not to Alice Liddell, the daughter of the dean of the College, to whom he dedicated “Wonderland”, but to Gertrude Chataway, whom he met during the holidays. In general, Carroll was friends with he corresponded with many girls. And he did the right thing, because talking with them is much more interesting than with professors.) He wrote it for children, but adults thought the poem was boring for themselves: they say, the depth in it is extraordinary, God forbid a child fails. Only, they say, sages and gray-haired philosophers (that is, sages and gray-haired philosophers) are able to understand where the dog is buried. And they went to interpret this way and that.
What's the main thing? They searched, they strived, they put great effort into it... True, they heard rumors, good people warned that Snark might turn out to be a Boojum, but everyone somehow hoped that it would work out, but it couldn’t be. Especially when such a leader is wearing a bell!
It didn't work out. The situation is ordinary, very understandable. Here you can imagine a bankrupt enterprise, a girl disappointed in her “prince”, and... Is it worth continuing? Everything that begins with health and ends with peace will fit into this scheme.
In the 40s, a theory appeared that Snark is atomic energy (and scientific progress in general), and Boojum is a terrible atomic bomb (and in general everything that we pay for progress with).
One can think (and this is perhaps the most natural thing for you and me) that Snark is a kind of social utopia, and Boojum is a monster of totalitarianism, into whose arms those who strive for it (utopia) fall. So to speak, what they fought for was what they ran into.
You can think more fundamentally. Then “The Hunting of the Snark” will appear as a great existential poem about existence striving for non-existence, or a new “Book of Ecclesiastes” - a sermon on futility (but a sermon, so to speak, “upside down”).
Or maybe the point is precisely that we have before us the creation of a mathematician, that is, a mathematical model of human life and behavior that allows for many different substitutions. A most skillful model, honestly! It is not for nothing that one Oxford student claimed that there was not a single case in his life when he (in a wide variety of circumstances) did not remember a line or stanza from “Snark” that was ideally suited to this particular situation.
It’s scary for a translator to approach such a thing. Here's your task:
Shoe the flea!
In general, translating playful and comic poems is not easy. No matter how you try, no matter how hard you try with a hammer, although you push to the end and seem to get the job done, the English flea does not dance, the overseas nymphosoria does not dance! Horseshoes are heavy.
Is it necessary to do this at all - that is the question. After all, Snark himself is an absurd beast, and here he still needs to be re-snarked, and re-snarked, and re-snarked. Vanity squared turns out to be a bad infinity. But in the end, doubts were cast aside and work began. The principle of translation was chosen with special consideration: I wanted the thing to remain English and at the same time naturally applicable to the Russian situation. Snark remained Snark and Boojum Boojum due to their wide international fame, but other characters had to be rebaptized a little. The leader of Bellman received the name Balabona (for his chairman's bell and eloquence), the other members of his team aligned with the letter “B”: the fact is that for Carroll they all begin with the same letter, and this is oh, for good reason! Butcher, a very brutal type, successfully turned into the brutal Poacher. Appraiser of the described property (Broker) - in the Flea Marketer. The hotel's errand boy (Boots), who plays no role in the plot, is the Ticket Ticket (and why not?). The lawyer (Barrister) underwent the most interesting metamorphosis - he became a retired goat Drummer and at the same time a Former Judge. This means it was destined for him. Never mind, let him support the percussion group (bell and drum) of this generalized human orchestra, where everyone blows, like a trumpet, his own letter “B” - to be, to be, to be! On this optimistic (that is, partly mystical) note, we will end and smoothly move backstage.
SNARK HUNTING
Characters
Balabon, captain and leader,
flea dealer,
hat Hatter,
retired goat Drummer, aka Former Judge,
Billiard maestro,
Baker, aka Stub, Wheezer, etc.;
poacher,
And
Sickness,
Blood pyre,
Uncle's ghost
Visions of Judgment
Mountain dwellers and others.
The first cry
LANDING ON THE SHORE
“That’s where the Snark is!” - Balabon exclaimed.
Pointing to the top of the mountain;
And he pulled the sailors ashore,
They were pulled up by their hair.
“That's where the Snark is! Without fear, I will repeat:
This news will give you courage.
That's where the Snark is! I'm saying this for the third time.
What I said three times is what it is.”
There was a squad for selection! Ticketman went first
Next came the Hat Hatter,
A shopkeeper with a hook to keep an eye on the goods
And the goats are a retired Drummer.
Billiard maestro is an excellent player
He could rob anyone completely;
But the Banker put all the cash under lock and key
To somehow reduce losses
There was a Beaver among them, cunning at tricks,
He embroidered beautifully on canvas
And, according to rumors, he saved them from death more than once.
But how is completely unclear.
There was someone there who forgot his umbrella on land,
Rusks and selected raisins,
The cloak, which was sent in for repairs ahead of time,
And a practically new suit.
He brought thirty-eight bales to the pier.
And each has its own number and weight;
But then somehow I released this question
And sailed away on a journey without.
You could put up with the loss of your cloak
Relying on seven coats
And three pairs of boots; But. looking for something lost,
He even forgot who he was.
His name was: “Hey, there!” or “What do you mean!”
He immediately got used to responding
And on “Here you go” and on “Here you go”,
And for every impressive cry.
Current page: 1 (book has 1 pages in total)
Lewis Carroll
Hunting the Snark
Agony in eight screams
Characters
Balabon, captain and leader.
Usher.
Flea dealer.
Bath attendant.
Retired Goat Drummer, aka Former Judge.
Billiard Maestro.
Banker.
Baker, aka Stub, Wheezer, etc.
Beaver.
Poacher.
Snark.
Boojum.
Sickness.
Bloodfeast.
Uncle's ghost.
Visions of Judgment.
Mountain Dwellers
and others.
The first cry
Landing
“That's where the Snark is! - Balabon exclaimed, -
His lair is here, among the mountains!”
And he landed the sailors ashore -
By the ear, and someone by the cowlick.“That's where the Snark is! Without fear, I will repeat:
May this news give you spirit!
That's where the Snark is! I'm saying this for the third time.
What I said three times is what it is.”There was a squad for selection! The Ticketer went first,
Following him is the Bath Attendant with towels,
A shopkeeper with a hook to keep an eye on the goods,
And Kozy Retired Drummer.Billiard Maestro - an excellent player -
He could rob anyone completely;
But the Banker put all the cash under lock and key,
To somehow reduce losses.There was a Beaver among them, cunning at tricks,
He embroidered beautifully on canvas
And, according to rumors, he saved them from death more than once,
But how is completely unclear.There was someone there who forgot his umbrella on land,
Rusks and selected raisins,
The cloak, which was sent in for repairs ahead of time,
And a practically new suit.He brought thirty-eight bales to the pier,
And each has its own number and weight;
But then somehow I released this question
And sailed away on a journey without.One could come to terms with the loss of the cloak,
Relying on seven coats
And three pairs of boots; but, looking for something lost,
He even forgot who he was.His name was: “Hey there!” or “Whatever you call it!”
He immediately got used to responding
And on “Here you go”, and on “Here you go”,
And for every impressive cry.Well, for those who liked to express themselves more precisely,
He was known by a different nickname,
In the circle closest to him he was called “stub”,
In wide circles - “dead”.“And the mind is not Socrates, and the face is not Paris,”
Balabon spoke about him. –
But he is not afraid of Snarks and rats,
Strong willed and strong in spirit!”He allowed himself jokes with hyenas,
Trying to reproach them with a glance,
And one day I walked under the paw of a bear,
To somehow cheer him up.He, like the Baker, was essentially taken on board,
But later he shocked me with his confession,
That he can only bake Basel cake,
But there is no reserve for it.Their last sailor, although he looked like a tree stump,
This was an interesting stump:
He went crazy on Snark, and only on him,
This is what attracted attention to myself.It was a Poacher, but of a special manner:
He only knew how to kill beavers,
Which came to light later, a few days later,
Far from native shores.And Balabon cried out, amazed, irritated:
“But there is only one Beaver here, not five!
And besides, this is mine, completely manual,
I wouldn't want to lose him."And upon hearing the news, Beaver was embarrassed,
Somehow he immediately shrank and turned sour,
And he wiped away his tears with both paws,
And he said: “An unpleasant surprise!”Someone put forward a timidly desperate plan:
Place them on two ships.
But the captain resolutely did not want
Divide your crew in half.“And it’s not easy to control one ship,
Ringing the bell all day long,
And with two (he said) you can’t sail far,
No, brothers, fire me!”The ticket attendant suggested that the chest shell
Beaver definitely got it
And immediately insured himself in one
From reliable bank offices.And the Banker, having assessed the state of affairs,
He suggested exactly what was needed:
Apartment fire insurance contract
And in case of hail damage.And from that ill-fated hour Beaver,
If he met the Poacher,
He became sad for no reason, turned his gaze away
And, like a girl, he behaved modestly.
Second cry
Captain's Speech
Fate itself sent Balabon to them:
By posture, by grace - a lion!
You would suspect an abyss of intelligence in him,
Looking at him for the first time.He took with him on the voyage the Map of the Seas,
On which there is no trace of land;
And the team, bending over her with delight,
She exclaimed in unison: “Yes!”What, in fact, are poles, parallels,
Zones, tropics and zodiacs?
And the team responded: “This doesn’t happen in life,
These are purely conventional signs.On ordinary maps there are words, islands,
Everything is intertwined, mixed up - terrible!
And on ours, like in the sea, there is only blue,
This is the map – nice to look at!”Yes, it’s nice... But soon after going to sea
It became clear that their captain
From the sailing sciences he knew the only trick -
Talk about the whole ocean.And when sometimes, with the inspiration of a storm,
He shouted: “Turn up your nose!
The nose is to the left, and the body is to the right of the rudder!” –
What do you order the sailors to do?They had to swim stern first,
What, according to experienced people,
Characteristic in hot latitudes
For snorkeling ships.And besides, Balabon (we say this not as a reproach)
I believed, and was even sure,
What time does he need, for example, to the east,
That and the wind, of course, go there too.Finally they shouted from the ship: “Earth!” –
And an unknown shore opened up to them.
But, looking at the landscape, the crew became despondent:
There are rocks, gaps and abysses everywhere.And, noticing the ferment of minds, Balabon
Said in a consoling tone
A little pun kept until dark times:
The crew responded only with a groan.He poured them rum with his generous hand,
Seated them and called them to attention,
And solemnly (twitching his left cheek)
He made a report to the meeting:“The goal is near, O fellow citizens! Very close!
(Everyone shivered as if from frost.
However, he deserved two or three liquid claps,
Spilling a repeat dose.)“We sailed for many months, many weeks,
We were both wet and hot,
But we haven’t seen it anywhere - not even once before! –
Not the slightest glimpse of Snark.We sailed for many weeks, many days and nights,
We encountered both reefs and shoals;
But the desired Snark, the delight of the eyes,
We haven't had to contemplate until now.So listen up, friends! I'll tell you
Five indisputable and accurate signs,
By which you will understand - if only you find it -
Who caught you: Snark or not.Let's take it in order. It doesn't taste sweet
A bit harsh, but crunchy nicely
Like a new frock coat, if the waist is tight, -
And it reeks of a bit of a ghost.He gets up very late. Gets up so late
(It is important to remember this sign),
That he drinks his morning tea at sunset,
And he has lunch at dawn.Thirdly, humor is bad. Well, how can I tell you?
If he hears a joke somewhere,
Like a bug, numb, afraid to understand
And he doesn’t breathe for four minutes.Fourthly, he is a lover of bathing cabins
And he takes them with him everywhere,
Seeing them as decoration of mountains and valleys.
(I could object, but I won't.)Snarks are generally harmless. But among them there are...
(Here the speaker became a little embarrassed.)
There are also BUJUMS...” The baker quietly drooped
And he fell unconscious on the grass.
The third cry
The Baker's Tale
And they rolled him around, tickled him,
Rub the whiskey with vinaigrette,
They shook me up, woke me up, brought me to my senses
Jam and good advice.And when he woke up and could speak,
He wanted to tell a story.
And Balabon cried: “I ask you not to scream!”
And he shook the bell excitedly.Silence reigned. It was only heard
How the waves raged near the shore,
When the one called "Hey, what's your name"
He delivered his speech in a fossilized style.“I,” he began, “come from a poor but honest family...”
The Leader interrupted: “In short!
Let's jump over the family, my dears! –
This way we won’t finish until nightfall.”“I’ve been jumping for forty years, my God! –
The Baker sobbed, taking out his handkerchief. –
I'll be brief: I remember that fateful day,
The day of sailing - oh, how far it is!My good uncle (after whom I was baptized)
In parting he told me..."
“They jumped over my uncle!” - Balabon roared
And he rang the bell angrily.“He taught me this way,” Wheezer was not embarrassed, “
If Snark is just Snark, without a catch,
It can be stewed and chopped into broth,
And it's good to serve with vegetables.Approach him wisely and with a candle,
Threaten him with lowering his shares
And captivate prosperity with a picture..."“Wonderful method! – Balabon interrupted. –
I've heard of him, honestly.
To approach with hope, I am convinced, -
This is Snarkman's first law!“...But, my friend, beware if you suddenly come across
Instead of Snark with Boojuma. For
Then you will disappear without hearing and spirit,
Without even having time to shout “thank you.”This is what, this is what constantly oppresses me,
As I remember, the scruff of the neck is sweating,
And I'm shaking and shivering all over,
It's like butter is being churned from cream.That’s what, that’s what’s scary...” - “Well, I’ve done it again!” –
The leader interrupted in annoyance.
But Wheezer insisted: “No, let me say:
That's what, that's what I heard from my uncle.And in an obsessive dream Snark appears to me
Crazy, angry nights
And I crumble him, and by the throat his soul,
And I serve it with vegetables.But I know that if I suddenly come across
Instead of Snark on Boojuma - bad!
Then I will be lost without hearing and spirit
And I won’t meet you in nature.”
The fourth cry
Start of the hunt
Balabon shook his head: “What a problem!
Why couldn't you say it before?
Give us such a pig - and when! –
Two steps away from the intended goal.We will all, of course, grieve inconsolably,
If anything happens to you;
But why were you silent about it at first?
When was there another chance to come back?And now - give us such a pig! –
I have to repeat it to you again.”
And with a sigh, Wheezer answered him like this:
“I told you everything on the day of sailing.Accuse me of murder, of witchcraft,
In dementia, if you like;
But in dubious evasions and trickery
It's not my fault, sorry.I explained everything to you in Turkish then,
Repeated in Farsi, in Latin;
But, apparently, I forgot to say in English -
This torments me to this day."“Very, very unfortunate,” Balabon sang. –
At least partly we are to blame.
But now that this question has been clarified,
There is no point in continuing the debate.We'll figure it out later, that's not the point now.
Our concern today is simple:
We need to catch Snark, we need to get Snark -
This is our sacred duty.You have to look for it wisely and with a candle,
With hope and a strong club,
Threaten him with lowering shares
And captivate with the picture of prosperity!Snark is a serious bird! Believe me, friends,
What we have in front of us is not fun at all;
We owe everything we can and everything we can’t
Commit - but achieve success.So go forward boldly, for England is waiting!
We will put the enemy on our backs!
Who can equip themselves with what! It's coming
The hour of the last, decisive battle!Here the Banker exchanged his bullion for credit cards
And he sullenly delved into the ledger,
While the Baker, having ruffled his tanks for a fight,
Knocked dust out of the suit.The Ticket Ticket Man and the Flea Dealer took the block
And they sharpened the shovel together,
Only Beaver continued to embroider his flower,
Which was not very appropriate -At least he's a Drummer (and Former Judge)
Explained with examples from life,
How to easily sew an article for embroidery
About treason to the coat of arms and the fatherland.Poor bath attendant, having lost peace of mind,
“How can I get away?” – I decided between times.
And the Billiard Maestro with a trembling hand
I smeared the tip of my nose with chalk.The poacher put on a lace frill
And he whined, scared to death;
He admitted that he is very afraid of “bo-bo”
And he gets excited, like at a concert.He asked: "Don't forget to introduce me,
If we meet Snark on a hike.”
Balabon, keeping constant importance,
He responded: “Depends on the weather.”Seeing how the Poacher behaves decorously,
And the Beaver, emboldened, played out;
Even the Baker, that bungler, and that
He tried to whistle recklessly."Nothing! - the leader said. - Don't be timid!
We are still on the eve
Main things to do. This is how we will meet ILLNESS,
Then let go of your nurses!”
The fifth cry
Beaver Lesson
With hope and a strong club,
And captivated with an innocent smile.And the Poacher decided to take the risk alone,
And, drawn by a high goal,
He fearlessly turned to the less traveled path
And he walked along a remote gorge.But Beaver decided to take the risk alone,
Obeying the inspiration of the moment -
And at the same time, as if not seeing point blank
Two steps away from your competitor.Everyone seemed to be thinking about the future battle,
I craved achievement, like a reward! –
And neither one nor the other said a word
There was an expression of annoyance on his face.But the path became narrower, and darkness
Gradually enveloped the area,
So they themselves did not notice how
They were pressed close to each other.Suddenly a piercing scream, incomprehensible and wild,
It rolled sadly over the mountain;
And Beaver was stupefied, turning white as chalk,
And the Poacher’s guts began to ache.He remembered the time of his sweet childhood,
Irreversible bright distances -
That cry was so similar to the scratching of a pen,
Displaying a deuce in the magazine.“This is the cry of Sparrow! - he exhaled loudly
And he spat to the side from the evil eye. –
As old Balabon would say now,
I'm telling you for the first time.The alarmed Beaver scrupulously considered
Immersing myself in work with all my soul,
But when this cry sounded for the third time,
I overdid it and lost count.Everything was mixed up in his shaggy head,
My mind went crazy from the strain.
“How many were there at the beginning - one or two?
“I don’t remember,” he whispered in fear.“We’ll bend this finger and bend the other one...
Something is wrong with bending your finger;
I see there is no way out - there is no answer,” -
And the unfortunate sufferer began to cry.“This is an easy example,” said Poacher. –
Bring pen and ink;
I will solve this pathetic example for you jokingly,
If only there was enough paper.”Then Beaver brought two bottles of ink,
A pile of the best paper in the briefcase...
The inhabitants of the mountains crawled out of their holes
And they looked at them with curiosity.Meanwhile, the Poacher, attached to his pen,
I scribbled everything without looking back and laziness,
In a popular vein, explaining to Beaver
The progress of scientific calculations.“We take as a basis the figure equal to three
(It’s most convenient to start with three),
Let's first add eight hundred and forty two
And multiply by seventy-five.Dividing the result by six hundred fifty
(There's nothing difficult about it)
Subtract one hundred minus five and get almost
Unmistakably accurate answer.The essence of the method I applied here is
I'm ready to explain in more detail,
If you have a couple of free minutes
And at least a grain of brains.However, to delve, like me, into the secrets of existence,
Obviously, not many are capable;
And that's why I'll teach you now
Popular zoology lesson."And he began to present the material with pathos
(With everyone's melancholy attention) –
Forgetting that suddenly taking people to fright
Indecent in decent company.“The ailment is a harbinger of great ideas,
Looking boldly into the future;
He is fierce in soul, but absurd in clothes,
Because fashion did not keep up with him.He despises bribes, loves riddles,
He keeps sick people in a cage
And he shows zeal in works of mercy,
But he doesn’t donate a single coin.It tastes better than squid with wine,
Truffles and goose liver;
It is better to store it in a pot with bones
Or in a strong oak barrel.Boil it, cool it in ice
And powder it a little with chalk,
But definitely keep one thing in mind:
Don’t break the overall symmetry!”The poacher could continue like this until the morning,
But - alas! – time was tight;
And he cried quietly, looking at the Beaver,
Like your closest friend.And Beaver admitted to him with his gaze,
What did he understand with his soul in a moment
As much as he would in a thousand years
Didn't learn from a thousand books.They returned together in an embrace,
And the Banker exclaimed in emotion:
“This is truly the best award for us
For losses, labor and patience!”So they became friends, the Poacher and the Beaver -
The world has not seen an example of this, -
That no one and nowhere ever from now on
I have never met one without the other.Well, what if friends were quarreling?
(However, extremely toothless and sluggish),
All they had to do was remember the song of Kvosporya,
And their quarrel was gone!
The sixth cry
Drummer's Dream
And they searched with a candle, and with intelligence,
With hope and a strong club,
Moreover, they threatened to lower the shares
And captivated with an innocent smile.And then the Drummer (and Former Judge)
I decided to refresh my strength with sleep,
And appeared before him from the depths of oblivion
An old image, dear to his soul.He dreamed of a mysterious gloomy Court
And an impressive Snark in a wig
And with a monocle in his eye, protecting the goat,
The polluted water in the river.The Witness came forward first, and he confirmed,
That the artery is desecrated.
And at the request of the Judge, the articles were read,
For which guilt was imputed.Snark (defender) got sweaty at the end of the performance,
He spoke for four hours;
But none of those gathered could
Guess what the goat has to do with it.However, the jury's opinions were formed a long time ago,
Everyone defended their own opinion,
And he really didn’t care
What his colleagues say.- What nonsense! – the Judge was indignant.
Snark interrupted him: “The point is not in the names,
What’s more important here, friends, is Article One Hundred and Eight
Penal Codes.The charge of treason is easy to prove,
Inciting a riot is more difficult
But blaming the goat for malicious bankruptcy,
Sorry, it's completely nonsense.I agree, what a desecration of the river.
Someone needs to be held accountable
But we must take into account that there is an alibi,
But there is no convincing evidence.Gentlemen! – here he looked around the jury. –
The honor of my client is entirely
In your power. Please summarize the protocol
And that's to sum it up.But the Judge never summed up the cases -
Snark had to come to the rescue;
He managed to summarize the matter so cleverly,
That I myself was horrified by the outcome.It was necessary to announce the verdict, but again
The jury found itself in a quandary:
The word was such that it was difficult to understand
Where to put the emphasis on it.Snark was forced to take on this work,
But when he said: GUILTY! –
A groan swept through the hall, and many here
They fell down more than senseless logs.The verdict was also read out by Snark - at the Judge's
I didn't have the courage for this.
The hall hardly breathed, the benches did not creak,
You could hear a fly flying.The sentence was: “Life imprisonment,
After serving it, there will be a fine.”
- Hip-hooray! – the Jury shouted three times,
And the Judge responded: “Bang-bang!”But the jailer, dropping a tear on the parquet,
Reduced their enthusiasm,
Having said that the goats are already several years old,
Unfortunately, no longer alive.The offended Judge, looking at his watch,
The meeting was hastily closed.
Only Snark, faithful to the duty of protecting the goat,
It raged, and rang, and threatened.The ringing became stronger and more frantic -
The drummer woke up in sadness:
Balabon raged above his head
With the captain's bell in hand.
The seventh cry
Banker's Fate
And they searched with a candle, and with intelligence,
With hope and a strong club,
Moreover, they threatened to lower the shares
And captivated with an innocent smile.And the Banker suddenly sensed a surge of courage
And he rushed forward zealously;
But - alas! - forgetting about everything except Snark,
He broke away from the team.And suddenly the terrible Bloodpierre appeared before him
Appeared, fiend of the abyss,
He smacked his lips and the Banker squeaked,
Seeing that it was useless to run.- I offer you a ransom - seven pounds and five,
I write a check instantly! –
But in response, Bloodpir just smacked his lips again.
And at the same time he licked his lips impudently.Ah, from this misfortune, from the grinning mouth
How to hide, pray tell?
He jumped, fell, thrashed, thrashed,
And his consciousness became clouded.The banker was doomed to a terrible death,
But just in time help arrived.
- I warned you! - said Balabon,
Ringing the bell strictly.But the Banker heard the ringing and did not know where he was,
His whole face has changed, poor fellow,
The fear was so strong that the dress coat
He turned white as paper.And everyone remembered the strange sparkle of his eyes
And how often he twitched, as if
Something important with wild grimaces
I tried to explain to someone.He looked not himself, he shook his head,
Smiling more naively than a child,
And he twirled his hands and whistled softly,
And he snapped his fingers loudly.- Oh, leave him alone! - the leader said. –
We must remember the main goal.
The sunset has already blazed over the tops of the rocks:
Time to get serious about Snark!
The eighth cry
Disappearance
And they searched with a candle, and with intelligence,
With hope and a strong club,
Moreover, they threatened to lower the shares
And captivated with an innocent smile.Darkness has already crept from the gorges,
The trackers had to hurry,
And the Beaver, leaning on the tip of his tail,
He galloped like a kangaroo.- Quiet! Someone is screaming! - Balabon shouted. –
Someone waves his hat at us.
It's What's His Name, I swear it's him,
He made it to the Snark, yay!And they saw: in the distance, over the mountain,
He stood in the midst of the swirling darkness,
Selfless Wheezer – Unknown Hero
On the ledge of a steep cliff.He stood proud and straight, like a Hippopotamus,
Motionless against the sky,
And suddenly (no one could believe their eyes)
He jumped into the abyss, flashed and disappeared."It's Snark!" - a jubilant cry flew towards them,
A bold call that tempts fate,
A cry of luck and laughter... and suddenly, after a moment,
Terrifying scream: “It’s Boo!..”And - silence! It seemed to others
Like an echo similar to “jum”
He rustled and fell silent. But according to others,
There was a noise from the wind.They searched for a long time, near and far,
We checked all the descents and lists,
But they didn’t find anything from the brave Baker
Not a trace, not a scarf, not a note.Without finishing the swan finale,
Having not given the world a gift,
He suddenly disappeared without hearing or spirit -
Apparently, Bujuma was mistaken for Snark!