Портвейн в бурю. Джордж Макдональд ( рассказ ) / аудиокнига

George MacDonald Portwain in a storm Translator Svetlana Lekhacheva Papa said my sister Effie once in the evening, when we all gathered in the living room by the fireplace. Since the continuation did not follow, little by little all eyes turned to her. Effie was sitting silently, embroidering the corner of Batista's handkerchief. It seems that the word got out of her unconsciously. The beginning of winter turned out to be very cold. Father returned home before sunset, and we had dinner early to enjoy a long evening in the family circle. After all, there was an anniversary of the parents' wedding, and we celebrated it like a real home party. Father sat in the chair by the chimney with a jug of Burgundy, and Mother, having arranged herself for him, occasionally drank from his glass. Effie was nineteen years old, the rest were younger. We had no idea what she was thinking at that time, although now we would have guessed easily. But suddenly Effie raised her head, and, noticing that all eyes were directed at her, she remembered or suspected something wrong and blushed like a rose. You turned to me, Effie. What is it, dear? Oh yes, Daddy. I wanted to ask you if you could tell us today a story about how you... Yes, dear. About how you... I'm listening, dear. Well, about you and Mommy. Yes, I understand. About how I got your mommy in your mother. Yes. I paid a dozen of portwains for her. We shouted, Daddy, and Mother laughed. Tell me, tell me, was the general shout. All right, I'll tell you, said Father. But we should start from the very beginning. He filled a glass with bourgoin and began the story. As far as I remember, I lived with my father in an old country estate. The estate did not belong to my father, but to his older brother, who at that time was the captain of a seventy-four-cannon ship. He loved the sea more than life, and, apparently, more than any woman. In any case, my uncle remained single. My mother had not been alive for several years, and her father's health left much to be desired. My father was never too strong, and after the death of his mother, he began to melt and sigh with grief, although at that time I was too young to notice it. There will be no talk of my father now, because my story is not about him. When I turned five, and the doctors advised my father to leave England, the estate went to the disposal of a trusted person to be handed over to a mercenary, at least that's what I think. And my father took me to Madeira, where he died quickly. The servant took me home. My uncle sent me to a boarding school, then to Whitton, and then to Oxford. I was still studying science, and my uncle had already served until the admiral. A year before I graduated from Oxford, he married Lady Georgiana Thornberry, a widowed lady with the only daughter from the first marriage. After that, my uncle said goodbye to the sea, although, I dare say, he was extremely reluctant, and settled with his wife in his native estate, in the very house where I was born, and which belonged to our family for many generations, and where your relative now lives. The newlyweds arrived in Culverwood in late autumn, and did not have time to settle down properly, as my uncle had already written me a letter, inviting me to celebrate Christmas in the family nest. This is where my story begins. I had strange feelings when I stepped over the threshold of the house. To the gaze of a man accustomed to modern immodesty and immodesty, the old mansion seemed to be full of pride and grandeur. However, the vague memories that floated in the air created a sense of home comfort, which, along with the splendor, aroused in my soul an incomparable delight. For what could be better than to feel like at home in the society of royal individuals? To this day I am grateful for the lesson learned thanks to this feeling, the combination of reverence and tenderness that aroused in my soul in the form of a family estate, when, for the first time after 15 years, I entered the house left in a distant childhood. The old man and the new woman gave me a warm welcome. But as soon as I entered Kate Thornberry, I lost my heart, and to this day I cannot find it. However, I am doing fine without it, for I have received a heart that is much more valuable until I find my own, which, I hope, will never happen. With these words, my father looked at my mother. Her face reflected a calm, unwavering conviction. Effie's eyes were filled with tears, poor thing. Very soon her heart was about to lose its peace. But my story is not about her. Meanwhile, my father continued. Your mother was more charming than she is now, but not so beautiful. And yet she was so beautiful that I immediately realized that in the whole world there has never been, and never will be, such a beautiful creature. She greeted me politely, and I greeted her awkwardly. You made me feel that you were not happy with my presence in the house. My mother responded for the first time during the entire story, entering the conversation. You see, girls, my father picked up. And you always rely on first impressions and the voice of your heart. I felt awkward, because, as I said, I fell in love with your mother at first sight. And she decided that I perceived her as an impostor, stuck in the family nest. I will not describe in detail the history of those days. I was immensely happy, except for those moments when I felt that Kate Thornberry was not worthy. Not that she deliberately made me understand this, because she always kept her unwavering kindness, but she was such that I could not help but feel my own imperfection. However, three days later, as I gained courage, I recounted to her all the slowly coming memories relating to the estate, as well as childhood adventures associated with one room, a fligel or a corner in the park. The longer I lived in the estate, the sooner the old memories about it were awakened, and I was completely amazed to discover how many events in my biography related to Colverwood were captured in my memory. However, Kate never showed that my stories were boring. Interesting for me, they should have tired anyone who did not share my feelings about the family nest. We wandered from room to room, then talking, then keeping silence. It must be assumed that it was impossible to imagine better opportunities for a hearty attitude to me, your mother. I think little by little I began to like her. This attitude had every chance to grow into something stronger, except that Kate would have come to the conclusion that I was not worthy of her. My uncle, the glorious sea wolf, welcomed me with open arms, saying, Welcome to the old vessel. God willing, we will swim together a lot more, and the boat is at my complete disposal, except for one thing. Do you see, my boy? My uncle said. I married a noble lady, and I don't want my wife's friends to talk as if I moored next to her to get the money for her daughter. No, no, my boy. Your uncle has had enough of the salty water to throw out such meanness. So you take care. That's all. She is able to spin the head of even the most reasonable man that our family has never had. I did not inform my uncle that the council was late, because although an hour had not passed since our first meeting, my head was already so dizzy that it was possible to restore the desired position only by continuing to rotate the head in the same direction, however, there was a danger of tearing the thread. The noble gentleman no longer returned to this conversation and did not pay attention to our growing closeness, so sometimes I tend to doubt whether it was necessary to take this simple and unambiguous warning seriously. Fortunately, Lady Georgiania came to my mind, at least it seemed to me, and this gave me courage. Nonsense, dear, the mother replied. The mother of the soul did not desire you as much as I did, but you have never felt a lack of courage. Well, I was not so stupid to openly demonstrate my youth, the father objected, but he continued. The situation was getting more and more serious, and finally I no longer doubted that I would shoot myself or go crazy if your mother did not refuse me. So it went on for several days. Before Christmas, there was nothing left. For the holiday week, the admiral invited several old friends. And keep in mind, although I seem to you an old-fashioned weirdo, oh, dad, we objected to the choir, but he continued. However, here the uncle far surpassed me, and his friends were in everything to set him up. I myself like to miss a glass of port wine, although I refrain from it, if possible, and am forced to console the Burgundians. Uncle Bob would call the Burgundian garbage. He did not think of himself a life without port wine, although in intolerance no one would blame the old man. So imagine his confusion when he interrogated Dvoretsky, his former steward, and went down to the wine cellar to make sure with his own eyes. The uncle found that in his stock of port wine there were not even dozens of bottles. The poor man went pale with horror. It must be said that in the dim light of the salt candle clamped in the tattooed fist of the old Jacob, the uncle was a terrible sight. And then the uncle began to erupt out of himself streams of selective curses, thanks to which the color of his face partly recovered. I will not repeat this speech. Among the gentlemen, fortunately, such words have come out of fashion, although among the ladies, as I understand it, this old and disgusting custom begins to be reborn. Jacob reminded his honor that they were not going to replenish their stocks until they rebuilt the cellar, for this, he said, was only suitable to store the dead in it. So, having defeated Jacob for not reminding him about the necessary things for the coming season, the uncle turned to me and began, of course, not to swear at his own father, but to express some discontent about the fact that the deceased did not rebuild a decent cellar before leaving the world of dinners and wines forever, and transparently hinted that such forgetfulness is very much given by egoism and disdain for the well-being of descendants. Thus giving way to his indignation, the uncle rose to the top and wrote a very categorical, unacceptable letter to his Liverpool wine merchant, demanding that 30 dozen portwines be delivered to the estate before Christmas at any cost, even in diligence. I personally delivered the message to the post office, for only I could entrust such a responsible mission to the old man. In fact, he would have preferred to go himself, but in winter he always stayed at the temple, as the consequences of the fall of a log in the battle of Abakir affected him. I remember this night perfectly well. I was lying in bed, guessing whether I would dare to say or at least hint to your mother that a certain word is asked from the tongue, waiting for permission. Suddenly I heard the wind howling in the chimney. How well I remembered this howl, and my kind aunt took the trouble to find out what bedroom I was occupying as a child and prepared a room for me by the third night. I jumped out of bed and found that the snow was falling in waves. Then, climbing under the blanket, I began to think what the uncle would do if he did not deliver the portwine. And then it occurred to me that if the snow did not stop, and the wind was blowing even stronger, the road through the hilly part of Yorkshire, where Kulverwood is located, would take him away. It was blowing south all night long. What does the uncle want from the poor man's bad weather? And he took a bitter hour's supply of portwine, and he will drink only water, poor man. In the children's bedroom, the memories of the past subdued me to myself, and I repeated a poem about myself until I fell asleep. So, boys and girls, if I were writing a novel, I would urge you one way or another to compare all the facts that I was in the above-mentioned room, that that evening I went down to the wine cellar with my uncle for the first time, that I watched my uncle's despair and heard his moaning about his father's neglect. I can add that at that time I myself was not so indifferent to the merits of a glass of good portwine, so as not to sympathize with the grief of my uncle over time and his guests, if they find that a snowstorm has blocked the way to the long-awaited drink. If the problem left me indifferent, I am afraid that the merit is in your mother, not mine. Nonsense! Mother intervened again. You always belittle yourself and praise others. I have never met a person so modest. Speaking of portwine, you have never drunk too much in your life. That is why I love it, dear, the father replied. Thanks to you, the bourgeoisie in my glass does not please me at all. That night I had a dream. The next day the guests began to arrive. By the evening everyone had gathered. Five guests arrived, three sea wolves and two land rats, so they called each other with a cheerful hand. I won't say for a long time that their fun would have lasted, if not for me. Uncle's anxiety increased noticeably. In the morning he was more and more restrained in greeting each new guest who came down for breakfast. Excuse me, lady, I forgot to mention that the ladies went to my aunt, of course. However, only guests who claim to drink portwine are important for my story, of course, not counting your mother. Uncle Admiral greeted the aforementioned ladies almost mercilessly. I understood him perfectly. The old man instinctively tried to get support from those who were not interested in the case if the terrible secret of his cellar would be revealed. For two days or so, there were enough supplies, because Uncle had an excess of excellent claret and madeira, a wine that I do not understand well. Uncle and Jacob were cleverly bypassing the underwater stones. We did not wait for the portwine, unlike the fatal day. It was the morning of Christmas Eve. I was sitting in my room trying to compose a song for Kate, your mother, my dear. I know, dad, Eiffel replied, clearly proud of her awareness. When my uncle entered the room, well, I can't help but take the syndrome, which is pursued by death one after another. It seems that it was this nonsense that you read to me the other day, right, Eiffel? This is not nonsense, dear dad, Eiffel said hotly. And I was ready to kiss my sister for the intercession, because this is not nonsense at all. I take my words back. The father smiled and added, turning to his mother. Your influence, dear. My children are so serious that they even take a joke for cleaning the coin. Anyway, for my uncle, the time of jokes has passed. If he did not look like a syndrome, then like another one. The roads were frozen, that is, covered with snow, the poor man said. The last bottle of portwine was left. And what will Captain Coker say? I'm afraid I know what he will say, but it would be better for me not to know. Bad weather, God forgive me. Yes, I understand that it is a sin to swear, but then the saint will come out of himself. Right, my boy? What will you give me for a dozen bottles of portwine, uncle? I answered. What will I give you? Yes, take at least a cul-de-sac, swindler. Is it coming? I exclaimed. Well, that is, uncle muttered. That is. And he grumbled like the pipe of one of his hated steamers. That is, you know, on condition ... It would be unfair to Lady Georgiana, right? Judge for yourself. If she takes on the work, you know ... Do you understand me, my boy? You are absolutely right, uncle, I assured. Aha. I see you are a natural gentleman, just like your father. You will not put a person under the foot I stumbled hard. I sighed, uncle. For the nicest old man was so flamboyant in matters of honor that he was ready to fall through the ground. He made a promising promise without saying an exception first. The exception, you know, now belongs to the Culverwoods, God forbid. Of course, uncle, I replied, as is customary between gentlemen. However, I would like to finish the joke. Yes. What will you give me for a dozen bottles of portwine, which would help you get through Christmas Day? What will I give? I will give you, my boy. Here the uncle bit his tongue in time, like a man who has already burned once. Mow! He snorted, turning his back and heading to the door. What is the use of joking about serious things? The uncle withdrew, and I did not detain him, for I had already heard that the communication with Liverpool was interrupted due to snowstorms. The wind and storms did not stop from the very night I mentioned. In the meantime, I did not have the courage to say a single word to your mother. Excuse me, I meant Miss Thornberry. Christmas Day came. It was scary to look at my uncle. Friends were worried, not for a joke, fearing whether the old man was ill. He was moving in a hurry and uncertainly, like a shark swallowing a bait. And then suddenly he began to float, as if he had been swallowed by a whale. The nightmarish secret did not give him peace. The old man did not dare to confess, but the fatal hour, when the secret would become clear, was coming inexorably. At the bottom of the kitchen, Rosbeef and the turkey were being served. At the top, in the pantry, because Lady Georgiana was not bored with household chores, as well as her daughter, the ladies were working hard. And I was running from uncle to niece, and from niece to uncle, miraculously having time to serve both. The turkey and meat were served on the table and eaten in order, before I counted that my star hour had come. The wind was blowing outside. With a slight rustle, snow flakes hit the glass. I greedily watched General Fortescue, who despised both Heres and Madeira even for dinner, and he would not bite on champagne more than on sweetened water, but he drank port wine and fish and cheese without distinction. I greedily watched as the contents of the last bottle, moving into a transparent graphene, inexorably decreased. The fearless steward served General Fortescue glass by glass. Although, if he were given a choice, the poor man would go more willingly to the deck of a French ship than he would wait for the consequences. The uncle's throat was not a piece of meat, and his physiognomy could not be pulled out with the change of each dish, only because to pull it out again, even if I found it, could only be death. In my interests, it was necessary to bring the matter to a certain line, beyond which it was no longer worth going. At the same time, I really wanted to see how my uncle would report about what had happened. But no, he would open a shameful secret. In his house, on Christmas Day, for his oldest friends, invited to share the festive entertainment, there were no bottles of port wine left. I endured to the last. And so I dreamed that the admiral had already opened his mouth, as if pulled out of the water of the fish, to confess everything. In grief so terrible, he did not even dare to trust his wife. Then I pretended to have dropped a napkin, went up to look for it, sneaked up to my uncle from behind and whispered to him. And now, uncle, what will you give me for a dozen of port wine? He exclaimed. I am like on hot coals, do not torture me. I am a serious uncle. The admiral turned abruptly. In his eyes, a crazy hope suddenly flashed. After drying the bowl of suffering to the bottom, the poor man was ready to believe in a miracle. But he did not say a word to me, just looked me in the eyes. Will you give me Kate? I need Kate. I whispered. I will give, my boy. That is, if she herself will not object. I mean on condition if you get the most real bright port wine. Of course, uncle. I swear by honor. Any port is good in the storm. And port wine too. I was shaking all over my body, from heels to other details of the toilet. For as a result, I was sure only for a third. The gentlemen sitting next to Kate. At that moment, everyone was distracted by the neighbor on the other hand. I went up to her from behind and whispered to her in the ear exactly like an uncle. I just chose other words. Maybe the drunk champagne gave me courage. Maybe the adventure made me crazy. Or maybe Kate herself in an incomprehensible way inspired me on the feat like a goddess of antiquity. Whatever it was, I told her. Kate. And we already then called each other by name. In the cellar of the uncle there was not a bottle of port wine left. Imagine what state General Fortescue will be in. The poor man, his face turned red like a white rose, tenderly, barely catchable. Probably no one noticed this except me. But nothing slipped from my gaze. Even the shadow of a falcon on the cheek. We went out into the hall. The wind was blowing loudly. Here and there the flame of candles was trembling and flashing. Light and shadow alternately fell on the old portraits that I remember from childhood. I wondered what words these ladies and gentlemen would address me if it occurred to anyone to get out of the frame. I stopped and, taking Kate by the hand, spoke. I dare not lead you further, Kate, until I confess what. My uncle promised if I took a dozen bottles of port wine to my aunt, but I prefer to tell you if only you will allow me, so you will help me find the port wine. Kate did not say a word, but took a candle from the table and stopped without touching the place. I dared to look up. Her face shone with a heavenly pink-blue blush, and I had no doubt that she understood me. Kate was so beautiful that I froze and closed my eyes. I can't really understand where the servants were going. They fell through the ground, no other way. Finally, Kate laughed and said, let's go. I shuddered and, I dare to say, blushed to the roots of my hair. I had no idea what to say. I completely forgot about the guests. There is no need to go into details, dear. Mother smiled. In the future, I will take care of you, dear. Father replied. What do you want from me? Kate asked. Just to enlighten me, I replied, for all seven senses returned to me at once, and taking a candle from her hand, I went ahead, and Kate followed. We passed the kitchen and found ourselves at the cellar. A steep, uncomfortable staircase led down, and Kate took my help. Edward is right, mother reproached. Yes, yes, dear, I won't, father replied. Until then, your mother abstained from questions. But when we, having passed several turns, found ourselves in a spacious cellar with low ceilings, and I handed her a candle, and picked it up myself with a heavy crowbar, Kate asked. Edward, did you plan to bury me alive? On the contrary, I want to lead you to the light of God. And out of joy, I hit the wall with a crowbar, exactly with a ram. Can you believe me, John? From the fact that Kate held a candle for me, my strength only increased. Very soon, although with great difficulty, I knocked out a brick from the wall, and the next blow awoke a deaf echo to life. I was right. I worked with a crowbar as if possessed, and after a few minutes I crushed the entire brick wall, blocking the vault passage. A door was found behind it. The key was stuck in the lock and easily turned under my hand. The mechanism was perfectly oiled. I took the candle out of Kate's hands and led my companion into the vast kingdom of sawdust, cobwebs and mold. Here is Kate! I exclaimed in delight. But did the wine go bad? She doubted. General Fortescue will answer this question. I replied cheerfully. And now let's go. You will enlighten me again, and I will try to find a cell for Portwain. At speed, I found not one, but several cells filled with Portwain bottles. I didn't know which one to choose. We took a chance. I carefully carried two bottles up, and Kate a bottle and a candle. We left the loot in the kitchen, ordering Portwain not to be touched, and went for a new portion. At a speed, a whole dozen bottles lined up at the table in the hall at the door to the dining room. Finally, we went into the dining room. Kate and I, since Kate would not refuse to participate in this fascinating matter, held the bottles in each hand and carefully placed them on the servant. Jacob giggled and looked behind us. Judging by the guests' amazed looks, we were a remarkable sight. Kate in a white muslin dress and I in a parade dress from head to toe stained with a web of a brick mug and stars. The guests were amused looking at us, and we died with a smile looking at them. The dessert was already served, but the wine jug did not move. In fact, I have no idea. Do you want to ask your mother? Maybe she knows better. Captain Coker and General Fortescue simply did not find a place for themselves. Uncle, desperately hoping for a miracle, as if he had grown to the place and as if he had put water in his mouth. And the guests could not understand what the reason for the evil delay was. Even Lady Georgiana began to seriously fear that a riot was brewing in the kitchen or something as terrible had happened. But you would have seen how Uncle's face shone when we arrived, quite overloaded with port wine. The old man immediately pretended that everything was going according to plan. Well, where did you go, my boy? He realized. Oh, beautiful Gabba! He continued. I beg your pardon. Jacob, keep pouring. Such forgetfulness does you no good. General Fortescue did not hesitate to appear. I again cooled down from the alarm. The cork flew out with a light clap. The bottle tilted. Bul-bul-bul was brought from the blessed throat, and something golden like a lion's mane poured into the glass. The general slowly raised the glass to his lips, on the way he greeted and the nose. Fifteen minutes later, General Fortescue raised his lips and nose. Fifteen years of endurance! I swear to Jupiter! he exclaimed. Well, Admiral, it was worth waiting for. Pour more carefully, Jacob. You will not answer in your own life. The uncle was celebrating. He hummed to me, trying to make me understand. Shut up! Kate and I have moved away. She will change her clothes, I will clean the dress and wash my hands. I asked her. What about Kate? Yes, we moved to the living room even before her return. I believe that it was not easy for her to fulfill her uncle's order. But she did not let me down. Should I say that it was the happiest Christmas in my life? But how did you find the mushroom, dad? asked Effie. Where is your wisdom, daughter? Don't you remember? Yes, that's right. But it is impossible for the existence of the mushroom to appear in your dreams. That's right. I saw with my own eyes how the mushroom was rebuilt before our departure to Madeira. When we were leaving the house, dad decided to save the wine. It was only good for the wine, and for me too. I completely forgot about the mushroom. All circumstances seemed to have changed. I remember I fell asleep under the impressions I told you about from my childhood. They affected me in my sleep, and when all the distracting factors disappeared, a memory of what I saw appeared in my sleep. In the morning, I remembered not only the dream, but also the event that I had never doubted and only followed the dream as far as I could remember it. The admiral kept his word and did not cause any obstacles to us. To be honest, I was never particularly afraid of this underwater stone. But it could well happen that the grumpiness of the old man in matters of honor or pride for some time would become a significant obstacle to our happiness. I did not know much about it, and I regretted it as little as he did. However, his gratitude crossed all boundaries to me, finding a way out in violent statements of gratitude. I suppose I saved his ship along with the whole team. The old man would not have considered himself so unobliged then, because his hospitality was put on the map. The old kind. I sighed a little, looked at the hot coals, kissed my mother's hand and dried another glass of Burgundy.