Mark Twain - A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court / Янки из Коннектикута при дворе короля Артура. Книга для чтения на английском языке

© КАРО, 2006

The ungentle laws and customs touched upon in this tale are historical, and the episodes which are used to illustrate them are also historical. It is not pretended that these laws and customs existed in England in the sixth century; no, it is only pretended that inasmuch as they existed in the English and other civilizations of far later times, it is safe to consider that it is no libel upon the sixth century to suppose them to have been in practice in that day also. One is quite justified in inferring that wherever one of these laws or customs was lacking in that remote time, its place was competently filled by a worse one.

The question as to whether there is such a thing as divine right of kings is not settled in this book. It was found too difficult. That the executive head of a nation should be a person of lofty character and extraordinary ability, was manifest and indisputable; that none but the Deity could select that head unerringly, was also manifest and indisputable; that the Deity ought to make that selection, then, was likewise manifest and indisputable; consequently, that He does make it, as claimed, was an unavoidable deduction. I mean, until the author of this book encountered the Pompadour, and Lady Castlemaine [1] Pompadour, and Lady Castlemaine – Жанна-Антуанетта Пуассон, маркиза Помпадур (1721–1764) – фаворитка французского короля Людовика XV; Барбара Вилльер – фаворитка английского короля Карла II (16301685). Обе пользовались большим политическим влиянием и вмешивались в государственные дела and some other executive heads of that kind; these were found so difficult to work into the scheme, that it was judged better to take the other tack in this book (which must be issued this fall) and then go into training and settle the question in another book. It is of course a thing which ought to be settled, and I am not going to have anything particular to do next winter anyway.

Mark Twain.

It was in Warwick Castle [2] Warwick Castle – выстроен в XI веке, при Вильгельме Завоевателе; расположен недалеко от Лондона that I came across the curious stranger whom I am going to talk about. He attracted me by three things: his candid simplicity, his marvelous familiarity with ancient armor, and the restfulness of his company – for he did all the talking. We fell together, as modest people will, in the tail of the herd that was being shown through, and he at once began to say things which interested me. As he talked along, softly, pleasantly, flowingly, he seemed to drift away imperceptibly out of this world and time, and into some remote era and old forgotten country; and so he gradually wove such a spell about me that I seemed to move among the spectres and shadows and dust and mould of a gray antiquity, holding speech with a relic of it! Exactly as I would speak of my nearest personal friends or enemies, or my most familiar neighbors, he spoke of Sir Bedivere, Sir Bors de Ganis, Sir Launcelot of the Lake, Sir Galahad, and all the other great names of the Table Round – and how old, old, unspeakably old, and faded and dry and musty and ancient he came to look, as he went on! Presently he turned to me and said, just as one might speak of the weather, or any other common matter:

“You know about transmigration of souls; do you know about transposition of epochs – and bodies?”

I said I had not heard of it. He was so little interested – just as when people speak of the weather – that he did not notice whether I made him any answer or not. There was half a moment of silence; immediately interrupted by the droning voice of the salaried cicerone:

“Ancient hauberk, date of the sixth century, time of King Arthur and the Round Table; said to have belonged to the knight Sir Sagramour le Desirous; observe the round hole through the chain-mail in the left breast; can’t be accounted for; supposed to have been done with a bullet since invention of firearms – perhaps maliciously by Cromwell’s [3] Cromwell – Оливер Кромвель (1599–1658) – один из крупнейших деятелей английской буржуазной революции середины XVII века. soldiers.”

My acquaintance smiled – not a modern smile, but one that must have gone out of general use many, many centuries ago – and muttered, apparently to himself:

“Wit ye well [4] Wit ye well – (разг., устар.) Что скрывать! , I saw it done.” Then, after a pause, added: “I did it myself.”

By the time I had recovered from the electric surprise of this remark, he was gone.

All that evening I sat by my fire at the Warwick Arms, steeped in a dream of the olden time, while the rain beat upon the windows and the wind roared about the eaves and corners. From time to time I dipped into old Sir Thomas Malory’s [5] Thomas Malory – Мэлори Томас, английский рыцарь XV века, автор книги «Смерть Артура» (1485), которая послужила главным источником данного произведения (рассказ о том, «как сэр Ланселот убил двух великанов и освободил замок», представляет точное воспроизведение главы из книги Мэлори) enchanting book, and fed at its rich feast of prodigies and adventures, breathed-in the fragrance of its obsolete names, and dreamed again. Midnight being come at length, I read another tale, for a nightcap – this which here follows, to wit:

Anon withal came there upon him two great giants, well armed all save the heads, with two horrible clubs in their hands. Sir Launcelot put his shield afore him, and put the stroke away of the one giant, and with his sword he clave his head asunder. When his fellow saw that, he ran away as he were wood [6] as he were wood – (разг.) как безумный , for fear of the horrible strokes, and Sir Launcelot after him with all his might, and smote him on the shoulder, and clave him to the middle. Then Sir Launcelot went into the hall, and there came afore him threescore ladies and damsels, and all kneeled unto him, and thanked God and him of their deliverance. For, sir, said they, the most part of us have been here this seven year their prisoners, and we have worked all manner of silk works for our meat, and we are all great gentlewomen born, and blessed be the time, knight, that ever thou wert born; for thou hast done the most worship that ever did knight in the world, that will we bear record, and we all pray you to tell us your name, that we may tell our friends who delivered us out of prison. Fair damsels, he said, my name is Sir Launcelot du Lake. And so he departed from them and betaught them unto God. And then he mounted upon his horse, and rode into many strange and wild countries and through many waters and valleys, and evil was he lodged. And at the last by fortune him happened against a night to come to a fair courtelage, and therein he found an old gentlewoman that lodged him with a good will, and there he had good cheer for him and his horse.