Чарльз Мэдисон Карри, Эрл Элсворт Клиппингер

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Then to your offices and let me rest.

Она ложится спать, и Феи поют следующее:

You spotted snakes with double tongue,

Thorny hedgehogs, be not seen;

Newts and blind-worms, do no wrong,

Come not near our fairy queen.

Philomel, with melody

Sing in our sweet lullaby;

Lulla, lulla, lullaby, lulla, lulla, lullaby:

Never harm,

Nor spell nor charm,

Come our lovely lady nigh:

So good-night, with lullaby.

Weaving spiders, come not here;

Hence, you long-legged spinners, hence.

Beetles black, approach not near;

Worm nor snail, do no offence.

Philomel, with melody

Sing in our sweet lullaby;

Lulla, lulla, lullaby, lulla, lulla, lullaby:

Never harm,

Nor spell nor charm,

Come our lovely lady nigh;

So, good-night, with lullaby.

A Fairy

Hence, away! now all is well:

One aloof stand sentinel.

363

Ralph Waldo Emerson (1803-1882) is America's greatest spiritual teacher. His essays, such as "Self-Reliance" and "The American Scholar," are his chief claim to fame. The two brief poems given here are well known. "Fable" should be studied along with No. 236, since they emphasize the same lesson that size is after all a purely relative matter. "Concord Hymn" is a splendidly dignified expression of the debt of gratitude we owe to the memory of those who made our country possible. Of course no reader will fail to notice the famous last two lines of the first stanza.

БАЙКА

RALPH WALDO EMERSON

The mountain and the squirrel

Had a quarrel,

And the former called the latter "Little Prig";

Bun replied,

"You are doubtless very big;

But all sorts of things and weather

Must be taken in together

To make up a year

And a sphere.

And I think it no disgrace

To occupy my place.

If I'm not so large as you,

You are not so small as I,

And not half so spry.

I'll not deny you make

A very pretty squirrel track;

Talents differ; all is well and wisely put;

If I cannot carry forests on my back,

Neither can you crack a nut!"

364

КОНКОРДСКИЙ ГИМН

RALPH WALDO EMERSON

By the rude bridge that arched the flood,

Their flag to April's breeze unfurled,

Here once the embattled farmers stood,

And fired the shot heard round the world.

The foe long since in silence slept;

Alike the conqueror silent sleeps;

And Time the ruined bridge has swept

Down the dark stream which seaward creeps.

On this green bank, by this soft stream,

We set to-day a votive stone;

That memory may their deed redeem,

When, like our sires, our sons are gone.

Spirit, that made those heroes dare

To die, and leave their children free,

Bid Time and Nature gently spare

The shaft we raise to them and thee.

365

Almost any of the works of Sir Walter Scott (1771-1832), whether in prose or verse, is within the range of children in the grades. Especially the fine ballads, such as "Lochinvar" and "Allen-a-Dale," are sure to interest them. Children should be encouraged to read one of the long story-poems, "The Lady of the Lake" or "The Lay of the Last Minstrel." The famous expression of patriotism quoted below is from the latter poem.

ДЫШИТ ЛИ ТОТ ЧЕЛОВЕК

SIR WALTER SCOTT

Breathes there the man, with soul so dead,

Who never to himself hath said,

This is my own, my native land!

Whose heart hath ne'er within him burned,

As home his footsteps he hath turned

From wandering on a foreign strand!

If such there be, go, mark him well;

For him no minstrel raptures swell;

High though his titles, proud his name,

Boundless his wealth as wish can claim;

Despite those titles, power, and pelf,

The wretch, concentered all in self,

Living, shall forfeit fair renown,

And doubly dying, shall go down

To the vile dust, from whence he sprung,

Unwept, unhonored, and unsung.

366

When Oliver Wendell Holmes (1809-1894) was twenty-one years old, he read that the Navy Department had decided to destroy the old, unseaworthy frigate "Constitution," which had become famous in the War of 1812. In one evening he wrote the poem "Old Ironsides." This not only made Holmes immediately famous as a poet, but so aroused the American people that the Navy Department changed its plans and rebuilt the ship.

СТАРЫЙ ЖЕЛЕЗНОБОКИЙ

OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES

Ay, tear her tattered ensign down!

Long has it waved on high,

And many an eye has danced to see

That banner in the sky;

Beneath it rung the battle shout,

And burst the cannon's roar:—

The meteor of the ocean air

Shall sweep the clouds no more.

Her deck, once red with heroes' blood,

Where knelt the vanquished foe,

When winds were hurrying o'er the flood,

And waves were white below,

No more shall feel the victor's tread,

Or know the conquered knee;—

The harpies of the shore shall pluck

The eagle of the sea!

Oh, better that her shattered hulk

Should sink beneath the wave;

Her thunders shook the mighty deep,

And there should be her grave;

Nail to the mast her holy flag,

Set every threadbare sail,

And give her to the god of storms,

The lightning and the gale!

367

William Collins (1721-1759), English poet, wrote only a few poems, but among them is this short dirge which keeps his name alive in popular memory. It was probably in honor of his countrymen who fell at Fontenoy in 1745, the year before its composition. Its austere brevity, its well-known personifications, its freedom from fulsome expressions, place it very high among patriotic utterances.

КАК СПЯТ ХРАБРЫЕ

WILLIAM COLLINS

How sleep the brave, who sink to rest

By all their country's wishes blest!

When Spring, with dewy fingers cold,

Returns to deck their hallowed mould,

She there shall dress a sweeter sod

Than Fancy's feet have ever trod.

By fairy hands their knell is rung;

By forms unseen their dirge is sung;

There Honor comes, a pilgrim gray,

To bless the turf that wraps their clay;

And Freedom shall awhile repair,

To dwell a weeping hermit there!

368

The anonymous ballad dealing with the familiar story of Nathan Hale, of Revolutionary times, is the nearest approach to the old folk ballad in our history. Its repetitions help it in catching something of the breathless suspense accompanying his daring effort, betrayal, and execution. The pathos of the closing incidents of Hale's career has attracted the tributes of poets and dramatists. Francis Miles Finch, author of "The Blue and the Gray," wrote a well-known poetic account of Hale, while Clyde Fitch's drama of Nathan Hale had a great popular success.

БАЛЛАДА О НАТАНЕ ХЕЙЛЕ

The breezes went steadily through the tall pines,

A-saying "Oh! hu-ush!" a-saying "Oh! hu-ush!"

As stilly stole by a bold legion of horse,

For Hale in the bush; for Hale in the bush.

"Keep still!" said the thrush as she nestled her young,

In a nest by the road; in a nest by the road.

"For the tyrants are near, and with them appear

What bodes us no good; what bodes us no good."

The brave captain heard it, and thought of his home

In a cot by the brook; in a cot by the brook;

With mother and sister and memories dear,

He so gayly forsook; he so gayly forsook.

Cooling shades of the night were coming apace,

The tattoo had beat; the tattoo had beat.

The noble one sprang from his dark lurking-place,

To make his retreat; to make his retreat.

He warily trod on the dry rustling leaves,

As he passed through the wood; as he passed through the wood;

And silently gained his rude launch on the shore,

As she played with the flood; as she played with the flood.

The guards of the camp, on that dark, dreary night,

Had a murderous will; had a murderous will.

They took him and bore him afar from the shore,

To a hut on the hill; to a hut on the hill.

No mother was there, nor a friend who could cheer,

In that little stone cell; in that little stone cell.

But he trusted in love, from his Father above.

In his heart, all was well; in his heart, all was well.

An ominous owl, with his solemn bass voice,

Sat moaning hard by; sat moaning hard by;

"The tyrant's proud minions most gladly rejoice,

For he must soon die; for he must soon die."

The brave fellow told them, no thing he restrained,—

The cruel general! the cruel general!—

His errand from camp, of the ends to be gained,

And said that was all; and said that was all.

They took him and bound him and bore him away,

Down the hill's grassy side; down the hill's grassy side.

'Twas there the base hirelings, in royal array,

His cause did deride; his cause did deride.

Five minutes were given, short moments, no more,

For him to repent; for him to repent.

He prayed for his mother, he asked not another,

To Heaven he went; to Heaven he went.

The faith of a martyr the tragedy showed,

As he trod the last stage; as he trod the last stage.

And Britons will shudder at gallant Hale's blood,

As his words do presage; as his words do presage:

"Thou pale King of terrors, thou life's gloomy foe,

Go frighten the slave; go frighten the slave;

Tell tyrants, to you their allegiance they owe.

No fears for the brave; no fears for the brave."

369

That men of great courage are certain to recognize and pay tribute to courage in others, even if those others are their enemies, is the theme of "The Red Thread of Honor." Sir Francis Hastings Doyle (1810-1888) wrote two other stirring poems of action, "The Loss of the Birkenhead" and "The Private of the Buffs."

КРАСНАЯ НИТЬ ЧЕСТИ

FRANCIS HASTINGS DOYLE

Eleven men of England

A breastwork charged in vain;

Eleven men of England

Lie stripp'd, and gash'd, and slain.

Slain; but of foes that guarded

Their rock-built fortress well,

Some twenty had been mastered,

When the last soldier fell.

The robber-chief mused deeply,

Above those daring dead;

"Bring here," at length he shouted,

"Bring quick, the battle thread.

Let Eblis blast forever

Their souls, if Allah will:

But we must keep unbroken

The old rules of the Hill.

"Before the Ghiznee tiger

Leapt forth to burn and slay;

Before the holy Prophet

Taught our grim tribes to pray;

Before Secunder's lances

Pierced through each Indian glen;

The mountain laws of honor

Were framed for fearless men.

"Still, when a chief dies bravely,

We bind with green one wrist—

Green for the brave, for heroes

One crimson thread we twist.

Say ye, oh gallant Hillmen,

For these, whose life has fled,

Which is the fitting color,

The green one, or the red?"

"Our brethren, laid in honor'd graves, may wear

Their green reward," each noble savage said;

"To these, whom hawks and hungry wolves shall tear,

Who dares deny the red?"

Thus conquering hate, and steadfast to the right,

Fresh from the heart that haughty verdict came;

Beneath a waning moon, each spectral height

Rolled back its loud acclaim.

Once more the chief gazed keenly

Down on those daring dead;

From his good sword their heart's blood

Crept to that crimson thread.

Once more he cried, "The judgment,

Good friends, is wise and true,

But though the red be given,

Have we not more to do?

"These were not stirred by anger,

Nor yet by lust made bold;

Renown they thought above them,

Nor did they look for gold.

To them their leader's signal

Was as the voice of God:

Unmoved, and uncomplaining,

The path it showed they trod.

"As, without sound or struggle,

The stars unhurrying march,

Where Allah's finger guides them,

Through yonder purple arch,

These Franks, sublimely silent,

Without a quickened breath,

Went, in the strength of duty,

Straight to their goal of death.

"If I were now to ask you,

To name our bravest man,

Ye all at once would answer,

They call'd him Mehrab Khan.

He sleeps among his fathers,

Dear to our native land,

With the bright mark he bled for

Firm round his faithful hand.

"The songs they sing of Roostum

Fill all the past with light;

If truth be in their music,

He was a noble knight.

But were those heroes living,

And strong for battle still,

Would Mehrab Khan or Roostum

Have climbed, like these, the Hill?"

And they replied, "Though Mehrab Khan was brave,

As chief, he chose himself what risks to run;

Prince Roostum lied, his forfeit life to save,

Which these had never done."

"Enough!" he shouted fiercely;

"Doomed though they be to hell,

Bind fast the crimson trophy

Round both wrists—bind it well.

Who knows but that great Allah

May grudge such matchless men,

With none so decked in heaven,

To the fiend's flaming den?"

Then all those gallant robbers

Shouted a stern "Amen!"

They raised the slaughter'd sergeant,

They raised his mangled ten.

And when we found their bodies

Left bleaching in the wind,

Around both wrists in glory

That crimson thread was twined.

370

In the year 1897 a great diamond jubilee was held in England in honor of the completion of sixty years of rule by Queen Victoria. Many poems were written for the occasion, most of which praised the greatness of Britain, the extent of her dominion, the strength of her army and navy, and the abundance of her wealth. The "Recessional" was written for the occasion by Rudyard Kipling (1865—). It is in the form of a prayer, but its purpose was to tell the British that they were forgetting the "God of our fathers" and putting their trust in wealth and navies and the "reeking tube and iron shard" of the cannon. The poem rang through England like a bugle call and stirred the British people more deeply than any other poem of recent times.

РЕЦЕССИОНАЛ

RUDYARD KIPLING

God of our fathers, known of old—

Lord of our far flung battle-line—

Beneath whose awful hand we hold

Dominion over palm and pine—

Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet,

Lest we forget—lest we forget!

The tumult and the shouting dies—

The captains and the kings depart—

Still stands Thine ancient Sacrifice,

A humble and a contrite heart.

Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet,

Lest we forget—lest we forget!

Far-called our navies sink away—

On dune and headland sinks the fire

Lo, all our pomp of yesterday

Is one with Nineveh and Tyre!

Judge of the Nations, spare us yet,

Lest we forget—lest we forget!

If, drunk with sight of power, we loose

Wild tongues that have not Thee in awe—

Such boasting as the Gentiles use

Or lesser breeds without the law—

Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet,

Lest we forget—lest we forget!

For heathen heart that puts her trust

In reeking tube and iron shard—

All valiant dust that builds on dust,

And guarding calls not Thee to guard—

For frantic boast and foolish word,

Thy Mercy on Thy People, Lord!

371

William Ernest Henley (1849-1903) was an English critic and journalist of great force and a poet whose verse is full of manliness and tenderness. His life was a constant and courageous struggle against disease. The spirit in which he faced conditions that would have conquered a weaker man breathes through the famous poem quoted below. Such a spirit is not confined to any particular stage of maturity as represented by years, and many young people will find themselves buoyed up in the face of difficulties by coming into touch with the unconquered and unconquerable voice in this poem. The last two lines in particular are often quoted.

НЕПОКОРНЫЙ

WILLIAM E. HENLEY

Out of the night that covers me,

Black as the pit from pole to pole,

I thank whatever gods may be

For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance

I have not winced nor cried aloud:

Under the bludgeonings of chance

My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears

Looms but the horror of the shade,

And yet the menace of the years

Finds and shall find me unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,

How charged with punishments the scroll,

I am the master of my fate;

I am the captain of my soul.

372

James Russell Lowell (1819-1891) is a poet of such high idealisms that many of his poems seem to form the natural heritage of youth. Among such are "The Vision of Sir Launfal," "The Present Crisis," "The Fatherland," and "Aladdin." "The Falcon" is not so well known as any of these, but its fine image for the seeker after truth should appeal to most children of upper grades. "The Shepherd of King Admetus" is a very attractive poetizing of an old myth (see No. 261) and lets us see something of how the public looks upon its poets and other artistic folk.

СОКОЛ

JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL

I know a falcon swift and peerless

As e'er was cradled in the pine;

No bird had ever eye so fearless,

Or wing so strong as this of mine.

The winds not better love to pilot

A cloud with molten gold o'errun,

Than him, a little burning islet,

A star above the coming sun.

For with a lark's heart he doth tower,

By a glorious upward instinct drawn;

No bee nestles deeper in the flower

Than he in the bursting rose of dawn.

No harmless dove, no bird that singeth,

Shudders to see him overhead;

The rush of his fierce swooping bringeth

To innocent hearts no thrill of dread.

Let fraud and wrong and baseness shiver,

For still between them and the sky

The falcon Truth hangs poised forever

And marks them with his vengeful eye.

373

ПАСТУХ КОРОЛЯ АДМЕТА

JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL

There came a youth upon the earth,

Some thousand years ago,

Whose slender hands were nothing worth,

Whether to plough, or reap, or sow.

Upon an empty tortoise-shell

He stretched some chords, and drew

Music that made men's bosoms swell

Fearless, or brimmed their eyes with dew.

Then King Admetus, one who had

Pure taste by right divine,

Decreed his singing not too bad

To hear between the cups of wine:

And so, well pleased with being soothed

Into a sweet half-sleep,

Three times his kingly beard he smoothed,

And made him viceroy o'er his sheep.

His words were simple words enough,

And yet he used them so,

That what in other mouths was rough

In his seemed musical and low.

Men called him but a shiftless youth,

In whom no good they saw;

And yet, unwittingly, in truth,

They made his careless words their law.

They knew not how he learned at all,

For idly, hour by hour,

He sat and watched the dead leaves fall,

Or mused upon a common flower.

It seemed the loveliness of things

Did teach him all their use,

For, in mere weeds, and stones, and springs,

He found a healing power profuse.

Men granted that his speech was wise,

But, when a glance they caught

Of his slim grace and woman's eyes,

They laughed, and called him good-for-naught.

Yet after he was dead and gone,

And e'en his memory dim,

Earth seemed more sweet to live upon,

More full of love, because of him.

And day by day more holy grew

Each spot where he had trod,

Till after-poets only knew

Their first-born brother as a god.

374

Sir William S. Gilbert (1837-1911), an English dramatist, is known to us as the librettist of the popular Gilbert and Sullivan operas, The Mikado, Pinafore, etc. In his earlier days he wrote a book of humorous poetry called The Bab Ballads. Many of these still please readers who like a little nonsense now and then of a supremely ridiculous type. "The Yarn of the Nancy Bell" is a splendid take-off on "travelers' tales," and is not likely to deceive anyone. However, Gilbert said that when he sent the poem to Punch, the editor made objection to its extremely cannibalistic nature!

БАЛЛАДА О НЭНСИ БЕЛЛ

WILLIAM S. GILBERT

'Twas on the shores that round our coast

From Deal to Ramsgate span,

That I found alone on a piece of stone

An elderly naval man.

His hair was weedy, his beard was long,

And weedy and long was he,

And I heard this wight on the shore recite,

In a singular minor key:

"Oh, I am a cook and a captain bold,

And the mate of the Nancy brig,

And a bo'sun tight, and a midshipmite,

And the crew of the captain's gig."

And he shook his fists and he tore his hair,

Till I really felt afraid,

For I couldn't help thinking the man had been drinking,

And so I simply said:

"Oh, elderly man, it's little I know

Of the duties of men of the sea,

And I'll eat my hand if I understand

However you can be

"At once a cook, and a captain bold,

And the mate of the Nancy brig,

And a bo'sun tight, and a midshipmite,

And the crew of the captain's gig."

Then he gave a hitch to his trousers, which

Is a trick all seamen larn,

And having got rid of a thumping quid,

He spun this painful yarn:

"'Twas in the good ship Nancy Bell

That we sailed to the Indian Sea,

And there on a reef we come to grief,

Which has often occurred to me.

"And pretty nigh all the crew was drowned

(There was seventy-seven o' soul),

And only ten of the Nancy's men

Said 'Here!' to the muster-roll.

"There was me and the cook and the captain bold,

And the mate of the Nancy brig,

And the bo'sun tight, and a midshipmite,

And the crew of the captain's gig.

"For a month we'd neither wittles nor drink,

Till a-hungry we did feel,

So we drawed a lot, and accordin' shot

The captain for our meal.

"The next lot fell to the Nancy's mate,

And a delicate dish he made;

Then our appetite with the midshipmite

We seven survivors stayed.

"And then we murdered the bo'sun tight,

And he much resembled pig;

Then we wittled free, did the cook and me,

On the crew of the captain's gig.

"Then only the cook and me was left,

And the delicate question, 'Which

Of us two goes to the kettle?' arose,

And we argued it out as sich.

"For I loved that cook as a brother, I did,

And the cook he worshipped me;

But we'd both be blowed if we'd either be stowed

In the other chap's hold, you see.

"'I'll be eat if you dines off me,' says Tom;

'Yes, that,' says I, 'you'll be,'—

'I'm boiled if I die, my friend,' quoth I;

And 'Exactly so,' quoth he.

"Says he, 'Dear James, to murder me

Were a foolish thing to do;

For don't you see that you can't cook me,

While I can—and will—cook you!'

"So he boils the water, and takes the salt

And the pepper in portions true

(Which he never forgot), and some chopped shalot,

And some sage and parsley, too.

"'Come here,' says he, with a proper pride,

Which his smiling features tell,

''T will soothing be if I let you see

How extremely nice you'll smell.'

"And he stirred it round and round and round

And he sniffed at the foaming froth;

When I ups with his heels and smothers his squeals

In the scum of the boiling broth.

"And I eat that cook in a week or less,

And—as I eating be

The last of his chops, why, I almost drops,

For a wessel in sight I see!

"'And I never larf, and never smile,

And I never lark nor play,

But sit and croak, and a single joke

I have—which is to say:

"'Oh, I am a cook and a captain bold,

And the mate of the Nancy brig,

And a bo'sun tight, and a midshipmite,

And the crew of the captain's gig!'"

375

John T. Trowbridge (1827-1916) is one of the important figures in modern literature for young folks. He wrote a popular series of books for them beginning with Cudjo's Cave, and many poems, the most famous of which are "The Vagabonds" and the one given below. Trowbridge's autobiography will interest children with its story of a literary life devoted to the problems of their entertainment. "Darius Green and His Flying Machine" first appeared in Our Young Folks in 1867. It is to be read for its fun—fun of dialect, fun of character, and fun of incident. If it has any lesson, it must be that dreamers may come to grief unless they have some plain practical common sense to balance their enthusiasm!

ДАРИУС ГРИН И ЕГО ЛЕТАТЕЛЬНАЯ МАШИНА

JOHN TOWNSEND TROWBRIDGE

If ever there lived a Yankee lad,

Wise or otherwise, good or bad,

Who, seeing the birds fly, didn't jump

With flapping arms from stake or stump,

Or, spreading the tail of his coat for a sail,

Take a soaring leap from post or rail,

And wonder why he couldn't fly,

And flap and flutter and wish and try,—

If ever you knew a country dunce

Who didn't try that as often as once,

All I can say is, that's a sign

He never would do for a hero of mine.

An aspiring genius was D. Green;

The son of a farmer,—age fourteen;

His body was long and lank and lean,—

Just right for flying, as will be seen;

He had two eyes as bright as a bean,

And a freckled nose that grew between,

A little awry;—for I must mention

That he had riveted his attention

Upon his wonderful invention,

Twisting his tongue as he twisted the strings,

And working his face as he worked the wings,

And with every turn of gimlet and screw

Turning and screwing his mouth round too,

Till his nose seemed bent to catch the scent,

Around some corner, of new-baked pies,

And his wrinkled cheek and his squinting eyes

Grew puckered into a queer grimace,

That made him look very droll in the face,

And also very wise.

And wise he must have been, to do more

Than ever a genius did before,

Excepting Daedalus of yore

And his son Icarus, who wore

Upon their backs those wings of wax

He had read of in the old almanacs.

Darius was clearly of the opinion,

That the air was also man's dominion,

And that with paddle or fin or pinion,

We soon or late should navigate

The azure as now we sail the sea.

The thing looks simple enough to me;

And, if you doubt it,

Hear how Darius reasoned about it:

"The birds can fly, an' why can't I?

Must we give in," says he with a grin,

"'T the bluebird an' phoebe are smarter'n we be?

Jest fold our hands, an' see the swaller

An' blackbird an' catbird beat us holler?

Does the leetle chatterin', sassy wren,

No bigger'n my thumb, know more than men?

Jest show me that! er prove 't bat

Hez got more brains than's in my hat,

An' I'll back down, an' not till then!"

He argued further: "Ner I can't see

What's the use o' wings to a bumble-bee,

Fer to git a livin' with, more'n to me;—

Ain't my business importanter'n his'n is?

That Icarus was a silly cuss,—

Him an' his daddy Daedalus;

They might 'a' knowed wings made o' wax

Wouldn't stan' sun-heat an' hard whacks:

I'll make mine o' luther, er suthin' er other."

And he said to himself, as he tinkered and planned:

"But I ain't goin' to show my hand

To nummies that never can understand

The fust idee that's big an' grand.

They'd 'a' laft an' made fun

O' Creation itself afore it was done!"

So he kept his secret from all the rest,

Safely buttoned within his vest;

And in the loft above the shed

Himself he locks, with thimble and thread

And wax and hammer and buckles and screws,

And all such things as geniuses use;—

Two bats for patterns, curious fellows!

A charcoal-pot and a pair of bellows;

An old hoop-skirt or two, as well as

Some wire, and several old umbrellas;

A carriage-cover, for tail and wings;

A piece of harness; and straps and strings;

And a big strong box, in which he locks

These and a hundred other things.

His grinning brothers, Reuben and Burke

And Nathan and Jotham and Solomon, lurk

Around the corner to see him work,—

Sitting cross-leggèd, like a Turk,

Drawing the waxed-end through with a jerk,

And boring the holes with a comical quirk

Of his wise old head, and a knowing smirk.

But vainly they mounted each other's backs,

And poked through knot-holes and pried through cracks;

With wood from the pile and straw from the stacks

He plugged the knot-holes and calked the cracks;

And a bucket of water, which one would think

He had brought up into the loft to drink

When he chanced to be dry,

Stood always nigh, for Darius was sly!

And, whenever at work he happened to spy,

At chink or crevice a blinking eye,

He let a dipper of water fly:

"Take that! an', ef ever ye git a peep,

Guess ye'll ketch a weasel asleep!"

And he sings as he locks his big strong box;

"The weasel's head is small an' trim,

An' he is leetle an' long an' slim,

An' quick of motion an' nimble of limb,

An', ef yeou'll be advised by me,

Keep wide awake when ye're ketching him!"

So day after day

He stitched and tinkered and hammered away,

Till at last 'twas done,—

The greatest invention under the sun.

"An' now," says Darius, "hooray fer some fun!"

'Twas the Fourth of July, and the weather was dry,

And not a cloud was on all the sky,

Save a few light fleeces, which here and there,

Half mist, half air,

Like foam on the ocean went floating by,

Just as lovely a morning as ever was seen

For a nice little trip in a flying-machine.

Thought cunning Darius, "Now I shan't go

Along 'ith the fellers to see the show:

I'll say I've got sich a terrible cough!

An' then, when the folks have all gone off,

I'll hev full swing fer to try the thing,

An' practyse a little on the wing."

"Ain't goin' to see the celebration?"

Says brother Nate. "No; botheration!

I've got sich a cold—a toothache—I—

My gracious! feel's though I should fly!"

Said Jotham, "Sho! guess ye better go."

But Darius said, "No!

Shouldn't wonder 'f yeou might see me, though,

'Long 'bout noon, ef I git red

O' this jumpin', thumpin' pain in my head."

For all the while to himself he said,—

"I tell ye what!

I'll fly a few times around the lot,

To see how 't seems; then soon's I've got

The hang o' the thing, ez likely's not,

I'll astonish the nation, an' all creation,

By flying over the celebration!

Over their heads I'll sail like an eagle;

I'll balance myself on my wings like a sea-gull;

I'll dance on the chimbleys; I'll stan' on the steeple;

I'll flop up to winders an' scare the people!

I'll light on the libbe'ty-pole, an' crow;

An' I'll say to the gawpin' fools below,

'What world's this here that I've come near?'

Fer I'll make 'em b'lieve I'm a chap f'm the moon;

An' I'll try a race 'ith their ol' balloon!"

He crept from his bed;

And, seeing the others were gone, he said,

"I'm a-gittin' over the cold 'n my head."

And away he sped,

To open the wonderful box in the shed.

His brothers had walked but a little way,

When Jotham to Nathan chanced to say,

"What on airth is he up to, hey?"

"Don'o',—the's suthin' er other to pay,

Er he wouldn't 'a' stayed to hum to-day."

Says Burke, "His toothache's all'n his eye!

He never'd miss a Fo'th-o'-July,

Ef he hadn't got some machine to try."

Then Sol, the little one, spoke: "By darn!

Le's hurry back, an' hide'n the barn,

An' pay him fer tellin' us that yarn!"

"Agreed!" Through the orchard they creep back,

Along by the fences, behind the stack,

And one by one, through a hole in the wall,

In under the dusty barn they crawl,

Dressed in their Sunday garments all;

And a very astonishing sight was that,

When each in his cobwebbed coat and hat

Came up through the floor like an ancient rat.

And there they hid; and Reuben slid

The fastenings back, and the door undid.

"Keep dark," said he,

"While I squint an' see what the' is to see."

As knights of old put on their mail,—

From head to foot in an iron suit,

Iron jacket and iron boot,

Iron breeches, and on the head

No hat, but an iron pot instead,

And under the chin the bail,—

(I believe they call the thing a helm,—)

And, thus accoutred, they took the field,

Sallying forth to overwhelm

The dragons and pagans that plagued the realm;

So this modern knight prepared for flight,

Put on his wings and strapped them tight—

Jointed and jaunty, strong and light,—

Buckled them fast to shoulder and hip,—

Ten feet they measured from tip to tip!

And a helm he had, but that he wore,

Not on his head, like those of yore,

But more like the helm of a ship.

"Hush!" Reuben said, "he's up in the shed!

He's opened the winder,—I see his head!

He stretches it out, an' pokes it about

Lookin' to see 'f the coast is clear,

An' nobody near;—

Guess he don'o' who's hid in here!

He's riggin' a spring-board over the sill!

Stop laffin', Solomon! Burke, keep still!

He's climbin' out now—Of all the things!

What's he got on? I vum, it's wings!

An' that t'other thing? I vum, it's a tail!

And there he sets like a hawk on a rail!

Steppin' careful, he travels the length

Of his spring-board, and teeters to try its strength,

Now he stretches his wings, like a monstrous bat;

Peeks over his shoulder, this way an' that,

Fer to see 'f the's anyone passin' by;

But the's o'ny a ca'f an' a goslin' nigh.

They turn up at him a wonderin' eye,

To see—The dragon! he's goin' to fly!

Away he goes! Jimminy! what a jump!

Flop—flop—an' plump to the ground with a thump!

Flutt'rin' an' flound'rin', all'n a lump!"

As a demon is hurled by an angel's spear,

Heels over head, to his proper sphere,—

Heels over head, and head over heels,

Dizzily down the abyss he wheels,—

So fell Darius. Upon his crown,

In the midst of the barnyard, he came down,

In a wonderful whirl of tangled strings,

Broken braces and broken springs,

Broken tail and broken wings,

Shooting stars, and various things,—

Barnyard litter of straw and chaff,

And much that wasn't so sweet by half.

Away with a bellow flew the calf,

And what was that? Did the gosling laugh?

'Tis a merry roar from the old barn-door,

And he hears the voice of Jotham crying;

"Say, D'rius! how de yeou like flyin'?"

Slowly, ruefully, where he lay,

Darius just turned and looked that way,

As he stanched his sorrowful nose with his cuff,

"Wal, I like flyin' well enough,"

He said, "but the' ain't sich a thunderin' sight

O' fun in't when ye come to light."

I just have room for the MORAL here:

And this is the moral,—Stick to your sphere;

Or, if you insist, as you have the right,

On spreading your wings for a loftier flight,

The moral is,—Take care how you light.

376

The poem of "Beth Gêlert" (Grave of Gêlert) is really a verse version of an old folk story that has localized itself in many places over the world. In Wales they can show you where Gêlert is buried, which illustrates how such a favorite story takes hold of the popular mind. The poem by William Robert Spencer (1769-1834) has so much of the spirit of the old ballads which it imitates that it was believed at first to be a genuine example of one.

БЕТ ГЕЛЕРТ

WILLIAM ROBERT SPENCER

The spearmen heard the bugle sound,

And cheerly smiled the morn;

And many a brach, and many a hound,

Obeyed Llewellyn's horn.

And still he blew a louder blast,

And gave a lustier cheer,

"Come, Gêlert, come, wert never last

Llewellyn's horn to hear.

"Oh, where does faithful Gêlert roam.

The flow'r of all his race,

So true, so brave,—a lamb at home,

A lion in the chase?"

'Twas only at Llewellyn's board

The faithful Gêlert fed;

He watched, he served, he cheered his lord,

And sentineled his bed.

In sooth he was a peerless hound,

The gift of royal John;

But now no Gêlert could be found,

And all the chase rode on.

And now, as o'er the rocks and dells

The gallant chidings rise,

All Snowdon's craggy chaos yells

The many-mingled cries!

That day Llewellyn little loved

The chase of hart and hare;

And scant and small the booty proved,

For Gêlert was not there.

Unpleased Llewellyn homeward hied,

When, near the portal seat,

His truant Gêlert he espied,

Bounding his lord to greet.

But, when he gained his castle door,

Aghast the chieftain stood;

The hound all o'er was smeared with gore;

His lips, his fangs, ran blood.

Llewellyn gazed with fierce surprise;

Unused such looks to meet,

His favorite checked his joyful guise,

And crouched, and licked his feet.

Onward, in haste, Llewellyn passed,

And on went Gêlert too;

And still, where'er his eyes he cast,

Fresh blood-gouts shocked his view.

O'erturned his infant's bed he found,

The blood-stained covert rent;

And all around the walls and ground

With recent blood besprent.

He called his child,—no voice replied—

He searched with terror wild;

Blood, blood he found on every side,

But nowhere found his child.

"Hell-hound! my child's by thee devoured,"

The frantic father cried;

And to the hilt his vengeful sword

He plunged in Gêlert's side.

His suppliant looks, as prone he fell,

No pity could impart;

But still his Gêlert's dying yell

Passed heavy o'er his heart.

Aroused by Gêlert's dying yell,

Some slumberer wakened nigh:

What words the parent's joy could tell,

To hear his infant's cry!

Concealed beneath a tumbled heap

His hurried search had missed,

All glowing from his rosy sleep,

His cherub boy he kissed.

Nor scathe had he, nor harm, nor dread,

But, the same couch beneath,

Lay a gaunt wolf, all torn and dead,

Tremendous still in death.

Ah! what was then Llewellyn's pain!

For now the truth was clear;

His gallant hound the wolf had slain

To save Llewellyn's heir:

Vain, vain was all Llewellyn's woe;

"Best of thy kind, adieu!

The frantic blow which laid thee low

This heart shall ever rue."

And now a gallant tomb they raise,

With costly sculpture decked;

And marbles storied with his praise

Poor Gêlert's bones protect.

There, never could the spearman pass,

Or forester, unmoved;

There, oft the tear-besprinkled grass

Llewellyn's sorrow proved.

And there he hung his horn and spear,

And there, as evening fell,

In fancy's ear he oft would hear

Poor Gêlert's dying yell.

And, till great Snowdon's rocks grow old,

And cease the storm to brave,

The consecrated spot shall hold

The name of "Gêlert's Grave."

377

This old ballad is one of the best of the humorous type. Many old stories turn upon some such riddling series of questions, generally three in number, to which unexpected answers come from an unexpected quarter. Of course the questions are intended to be unanswerable. As a matter of fact they are, but a clever person may discover a riddling answer to a riddling question. King John bows, not to a master in knowledge, but to a master in cleverness.

КОРОЛЬ ДЖОН И АББАТ КЕНТЕРБЕРИЙСКИЙ

An ancient story I'll tell you anon

Of a notable prince, that was called King John;

And he ruled England with maine and with might,

For he did great wrong and maintein'd little right.

And I'll tell you a story, a story so merrye,

Concerning the Abbot of Canterburye;

How for his house-keeping and high renowne,

They rode poste for him to fair London towne.

An hundred men, the king did heare say,

The abbot kept in his house every day;

And fifty golde chaynes, without any doubt,

In velvet coates waited the abbot about.

"How now, father abbot, I heare it of thee,

Thou keepest a farre better house than mee,

And for thy house-keeping and high renowne,

I fear thou work'st treason against my crown."

"My liege," quo' the abbot, "I would it were knowne,

I never spend nothing but what is my owne;

And I trust your grace will do me no deere

For spending of my owne true-gotten geere."

"Yes, yes, father abbot, thy fault it is highe,

And now for the same thou needest must dye;

For except thou canst answer me questions three,

Thy head shall be smitten from thy bodie.

"And first," quo' the king, "when I'm in this stead,

With my crown of golde so faire on my head,

Among all my liege-men so noble of birthe,

Thou must tell me to one penny what I am worthe.

"Secondlye tell me, without any doubt,

How soone I may ride the whole worlde about.

And at the third question thou must not shrinke,

But tell me here truly what I do thinke."

"O, these are hard questions for my shallow witt,

Nor I cannot answer your grace as yet;

But if you will give me but three weekes space,

I'll do my endeavour to answer your grace."

"Now three weekes space to thee will I give,

And that is the longest thou hast to live;

For if thou dost not answer my questions three,

Thy lands and thy living are forfeit to mee."

Away rode the abbot all sad at that word,

And he rode to Cambridge, and Oxenford;

But never a doctor there was so wise,

That could with his learning an answer devise.

Then home rode the abbot of comfort so cold,

And he mett his shephard a-going to fold:

"How now, my lord abbot, you are welcome home;

What newes do you bring us from good King John?"

"Sad newes, sad newes, shephard, I must give;

That I have but three days more to live:

For if I do not answer him questions three,

My head will be smitten from my bodie.

"The first is to tell him there in that stead,

With his crowne of golde so faire on his head,

Among all his liege-men so noble of birthe,

To within one penny of what he is worthe.

"The seconde, to tell him without any doubt,

How soone he may ride this whole worlde about:

And at the third question I must not shrinke,

But tell him there truly what he does thinke."

"Now cheare up, sire abbot, did you never hear yet

That a fool he may learn a wise man witt?

Lend me horse, and serving-men, and your apparel,

And I'll ride to London to answere your quarrel.

"Nay, frowne not, if it hath bin told unto mee,

I am like your lordship, as ever may bee;

And if you will but lend me your gowne,

There is none shall knowe us at fair London towne."

"Now horses and serving-men thou shalt have,

With sumptuous array most gallant and brave;

With crozier, and miter, and rochet, and cope,

Fit to appeare 'fore our fader the pope."

"Now welcome, sire abbot," the king he did say,

"'Tis well thou'rt come back to keepe thy day:

For and if thou canst answer my questions three,

Thy life and thy living both saved shall bee.

"And, first, when thou see'st me here in this stead,

With my crown of golde so fair on my head,

Among all my liege-men so noble of birthe,

Tell me to one penny what I am worthe."

"For thirty pence our Saviour was sold

Among the false Jewes, as I have bin told:

And twenty-nine is the worth of thee,

For I thinke, thou art one penny worser than Hee."

The king he laugh'd, and swore by St. Bittel,

"I did not think I had been worth so littel!

—Now secondly, tell me, without any doubt,

How soone I may ride this whole world about."

"You must rise with the sun, and ride with the same,

Until the next morning he riseth againe;

And then your grace need not make any doubt,

But in twenty-four hours you'll ride it about."

The king he laugh'd, and swore by St. Jone,

"I did not think it could be done so soone!

—Now from the third question you must not shrinke,

But tell me here truly what I do thinke."

"Yes, that shall I do and make your grace merry:

You thinke I'm the Abbot of Canterburye;

But I'm his poor shephard, as plain you may see,

That am come to beg pardon for him and for mee."

The king he laughed, and swore by the masse,

"I'll make thee lord abbot this day in his place!"

"Now nay, my liege, be not in such speede,

For alacke I can neither write, ne reade."

"Four nobles a weeke, then, I will give thee,

For this merry jest thou hast showne unto me;

And tell the old abbot, when thou comest home,

Thou hast brought him a pardon from good King John."

РАЗДЕЛ VIII

РЕАЛИСТИЧЕСКИЕ ИСТОРИИ

БИБЛИОГРАФИЯ

РАСПОЛОЖЕНА В ХРОНОЛОГИЧЕСКОМ ПОРЯДКЕ КАК ОСНОВА ДЛЯ ОТСЛЕЖИВАНИЯ РАЗВИТИЯ РЕАЛИСТИЧЕСКОЙ ИСТОРИИ ДЛЯ МОЛОДЕЖИ

Большинство авторов в следующем списке написали другие книги реалистического характера, в некоторых случаях более значительные, чем упомянутая. Названная книга обычно является первой важной работой в этой области для своего автора и поэтому имеет необычайную историческую ценность.

1765. Goldsmith, Oliver, The History of Little Goody Two-Shoes.

1783-1789. Day, Thomas, The History of Sandford and Merton.

1792-1796. Aikin, Dr. John, and Barbauld, Mrs. L. E., Evenings at Home.

[?]-1795. More, Hannah, The Shepherd of Salisbury Plain.

1796-1800. Edgeworth, Maria, The Parent's Assistant, or Stories for Children.

1808. Lamb, Mary and Charles, Mrs. Leicester's School.

1818. Sherwood, Mrs. M. M., The History of the Fairchild Family.

1840. Dana, Richard Henry, Two Years Before the Mast.

1841. Martineau, Harriet, The Crofton Boys.

1856. Yonge, Charlotte M., The Daisy Chain.

1857. Hughes, Thomas, Tom Brown's School Days.

1863. Whitney, Mrs. A. D. T., Faith Gartney's Girlhood.

1864. Trowbridge, J. T., Cudjo's Cave.

1865. Dodge, Mary Mapes, Hans Brinker, or the Silver Skates.

1867. Kaler, James Otis, Toby Tyler, or Ten Weeks with a Circus.

1868. Alcott, Louisa May, Little Women.

1868. Hale, Edward Everett, The Man without a Country.

1871. Eggleston, Edward, The Hoosier Schoolmaster.

1876. Twain, Mark, Adventures of Tom Sawyer.

1878. Jackson, Helen Hunt, Nelly's Silver Mine.

1879. Ewing, Juliana Horatia, Jackanapes.

1882. Hale, Lucretia P., Peterkin Papers.

1883. Stevenson, Robert Louis, Treasure Island.

1887. Wiggin, Kate Douglas, The Birds' Christmas Carol.

1890. Jewett, Sarah Orne, Betty Leicester.

1895. Bennett, John, Master Skylark.

1897. Kipling, Rudyard, Captains Courageous.

1899. Garland, Hamlin, Boy Life on the Prairie.

1906. Stein, Evaleen, Gabriel and the Hour-Book.

1908. Montgomery, L. M., Anne of Green Gables.

1912. Masefield, John, Jim Davis.

1917. Crownfield, Gertrude, The Little Taylor of the Winding Way.

1920. Latham, Harold S., Jimmy Quigg, Office Boy.

РАЗДЕЛ VIII. РЕАЛИСТИЧЕСКИЕ ИСТОРИИ

ВВЕДЕНИЕ

Происхождение. Историю реалистических историй для детей можно вполне начать с интереса к детскому образованию, пробужденного великим французским педагогом и писателем Руссо (1712–1778). Он учил, что формальные методы в детском образовании следует отбросить и что детей нужно учить познавать окружающие их вещи. Новый метод образования проиллюстрирован, вероятно, непреднамеренно, в «Знаменитой истории маленькой Гуди Двух-Туфель» (The Renowned History of Little Goody Two-Shoes), первом произведении в этом разделе. Руссо непосредственно повлиял на мысли таких писателей, как Томас Дэй, Мария Эджуорт, доктор Эйкен и миссис Барбо. Истории, созданные этими авторами в последней четверти восемнадцатого века, являются одними из первых, написанных прежде всего с целью развлечения детей. Этим писателям мы обязаны созданием типов детской литературы, которые современные авторы развили в увлекательные истории о детской жизни, захватывающие приключенческие рассказы и интересные описания природы, которыми сейчас изобилуют библиотеки и книжные магазины.

Дидактический период. Читая эти первые истории, написанные для развлечения детей, мы не можем не заметить, что каждая из них преподносит урок, моральный или практический. Дидактическая цель настолько заметна, что термин «Дидактический период» можно применить к периоду с 1765 года (публикация «Гуди Двух-Туфель») по 1825 год или даже позже. Небольшое количество литературы для детей до этого периода предназначалось практически исключительно для морального или религиозного наставления; поэтому было вполне естественно, что эти первые авторы детских развлекательных историй чувствовали своим долгом преподносить моральные и практические уроки. Было бы ошибкой, однако, полагать, что эти причудливые старые истории не были бы интересны детям сегодня, ибо они имеют дело с фундаментальными истинами, которые новы и интересны детям всех возрастов.

Помимо уже упомянутых писателей, представленных отрывками на следующих страницах, было несколько других, чьи книги до сих пор доступны и время от времени читаются из-за их исторического интереса, если не из-за какой-либо внутренней литературной ценности, которой они могут обладать. Одной из них была миссис Сара К. Триммер (1741–1810), которая, будучи связанной с ранними днями воскресных школ, написала много книг, полных чрезмерного благочестия, которое считалось необходимым для детей того времени. Одна из ее книг, «История малиновок» (The History of the Robins), выделяется из общей массы своей сильной привлекательностью простых событий и до сих пор широко популярна среди самых юных читателей. Ханна Мор (1745–1833) занимала видное место в мысли своего времени как учитель религиозных и социальных идей среди бедных слоев населения. Ее «Репозиторные трактаты» (Repository Tracts), многие из которых были в форме историй, были посвящены тому, чтобы сделать бедных довольными своей участью через утешения благочестивой жизни. «Пастух с Солсберийской равнины» (The Shepherd of Salisbury Plain) был самым известным из этих историй-трактатов, и до сих пор живет много людей, чье детство было воспитано на этой и подобных историях. «История семьи Фэрчайлд» (History of the Fairchild Family) миссис Шервуд никогда не выходила из печати с момента ее первой публикации (1818 г.), а в последние годы пережила два или три роскошных переиздания стараниями редакторов и издателей. Почти бесчисленные книги Джейкоба Эбботта и С. Г. Гудрича («Питер Парли») в Америке принадлежат к этому дидактическому движению. Однако они были больше посвящены процессу привития знаний обо всех чудесах этого великого мира вокруг нас и были значительно менее пиетичными, чем их английские соседи. «Книги о Ролло» (The Rollo Books) (24 тома) типичны для этой школы.

Современный период. Чарльз Лэм, по-видимому, был одним из первых, кто пришел к современной мысли о том, что литература для детей должна быть такой же художественной, такой же достойной в своем представлении истины и такой же заслуживающей литературного признания, как и литература для взрослых. За сто лет, прошедших с тех пор, как Лэм выдвинул свою теорию, исследователи постепенно пришли к признанию того факта, что хорошая литература для детей — это также хорошая литература для взрослых, потому что искусство есть искусство, независимо от его формы. В этой связи чувство Лэма о необходимости сделать детские книги более жизненными нашло выражение в знаменитом и часто цитируемом отрывке из письма Кольриджу:

«„Гуди Двух-Туфель“ почти не переиздается. Материал миссис Барбо изгнал все старые классические произведения детской комнаты; и продавец у Ньюбери едва удостоил снять их с заброшенного угла полки, когда Мэри спросила о них. Чепуха миссис Б. и миссис Триммер лежала грудами вокруг. Знания, столь же незначительные и пресные, как те, что передают книги миссис Барбо, по-видимому, должны приходить к ребенку в форме знаний, и его пустая голова должна быть наполнена самомнением о собственных силах, когда он узнает, что лошадь — это животное, а Билли лучше лошади, и тому подобное; вместо того прекрасного интереса к диким сказкам, который делал ребенка мужчиной, в то время как он сам подозревал, что он не больше ребенка. Наука сменила поэзию не только в маленьких прогулках детей, но и у взрослых. Неужели нет возможности предотвратить это тяжкое зло? Подумайте, кем бы вы были сейчас, если бы вместо того, чтобы в детстве питаться сказками и баснями старых жен, вас пичкали географией и естественной историей!»

Опасность, которую видел Лэм, была предотвращена. Библиография на предыдущей странице указывает на то, что примерно в середине девятнадцатого века многие писатели первоклассного литературного мастерства начали писать для молодежи. Среди них были Гарриет Мартино, капитан Марриет, Шарлотта М. Йонг, Томас Хьюз и другие. По мере того как мы приближаемся к концу того века и началу двадцатого, великие имена, связанные с детской классикой, становятся очень заметными, и с мисс Олкотт, миссис Юинг, «Марком Твеном», Стивенсоном, Киплингом, Мейсфилдом и целой плеядой подобных авторов детство обрело свое собственное лицо.

РЕКОМЕНДАЦИИ ПО ЧТЕНИЮ

Для отслеживания этапов развития литературы для детей обратитесь к книгам, указанным в Общей библиографии (стр. 17, II, «Историческое развитие»).

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Among those authors of the past whom the present still regards affectionately, Oliver Goldsmith (1728-1774) holds a high place. At least five of his works—a novel, a poem, a play, a book of essays, a nursery story—rank as classics. He had many faults; he was vain, improvident almost beyond belief, certainly dissipated throughout a part of his life. But with all these faults he had the saving grace of humor, a kind heart that led him to share even his last penny with one in need, a genius for friendships that united him with such men as Burke and Johnson and Reynolds. Always "hard up," he wrote much as a publisher's "hack" in order merely to live. It was in this capacity that he probably wrote the famous story that follows—a story that stands at the beginning of the long and constantly broadening current of modern literature for children. While it has generally been attributed to Goldsmith, no positive evidence of his authorship has been discovered. It was published at a time when he was in the employ of John Newbery, the London publisher, who issued many books for children. We know that Goldsmith helped with the Mother Goose's Melody and other projects of Newbery, and there are many reasons for supposing that the general attribution of Goody Two-Shoes to him may be correct. Charles Welsh, who edited the best recent edition for schools, says it "will always deserve a place among the classics of childhood for its literary merit, the purity and loftiness of its tone, and its sound sense, while the whimsical, confidential, affectionate style which the author employs, makes it attractive even to children who have long since passed the spelling-book stage." The version that follows has been shortened by the omission of passages that have less importance for the modern child than they may have had for that of the eighteenth century. The story is thus rendered more compact, and contains nothing to draw attention away from the fine qualities mentioned above. The quaint phrasing of the title, in itself one of the proofs of Goldsmith's authorship, furnishes a good comment on the meaning of the story: "The history of little Goody Two-Shoes/otherwise called Mrs. Margery Two-Shoes/the means by which she acquired her learning and wisdom, and in consequence thereof her estate; set forth at large for the benefit of those/

Who from a state of Rags and Care,

And having Shoes but half a Pair;

Their Fortune and their fame would fix,

And gallop in a Coach and Six."

[For the benefit of those who may overlook the point, it may be explained that "Mrs." was formerly used as a term of dignified courtesy applied to both married and unmarried women.]

ЗНАМЕНИТАЯ ИСТОРИЯ МАЛЕНЬКОЙ ГУДИ ДВУХ-ТУФЕЛЬ

ASCRIBED TO OLIVER GOLDSMITH

Весь мир должен признать, что Двух-Туфель не было ее настоящим именем. Нет; ее отца звали Минвелл, и он был много лет значительным фермером в приходе, где родилась Марджери; но из-за несчастий, с которыми он столкнулся в делах, и злых преследований сэра Тимоти Грайпа и зажиточного фермера по имени Грасполл, он был окончательно разорен. Эти люди выгнали фермера, его жену, маленькую Марджери и ее брата из дома, не оставив им никаких средств к существованию.

Забота и недовольство сократили дни отца маленькой Марджери. Он был охвачен сильной лихорадкой и жалко умер. Бедная мать Марджери пережила потерю мужа лишь на несколько дней и умерла от разбитого сердца, оставив Марджери и ее маленького брата на произвол судьбы. Это вызвало бы вашу жалость и согрело бы ваше сердце, если бы вы увидели, как сильно эти двое малышей любили друг друга и как, держась за руки, они бродили повсюду.

Они оба были очень оборванными, и у Томми не было обуви, а у Марджери была только одна. У них, бедняжек, не было ничего, кроме того, что они собирали в живых изгородях или получали от бедных людей, и каждую ночь они спали в сарае. Их родственники не обращали на них внимания; нет, они были богаты и стыдились признать такую бедную маленькую оборванку, как Марджери, и такого грязного маленького кудрявого мальчика, как Томми. Но такие злые люди, которые не любят ничего, кроме денег, и горды, и презирают бедных, никогда не заканчивают добром, как мы увидим позже.

Мистер Смит был очень достойным священником, который жил в приходе, где родились маленькая Марджери и Томми; и, когда к нему приехал родственник, он послал за этими детьми. Джентльмен заказал маленькой Марджери новую пару туфель, дал мистеру Смиту немного денег, чтобы купить ей одежду, и сказал, что возьмет Томми и сделает из него маленького моряка.

Расставание этих двух маленьких детей было очень трогательным. Томми плакал, и Марджери плакала, и они целовали друг друга сотню раз. Наконец Томми вытер ее слезы краем своей куртки и велел ей больше не плакать, ибо он вернется к ней, когда вернется из моря.

Как только маленькая Марджери встала на следующее утро, а было это очень рано, она обежала всю деревню, плача о своем брате; и через некоторое время вернулась в большом горе. Однако в этот момент вошел сапожник с новыми туфлями, которые были сделаны по мерке, снятой по приказу джентльмена.

Ничто не могло поддержать маленькую Марджери в горе, которое она испытывала из-за потери брата, кроме удовольствия, которое она получала от своих двух туфель. Она выбежала к миссис Смит, как только их надели, и, поглаживая свой рваный фартук, закричала: «Две туфли, мама, смотри, две туфли!»

И она так вела себя со всеми людьми, которых встречала, и благодаря этому получила имя Гуди Двух-Туфель, хотя ее товарищи по играм называли ее Старая Гуди Двух-Туфель.

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