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Файл:The Legacy and Other Stories (Завещание и другие рассказы). Учебное пособие для студентов бакалавров, изучающих английский язык (второй год обучения),
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“It’samostextraordinaryoccurrence.”
“AndthisdaylastweekIknewnomorethatIcoulddothingslike
thatthanyoudid.Itcamequitesudden.It’ssomethingoddaboutmy
will,Isuppose,andthat’sasfarasIcansee.”
“Isthat—theonlything?Couldyoudootherthingsbesidesthat?”
“Lord, yes! Said Mr. Fotheringay. “Just anything.” He thought,
andsuddenlyrecalledaconjuringentertainmenthehadseen.“Here!”
Hepointed.“Changeintoabowlof sh—no, notthat—changeinto
aglassbowlfullofwaterwithgoldshswimminginit.That’sbetter!
Youseethat,Mr.Maydig?”
“It’sastonishing.It’sincredible.Youareeitheramostextraordi
nary...Butno—”
“Icouldchangeitintoanything,”saidMr.Fotheringay.“Justany
thing.Here!Beapigeon,willyou?”
Inanothermomenta bluepigeonwasuttering round theroom
and making Mr. Maydig duck every time it came near him. “Stop
there,willyou,”saidMr.Fotheringay;andthepigeonhungmotionless
intheair.“Icouldchangeitbacktoabowlofowers,”hesaid,and
afterreplacingthepigeononthetableworkedthatmiracle.“Iexpect
youwillwantyourpipeinabit,”hesaid,andrestoredthetobaccojar.
Mr.Maydighadfollowedalltheselaterchangesinasortofejacu
latory silence. He stared at Mr.Fotheringay and, in a very gingerly
manner,pickedupthetobaccojar,examinedit,replaceditonthetable.
“Well!”wastheonlyexpressionofhisfeelings.
“Now, after that it’s easier to explain what I came about,” said
Mr.Fotheringay;andproceededtoalengthyandinvolvednarrativeofhis
strangeexperiences,beginningwiththeaffairofthelampintheLong
DragonandcomplicatedbypersistentallusionstoWinch.Ashewent
on,the transientpride Mr. Maydig’sconsternation hadcaused passed
away;hebecametheveryordinaryMr.Fotheringayofeverydayinter
courseagain.Mr.Maydiglistenedintently,thetobaccojarinhishand,
andhisbearingchangedalsowiththecourseofthenarrative.Presently,
whileMr.Fotheringay wasdealing with the miracle ofthe third egg,
theministerinterruptedwithautteringextendedhand—
131
“Itispossible,”hesaid.“Itiscredible.Itisamazing,ofcourse,butit
reconcilesanumberofamazingdifculties.Thepowertoworkmiracles
isagift—apeculiar qualitylikegeniusor secondsight—hithertoithas
comeveryrarelyandtoexceptionalpeople.Butinthiscase...Ihave
always wondered at the miracles of Mahomet, and at Yogi’smiracles,
andthemiraclesofMadameBlavatsky.But,ofcourse!Yes,itissimply
agift!Itcarriesoutsobeautifullytheargumentsofthatgreatthinker”—
Mr.Maydig’svoicesank—“hisGracetheDukeofArgyll.Hereweplumb
some profounder law—deeper than the ordinarylaws of nature.Yes—
yes.Goon.Goon!”
Mr. Fotheringay proceeded to tell of his misadventure with
Winch,andMr.Maydig,nolongeroverawedorscared,begantojerk
hislimbsaboutandinterjectastonishment.“It’sthiswhattroubledme
most,”proceededMr.Fotheringay;“it’sthisI’mmostmijitlyinwant
ofadvice for; ofcourse he’s at SanFrancisco—wherever SanFran
ciscomaybe—butofcourseit’sawkwardforbothofus,asyou’llsee,
Mr.Maydig.Idon’tseehowhe can understandwhathashappened,
andIdaresayhe’sscaredandexasperatedsomethingtremendous,and
tryingtogetatme. I daresayhekeepsonstarting offto comehere.
Isendhimback,byamiracle,everyfewhours,whenIthinkofit.And
ofcourse,that’sathinghewon’tbeabletounderstand,andit’sbound
toannoyhim;and,ofcourse,ifhetakesaticketeverytimeitwillcost
himalotofmoney.IdonethebestIcouldforhim,butofcourseit’s
difcultforhimtoputhimselfinmyplace.Ithoughtafterwardsthat
hisclothes mighthave gotscorched, youknow—if Hades is all it’s
supposedto be—beforeI shiftedhim. Inthat case I suppose they’d
havelockedhimupinSanFrancisco.OfcourseIwilledhimanew
suitofclothesonhimdirectlyIthoughtofit.But,yousee,I’malready
inadeuceofatangle—”
Mr.Maydig looked serious.“I see youare in a tangle.Yes, it’s
adifcultposition.Howyouaretoendit...”Hebecamediffuseand
inconclusive.
“However, we’ll leave Winch for a little and discuss the larg
erquestion. I don’tthink this isa case ofthe black artor anything
132
ofthesort.Idon’tthinkthereisanytaintofcriminalityaboutitatall,
Mr.Fotheringay—nonewhatever, unless you are suppressing mate
rialfacts.No,it’smiracles—puremiracles—miracles,ifImaysayso,
oftheveryhighestclass.”
Hebegantopacethehearthrugandgesticulate,whileMr.Fothe
ringaysatwithhisarmonthetableandhisheadonhisarm,looking
worried.“Idon’tseehowI’mtomanageaboutWinch,”hesaid.
“Agift of working miracles—apparently a very powerful gift,”
saidMr.Maydig,“willndawayaboutWinch—neverfear.Mydear
Sir,youareamostimportantman—amanofthemostastonishingpos
sibilities.Asevidence, forexample!And—in otherways,thethings
youmaydo...”
“Yes,I’vethoughtofathingortwo,”saidMr.Fotheringay.“But—
someofthethingscameabittwisty.Yousawthatshatrst?Wrong
sortofbowlandwrongsortofsh.AndIthoughtI’dasksomeone.”
“Apropercourse,”saidMr.Maydig,“averypropercourse—alto
getherthepropercourse.”HestoppedandlookedatMr.Fotheringay.
“It’spracticallyanunlimitedgift.Letustestyourpowers,forinstance.
Iftheyreallyare...Iftheyreallyarealltheyseemtobe.”
Andso,incredibleasitmayseem,inthestudyofthelittlehouse
behindtheCongregationalChapel,ontheeveningofSunday,Nov.10,
1896,Mr.Fotheringay,eggedonandinspiredbyMr.Maydig,began
to work miracles. The reader’sattention is specially and denitely
calledtothedate.Hewillobject,probablyhasalreadyobjected,that
certainpointsinthisstoryareimprobable,thatifanythingsofthesort
alreadydescribed had indeedoccurred, theywould havebeen in all
thepapersayearago.Thedetailsimmediatelyfollowinghewillnd
particularlyhardtoaccept,becauseamongotherthingstheyinvolve
theconclusionthatheorshe,thereaderinquestion,musthavebeen
killedinaviolent andunprecedentedmannermore thanayearago.
Nowa miracle isnothing ifnotimprobable, andas a matterof fact
thereader waskilled ina violentand unprecedentedmanner a year
ago.Inthesubsequentcourseofthisstorythatwillbecomeperfectly
clearandcredible,asevery rightminded andreasonablereaderwill
133
admit. But this is not the place for the end of the story,being but
littlebeyond the hither side ofthe middle.Andat rst the miracles
worked by Mr.Fotheringay were timid little miracles—little things
withthecupsandparlourtments—asfeebleasthemiraclesofTheo
sophists,and,feebleastheywere,theywerereceivedwithawebyhis
collaborator. He would have preferred to settle the Winchbusiness
outof hand, but Mr.Maydig would not let him. But afterthey had
worked a dozen of these domestic trivialities, their sense of power
grew,theirimaginationbegantoshowsignsofstimulation,andtheir
ambitionenlarged.Theirrstlargerenterprisewasduetohungerand
thenegligenceofMrs.Minchin,Mr.Maydig’shousekeeper.Themeal
towhichtheministerconductedMr.Fotheringaywascertainlyilllaid
and uninviting as refreshment for two industrious miracleworkers;
buttheywereseated,andMr.Maydigwasdescantinginsorrowrather
thaninangeruponhishousekeeper’sshortcomings,beforeitoccurred
to Mr.Fotheringay that an opportunity lay before him. “Don’t you
think,Mr.Maydig,”hesaid;“ifitisn’taliberty,I—”
“MydearMr.Fotheringay!Ofcourse!No—Ididn’tthink.”
Mr.Fotheringay waved his hand. “What shall we have?” he said,
inalarge,inclusivespirit,and,atMr.Maydig’sorder,revisedthesupper
very thoroughly. “As for me,” he said, eyeing Mr.Maydig’s selection,
“I am always particularly fond of a tankard of stout and a nice Welsh
rarebit,andI’llorderthat.Iain’tmuchgiventoBurgundy,”andforthwith
stout andWelshrarebit promptly appeared . They sat
longattheirsupper,,asMr.Fotheringaypresentlyper
ceived,withaglowofsurpriseandgratication,ofallthemiraclesthey
wouldpresentlydo.“And,bythebye,Mr.Maydig,”saidMr.Fotheringay,
“Imightperhapsbeabletohelpyou—inadomesticway.”
“Don’tquitefollow,”saidMr.Maydigpouringoutaglassofmi
raculousoldBurgundy.
Mr. Fotheringay helped himself to a second Welsh rarebit out
ofvacancy,andtookamouthful.“Iwasthinking,”hesaid,“Imightbe
able(chum, chum)towork(chum, chum)amiraclewithMrs.Minchin
(chum, chum)—makeherabetterwoman.”
134
Mr.Maydig put down the glass and looked doubtful. “She’s—
She strongly objects to interference, you know, Mr. Fotheringay.
And—asamatteroffact—it’swellpastelevenandshe’sprobablyin
bedandasleep.Doyouthink,onthewhole—”
Mr.Fotheringayconsidered theseobjections.“I don’tsee thatit
shouldn’tbedoneinhersleep.”
For a time Mr.Maydig opposed the idea, and then he yielded.
Mr.Fotheringayissuedhisorders,andalittlelessat their ease, per
haps,thetwogentlemenproceededwiththeirrepast.Mr.Maydigwas
enlargingonthechangeshemightexpectinhishousekeepernextday,
withanoptimismthatseemedeventoMr.Fotheringay’ssuppersenses
alittleforcedandhectic,whenaseriesofconfusednoisesfromup
stairsbegan.Theireyesexchangedinterrogations,andMr.Maydigleft
theroomhastily.Mr.Fotheringayheardhimcallinguptohishouse
keeperandthenhisfootstepsgoingsoftlyuptoher.
Inaminuteorsotheministerreturned,hissteplight,hisfacera
diant.“Wonderful!”hesaid,“andtouching!Mosttouching!”
Hebeganpacingthehearthrug.“Arepentance—amosttouching
repentance—throughthecrackofthedoor.Poorwoman!Amostwon
derfulchange!Shehadgotup.Shemusthavegotupatonce.Shehad
gotupoutofhersleeptosmashaprivatebottleofbrandyinherbox.
Andtoconfessittoo!...Butthisgivesus—itopens—amostamazing
vistaofpossibilities.Ifwecanworkthismiraculouschangeinher...”
“The thing’sunlimited seemingly,”said Mr.Fotheringay.“And
aboutMr.Winch—”
“Altogether unlimited.” And from the hearthrug Mr. Maydig,
wavingtheWinchdifcultyaside,unfoldedaseriesofwonderfulpro
posals—proposalsheinventedashewentalong.
Now what those proposals were does not concern the essentials
ofthisstory.Sufceitthattheyweredesignedinaspiritofinnitebe
nevolence,thesortofbenevolencethatusedtobecalledpostprandial.
Sufceit,too,thattheproblemofWinchremainedunsolved.Norisit
necessarytodescribehowfarthatseriesgottoitsfullment.Therewere
astonishingchanges.The smallhoursfound Mr.Maydig andMr.Fo
135
theringaycareeringacrossthechillymarketsquareunderthestillmoon,
in a sort of ecstasy of thaumaturgy,Mr.Maydig allap and gesture,
Mr.Fotheringayshortandbristling,andnolongerabashedathisgreat
ness.TheyhadreformedeverydrunkardintheParliamentarydivision,
changedallthe beerandalcohol towater(Mr.Maydighadoverruled
Mr. Fotheringay on this point); they had, further, greatly improved
therailwaycommunicationoftheplace,drainedFlinder’sswamp,im
provedthesoilofOneTreeHill,andcuredtheVicar’swart.Andthey
weregoing to see whatcould be done with the injured pier at South
Bridge. “The place,” gasped Mr. Maydig, “won’t be the same place
tomorrow. How surprised and thankful everyone will be!” And just
atthatmomentthechurchclockstruckthree.
“Isay,”saidMr.Fotheringay,“that’sthreeo’clock!Imustbegetting
back.I’vegottobeatbusinessbyeight.Andbesides,Mrs.Wimms—”
“We’reonly beginning,” saidMr.Maydig,fullof the sweetness
of unlimited power. “We’re only beginning. Think of all the good
we’redoing.Whenpeoplewake—”
“But—,”saidMr.Fotheringay.
Mr.Maydiggrippedhisarmsuddenly.Hiseyeswerebrightand
wild.“Mydearchap,”hesaid,“there’snohurry.“Look”—hepointed
tothemoonatthezenith—“Joshua!”
“Joshua?”saidMr.Fotheringay.
“Joshua,”saidMr.Maydig.“Whynot?Stopit.”
Mr.Fotheringaylookedatthemoon.
“That’sabittall,”hesaidafterapause.
“Whynot?”saidMr.Maydig.“Ofcourseitdoesn’tstop.Youstop
therotationoftheearth,youknow.Timestops.Itisn’tasifwewere
doingharm.”
“H’m!”saidMr.Fotheringay.“Well.”Hesighed.“I’lltry.Here—”
Hebuttoneduphisjacketandaddressedhimselftothehabitable
globe,withasgoodanassumptionofcondenceaslayinhispower.
“Jeststoprotating,willyou,”saidMr.Fotheringay.
Incontinently he was ying head over heels through the air
atthe rateof dozensof milesa minute.In spiteof theinnumerable
136
circleshewasdescribingpersecond,hethought;forthoughtiswon
derful—sometimesassluggishasowingpitch,sometimesasinstan
taneousaslight. Hethoughtin asecond,and willed. “Letmecome
down.Whateverelsehappens,letmedownsafeand
sound.”
Hewilleditonlyjustintime,forhisclothes,heatedbyhisrapid
ightthroughtheair,werealreadybeginningtosinge.Hecamedown
withaforcible,butbynomeansinjuriousbumpinwhatappearedtobe
amoundoffreshturnedearth.Alargemassofmetalandmasonry,ex
traordinarilyliketheclocktowerinthemiddleofthemarketsquare,
hittheearthnearhim,ricochettedoverhim,andewintostonework,
bricks, and masonry, like a bursting bomb. Ahurtling cow hit one
ofthelargerblocksandsmashedlikeanegg.Therewasacrashthat
madeallthemostviolentcrashesofhispastlifeseemlikethesound
offallingdust,andthiswasfollowedbyadescendingseriesoflesser
crashes.Avast windroaredthroughoutearth and heaven’sothat he
couldscarcely lift hishead to look. For a while he wastoo breath
lessandeventoseewherehewasorwhathadhappened.
Andhisrstmovementwastofeelhisheadandreassurehimselfthat
hisstreaminghairwasstillhisown.
“Lord!”gaspedMr.Fotheringay,scarceabletospeakforthegale,
“I’vehadasqueak!What’sgonewrong?Stormsandthunder.Andonly
aminuteagoanenight.It’sMaydigsetmeontothissortofthing.
Whatawind!IfIgoonfoolinginthiswayI’mboundtohaveathun
deringaccident!...
“Where’sMaydig?
“Whataconfoundedmesseverything’sin!”
Helookedabouthimsofarashisappingjacketwouldpermit.
The appearance of things was really extremely strange. “The sky’s
allrightanyhow,”saidMr.Fotheringay.“Andthat’saboutallthatis
allright.Andeven there itlooks likea terric galecoming up.But
there’sthemoonoverhead.Justasitwasjustnow.Brightasmidday.
Butasfortherest—Where’sthevillage?Where’s—where’sanything?
Andwhatonearthsetthiswindablowing?Ididn’tordernowind.”
137
Mr.Fotheringaystruggledtogettohisfeetinvain,andafterone
failure, remained on all fours, holding on. He surveyed the moon
lit world to leeward, with the tails of his jacket streaming over his
head. “There’s something seriously wrong,” said Mr. Fotheringay.
“Andwhatitis—goodnessknows.”
Far and wide nothing was visible in the white glare through
thehazeofdustthatdrovebeforeascreaminggalebuttumbledmasses
ofearthandheapsofinchoateruins,notrees,nohouses,nofamiliar
shapes,onlyvanishingatlastintothedark
nessbeneaththewhirlingcolumnsandstreamers, the lightningsand
thunderingsofaswiftlyrisingstorm.Nearhiminthelividglarewas
something that might once have been an elmtree, a smashed mass
ofsplinters,shiveredfromboughstobase,andfurtheratwistedmass
ofirongirders—onlytooevidentlytheviaduct—roseoutofthepiled
confusion.
YouseewhenMr.Fotheringayhadarrestedtherotationoftheso
lidglobe,hehadmadenostipulationconcerningthetriingmovables
upon its surface. And the earth spins so fast that the surface at its
equator is travelling at rather more than a thousand miles an hour,
andintheselatitudesatmorethanhalfthatpace.Sothatthevillage,
andMr.Maydig,andMr.Fotheringay,andeverybodyandeverything
hadbeenjerkedviolentlyforwardataboutninemilespersecond—that
istosay,muchmoreviolentlythaniftheyhadbeenredoutofacan
non. And every human being, every living creature, every house,
andeverytree—alltheworldasweknowit—hadbeensojerkedand
smashedandutterlydestroyed.Thatwasall.
These things Mr. Fotheringay did not, of course, fully appreci
ate. But he perceived that his miracle had miscarried, and with that
agreat disgustof miraclescame uponhim. Hewas indarkness now,
forthecloudshadswepttogetherandblottedouthismomentaryglimpse
ofthe moon, and the air was fullof tful strugglingtortured wraiths
of hail. Agreat roaring of wind andwaters lled earth and sky, and,
peeringunderhishandthroughthedustandsleettowindward,hesaw
bytheplayofthelightningsavastwallofwaterpouringtowardshim.
138
“Maydig!” screamed Mr. Fotheringay’s feeble voice amid
theelementaluproar.“Here!—Maydig!”
“Stop!” cried Mr. Fotheringay to the advancing water. “Oh,
forgoodness’sake,stop!”
“Justamoment,”saidMr.Fotheringaytothelightningsandthun
der.“Stopjest amomentwhileI collect mythoughts.. . .Andnow
whatshallIdo?”hesaid.
“WhatshallIdo?Lord!IwishMaydigwasabout.”
“I know,” said Mr. Fotheringay. “And for goodness’ sake let’s
haveitrightthistime.”
He remained on all fours, leaning against the wind, very intent
tohaveeverythingright.
“Ah!”hesaid.“LetnothingwhatI’mgoingtoorderhappenuntil
Isay‘Off!’...Lord!IwishI’dthoughtofthatbefore!”
He lifted his little voice against the whirlwind, shouting louder
andlouderinthevaindesiretohearhimselfspeak.“Nowthen!—here
goes!MindaboutthatwhatIsaidjustnow.Intherstplace,whenall
I’vegottosayisdone,letmelosemymiraculouspower,letmywill
becomejustlikeanybodyelse’swill,andallthesedangerousmiracles
bestopped. Idon’tlike them.I’d ratherI didn’twork ’em. Everso
much.That’sthe rstthing.And the secondis—letmebe backjust
beforethemiraclesbegin;leteverythingbejustasitwasbeforethat
blessedlampturnedup.It’sabigjob,butit’sthelast.Haveyougotit?
Nomoremiracles,everythingasitwas—mebackintheLongDragon
justbeforeIdrankmyhalfpint.That’sit!Yes.”
Hedughisngersintothemould,closedhiseyes,andsaid“Off!”
Everythingbecameperfectlystill.Heperceivedthathewasstan
dingerect.
“Soyousay,”saidavoice.
Heopened his eyes.He wasinthe barof the LongDragon, ar
guing about miracles with Toddy Beamish. He had a vague sense
of some great thing forgotten that instantaneously passed.You see,
exceptforthelossofhismiraculouspowers,everythingwasbackas
ithadbeen;hismindandmemorythereforewerenowjustastheyhad
139
beenat thetime whenthis storybegan. So that he knew absolutely
nothingofallthatistoldhere,knowsnothingofallthatistoldhere
tothisday.Andamongotherthings,ofcourse,hestilldidnotbelieve
inmiracles.
“Itell you thatmiracles, properly speaking, can’t possibly hap
pen,”hesaid,“whateveryouliketohold.AndI’mpreparedtoprove
ituptothehilt.”
“That’swhatyouthink,”saidToddyBeamish,and“Proveitifyou
can.”
“Lookyhere,Mr.Beamish,”saidMr.Fotheringay.“Letusclearly
understandwhatamiracleis.It’ssomethingcontrariwisetothecourse
ofnaturedonebypowerofWill...”
T a sk s a n d e xe r c i s e s
1.Whatis amiracle? 2.Do youbelieve in supernatural? 3. Domi
racleshappeninlife?4.Havemiracleshappenedtoyou?
pantoum,rarebit,extraordi
nary,yield,radiant,repentance,Fotheringay.
1.WhendidMr.Fotheringaydiscoverhisextraordinarypowers?
2.WasthereanyoneelseinthebarbesidesMr.FotheringayandToddy
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