shi puti dolzhny byli sojtis', kak storony ugla, u kraya tumana. Tol'ko tam "Makedoniya" mogla by eshche pojmat' "Prizrak". A dlya "Prizraka" spasenie zaklyuchalos' v tom, chtoby dostignut' etoj tochki ran'she "Makedonii". Wolf Larsen was steering, his eyes glistening and snapping as they dwelt upon and leaped from detail to detail of the chase. Now he studied the sea to windward for signs of the wind slackening or freshening, now the Macedonia; and again, his eyes roved over every sail, and he gave commands to slack a sheet here a trifle, to come in on one there a trifle, till he was drawing out of the Ghost the last bit of speed she possessed. All feuds and grudges were forgotten, and I was surprised at the alacrity with which the men who had so long endured his brutality sprang to execute his orders. Strange to say, the unfortunate Johnson came into my mind as we lifted and surged and heeled along, and I was aware of a regret that he was not alive and present; he had so loved the Ghost and delighted in her sailing powers. Volk Larsen sam stoyal u shturvala, goryashchimi glazami sledya za vsem, ot chego zavisel ishod etogo sostyazaniya. On to oborachivalsya i oglyadyval more, proveryaya, slabeet ili krepnet veter, to prismatrivalsya k "Makedonii", to okidyval vzorom parusa i prikazyval vybrat' odin shkot ili potravit' drugoj i vyzhimal iz "Prizraka" vse, na chto tot byl sposoben. Nenavist' i ozloblenie byli na vremya zabyty, i ya divilsya tomu, s kakoj gotovnost'yu brosalis' ispolnyat' prikazaniya kapitana te samye matrosy, kotorye stol'ko naterpelis' ot nego. I vot, kogda my stremitel'no neslis' vpered, nyryaya po volnam, ya vdrug vspomnil bednyagu Dzhonsona i pozhalel, chto ego net sredi nas: on tak lyubil etu shhunu i tak voshishchalsya vsegda ee bystrohodnost'yu. "Better get your rifles, you fellows," Wolf Larsen called to our hunters; and the five men lined the lee rail, guns in hand, and waited. -- Prigotov'te-ka na vsyakij sluchaj vintovki, rebyata! -- kriknul Volk Larsen ohotnikam, i totchas vse pyatero, s vintovkami v rukah, stali u podvetrennogo borta. The Macedonia was now but a mile away, the black smoke pouring from her funnel at a right angle, so madly she raced, pounding through the sea at a seventeen-knot gait - "'Sky-hooting through the brine," as Wolf Larsen quoted while gazing at her. We were not making more than nine knots, but the fog-bank was very near. "Makedoniya" byla teper' vsego v mile ot nas. Ona mchalas' s takoj skorost'yu, chto chernyj dym iz ee truby stlalsya sovershenno gorizontal'no; ona delala ne men'she semnadcati uzlov. "Skvoz' hlyabi mchit, vzyvaya k nebu", -- prodeklamiroval Volk Larsen, brosiv vzglyad v ee storonu. My delali ne bol'she devyati uzlov, no stena tumana byla uzhe blizko. A puff of smoke broke from the Macedonia's deck, we heard a heavy report, and a round hole took form in the stretched canvas of our mainsail. They were shooting at us with one of the small cannon which rumour had said they carried on board. Our men, clustering amidships, waved their hats and raised a derisive cheer. Again there was a puff of smoke and a loud report, this time the cannon- ball striking not more than twenty feet astern and glancing twice from sea to sea to windward ere it sank. Vdrug nad paluboj "Makedonii" podnyalos' oblachko dyma. Vystrel prokatilsya nad morem, i v nashem grote obrazovalas' kruglaya dyra. Oni palili iz malen'koj pushki, -- my uzhe slyshali, chto takih pushek tam bylo neskol'ko. Nashi matrosy, tolpivshiesya u grot-machty, otvetili na eto nasmeshlivymi krikami. Snova nad "Makedoniej" pokazalsya dymok, i snova progremel vystrel. Na etot raz yadro upalo vsego v dvadcati futah za kormoj i pereskochilo s volny na volnu, prezhde chem zatonut'. But there was no rifle-firing for the reason that all their hunters were out in the boats or our prisoners. When the two vessels were half-a-mile apart, a third shot made another hole in our mainsail. Then we entered the fog. It was about us, veiling and hiding us in its dense wet gauze. Iz vintovok s "Makedonii" ne palili, -- vse ee ohotniki nahodilis' libo u nas na bortu, libo daleko v more na svoih shlyupkah. Kogda rasstoyanie mezhdu dvumya sudami sokratilos' do polumili, tret'im vystrelom probilo eshche odnu dyru v nashem grote. No tut shhuna voshla v polosu tumana. My vdrug pogruzilis' v nego, i on skryl nas, okutav svoej vlazhnoj, plotnoj zavesoj. The sudden transition was startling. The moment before we had been leaping through the sunshine, the clear sky above us, the sea breaking and rolling wide to the horizon, and a ship, vomiting smoke and fire and iron missiles, rushing madly upon us. And at once, as in an instant's leap, the sun was blotted out, there was no sky, even our mastheads were lost to view, and our horizon was such as tear-blinded eyes may see. The grey mist drove by us like a rain. Every woollen filament of our garments, every hair of our heads and faces, was jewelled with a crystal globule. The shrouds were wet with moisture; it dripped from our rigging overhead; and on the underside of our booms drops of water took shape in long swaying lines, which were detached and flung to the deck in mimic showers at each surge of the schooner. I was aware of a pent, stifled feeling. As the sounds of the ship thrusting herself through the waves were hurled back upon us by the fog, so were one's thoughts. The mind recoiled from contemplation of a world beyond this wet veil which wrapped us around. This was the world, the universe itself, its bounds so near one felt impelled to reach out both arms and push them back. It was impossible, that the rest could be beyond these walls of grey. The rest was a dream, no more than the memory of a dream. Vnezapnost' peremeny byla porazitel'na. Sekundu nazad my mchalis' v yarkih solnechnyh luchah, nad nami bylo yasnoe nebo, i daleko-daleko, do samogo gorizonta, more shumelo i katilo svoi volny, a za nami besheno gnalsya korabl', izrygaya dym, plamya i chugunnye yadra. I vdrug, v mgnovenie oka, solnce tochno zagasili, nebo ischezlo, dazhe verhushki macht propali iz vidu, i na glaza nashi, slovno ih zavoloklo slezami, opustilas' seraya pelena. Syraya mgla stoyala vokrug nas, kak stena dozhdya. Volosy, odezhda -- vse pokrylos' almaznymi blestkami. S namokshih vant i snastej voda stekala na palubu. Pod gikami kapel'ki vody viseli dlinnymi girlyandami, i kogda shhuna vzmyvala na greben' volny, veter sduval ih i oni leteli nam v lico. Grud' moya stesnilas', mne bylo trudno dyshat'. Tuman glushil zvuki, prituplyal chuvstva, i soznanie otkazyvalos' priznat', chto gde-to za etoj vlazhnoj seroj stenoj, nadvinuvshejsya na nas so vseh storon, sushchestvuet drugoj mir. Ves' mir, vsya vselennaya kak by zamknulis' zdes', i granicy ih tak suzilis', chto nevol'no hotelos' uperet'sya v eti steny rukami i razdvinut' ih. I to, chto ostalos' tam, za nimi, kazalos', bylo lish' snom, vernee -- vospominaniem sna. It was weird, strangely weird. I looked at Maud Brewster and knew that she was similarly affected. Then I looked at Wolf Larsen, but there was nothing subjective about his state of consciousness. His whole concern was with the immediate, objective present. He still held the wheel, and I felt that he was timing Time, reckoning the passage of the minutes with each forward lunge and leeward roll of the Ghost. V nastupivshej peremene bylo nechto tainstvennoe i koldovskoe. YA posmotrel na Mod Bruster i ubedilsya, chto ona ispytyvaet to zhe, chto i ya. Potom ya perevel vzglyad na Volka Larsena; no on nichem ne proyavlyal svoih oshchushchenij. On vse tak zhe stoyal u shturvala i, kazalos', byl vsecelo pogloshchen svoej zadachej. YA pochuvstvoval, chto on izmeryaet hod vremeni, otschityvaet sekundy, vsyakij raz kak "Prizrak" to stremitel'no vzletit na greben' volny, to nakrenitsya ot bortovoj kachki. "Go for'ard and hard alee without any noise," he said to me in a low voice. "Clew up the topsails first. Set men at all the sheets. Let there be no rattling of blocks, no sound of voices. No noise, understand, no noise." -- Stupajte na bak i prigotov'tes' k povorotu, -- skazal on mne, poniziv golos. -- Prezhde vsego voz'mite topselya na gitovy. Postav'te lyudej na vse shkoty. No chtoby ni odin blok ne zagremel i chtoby nikto ni zvuka. Ponimaete -- ni zvuka! When all was ready, the word "hard-a-lee" was passed forward to me from man to man; and the Ghost heeled about on the port tack with practically no noise at all. And what little there was, - the slapping of a few reef-points and the creaking of a sheave in a block or two, - was ghostly under the hollow echoing pall in which we were swathed. Kogda vse stali po mestam, komanda byla peredana ot cheloveka k cheloveku, i "Prizrak" pochti besshumno sdelal povorot. Esli gde-nibud' i hlopnul rif-shtert ili skripnul blok, zvuki eti kazalis' kakimi-to strannymi, prizrachnymi, i obstupivshij nas tuman totchas pogloshchal ih. We had scarcely filled away, it seemed, when the fog thinned abruptly and we were again in the sunshine, the wide-stretching sea breaking before us to the sky-line. But the ocean was bare. No wrathful Macedonia broke its surface nor blackened the sky with her smoke. No kak tol'ko my legli na drugoj gals, tuman nachal redet', i vskore "Prizrak" snova letel vpered pod yarkim solncem, i snova do samogo gorizonta burlili i penilis' volny. No okean byl pust. Razgnevannaya "Makedoniya" nigde ne borozdila bol'she ego poverhnosti i ne pyatnala nebo svoim chernym dymom. Wolf Larsen at once squared away and ran down along the rim of the fog-bank. His trick was obvious. He had entered the fog to windward of the steamer, and while the steamer had blindly driven on into the fog in the chance of catching him, he had come about and out of his shelter and was now running down to re-enter to leeward. Successful in this, the old simile of the needle in the haystack would be mild indeed compared with his brother's chance of finding him. He did not run long. Jibing the fore- and main-sails and setting the topsails again, we headed back into the bank. As we entered I could have sworn I saw a vague bulk emerging to windward. I looked quickly at Wolf Larsen. Already we were ourselves buried in the fog, but he nodded his head. He, too, had seen it - the Macedonia, guessing his manoeuvre and failing by a moment in anticipating it. There was no doubt that we had escaped unseen. Volk Larsen tut zhe spustilsya pod veter i povel shhunu po samomu krayu tumana. Ego ulovka byla yasna. On voshel v tuman s navetrennoj storony ot parohoda i, kogda "Makedoniya" vslepuyu rinulas' vosled, eshche nadeyas' pojmat' shhunu, sdelal povorot, vyshel iz svoego ukrytiya i teper' namerevalsya vojti v tuman s podvetrennoj storony. Esli by emu eto udalos', ego bratu bylo by tak zhe trudno najti nas v tumane, kak -- po staroj pogovorke -- igolku v stoge sena. My nedolgo shli po krayu tumana. Perekinuv fok i grot i snova postaviv topselya, my opyat' nyrnuli v tuman, i v etot mig ya byl gotov poklyast'sya, chto videl smutnye ochertaniya parohoda, vyhodivshego iz polosy tumana s navetrennoj storony. YA bystro vzglyanul na Volka Larsena. On kivnul golovoj. Da, on tozhe videl -- eto byla "Makedoniya". Na nej, veroyatno, razgadali nash manevr, no ne uspeli nas perehitrit'. Ne bylo somnenij v tom, chto my uskol'znuli nezamechennymi. "He can't keep this up," Wolf Larsen said. "He'll have to go back for the rest of his boats. Send a man to the wheel, Mr. Van Weyden, keep this course for the present, and you might as well set the watches, for we won't do any lingering to-night." -- On ne mozhet dolgo prodolzhat' etu igru, -- skazal Volk Larsen. -- Emu pridetsya vernut'sya za svoimi shlyupkami. Postav'te kogo-nibud' na rul', mister Van-Vejden, -- kurs derzhat' tot zhe, -- i naznach'te vahty: my budem idti pod vsemi parusami do utra. "I'd give five hundred dollars, though," he added, "just to be aboard the Macedonia for five minutes, listening to my brother curse." -- |h, ne pozhalel by ya i poltysyachi dollarov, -- dobavil on, -- chtoby hot' na minutu popast' na "Makedoniyu" i poslushat', kak tam chertyhaetsya moj bratec! "And now, Mr. Van Weyden," he said to me when he had been relieved from the wheel, "we must make these new-comers welcome. Serve out plenty of whisky to the hunters and see that a few bottles slip for'ard. I'll wager every man Jack of them is over the side to- morrow, hunting for Wolf Larsen as contentedly as ever they hunted for Death Larsen." -- Teper', mister Van-Vejden, -- skazal on, kogda ego smenili u shturvala, -- nam sleduet okazat' gostepriimstvo nashemu popolneniyu. Vystavite ohotnikam vdovol' viski i poshlite neskol'ko butylochek na bak. Derzhu pari, chto zavtra nashi gosti vse do edinogo vyjdut v more i budut ohotit'sya dlya Volka Larsena ne huzhe, chem dlya Smerti Larsena. "But won't they escape as Wainwright did?" I asked. -- A oni ne sbegut, kak Uejnrajt? -- sprosil ya. He laughed shrewdly. "Not as long as our old hunters have anything to say about it. I'm dividing amongst them a dollar a skin for all the skins shot by our new hunters. At least half of their enthusiasm to-day was due to that. Oh, no, there won't be any escaping if they have anything to say about it. And now you'd better get for'ard to your hospital duties. There must be a full ward waiting for you." On usmehnulsya. -- Ne sbegut, potomu chto nashi starye ohotniki etogo ne dopustyat. YA uzhe poobeshchal im po dollaru s kazhdoj shkury, dobytoj novymi. Otchasti poetomu oni tak i staralis' segodnya. O net, oni ne dadut im sbezhat'! A teper' vam ne meshaet navedat'sya v svoj lazaret. Tam, nado polagat', polnym-polno pacientov. CHAPTER XXVI GLAVA XXVI Wolf Larsen took the distribution of the whisky off my hands, and the bottles began to make their appearance while I worked over the fresh batch of wounded men in the forecastle. I had seen whisky drunk, such as whisky-and-soda by the men of the clubs, but never as these men drank it, from pannikins and mugs, and from the bottles - great brimming drinks, each one of which was in itself a debauch. But they did not stop at one or two. They drank and drank, and ever the bottles slipped forward and they drank more. Volk Larsen osvobodil menya ot obyazannosti razdavat' viski i prinyalsya za delo sam. Poka ya vozilsya v matrosskom kubrike s novoj partiej ranenyh, butylki uzhe zahodili po rukam. Mne, konechno, dovodilos' videt', kak p'yut viski, naprimer, v klubah, gde prinyato pit' viski s sodovoj, no chtoby pit' tak, kak pili zdes', -- etogo ya eshche ne vidyval. Pili iz kruzhek, iz misok i pryamo iz butylok; nalivali do kraev i osushali zalpom; odnoj takoj porcii bylo dostatochno, chtoby zahmelet', no im vse kazalos' malo. Oni pili i pili, i novye butylki vse pribyvali v kubrik, i etomu ne bylo konca. Everybody drank; the wounded drank; Oofty-Oofty, who helped me, drank. Only Louis refrained, no more than cautiously wetting his lips with the liquor, though he joined in the revels with an abandon equal to that of most of them. It was a saturnalia. In loud voices they shouted over the day's fighting, wrangled about details, or waxed affectionate and made friends with the men whom they had fought. Prisoners and captors hiccoughed on one another's shoulders, and swore mighty oaths of respect and esteem. They wept over the miseries of the past and over the miseries yet to come under the iron rule of Wolf Larsen. And all cursed him and told terrible tales of his brutality. Pili vse. Pili ranenye. Pil Ufti-Ufti, pomogavshij mne delat' perevyazki. Odin Luis vozderzhivalsya: raza dva othlebnul nemnogo -- i vse; zato i shumel i buyanil on ne men'she drugih. |to byla nastoyashchaya saturnaliya. Vse galdeli, orali, obsuzhdali minuvshee srazhenie, sporili. A potom vdrug, razmyaknuv, nachinali bratat'sya so svoimi nedavnimi vragami. Pobediteli i pobezhdennye ikali drug u druga na pleche i torzhestvenno klyalis' v vechnoj druzhbe i uvazhenii. Oni oplakivali nevzgody, perenesennye imi v proshlom i ozhidavshie ih v budushchem v zheleznyh tiskah Volka Larsena, i, horom proklinaya ego, rasskazyvali vsyakie uzhasy o ego zhestokosti. It was a strange and frightful spectacle - the small, bunk-lined space, the floor and walls leaping and lurching, the dim light, the swaying shadows lengthening and fore-shortening monstrously, the thick air heavy with smoke and the smell of bodies and iodoform, and the inflamed faces of the men - half-men, I should call them. I noted Oofty-Oofty, holding the end of a bandage and looking upon the scene, his velvety and luminous eyes glistening in the light like a deer's eyes, and yet I knew the barbaric devil that lurked in his breast and belied all the softness and tenderness, almost womanly, of his face and form. And I noticed the boyish face of Harrison, - a good face once, but now a demon's, - convulsed with passion as he told the newcomers of the hell-ship they were in and shrieked curses upon the head of Wolf Larsen. |to bylo dikoe i strashnoe zrelishche; tesnyj kubrik, zagromozhdennyj kojkami, kachayushchiesya pereborki, vzdymayushchijsya pol, tusklyj svet lampy, koleblyushchiesya teni, to chudovishchno vyrastayushchie, to sŽezhivayushchiesya, razgoryachennye lica, poteryavshie chelovecheskij oblik... I nad vsem etim -- dym, ispareniya tel, zapah jodoforma... YA nablyudal za Ufti-Ufti, -- on derzhal v rukah konec binta i vziral na etu scenu svoimi krasivymi, barhatistymi, kak u olenya, glazami, v kotoryh igrali otbleski sveta ot raskachivayushchejsya lampy. YA znal, chto, nesmotrya na vsyu myagkost' i dazhe zhenstvennost' ego lica i figury, v nem dremlyut grubye instinkty dikarya. Mne brosilos' v glaza mal'chisheskoe lico Garrisona, vsegda takoe dobroe i otkrytoe, teper' iskazhennoe yarost'yu, pohozhee na d'yavol'skuyu masku; on rasskazyval zahvachennym v plen matrosam, na kakoj adskij korabl' oni popali, i istoshnym golosom obrushival proklyatiya na golovu Volka Larsena. Wolf Larsen it was, always Wolf Larsen, enslaver and tormentor of men, a male Circe and these his swine, suffering brutes that grovelled before him and revolted only in drunkenness and in secrecy. And was I, too, one of his swine? I thought. And Maud Brewster? No! I ground my teeth in my anger and determination till the man I was attending winced under my hand and Oofty-Oofty looked at me with curiosity. I felt endowed with a sudden strength. What of my new-found love, I was a giant. I feared nothing. I would work my will through it all, in spite of Wolf Larsen and of my own thirty-five bookish years. All would be well. I would make it well. And so, exalted, upborne by a sense of power, I turned my back on the howling inferno and climbed to the deck, where the fog drifted ghostly through the night and the air was sweet and pure and quiet. Volk LarsenSnova i snova Volk Larsen! Porabotitel' i muchitel', Circeya v muzhskom oblike. A oni -- stado ego svinej, zamuchennye skoty, pridavlennye k zemle, sposobnye buntovat' tol'ko ispodtishka da v p'yanom vide. "A ya? Tozhe odin iz ego stada? -- podumalos' mne. -- A Mod Bruster? Net!" Gnev zakipel vo mne, ya skripnul zubami i, zabyvshis', vidimo, prichinil bol' matrosu, kotoromu delal perevyazku, tak kak on peredernulsya. A Ufti-Ufti posmotrel na menya s lyubopytstvom. YA pochuvstvoval vnezapnyj priliv sil. Lyubov' delala menya moguchim gigantom. YA nichego ne boyalsya. Moya volya pobedit vse prepyatstviya -- vopreki Volku Larsenu, vopreki tridcati pyati godam, provedennym sredi knig. Vse budet horosho. YA dob'yus' etogo. I, voodushevlennyj soznaniem svoej sily, ya povernulsya spinoj k etomu razbushevavshemusya adu i podnyalsya na palubu, gde tuman serymi prizrachnymi tenyami lezhal vo mrake, a vozduh byl chist, aromaten i tih. The steerage, where were two wounded hunters, was a repetition of the forecastle, except that Wolf Larsen was not being cursed; and it was with a great relief that I again emerged on deck and went aft to the cabin. Supper was ready, and Wolf Larsen and Maud were waiting for me. V kubrike u ohotnikov tozhe bylo dvoe ranenyh, i tam shla takaya zhe orgiya, kak i u matrosov, -- tol'ko zdes' ne proklinali Volka Larsena, Ochutivshis' snova na palube, ya oblegchenno vzdohnul i otpravilsya na kormu, v kayut-kompaniyu. Uzhin byl gotov; Volk Larsen i Mod podzhidali menya. While all his ship was getting drunk as fast as it could, he remained sober. Not a drop of liquor passed his lips. He did not dare it under the circumstances, for he had only Louis and me to depend upon, and Louis was even now at the wheel. We were sailing on through the fog without a look-out and without lights. That Wolf Larsen had turned the liquor loose among his men surprised me, but he evidently knew their psychology and the best method of cementing in cordiality, what had begun in bloodshed. Poka ves' ekipazh speshil napit'sya, sam kapitan ostavalsya trezv. On ne vypil ni kapli vina. On ne mog sebe etogo pozvolit', ved', krome menya i Luisa, emu ni na kogo nel'zya bylo polozhit'sya, a Luis k tomu zhe stoyal u shturvala. My shli v tumane naudachu, bez signal'shchika, bez ognej. Menya ochen' udivilo sperva, chto Volk Larsen razreshil matrosam i ohotnikam etu p'yanuyu orgiyu, no on, ochevidno, horosho znal ih nrav i umel spayat' druzhboj to, chto nachalos' s krovoprolitiya. His victory over Death Larsen seemed to have had a remarkable effect upon him. The previous evening he had reasoned himself into the blues, and I had been waiting momentarily for one of his characteristic outbursts. Yet nothing had occurred, and he was now in splendid trim. Possibly his success in capturing so many hunters and boats had counteracted the customary reaction. At any rate, the blues were gone, and the blue devils had not put in an appearance. So I thought at the time; but, ah me, little I knew him or knew that even then, perhaps, he was meditating an outbreak more terrible than any I had seen. Pobeda nad Smert'yu Larsenom, kazalos', neobychajno blagotvorno podejstvovala na nego. Vchera vecherom on svoimi rassuzhdeniyami dovel sebya do handry, i ya kazhdyj mig zhdal ocherednoj vspyshki yarosti. No poka vse shlo gladko, Larsen byl v velikolepnom nastroenii. Byt' mozhet, obychnuyu reakciyu predotvratilo to, chto on zahvatil tak mnogo ohotnikov i shlyupok. Vo vsyakom sluchae, handru kak rukoj snyalo, i d'yavol v nem ne prosypalsya. Tak mne kazalos' togda, no -- uvy! -- kak malo ya ego znal. Ne v tu li samuyu minutu on uzhe zamyshlyal samoe chernoe svoe delo! As I say, he discovered himself in splendid trim when I entered the cabin. He had had no headaches for weeks, his eyes were clear blue as the sky, his bronze was beautiful with perfect health; life swelled through his veins in full and magnificent flood. While waiting for me he had engaged Maud in animated discussion. Temptation was the topic they had hit upon, and from the few words I heard I made out that he was contending that temptation was temptation only when a man was seduced by it and fell. Itak, vojdya v kayut-kompaniyu, ya zastal kapitana v prekrasnom raspolozhenii duha. Pristupy golovnoj boli uzhe davno ne muchili ego, i glaza ego byli yasny, kak goluboe nebo. ZHizn' moshchnym potokom burlila v ego zhilah, i ot bronzovogo lica veyalo cvetushchim zdorov'em. V ozhidanii menya on zanimal Mod Bruster besedoj. Temoj etoj besedy byl soblazn, i iz neskol'kih slov, broshennyh Larsenom, ya ponyal, chto on priznaet istinnym soblaznom lish' tot, pered kotorym chelovek ne smog ustoyat' i pal. "For look you," he was saying, "as I see it, a man does things because of desire. He has many desires. He may desire to escape pain, or to enjoy pleasure. But whatever he does, he does because he desires to do it." -- Nu, posudite sami, -- govoril on. -- Ved' chelovek dejstvuet, povinuyas' svoim zhelaniyam. ZHelanij u nego mnogo. On mozhet zhelat' izbegnut' boli ili nasladit'sya udovol'stviem. No chto by on ni delal, ego postupki prodiktovany zhelaniem. "But suppose he desires to do two opposite things, neither of which will permit him to do the other?" Maud interrupted. -- A esli, predpolozhim, u nego voznikli dva vzaimno isklyuchayushchie Drug druga zhelaniya? -- prervala ego Mod Bruster. "The very thing I was coming to," he said. -- Vot k etomu-to ya i vedu, -- otvetil kapitan, no ona prodolzhala: "And between these two desires is just where the soul of the man is manifest," she went on. "If it is a good soul, it will desire and do the good action, and the contrary if it is a bad soul. It is the soul that decides." -- Dusha cheloveka kak raz i proyavlyaet sebya v bor'be etih dvuh zhelanij. I, esli dusha blagorodna, ona posleduet dobromu pobuzhdeniyu i zastavit cheloveka sovershit' dobroe delo; esli zhe ona porochna -- on postupit durno. I v tom i v drugom sluchae reshaet dusha. "Bosh and nonsense!" he exclaimed impatiently. "It is the desire that decides. Here is a man who wants to, say, get drunk. Also, he doesn't want to get drunk. What does he do? How does he do it? He is a puppet. He is the creature of his desires, and of the two desires he obeys the strongest one, that is all. His soul hasn't anything to do with it. How can he be tempted to get drunk and refuse to get drunk? If the desire to remain sober prevails, it is because it is the strongest desire. Temptation plays no part, unless - " he paused while grasping the new thought which had come into his mind - "unless he is tempted to remain sober. "Ha! ha!" he laughed. "What do you think of that, Mr. Van Weyden?" -- CHush' i bessmyslica! -- neterpelivo voskliknul Volk Larsen. -- Reshaet zhelanie. Vot, skazhem, chelovek, kotoromu hochetsya napit'sya. I vmeste s tem on ne hochet napivat'sya. CHto zhe on delaet, kak on postupaet? On marionetka, rab svoih zhelanij i prosto povinuetsya bolee sil'nomu iz etih dvuh zhelanij, vot i vse. Dusha tut ni pri chem. Esli u nego poyavilos' iskushenie napit'sya, to kak on mozhet ustoyat' protiv nego? Dlya etogo dolzhno vozobladat' zhelanie ostat'sya trezvym. No, znachit, eto zhelanie bylo bolee sil'nym, tol'ko i vsego, soblazn ne igraet nikakoj roli, esli, konechno... -- on ostanovilsya, obdumyvaya mel'knuvshuyu u nego mysl', i vdrug rashohotalsya, -- esli eto ne soblazn ostat'sya trezvym! CHto vy na eto skazhete, mister Van-Vejden? "That both of you are hair-splitting," I said. "The man's soul is his desires. Or, if you will, the sum of his desires is his soul. Therein you are both wrong. You lay the stress upon the desire apart from the soul, Miss Brewster lays the stress on the soul apart from the desire, and in point of fact soul and desire are the same thing. -- Skazhu, chto vy oba sporite sovershenno naprasno. Dusha cheloveka -- eto ego zhelanie. Ili, esli hotite, sovokupnost' zhelanij -- eto i est' ego dusha. Poetomu vy oba ne pravy. Vy, Larsen, stavite vo glavu ugla zhelanie, otmetaya v storonu dushu. Miss Bruster stavit vo glavu ugla dushu, otmetaya zhelaniya. A v sushchnosti, dusha i zhelanie -- odno i to zhe. "However," I continued, "Miss Brewster is right in contending that temptation is temptation whether the man yield or overcome. Fire is fanned by the wind until it leaps up fiercely. So is desire like fire. It is fanned, as by a wind, by sight of the thing desired, or by a new and luring description or comprehension of the thing desired. There lies the temptation. It is the wind that fans the desire until it leaps up to mastery. That's temptation. It may not fan sufficiently to make the desire overmastering, but in so far as it fans at all, that far is it temptation. And, as you say, it may tempt for good as well as for evil." -- Odnako, -- prodolzhal ya, -- miss Bruster prava, utverzhdaya, chto soblazn ostaetsya soblaznom, nezavisimo ot togo, ustoyal chelovek ili net. Veter razduvaet ogon', i on vspyhivaet zharkim plamenem. ZHelanie podobno ognyu. Sozercanie predmeta zhelaniya, novoe zamanchivoe opisanie ego, novoe postizhenie etogo predmeta razzhigayut zhelanie, podobno tomu kak veter razduvaet ogon'. I v etom zaklyuchen soblazn. |to veter, kotoryj razduvaet zhelanie, poka ono ne razgoritsya v plamya i ne poglotit cheloveka. Vot chto takoe soblazn! Inogda on nedostatochno silen, chtoby sdelat' zhelanie vsepozhirayushchim, no esli on hot' v kakoj-to mere razzhigaet zhelanie, eto vse ravno soblazn. I, kak vy sami govorite, on mozhet tolknut' cheloveka na dobro, tak zhe kak i na zlo. I felt proud of myself as we sat down to the table. My words had been decisive. At least they had put an end to the discussion. YA byl gord soboj. Moi dovody reshili spor ili po krajnej mere polozhili emu konec, i my seli za stol. But Wolf Larsen seemed voluble, prone to speech as I had never seen him before. It was as though he were bursting with pent energy which must find an outlet somehow. Almost immediately he launched into a discussion on love. As usual, his was the sheer materialistic side, and Maud's was the idealistic. For myself, beyond a word or so of suggestion or correction now and again, I took no part. No Volk Larsen byl v etot den' neobychajno slovoohotliv, -- ya eshche ne vidal ego takim. Kazalos', nakopivshayasya v nem energiya ishchet vyhoda. Pochti srazu zhe on zateyal spor o lyubvi. Kak i vsegda, on podhodil k voprosu grubo materialisticheski, a Mod Bruster otstaivala idealisticheskuyu tochku zreniya. Prislushivayas' k ih sporu, ya lish' izredka vyskazyval kakoe-nibud' soobrazhenie ili vnosil popravku, no bol'she molchal. He was brilliant, but so was Maud, and for some time I lost the thread of the conversation through studying her face as she talked. It was a face that rarely displayed colour, but to-night it was flushed and vivacious. Her wit was playing keenly, and she was enjoying the tilt as much as Wolf Larsen, and he was enjoying it hugely. For some reason, though I know not why in the argument, so utterly had I lost it in the contemplation of one stray brown lock of Maud's hair, he quoted from Iseult at Tintagel, where she says: Larsen govoril s podŽemom; Mod Bruster tozhe voodushevilas'. Po vremenam ya teryal nit' razgovora, izuchaya ee lico. Ee shcheki redko pokryvalis' rumyancem, no segodnya oni porozoveli, lico ozhivilos'. Ona dala volyu svoemu ostroumiyu i sporila s zharom, a Volk Larsen pryamo upivalsya sporom. Po kakomu-to povodu -- o chem shla rech', ne pripomnyu, tak kak byl uvlechen v eto vremya sozercaniem kashtanovogo lokona, vybivshegosya iz pricheski Mod, -- Larsen procitiroval slova Izol'dy, kotorye ona proiznosit, buduchi v Tintagele: "Blessed am I beyond women even herein, That beyond all born women is my sin, And perfect my transgression." Sred' smertnyh zhen ya vzyskana sud'boj. Tak sogreshit', kak ya, im ne dano, I greh prekrasen moj... As he had read pessimism into Omar, so now he read triumph, stinging triumph and exultation, into Swinburne's lines. And he read rightly, and he read well. He had hardly ceased reading when Louis put his head into the companion-way and whispered down: Esli ran'she, chitaya Omara Hajama, on vkladyval v ego stihi pessimisticheskoe zvuchanie, to sejchas, chitaya Suinberna, on zastavil ego stroki zvuchat' vostorzhenno, dazhe likuyushche. CHital on pravil'no i horosho. Edva on umolk, kak Luis prosunul golovu v lyuk i skazal negromko: "Be easy, will ye? The fog's lifted, an' 'tis the port light iv a steamer that's crossin' our bow this blessed minute." -- Nel'zya li potishe? Tuman podnyalsya, a parohod, bud' on neladen, peresekaet sejchas nash kurs po nosu. Viden levyj bortovoj ogon'! Wolf Larsen sprang on deck, and so swiftly that by the time we followed him he had pulled the steerage-slide over the drunken clamour and was on his way forward to close the forecastle-scuttle. The fog, though it remained, had lifted high, where it obscured the stars and made the night quite black. Directly ahead of us I could see a bright red light and a white light, and I could hear the pulsing of a steamer's engines. Beyond a doubt it was the Macedonia. Volk Larsen tak stremitel'no vyskochil na palubu, chto, kogda my prisoedinilis' k nemu, on uzhe uspel, zadvinuv kryshku lyuka, zaglushit' p'yanyj rev, nesshijsya iz kubrika ohotnikov, i speshil na bak, chtoby zakryt' lyuk tam. Tuman rasseyalsya ne vpolne -- on podnyalsya vyshe, zakryv soboyu zvezdy, i sdelal mrak sovsem nepronicaemym. I pryamo vperedi iz mraka na menya glyanuli dva ognya, krasnyj i belyj, i ya uslyshal mernoe postukivanie mashiny parohoda. Nesomnenno, eto byla "Makedoniya". Wolf Larsen had returned to the poop, and we stood in a silent group, watching the lights rapidly cross our bow. Volk Larsen vernulsya na yut, i my stoyali v polnom molchanii, sledya za bystro skol'zivshimi mimo nas ognyami. "Lucky for me he doesn't carry a searchlight," Wolf Larsen said. -- Na moe schast'e, u nego net prozhektora, -- promolvil Volk Larsen. "What if I should cry out loudly?" I queried in a whisper. -- A chto, esli ya zakrichu? -- shepotom sprosil ya. "It would be all up," he answered. "But have you thought upon what would immediately happen?" -- Togda vse propalo, -- otvechal on. -- No vy podumali o tom, chto srazu zhe za etim posleduet? Before I had time to express any desire to know, he had me by the throat with his gorilla grip, and by a faint quiver of the muscles - a hint, as it were - he suggested to me the twist that would surely have broken my neck. The next moment he had released me and we were gazing at the Macedonia's lights. Prezhde chem ya uspel vyrazit' kakoe-libo lyubopytstvo po etomu povodu, on uzhe derzhal menya za gorlo svoej obez'yan'ej lapoj. Ego muskuly edva zametno napryaglis', i eto byl ves'ma vyrazitel'nyj namek na to, chto emu nichego ne stoit svernut' mne sheyu. Vprochem, on tut zhe otpustil menya, i my snova stali sledit' za ognyami "Makedonii". "What if I should cry out?" Maud asked. -- A esli by kriknula ya? -- sprosila Mod. "I like you too well to hurt you," he said softly - nay, there was a tenderness and a caress in his voice that made me wince. "But don't do it, just the same, for I'd promptly break Mr. Van Weyden's neck." -- YA slishkom raspolozhen k vam, chtoby prichinit' vam bol', -- myagko skazal on, i v ego golose prozvuchali takaya nezhnost' i laska, chto menya peredernulo. -- No luchshe ne delajte etogo, potomu chto ya tut zhe svernu sheyu misteru Van-Vejdenu, -- dobavil on. "Then she has my permission to cry out," I said defiantly. -- V takom sluchae ya razreshayu ej kriknut', -- vyzyvayushche skazal ya. "I hardly think you'll care to sacrifice the Dean of American Letters the Second," he sneered. -- Navryad li miss Bruster zahochet pozhertvovat' zhizn'yu "nastavnika amerikanskoj literatury nomer dva", -- s izdevkoj progovoril Volk Larsen. We spoke no more, though we had become too used to one another for the silence to be awkward; and when the red light and the white had disappeared we returned to the cabin to finish the interrupted supper. Bol'she my ne obmenyalis' ni slovom; vprochem, my uzhe nastol'ko privykli drug k drugu, chto ne ispytyvali nelovkosti ot nastupivshego molchaniya. Kogda krasnyj i belyj ogni ischezli vdali, my vernulis' v kayut-kompaniyu, chtoby zakonchit' prervannyj uzhin. Again they fell to quoting, and Maud gave Dowson's "Impenitentia Ultima." She rendered it beautifully, but I watched not her, but Wolf Larsen. I was fascinated by the fascinated look he bent upon Maud. He was quite out of himself, and I noticed the unconscious movement of his lips as he shaped word for word as fast as she uttered them. He interrupted her when she gave the lines: Larsen snova procitiroval kakie-to stihi, a Mod prochla "Impenitentia Ultima" Dausona. Ona chitala prevoshodno, no ya nablyudal ne za neyu, a za Volkom Larsenom. YA ne mog otorvat' ot nego glaz, tak porazil menya ego vzglyad, prikovannyj k ee licu. YA videl, chto on sovershenno pogloshchen eyu; guby ego bessoznatel'no shevelilis', neslyshno povtoryaya za nej slova: "And her eyes should be my light while the sun went out behind me, And the viols in her voice be the last sound in my ear." ... I kogda pogasnet solnce, Pust' ee glaza mne svetyat, Skripki v golose lyubimoj Pust' poyut v poslednij chas... "There are viols in your voice," he said bluntly, and his eyes flashed their golden light. -- V vashem golose poyut skripki! -- neozhidanno proiznes on, i v glazah ego opyat' sverknuli zolotye iskorki. I could have shouted with joy at her control. She finished the concluding stanza without faltering and then slowly guided the conversation into less perilous channels. And all the while I sat in a half-daze, the drunken riot of the steerage breaking through the bulkhead, the man I feared and the woman I loved talking on and on. The table was not cleared. The man who had taken Mugridge's place had evidently joined his comrades in the forecastle. YA gotov byl gromko vozlikovat' pri vide proyavlennogo eyu samoobladaniya... Ona bez zapinki dochitala zaklyuchitel'nuyu strofu, a zatem postepenno perevela razgovor v bolee bezopasnoe ruslo. YA byl kak v durmane. Skvoz' pereborku kubrika donosilis' zvuki p'yanogo razgula, a muzhchina, kotoryj vnushal mne uzhas, i zhenshchina, kotoruyu ya lyubil, sideli peredo mnoj i govorili, govorili... Nikto ne ubiral so stola. Matros, zamenyavshij Magridzha, ochevidno, пrisoedinilsya k svoim tovarishcham v kubrike. If ever Wolf Larsen attained the summit of living, he attained it then. From time to time I forsook my own thoughts to follow him, and I followed in amaze, mastered for the moment by his remarkable intellect, under the spell of his passion, for he was preaching the passion of revolt. It was inevitable that Milton's Lucifer should be instanced, and the keenness with which Wolf Larsen analysed and depicted the character was a revelation of his stifled genius. It reminded me of Taine, yet I knew the man had never heard of that brilliant though dangerous thinker. Esli Volk Larsen byl kogda-libo vsecelo upoen minutoj, tak eto sejchas. Vremenami ya otvlekalsya ot svoih myslej, s izumleniem prislushivayas' k ego slovam, porazhayas' nezauryadnosti ego uma i sile strasti, s kotoroj on otdavalsya propovedi myatezha. Razgovor kosnulsya Lyucifera iz poemy Mil'tona, i ostrota analiza, kotoryj daval etomu obrazu Volk Larsen, i krasochnost' nekotoryh ego opisanij pokazyvali, chto on zagubil v sebe nesomnennyj talant. Mne nevol'no prishel na pamyat' Ten, hotya ya i znal, chto Larsen nikogda ne chital etogo blestyashchego, no opasnogo myslitelya. "He led a lost cause, and he was not afraid of God's thunderbolts," Wolf Larsen was saying. "Hurled into hell, he was unbeaten. A third of God's angels he had led with him, and straightway he incited man to rebel against God, and gained for himself and hell the major portion of all the generations of man. Why was he beaten out of heaven? Because he was less brave than God? less proud? less aspiring? No! A thousand times no! God was more powerful, as he said, Whom thunder hath made greater. But Lucifer was a free spirit. To serve was to suffocate. He preferred suffering in freedom to all the happiness of a comfortable servility. He did not care to serve God. He cared to serve nothing. He was no figure-head. He stood on his own legs. He was an individual." -- On vozglavil bor'bu za delo, obrechennoe na neudachu, i ne ustrashilsya gromov nebesnyh, -- govoril Larsen. -- Nizvergnutyj v ad, on ne byl slomlen. On uvel za soboj tret' angelov, vzbuntoval cheloveka protiv boga i celye pokoleniya lyudej privlek na svoyu storonu i obrek adu. Pochemu byl on izgnan iz raya? Byl li on menee otvazhen, menee gord, menee velik v svoih zamyslah, chem gospod' bog? NetTysyachu raz net! No bog byl mogushchestvennee. Kak eto skazano? "On vozvelichilsya lish' siloyu gromov". No Lyucifer -- svobodnyj duh. Dlya n