Three men in a boat / Трое в лодке, не считая собаки. Книга для чтения на английском языке. Джером Клапка ДжеромЧитать онлайн книгу.
If you want rest and change, you can’t beat a sea trip.
5. A sea trip does you good when you are going to have a couple of months of it, but, for a week, it is wicked.
6. It is a curious fact, but nobody ever is sea-sick – on land.
7. When the front of the ship rises, you lean forward, till the deck almost touches your nose; and when its back end gets up, you lean backwards.
8. The only one who wasn’t inspired with the suggestion was Montmorency.
9. Answer the following questions.
1. How many people are there in the room? Why are they “bad”?
2. How does the narrator know about his illness?
3. Why is the narrator a good gift for a medical class?
4. Where does the narrator go after visiting the library? Why?
5. Can the chemist help the narrator? Why / why not?
6. What is the general symptom of the narrator’s disease? How did his relatives help him to cure the disease in his childhood?
7. What remedy do the friends find to cure their diseases?
8. Why is the narrator against a sea trip?
9. Who isn’t inspired by the common decision to go up the river? Why?
10. Who is Montmorency?
10. Retell the chapter for the persons of Harris, the doctor, the narrator’s brother-in-law, Montmorency.
CHAPTER II
We pulled out the maps, and discussed plans. We arranged to start next Saturday from Kingston. Harris and I would go down the river in the morning, and take the boat up to Chertsey, and George, who would not be able to get away from the City till the afternoon (George goes to sleep at a bank from ten to four each day, except Saturdays, when they wake him up and put him outside at two), would meet us there.
Should we “camp out” or sleep at inns? George and I were for camping out. We said it would be so wild and free.
Slowly the golden memory of the dead sun fades from the hearts of the cold, sad clouds. Silent, like disappointed children, the birds have stopped their song. From the dim woods on the both banks, Night’s ghostly army, the grey shadows, creep out with noiseless steps; and Night, upon her gloomy throne, spreads her black wings14 above the darkening world, and, from her phantom palace, lit by the pale stars, reigns in calmness.
Then we run our little boat into some quiet bay, and the tent is set up, and the supper cooked and eaten. Then the big pipes are filled and lighted, and the pleasant chat goes round like quiet music; while, in the pauses of our talk, the river, playing round the boat, whispers strange old tales and secrets, sings low the old child’s song that it has sung so many thousand years – will sing so many thousand years to come, before its voice grows harsh and old – a song that we think, somehow, we understand.
And we sit there, by its bank, while the moon, who loves it too, bends down to kiss it with a sister’s kiss, and throws her silver arms around it15; and we watch it as it flows, ever singing, ever whispering, out to meet its king, the sea – till our voices die away in silence, and the pipes go out – till we, common, everyday young men enough, feel strangely full of thoughts, half sad, half sweet, and do not care or want to speak – till we laugh, and, rising, knock the ashes from our burnt-out pipes, and say “Good-night,” and, lulled by the splashing water and the rustling trees16, we fall asleep under the great, still stars, and dream that the world is young again.
Harris said: “How about when it rained?”
You can never inspire Harris. There is no poetry about Harris. Harris never “cries, he knows not why.” If Harris’s eyes fill with tears, you can bet it is because Harris has been eating raw onions, or has put too much Worcester17 over his chop.
If you were to18 stand at night by the sea-shore with Harris, and say:
“Listen! Do you not hear? Is it but the mermaids singing deep below the waving waters; or sad spirits?” Harris would take you by the arm, and say:
“I know what it is, old man; you’ve got a cold. Now, you come along with me. I know a place round the corner here, where you can get a drop of the finest Scotch whisky you ever tasted – put you right in less than no time.”
Harris always knows a place round the corner where you can get something brilliant in the drinking line. I believe that if you met Harris up in Paradise (supposing such a thing likely), he would immediately greet you with:
“So glad you’ve come, old fellow; I’ve found a nice place round the corner here, where you can get some really first-class nectar.”
In the present instance, however, as for the camping out, his practical view of the matter was just in time. Camping out in rainy weather is not pleasant. It is evening. You are wet through, and there is a good two inches19 of water in the boat, and all the things are damp. You find a place on the banks that is not quite so wet as other places you have seen, and you land, and two of you start to fix the tent.
It is wet and heavy, and it flops about, and falls down on you, and clings round your head and makes you mad. The rain is pouring steadily down all the time. It is difficult enough to fix a tent in dry weather: in wet, the task becomes extremely difficult. Instead of helping you, it seems to you that the other man is simply playing the fool20. Just as you get your side beautifully fixed, he lifts it from his end, and spoils it all.
“Here! what are you up to21?” you call out.
“What are you up to?” he objects; “let it go, can’t you?”
“Don’t pull it; you’ve got it all wrong, you stupid fool!” you shout.
“No, I haven’t,” he yells back; “let go your side!”
“I tell you you’ve got it all wrong!” you roar, wishing that you could get at him; and you pull your ropes that all his pegs are out.
“Ah, the idiot!” you hear him mutter to himself; and then comes a savage haul, and your side goes away. You start to go round and tell him what you think about the whole business, and, at the same time, he starts round in the same direction to come and explain his views to you. And you follow each other round and round, swearing at one another, until the tent falls down, and leaves you looking at each other across its ruins, when you both indignantly exclaim, in the same breath:
“There you are! What did I tell you?”
Meanwhile the third man, who has been baling out22 the boat, and who has spilled the water down his sleeve, and has been cursing away to himself steadily for the last ten minutes, wants to know why the tent isn’t up yet.
At last, somehow or other, it does get up, and you land the things. It is hopeless attempting to make a wood fire, so you light the methylated spirit stove23, and crowd round that.
Rainwater is the chief component of diet at supper. The bread is two-thirds rainwater, the beefsteak-pie is extremely rich in it, and the jam, and the butter, and the salt, and the coffee have all combined with it to make soup. After supper, you find your tobacco is damp, and you cannot smoke. Luckily you have a bottle of the stuff that cheers, if taken in right quantity, and you go to bed.
There you dream that an elephant has suddenly sat down on your chest, and that the volcano has exploded and thrown you down to the bottom of the sea – the elephant still sleeping peacefully on your chest. You wake up and realize that something terrible really has happened. Your first
to spread the wings – расправить крылья
and throws her silver arms around it – и обнимает ее своими серебряными руками
lulled by the splashing water and the rustling trees – убаюканные плеском воды и шелестом деревьев
Worcester = Worcester sauce – Вустерский соус (кисло-сладкий, пикантный английский соус на основе уксуса, сахара и рыбы)
if you were to – если бы вам довелось
inch – дюйм (1 дюйм = 2,54 см)
to play the fool – паясничать, валять дурака
to be up to – замышлять что-то, намереваться что-то сделать
to bale out – вычерпывать воду (из лодки)
methylated spirit stove – спиртовка