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- Герберт Уеллс
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- Первые люди на Луне
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First people on the moon
As
I
sit
down
to
write
here
amidst
the
shadows
of
vine-leaves
under
the
blue
sky
of
southern
Italy
,
it
comes
to
me
with
a
certain
quality
of
astonishment
that
my
participation
in
these
amazing
adventures
of
Mr.
Cavor
was
,
after
all
,
the
outcome
of
the
purest
accident
.
It
might
have
been
any
one
.
I
fell
into
these
things
at
a
time
when
I
thought
myself
removed
from
the
slightest
possibility
of
disturbing
experiences
.
I
had
gone
to
Lympne
because
I
had
imagined
it
the
most
uneventful
place
in
the
world
.
"
Here
,
at
any
rate
,
"
said
I
,
"
I
shall
find
peace
and
a
chance
to
work
!
"
And
this
book
is
the
sequel
.
So
utterly
at
variance
is
destiny
with
all
the
little
plans
of
men
.
I
may
perhaps
mention
here
that
very
recently
I
had
come
an
ugly
cropper
in
certain
business
enterprises
.
Sitting
now
surrounded
by
all
the
circumstances
of
wealth
,
there
is
a
luxury
in
admitting
my
extremity
.
I
can
admit
,
even
,
that
to
a
certain
extent
my
disasters
were
conceivably
of
my
own
making
.
It
may
be
there
are
directions
in
which
I
have
some
capacity
,
but
the
conduct
of
business
operations
is
not
among
these
.
But
in
those
days
I
was
young
,
and
my
youth
among
other
objectionable
forms
took
that
of
a
pride
in
my
capacity
for
affairs
.
I
am
young
still
in
years
,
but
the
things
that
have
happened
to
me
have
rubbed
something
of
the
youth
from
my
mind
.
Whether
they
have
brought
any
wisdom
to
light
below
it
is
a
more
doubtful
matter
.
It
is
scarcely
necessary
to
go
into
the
details
of
the
speculations
that
landed
me
at
Lympne
,
in
Kent
.
Nowadays
even
about
business
transactions
there
is
a
strong
spice
of
adventure
.
I
took
risks
.
In
these
things
there
is
invariably
a
certain
amount
of
give
and
take
,
and
it
fell
to
me
finally
to
do
the
giving
reluctantly
enough
.
Even
when
I
had
got
out
of
everything
,
one
cantankerous
creditor
saw
fit
to
be
malignant
.
Perhaps
you
have
met
that
flaming
sense
of
outraged
virtue
,
or
perhaps
you
have
only
felt
it
.
He
ran
me
hard
.
It
seemed
to
me
,
at
last
,
that
there
was
nothing
for
it
but
to
write
a
play
,
unless
I
wanted
to
drudge
for
my
living
as
a
clerk
.
I
have
a
certain
imagination
,
and
luxurious
tastes
,
and
I
meant
to
make
a
vigorous
fight
for
it
before
that
fate
overtook
me
.
In
addition
to
my
belief
in
my
powers
as
a
business
man
,
I
had
always
in
those
days
had
an
idea
that
I
was
equal
to
writing
a
very
good
play
.
It
is
not
,
I
believe
,
a
very
uncommon
persuasion
.
I
knew
there
is
nothing
a
man
can
do
outside
legitimate
business
transactions
that
has
such
opulent
possibilities
,
and
very
probably
that
biased
my
opinion
.
I
had
,
indeed
,
got
into
the
habit
of
regarding
this
unwritten
drama
as
a
convenient
little
reserve
put
by
for
a
rainy
day
.
That
rainy
day
had
come
,
and
I
set
to
work
.
I
soon
discovered
that
writing
a
play
was
a
longer
business
than
I
had
supposed
;
at
first
I
had
reckoned
ten
days
for
it
,
and
it
was
to
have
a
pied-à-terre
while
it
was
in
hand
that
I
came
to
Lympne
.
I
reckoned
myself
lucky
in
getting
that
little
bungalow
.
I
got
it
on
a
three
years
'
agreement
.
I
put
in
a
few
sticks
of
furniture
,
and
while
the
play
was
in
hand
I
did
my
own
cooking
.
My
cooking
would
have
shocked
Mrs.
Bond
.
And
yet
,
you
know
,
it
had
flavour
.
I
had
a
coffee-pot
,
a
sauce-pan
for
eggs
,
and
one
for
potatoes
,
and
a
frying-pan
for
sausages
and
bacon
--
such
was
the
simple
apparatus
of
my
comfort
.
One
can
not
always
be
magnificent
,
but
simplicity
is
always
a
possible
alternative
.
For
the
rest
I
laid
in
an
eighteen-gallon
cask
of
beer
on
credit
,
and
a
trustful
baker
came
each
day
.
It
was
not
,
perhaps
,
in
the
style
of
Sybaris
,
but
I
have
had
worse
times
.
I
was
a
little
sorry
for
the
baker
,
who
was
a
very
decent
man
indeed
,
but
even
for
him
I
hoped
.
Certainly
if
any
one
wants
solitude
,
the
place
is
Lympne
.
It
is
in
the
clay
part
of
Kent
,
and
my
bungalow
stood
on
the
edge
of
an
old
sea
cliff
and
stared
across
the
flats
of
Romney
Marsh
at
the
sea
.
In
very
wet
weather
the
place
is
almost
inaccessible
,
and
I
have
heard
that
at
times
the
postman
used
to
traverse
the
more
succulent
portions
of
his
route
with
boards
upon
his
feet
.
I
never
saw
him
doing
so
,
but
I
can
quite
imagine
it
.
Outside
the
doors
of
the
few
cottages
and
houses
that
make
up
the
present
village
big
birch
besoms
are
stuck
,
to
wipe
off
the
worst
of
the
clay
,
which
will
give
some
idea
of
the
texture
of
the
district
.
I
doubt
if
the
place
would
be
there
at
all
,
if
it
were
not
a
fading
memory
of
things
gone
for
ever
.
It
was
the
big
port
of
England
in
Roman
times
,
Portus
Lemanis
,
and
now
the
sea
is
four
miles
away
.
All
down
the
steep
hill
are
boulders
and
masses
of
Roman
brickwork
,
and
from
it
old
Watling
Street
,
still
paved
in
places
,
starts
like
an
arrow
to
the
north
.
I
used
to
stand
on
the
hill
and
think
of
it
all
,
the
galleys
and
legions
,
the
captives
and
officials
,
the
women
and
traders
,
the
speculators
like
myself
,
all
the
swarm
and
tumult
that
came
clanking
in
and
out
of
the
harbour
.
And
now
just
a
few
lumps
of
rubble
on
a
grassy
slope
,
and
a
sheep
or
two
--
and
I.
And
where
the
port
had
been
were
the
levels
of
the
marsh
,
sweeping
round
in
a
broad
curve
to
distant
Dungeness
,
and
dotted
here
and
there
with
tree
clumps
and
the
church
towers
of
old
mediæval
towns
that
are
following
Lemanis
now
towards
extinction
.
That
outlook
on
the
marsh
was
,
indeed
,
one
of
the
finest
views
I
have
ever
seen
.
I
suppose
Dungeness
was
fifteen
miles
away
;
it
lay
like
a
raft
on
the
sea
,
and
farther
westward
were
the
hills
by
Hastings
under
the
setting
sun
.
Sometimes
they
hung
close
and
clear
,
sometimes
they
were
faded
and
low
,
and
often
the
drift
of
the
weather
took
them
clean
out
of
sight
.
And
all
the
nearer
parts
of
the
marsh
were
laced
and
lit
by
ditches
and
canals
.
The
window
at
which
I
worked
looked
over
the
skyline
of
this
crest
,
and
it
was
from
this
window
that
I
first
set
eyes
on
Cavor
.
It
was
just
as
I
was
struggling
with
my
scenario
,
holding
down
my
mind
to
the
sheer
hard
work
of
it
,
and
naturally
enough
he
arrested
my
attention
.
