-
Главная
-
- Книги
-
- Авторы
-
- Говард Лавкрафт
-
- Хребты безумия
-
- Стр. 37/38
Для того чтобы воспользоваться озвучкой предложений, необходимо
Войти или зарегистрироваться
Озвучка предложений доступна при наличии PRO-доступа
Купить PRO-доступ
Danforth
and
I
have
recollections
of
emerging
into
the
great
sculptured
hemisphere
and
of
threading
our
back
trail
through
the
Cyclopean
rooms
and
corridors
of
the
dead
city
;
yet
these
are
purely
dream
fragments
involving
no
memory
of
volition
,
details
,
or
physical
exertion
.
It
was
as
if
we
floated
in
a
nebulous
world
or
dimension
without
time
,
causation
,
or
orientation
.
The
gray
half-daylight
of
the
vast
circular
space
sobered
us
somewhat
;
but
we
did
not
go
near
those
cached
sledges
or
look
again
at
poor
Gedney
and
the
dog
.
They
have
a
strange
and
titanic
mausoleum
,
and
I
hope
the
end
of
this
planet
will
find
them
still
undisturbed
.
It
was
while
struggling
up
the
colossal
spiral
incline
that
we
first
felt
the
terrible
fatigue
and
short
breath
which
our
race
through
the
thin
plateau
air
had
produced
;
but
not
even
fear
of
collapse
could
make
us
pause
before
reaching
the
normal
outer
realm
of
sun
and
sky
.
There
was
something
vaguely
appropriate
about
our
departure
from
those
buried
epochs
;
for
as
we
wound
our
panting
way
up
the
sixty-foot
cylinder
of
primal
masonry
,
we
glimpsed
beside
us
a
continuous
procession
of
heroic
sculptures
in
the
dead
race
's
early
and
undecayed
technique
--
a
farewell
from
the
Old
Ones
,
written
fifty
million
years
ago
.
Finally
scrambling
out
at
the
top
,
we
found
ourselves
on
a
great
mound
of
tumbled
blocks
,
with
the
curved
walls
of
higher
stonework
rising
westward
,
and
the
brooding
peaks
of
the
great
mountains
showing
beyond
the
more
crumbled
structures
toward
the
east
.
The
low
antarctic
sun
of
midnight
peered
redly
from
the
southern
horizon
through
rifts
in
the
jagged
ruins
,
and
the
terrible
age
and
deadness
of
the
nightmare
city
seemed
all
the
starker
by
contrast
with
such
relatively
known
and
accustomed
things
as
the
features
of
the
polar
landscape
.
The
sky
above
was
a
churning
and
opalescent
mass
of
tenuous
ice-vapors
,
and
the
cold
clutched
at
our
vitals
.
Wearily
resting
the
outfit-bags
to
which
we
had
instinctively
clung
throughout
our
desperate
flight
,
we
rebuttoned
our
heavy
garments
for
the
stumbling
climb
down
the
mound
and
the
walk
through
the
aeon-old
stone
maze
to
the
foothills
where
our
aeroplane
waited
.
Of
what
had
set
us
fleeing
from
that
darkness
of
earth
's
secret
and
archaic
gulfs
we
said
nothing
at
all
.
In
less
than
a
quarter
of
an
hour
we
had
found
the
steep
grade
to
the
foothills
--
the
probable
ancient
terrace
--
by
which
we
had
descended
,
and
could
see
the
dark
bulk
of
our
great
plane
amidst
the
sparse
ruins
on
the
rising
slope
ahead
.
Halfway
uphill
toward
our
goal
we
paused
for
a
momentary
breathing
spell
,
and
turned
to
look
again
at
the
fantastic
tangle
of
incredible
stone
shapes
below
us
--
once
more
outlined
mystically
against
an
unknown
west
.
As
we
did
so
we
saw
that
the
sky
beyond
had
lost
its
morning
haziness
;
the
restless
ice-vapors
having
moved
up
to
the
zenith
,
where
their
mocking
outlines
seemed
on
the
point
of
settling
into
some
bizarre
pattern
which
they
feared
to
make
quite
definite
or
conclusive
.
There
now
lay
revealed
on
the
ultimate
white
horizon
behind
the
grotesque
city
a
dim
,
elfin
line
of
pinnacled
violet
whose
needle-pointed
heights
loomed
dreamlike
against
the
beckoning
rose
color
of
the
western
sky
.
Up
toward
this
shimmering
rim
sloped
the
ancient
table-land
,
the
depressed
course
of
the
bygone
river
traversing
it
as
an
irregular
ribbon
of
shadow
.
For
a
second
we
gasped
in
admiration
of
the
scene
's
unearthly
cosmic
beauty
,
and
then
vague
horror
began
to
creep
into
our
souls
.
For
this
far
violet
line
could
be
nothing
else
than
the
terrible
mountains
of
the
forbidden
land
--
highest
of
earth
's
peaks
and
focus
of
earth
's
evil
;
harborers
of
nameless
horrors
and
Archaean
secrets
;
shunned
and
prayed
to
by
those
who
feared
to
carve
their
meaning
;
untrodden
by
any
living
thing
on
earth
,
but
visited
by
the
sinister
lightnings
and
sending
strange
beams
across
the
plains
in
the
polar
night
--
beyond
doubt
the
unknown
archetype
of
that
dreaded
Kadath
in
the
Cold
Waste
beyond
abhorrent
Leng
,
whereof
primal
legends
hint
evasively
.
If
the
sculptured
maps
and
pictures
in
that
prehuman
city
had
told
truly
,
these
cryptic
violet
mountains
could
not
be
much
less
than
three
hundred
miles
away
;
yet
none
the
less
sharply
did
their
dim
elfin
essence
appear
above
that
remote
and
snowy
rim
,
like
the
serrated
edge
of
a
monstrous
alien
planet
about
to
rise
into
unaccustomed
heavens
.
Their
height
,
then
,
must
have
been
tremendous
beyond
all
comparison
--
carrying
them
up
into
tenuous
atmospheric
strata
peopled
only
by
such
gaseous
wraiths
as
rash
flyers
have
barely
lived
to
whisper
of
after
unexplainable
falls
.
Looking
at
them
,
I
thought
nervously
of
certain
sculptured
hints
of
what
the
great
bygone
river
had
washed
down
into
the
city
from
their
accursed
slopes
--
and
wondered
how
much
sense
and
how
much
folly
had
lain
in
the
fears
of
those
Old
Ones
who
carved
them
so
reticently
.
I
recalled
how
their
northerly
end
must
come
near
the
coast
at
Queen
Mary
Land
,
where
even
at
that
moment
Sir
Douglas
Mawson
's
expedition
was
doubtless
working
less
than
a
thousand
miles
away
;
and
hoped
that
no
evil
fate
would
give
Sir
Douglas
and
his
men
a
glimpse
of
what
might
lie
beyond
the
protecting
coastal
range
.
Such
thoughts
formed
a
measure
of
my
overwrought
condition
at
the
time
--
and
Danforth
seemed
to
be
even
worse
.
Yet
long
before
we
had
passed
the
great
star-shaped
ruin
and
reached
our
plane
,
our
fears
had
become
transferred
to
the
lesser
but
vast-enough
range
whose
recrossing
lay
ahead
of
us
.
From
these
foothills
the
black
,
ruin-crusted
slopes
reared
up
starkly
and
hideously
against
the
east
,
again
reminding
us
of
those
strange
Asian
paintings
of
Nicholas
Roerich
;
and
when
we
thought
of
the
frightful
amorphous
entities
that
might
have
pushed
their
fetidly
squirming
way
even
to
the
topmost
hollow
pinnacles
,
we
could
not
face
without
panic
the
prospect
of
again
sailing
by
those
suggestive
skyward
cave
mouths
where
the
wind
made
sounds
like
an
evil
musical
piping
over
a
wide
range
.
To
make
matters
worse
,
we
saw
distinct
traces
of
local
mist
around
several
of
the
summits
--
as
poor
Lake
must
have
done
when
he
made
that
early
mistake
about
volcanism
--
and
thought
shiveringly
of
that
kindred
mist
from
which
we
had
just
escaped
;
of
that
,
and
of
the
blasphemous
,
horror-fostering
abyss
whence
all
such
vapors
came
.
All
was
well
with
the
plane
,
and
we
clumsily
hauled
on
our
heavy
flying
furs
.
Danforth
got
the
engine
started
without
trouble
,
and
we
made
a
very
smooth
take-off
over
the
nightmare
city
.
Below
us
the
primal
Cyclopean
masonry
spread
out
as
it
had
done
when
first
we
saw
it
,
and
we
began
rising
and
turning
to
test
the
wind
for
our
crossing
through
the
pass
.
At
a
very
high
level
there
must
have
been
great
disturbance
,
since
the
ice-dust
clouds
of
the
zenith
were
doing
all
sorts
of
fantastic
things
;
but
at
twenty-four
thousand
feet
,
the
height
we
needed
for
the
pass
,
we
found
navigation
quite
practicable
.
As
we
drew
close
to
the
jutting
peaks
the
wind
's
strange
piping
again
became
manifest
,
and
I
could
see
Danforth
's
hands
trembling
at
the
controls
.
