-
Главная
-
- Книги
-
- Авторы
-
- Герман Мелвилл
-
- Моби Дик
-
- Стр. 29/297
Для того чтобы воспользоваться озвучкой предложений, необходимо
Войти или зарегистрироваться
Озвучка предложений доступна при наличии PRO-доступа
Купить PRO-доступ
By
hints
I
asked
him
whether
he
did
not
propose
going
back
,
and
having
a
coronation
;
since
he
might
now
consider
his
father
dead
and
gone
,
he
being
very
old
and
feeble
at
the
last
accounts
.
He
answered
no
,
not
yet
;
and
added
that
he
was
fearful
Christianity
,
or
rather
Christians
,
had
unfitted
him
for
ascending
the
pure
and
undefiled
throne
of
thirty
pagan
Kings
before
him
.
But
by
and
by
,
he
said
,
he
would
return
--
as
soon
as
he
felt
himself
baptized
again
.
For
the
nonce
,
however
,
he
proposed
to
sail
about
,
and
sow
his
wild
oats
in
all
four
oceans
.
They
had
made
a
harpooneer
of
him
,
and
that
barbed
iron
was
in
lieu
of
a
sceptre
now
.
I
asked
him
what
might
be
his
immediate
purpose
,
touching
his
future
movements
.
He
answered
,
to
go
to
sea
again
,
in
his
old
vocation
.
Upon
this
,
I
told
him
that
whaling
was
my
own
design
,
and
informed
him
of
my
intention
to
sail
out
of
Nantucket
,
as
being
the
most
promising
port
for
an
adventurous
whaleman
to
embark
from
.
He
at
once
resolved
to
accompany
me
to
that
island
,
ship
aboard
the
same
vessel
,
get
into
the
same
watch
,
the
same
boat
,
the
same
mess
with
me
,
in
short
to
share
my
every
hap
;
with
both
my
hands
in
his
,
boldly
dip
into
the
Potluck
of
both
worlds
.
To
all
this
I
joyously
assented
;
for
besides
the
affection
I
now
felt
for
Queequeg
,
he
was
an
experienced
harpooneer
,
and
as
such
,
could
not
fail
to
be
of
great
usefulness
to
one
,
who
,
like
me
,
was
wholly
ignorant
of
the
mysteries
of
whaling
,
though
well
acquainted
with
the
sea
,
as
known
to
merchant
seamen
.
His
story
being
ended
with
his
pipe
's
last
dying
puff
,
Queequeg
embraced
me
,
pressed
his
forehead
against
mine
,
and
blowing
out
the
light
,
we
rolled
over
from
each
other
,
this
way
and
that
,
and
very
soon
were
sleeping
.
Next
morning
,
Monday
,
after
disposing
of
the
embalmed
head
to
a
barber
,
for
a
block
,
I
settled
my
own
and
comrade
's
bill
;
using
,
however
,
my
comrade
's
money
.
The
grinning
landlord
,
as
well
as
the
boarders
,
seemed
amazingly
tickled
at
the
sudden
friendship
which
had
sprung
up
between
me
and
Queequeg
--
especially
as
Peter
Coffin
's
cock
and
bull
stories
about
him
had
previously
so
much
alarmed
me
concerning
the
very
person
whom
I
now
companied
with
.
We
borrowed
a
wheelbarrow
,
and
embarking
our
things
,
including
my
own
poor
carpet-bag
,
and
Queequeg
's
canvas
sack
and
hammock
,
away
we
went
down
to
"
the
Moss
,
"
the
little
Nantucket
packet
schooner
moored
at
the
wharf
.
As
we
were
going
along
the
people
stared
;
not
at
Queequeg
so
much
--
for
they
were
used
to
seeing
cannibals
like
him
in
their
streets
--
but
at
seeing
him
and
me
upon
such
confidential
terms
.
But
we
heeded
them
not
,
going
along
wheeling
the
barrow
by
turns
,
and
Queequeg
now
and
then
stopping
to
adjust
the
sheath
on
his
harpoon
barbs
.
I
asked
him
why
he
carried
such
a
troublesome
thing
with
him
ashore
,
and
whether
all
whaling
ships
did
not
find
their
own
harpoons
.
To
this
,
in
substance
,
he
replied
,
that
though
what
I
hinted
was
true
enough
,
yet
he
had
a
particular
affection
for
his
own
harpoon
,
because
it
was
of
assured
stuff
,
well
tried
in
many
a
mortal
combat
,
and
deeply
intimate
with
the
hearts
of
whales
.
In
short
,
like
many
reapers
and
mowers
,
who
go
into
the
farmer
's
meadows
armed
with
their
own
scythes
--
though
in
no
wise
obliged
to
furnish
them
--
even
so
,
Queequeg
,
for
his
own
private
reasons
,
preferred
his
own
harpoon
.
Shifting
the
barrow
from
my
hand
to
his
,
he
told
me
a
funny
story
about
the
first
wheelbarrow
he
had
ever
seen
.
It
was
in
Sag
Harbor
.
The
owners
of
his
ship
,
it
seems
,
had
lent
him
one
,
in
which
to
carry
his
heavy
chest
to
his
boarding
house
.
Not
to
seem
ignorant
about
the
thing
--
though
in
truth
he
was
entirely
so
,
concerning
the
precise
way
in
which
to
manage
the
barrow
--
Queequeg
puts
his
chest
upon
it
;
lashes
it
fast
;
and
then
shoulders
the
barrow
and
marches
up
the
wharf
.
"
Why
,
"
said
I
,
"
Queequeg
,
you
might
have
known
better
than
that
,
one
would
think
.
Did
n't
the
people
laugh
?
"
Upon
this
,
he
told
me
another
story
.
The
people
of
his
island
of
Rokovoko
,
it
seems
,
at
their
wedding
feasts
express
the
fragrant
water
of
young
cocoanuts
into
a
large
stained
calabash
like
a
punchbowl
;
and
this
punchbowl
always
forms
the
great
central
ornament
on
the
braided
mat
where
the
feast
is
held
.
Now
a
certain
grand
merchant
ship
once
touched
at
Rokovoko
,
and
its
commander
--
from
all
accounts
,
a
very
stately
punctilious
gentleman
,
at
least
for
a
sea
captain
--
this
commander
was
invited
to
the
wedding
feast
of
Queequeg
's
sister
,
a
pretty
young
princess
just
turned
of
ten
.
Well
;
when
all
the
wedding
guests
were
assembled
at
the
bride
's
bamboo
cottage
,
this
Captain
marches
in
,
and
being
assigned
the
post
of
honor
,
placed
himself
over
against
the
punchbowl
,
and
between
the
High
Priest
and
his
majesty
the
King
,
Queequeg
's
father
.
Grace
being
said
--
for
those
people
have
their
grace
as
well
as
we
--
though
Queequeg
told
me
that
unlike
us
,
who
at
such
times
look
downwards
to
our
platters
,
they
,
on
the
contrary
,
copying
the
ducks
,
glance
upwards
to
the
great
Giver
of
all
feasts
--
Grace
,
I
say
,
being
said
,
the
High
Priest
opens
the
banquet
by
the
immemorial
ceremony
of
the
island
;
that
is
,
dipping
his
consecrated
and
consecrating
fingers
into
the
bowl
before
the
blessed
beverage
circulates
.
Seeing
himself
placed
next
the
Priest
,
and
noting
the
ceremony
,
and
thinking
himself
--
being
Captain
of
a
ship
--
as
having
plain
precedence
over
a
mere
island
King
,
especially
in
the
King
's
own
house
--
the
Captain
coolly
proceeds
to
wash
his
hands
in
the
punch
bowl
;
--
taking
it
I
suppose
for
a
huge
finger-glass
.
"
Now
,
"
said
Queequeg
,
"
what
you
tink
now
?
--
Did
n't
our
people
laugh
?
"
