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- Марк Твен
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- Принц и нищий
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- Стр. 77/153
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Hobbs
and
Hugo
fell
to
talking
together
,
in
low
voices
,
and
the
King
removed
himself
as
far
as
he
could
from
their
disagreeable
company
.
He
withdrew
into
the
twilight
of
the
farther
end
of
the
barn
,
where
he
found
the
earthen
floor
bedded
a
foot
deep
with
straw
.
He
lay
down
here
,
drew
straw
over
himself
in
lieu
of
blankets
,
and
was
soon
absorbed
in
thinking
.
He
had
many
griefs
,
but
the
minor
ones
were
swept
almost
into
forgetfulness
by
the
supreme
one
,
the
loss
of
his
father
.
To
the
rest
of
the
world
the
name
of
Henry
VIII
.
brought
a
shiver
,
and
suggested
an
ogre
whose
nostrils
breathed
destruction
and
whose
hand
dealt
scourgings
and
death
;
but
to
this
boy
the
name
brought
only
sensations
of
pleasure
;
the
figure
it
invoked
wore
a
countenance
that
was
all
gentleness
and
affection
.
He
called
to
mind
a
long
succession
of
loving
passages
between
his
father
and
himself
,
and
dwelt
fondly
upon
them
,
his
unstinted
tears
attesting
how
deep
and
real
was
the
grief
that
possessed
his
heart
.
As
the
afternoon
wasted
away
,
the
lad
,
wearied
with
his
troubles
,
sank
gradually
into
a
tranquil
and
healing
slumber
.
After
a
considerable
time
--
he
could
not
tell
how
long
--
his
senses
struggled
to
a
half-consciousness
,
and
as
he
lay
with
closed
eyes
vaguely
wondering
where
he
was
and
what
had
been
happening
,
he
noted
a
murmurous
sound
,
the
sullen
beating
of
rain
upon
the
roof
.
A
snug
sense
of
comfort
stole
over
him
,
which
was
rudely
broken
,
the
next
moment
,
by
a
chorus
of
piping
cackles
and
coarse
laughter
.
It
startled
him
disagreeably
,
and
he
unmuffled
his
head
to
see
whence
this
interruption
proceeded
.
A
grim
and
unsightly
picture
met
his
eye
.
A
bright
fire
was
burning
in
the
middle
of
the
floor
,
at
the
other
end
of
the
barn
;
and
around
it
,
and
lit
weirdly
up
by
the
red
glare
,
lolled
and
sprawled
the
motliest
company
of
tattered
gutter-scum
and
ruffians
,
of
both
sexes
,
he
had
ever
read
or
dreamed
of
.
There
were
huge
stalwart
men
,
brown
with
exposure
,
long-haired
,
and
clothed
in
fantastic
rags
;
there
were
middle-sized
youths
,
of
truculent
countenance
,
and
similarly
clad
;
there
were
blind
mendicants
,
with
patched
or
bandaged
eyes
;
crippled
ones
,
with
wooden
legs
and
crutches
;
diseased
ones
,
with
running
sores
peeping
from
ineffectual
wrappings
;
there
was
a
villain-looking
pedlar
with
his
pack
;
a
knife-grinder
,
a
tinker
,
and
a
barber-surgeon
,
with
the
implements
of
their
trades
;
some
of
the
females
were
hardly-grown
girls
,
some
were
at
prime
,
some
were
old
and
wrinkled
hags
,
and
all
were
loud
,
brazen
,
foul-mouthed
;
and
all
soiled
and
slatternly
;
there
were
three
sore-faced
babies
;
there
were
a
couple
of
starveling
curs
,
with
strings
about
their
necks
,
whose
office
was
to
lead
the
blind
.
The
night
was
come
,
the
gang
had
just
finished
feasting
,
an
orgy
was
beginning
;
the
can
of
liquor
was
passing
from
mouth
to
mouth
.
A
general
cry
broke
forth
--
"
A
song
!
a
song
from
the
Bat
and
Dick
and
Dot-and-go-One
!
"
One
of
the
blind
men
got
up
,
and
made
ready
by
casting
aside
the
patches
that
sheltered
his
excellent
eyes
,
and
the
pathetic
placard
which
recited
the
cause
of
his
calamity
.
Dot-and-go-One
disencumbered
himself
of
his
timber
leg
and
took
his
place
,
upon
sound
and
healthy
limbs
,
beside
his
fellow-rascal
;
then
they
roared
out
a
rollicking
ditty
,
and
were
reinforced
by
the
whole
crew
,
at
the
end
of
each
stanza
,
in
a
rousing
chorus
.
By
the
time
the
last
stanza
was
reached
,
the
half-drunken
enthusiasm
had
risen
to
such
a
pitch
,
that
everybody
joined
in
and
sang
it
clear
through
from
the
beginning
,
producing
a
volume
of
villainous
sound
that
made
the
rafters
quake
.
These
were
the
inspiring
words
:
--
'
Bien
Darkman
's
then
,
Bouse
Mort
and
Ken
,
The
bien
Coves
bings
awast
,
On
Chates
to
trine
by
Rome
Coves
dine
