Literary heroes and their prototypes: who were the three in the boat in real life, not counting the dog. Three in the boat, not counting the dog

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"Three Men in a Boat (To Say Nothing of the Dog), 1889) is a world-famous humorous story by the English writer Jerome K. Jerome, which tells about the boat trip of three friends and their faithful companion, a fox terrier named Montmorency. story writer jerome hero

The book begins by introducing the reader to the characters themselves: the ironic but at the same time sentimental Jerome (Jay), George, who is constantly tormented by thirst, and the pragmatic Harris. As for the fox terrier, the work gives him Special attention. The narration itself is told on behalf of Jay, and this is how he speaks of Montmorency: “When first he came to live at my expense, I never thought I should be able to get him to stop long. I used to sit down and look at him, as he sat on the rug and looked up at me, and think: “Oh, that dog will never live. He will be snatched up to the bright skies in a chariot, that is what will happen to him." But, when I had paid for about a dozen chickens that he had killed; and had dragged him, growling and kicking, by the scruff of his neck, out of a hundred and fourteen street fights; and had a dead cat brought round for my inspection by an irate female, who called me a murderer; and had been summoned by the man next door but one for having a ferocious dog at large, that had kept him pinned up in his own tool-shed, afraid to venture his nose outside the door for over two hours on a cold night; and had learned that the gardener, unknown to myself, had won thirty shillings by backing him to kill rats against time, then I began to think that maybe they"d let him remain on earth for a bit longer, after all."

So, on the first pages of the story, three friends spend the evening visiting Jay, smoking and discussing diseases from which they all suffer terribly. Harris and George complain of dizziness, but Jay is convinced that his liver is not normal. The following describes a comical episode from Jay’s life, when he once found one hundred and seven diseases in himself, having read them in a medical reference book. Thinking about how interesting he was to doctors, he went to his doctor friend and told him the following when he asked what happened to him: “Will not take up your time, dear boy, with telling you what is the matter with me. Life is brief, and you might pass away before I had finished. But I will tell you what is not the matter with me. I have not got the housemaid's knee. Why I have not got the housemaid "s knee, I cannot tell you; but the fact remains that I have not got it. Everything else, however, I have got." The doctor, in turn, wrote Jay a prescription: “1 lb. beefsteak, with 1 pt. bitter beer every 6 hours. 1 ten-mile walk every morning. 1 bed at 11 sharp every night. And don”t stuff up your head with things you don't understand". Remembering this incident, Jay admits that: "I followed the directions, with the happy result -- speaking for myself -- that my life was preserved, and is still going on."

Then the friends come to the conclusion that all their troubles are due to overwork and they urgently need rest. After much discussion, the trio decide to take a boat up the Thames, from Kingston to Oxford. The departure is scheduled for next Saturday. George must be at work that day (“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”), so Jay and Harris get to Kingston on their own train. A hired boat is waiting for them there, and they begin their journey. George joins them later, in Weybridge. The rest of the story is about their journey and the comical situations that happen along the way.

The book was originally intended to be a travel guide, and this can be seen in the way the narrator describes the sights and settlements(eg Hampton Court, Hampton St. Mary's, Monkey Island, Magna Carta Island and Marlow), reflects on the connections of these places to history. Despite this, the author often makes humorous asides, for example about the unreliability of barometers in predicting the weather, or about the difficulties one faces in learning to play the Scottish bagpipes. The book includes countless humorous episodes: how the worthy Uncle Podger hung a picture, adventures with stinking cheese, an unpleasant incident with a German professor, how George was the first to rise early and last time in real life, a story about two tipsy gentlemen lying down on one bed in the dark, about a plaster trout, or about an Irish stew prepared by mixing the remains of provisions from a basket with products: "George said it was absurd to have only four potatoes in an Irish stew , so we washed half-a-dozen or so more, and put them in without peeling. We also put in a cabbage and about half a peck of peas. George stirred it all up, and the n he said that there seemed to be a lot of room to spare, so we overhauled both the hampers, and picked out all the odds and ends and the remnants, and added them to the stew. There were half a pork pie and a bit of cold boiled bacon left, and we put them in. Then George found half a tin of potted salmon, and he emptied that into the pot. He said that was the advantage of Irish stew: you got rid of such a lot of things. I fished out a couple of eggs that had got cracked, and put those in. George said they would thicken the gravy. I forget the other ingredients, but I know nothing was wasted; and I remember that, towards the end, Montmorency, who had evinced great interest in the proceedings throughout, strolled away with an earnest and thoughtful air, reappearing, a few minutes afterwards, with a dead water-rat in his mouth, which he evidently wished to present as his contribution to the dinner; whether in a sarcastic spirit, or with a desire to assist, I cannot genuine say."

Thus, one of the most remarkable features of the book is “eternal youth”; the jokes seem funny and witty even today. In the preface to the 1909 edition, Jerome K. Jerome admitted his own bewilderment at the book's popularity: "I think I have written funnier things." Nevertheless, it was this book that eventually began to be called “perhaps the funniest book in the world.”

And indeed, after reading this story, I understood what real English humor is. I have probably never come across such a cheerful, carefree work. As I said above, on the thread of the narrative about the journey along the river, the author strings, like beads, everyday episodes, anecdotes, and funny adventures. In addition, many quotes from this work have already become aphorisms, for example: “A clear conscience gives a feeling of satisfaction and happiness, but a full stomach allows you to achieve the same goal with greater ease and less cost,” “But we have gained experience, and for experience, how they say, no matter how much you pay, you won’t overpay,” “I take great care of my work. Some of the work that I have now has been in my office for many years, and there is not a stain on it. I am very proud of my work. Sometimes I take it off the shelf and sweep away the dust. I, like no one, care about its safety," "It’s not good to go with the flow all the time. It’s much more fun, straining your back, to fight it, to go forward in defiance of it, - according to at least it seems so to me when Harris and George are rowing and I am steering."

The story of the journey of three friends and their four-legged companion ends quite predictably: having reached Oxford, they stop there for three days and then set off for Return trip. They have to row all day in the pouring rain. At first they are delighted with this weather, and Jay and Harris begin to sing about gypsy life, in the evening they play cards and talk about deaths from rheumatism, bronchitis and pneumonia. Following this, a heartbreaking melody performed by George on the guitar completely deprives the travelers of their presence of mind, and Harris begins to sob like a child: "The desire that grew upon Harris and myself, as the mournful strains progressed, was to fall upon each other"s necks and weep; but by great effort we kept back the rising tears, and listened to the wild yearnful melody in silence. There we broke down. The unutterable pathos of George"s accompaniment to that "two" we were, in our then state of depression, unable to bear. Harris sobbed like a little child, and the dog howled till I thought his heart or his jaw must surely break. "

The next day, the nature lovers cannot withstand the severe test sent to them by the weather, abandon the boat at Pangbourne in the care of the boatman and in the evening arrive safely in London, where dinner in a restaurant reconciles them with life, and they raise their glasses to their wise last act: "- - Well, --said Harris, reaching his hand out for his glass, -- we have had a pleasant trip, and my hearty thanks for it to old Father Thames -- but I think we did well to chuck it when we did. Here's to Three Men well out of a Boat! And Montmorency, standing on his hind legs, before the window, peering out into the night, gave a short bark of decided concurrence with the toast."

In conclusion, I would like to add that “Three in a Boat, Not Counting a Dog” is an excellent example of English humor, which, it seems, will surprise and delight its reader for many centuries to come. To date, the book has been translated into almost all languages of the world, including Japanese, Pitman's "phonography", Hebrew, Afrikaans, Irish, Portuguese. The work was most popular during the life of Jerome K. Jerome in Germany and Russia. On English language the book was filmed three times (in 1920, 1933, and 1956), it was adapted into a musical, adapted several times for television and stage, read many times on the radio and recorded on tape, and staged at least twice as a one-man show. The book is regularly republished to this day.

In Russian, the book is known in the translation by M. Donskoy and E. Linetskaya, in the translation by E. Kudasheva, and also in the translation by M. Salye.

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History of creation and characters

The prototypes of the three are Jerome himself (narrator Jay - in the original only the first letter of the name - J. from Jerome) and his two real friends with whom he often went boating: George Wingrave (who later became general manager at Barclays Bank) and Karl Hentschel (who founded a printing business in London and is called Harris in the book). Montmorency the Dog is a fictional character. (“I pulled Montmorency out of the depths of my own consciousness,” Jerome admitted; but even Montmorency later “materialized” - the dog is said to have been given to Jerome many years after the book’s publication, in Russia in St. Petersburg.)

The book was originally intended to be a guidebook, highlighting local history as the route was followed. Jerome initially intended to call the book A Tale of the Thames. “I didn’t even intend to write a funny book at first,” he admitted in his memoirs. The book was to focus on the Thames and its "scenery", landscape and historical, with only a few funny stories "for relief". “But for some reason it didn’t work out that way. It turned out that it all became “ridiculous for relaxation.” With gloomy determination I continued... I wrote a dozen historical pieces and squeezed them in, one per chapter.” The first publisher, F. W. Robinson, immediately threw out almost all such pieces and forced Jerome to come up with a different title. “I wrote half of it when this title came to my mind - “Three Men in a Boat.” There was nothing better."

The first chapter appeared in the August 1888 issue of the monthly Home Chimes (edited by F. W. Robinson), the last in the June 1889 issue. While the story was being printed, Jerome signed an agreement in Bristol with the publisher J. W. Arrowsmith, who bought and published the book in the late summer of 1889. Twenty years after the book was first published in hardback, it had sold more than 200,000 copies in Britain and more than a million in America.

One of the most remarkable features of the book is “eternal youth”; the jokes still seem funny and witty today. In the preface to the 1909 edition, Jerome admitted his own bewilderment at the book's continued popularity: "I think I have written funnier things." Nevertheless, it was this book that eventually began to be called “perhaps the funniest book in the world.”

For its time, the popularity of the book is also explained by its novelty in terms of ideas. The then very popular Conan Doyle, Rider Haggard, Rudyard Kipling, Robert Louis Stevenson offered the reader completely unrealistic heroes and equally unrealistic villains. In Jerome's story, the reader meets the most ordinary types who find entertainment, so to speak, “around the corner” (and almost the same one behind which the reader himself lives). In an era when literature had no shortage of pomposity and bombast, one could get a “breath of fresh air” from Jerome.

To date, the book has been translated into almost all languages of the world, including Japanese, Pitman's "phonography", Hebrew, Afrikaans, Irish, Portuguese. During Jerome’s lifetime, “Three” was most popular in Germany and Russia. In English, the book was filmed three times (in 1920, 1933, and 1956), it was adapted into a musical, adapted several times for television and stage, read many times on the radio and recorded on tape, and staged at least twice in a one-man theater " The book is regularly republished to this day.

Plot

The book begins by introducing the reader to the characters - George, Harris, Jay (the narrator) and a dog named Montmorency. The men while away the evening at Jay's house, smoking and discussing the illnesses from which they all suffer terribly. They come to the conclusion that all their troubles are due to overwork and they urgently need rest. After much discussion, a holiday in the countryside and a boat trip were rejected (Jay describes the sad experiences of his brother-in-law and friend on trips of this kind). As a result, the trio decide to go up the Thames by boat, from Kingston to Oxford, setting up camp for the night (despite all Jay's stories about previous experience setting up awnings and tents). The departure is scheduled for next Saturday. George had to be at work that day (“George had to sleep in the bank from ten to four every day except Saturday. On Saturdays he was woken up and sent out at two.”), so Jay and Harris must get to Kingston by train on their own. . At Waterloo station, they can't find the train they need (the confusing layout of train stations has often been played up in comedies Victorian era), so they have to bribe the driver to direct his train to Kingston. There a hired boat is waiting for them and they begin their journey. George joins them later, in Weybridge. The rest of the story is about their journey and the incidents that happen during it. The book was originally conceived as a guidebook, and this can be seen in the fact that the narrator describes attractions and settlements (for example, Hampton Court, Hampton St. Mary's Church, Monkey Island, Magna Carta Island and Marlow), reflecting on the connections between these places with history. Despite this, the author often makes humorous asides, for example, about the unreliability of barometers in predicting the weather, or about the difficulties one faces in learning to play the Scottish bagpipes. The most common topic is the realities of river travel (for example, fishing or rowing) and the difficulties that await inexperienced and overly trusting travelers. The book includes classic humorous scenes: the story of two tipsy gentlemen lying down on the same bed in the dark, a plaster trout in the seventeenth chapter, or an Irish stew in the fourteenth, prepared by mixing the remains of provisions from a food basket:

“I forgot the rest of the ingredients of our concoction; I only know that nothing was missed. I also remember how at the end of this procedure Montmorency, who showed the greatest interest in everything that was happening, walked away somewhere with a serious and thoughtful look, and a few minutes later brought a dead water rat in his teeth. Apparently, he wanted to contribute to our feast, but what was it - mockery or sincere desire I can’t help, I can’t say.”

Film adaptations

Notes

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See what “Three in a boat, not counting the dog” is in other dictionaries:

- “THREE IN A BOAT, NOT COUNTING THE DOG”, USSR, LENFILM, 1979, color, 135 min. Musical comedy. Based on the story of the same name by Jerome K. Jerome. The film stars the fox terrier Duke. Cast: Andrei Mironov (see Andrei Alexandrovich MIRONOV),... ... Encyclopedia of Cinema

THREE IN A BOAT, NOT COUNTING THE DOG- 1979, 2 episodes, 135 min., color, creative. Genre: musical comedy. dir. Nahum Birman, screenwriter Semyon Lungin (based on the story of the same name by Jerome K. Jerome), opera. Henrikh Maranjyan, artist. Isaac Kaplan, comp. Alexander Kolker, sound Igor Vigdorchik. IN… … Lenfilm. Annotated Film Catalog (1918-2003)

Three Men in a Boat (To Say Nothing of the Dog) Genre: Humorous story Author: Jerome K. Jerome Original language: English Year of writing: 1889 Three Men in a Boat (To Say Nothing of the Dog) Three Men ... Wikipedia

This term has other meanings, see Three in a Boat, Not Counting a Dog (meanings). Three people in the boat, not counting the dog... Wikipedia

Three in a Boat and a Dog: Three in a Boat and a Dog is a humorous story by J. C. Jerome. Three in a Boat, Not Counting the Dog, a 1979 Soviet musical comedy film based on the story of the same name by J. C. Jerome. See also Three in... ... Wikipedia

- ... Wikipedia

Three Men in a Boat, Not Counting a Dog (story) is a humorous story by J. C. Jerome (Three Men in a Boat (To Say Nothing of the Dog)). Three in a Boat, Not Counting the Dog (film) 1979 Soviet musical comedy film based on ... Wikipedia

Honored Artist of the RSFSR (1954).
People's Artist of the RSFSR (03/8/1960)
People's Artist of the USSR (1972).

She appeared on stage for the first time at the age of nine in the play “Kamo Gryadeshi” (season 1913), in the troupe of N. N. Sinelnikov in Yekaterinoslav, the role of Avliy, Lithia’s brother. And for the work in the next production - " Noble Nest"This is the first time she has received a fee.
In 1914, in the play “Anna Karenina,” Tatyana played Seryozha Karenin, and impressionable ladies were carried out of the theater without feelings: this is how the scene of Anna’s farewell to her son affected them.
Since 1916 - “actress for hire” in N.N.’s enterprise. Sinelnikova.
In 1920, the actress was accepted into the troupe of the traveling Theater of the Political Administration of the Revolutionary Military Council of the Republic.
She started her first independent season in Yeisk. For three years I traveled all over the country - Nakhichevan, Penza...

Since 1925, she has been an actress at the MGSPS Theater, in the play “Storm” (directed by Lyubimov-Lanskoy) she played two roles at once - Parasha and a pregnant woman.
In 1936-1937 - actress of Yaroslavsky drama theater named after Fyodor Volkov.
In 1937-1938 she was an actress at the Kolkhoz Theater in Moscow.
In 1938, Tatyana Ivanovna returned to the MGSPS theater and learned about the opening of the Miniature Theater. In 1940 she came to this theater and “settled” there for seven years.
She appeared on the stage of the Miniature Theater in the wonderful company of Rina Zelenaya, Maria Mironova, Alexander Menaker, Natalia Nurm, Yuri Khrzhanovsky.
In 1947-1977 - actress of the Satire Theater.
The first role in the Satire Theater was Mrs. Jacobs in E. Petrov’s pamphlet “Island of Peace.” Then she played in the plays: “Someone else’s Child”, “Spilled Cup”, “Dowry Wedding”, “Choir”, “My Hopes”, “Old Maid”, “Lies for a Narrow Circle”, “My Home, My Fortress”, “Breakfast with the Leader”, “Intervention”, “The House Where Hearts Break”, “Captive of Time”, “Temp 1929”, “Kid and Carlson”, and only two roles from the classical repertoire: Manefa in “Enough for Every Wise Man” simplicity" and Kukushkina in "Profitable Place". In her “benefit” role of Aunt Tony in the play “Awake and Sing,” Tatyana Ivanovna sang, danced, and flew up the stairs with the ease of a young girl, and yet she was already nearly seventy. Just as infectiously, she played Marceline in the play “Crazy Day, or The Marriage of Figaro.” Among the many roles played at the Satire Theater - the main role in the play “Mother Courage and Her Children.” There was no usual gaiety in her, no mischievous sparkle in her eyes - before us was an old woman, exhausted by the war, who had lost her children. Empty eyes, slow movements...

Tatyana Ivanovna Peltzer became People's Artist USSR - the first in the 48 years of the existence of the Satire Theater.

She made her film debut with a small role in satirical comedy“Wedding” (1943), then appeared in the drama “She Defends the Motherland.” The first significant film role was Plaksina in the film by Grigory Kozintsev and Leonid Trauberg “ Simple people"(1945). The actress’s role as Lukerya in the play “Dowry Wedding,” which was filmed and widely shown in cinemas across the country, brought enormous popularity to the actress. Next came the film “Soldier Ivan Brovkin”, where she played the main character’s mother.

In 1992, after a nervous strain, Tatyana Ivanovna was again hospitalized. There she fell and broke her hip. For an 88-year-old man, there was only one outcome... Late in Moscow on the evening of July 16, 1992, Tatyana Ivanovna Peltzer passed away.
The actress was buried in Moscow at the Vvedensky (German) cemetery next to her father’s grave (site No. 28).

Three friends: George, Harris and Jay (short for Jerome) are planning to take a pleasure boat trip up the Thames. They intend to have great fun, take a break from London with its unhealthy climate and merge with nature. Their preparations last much longer than they initially expected, because every time, with great efforts on the part of the young people, the bag is closed, it turns out that some item necessary for the coming morning, such as a toothbrush or razor, turns out to be hopelessly buried in the depths of a bag, which has to be reopened and all its contents rummaged through. Finally, on the following Saturday (after sleeping for three hours), under the whispers of all the neighborhood shopkeepers, three friends and Jay’s dog, the fox terrier Montmorency, leave the house and first in a cab, and then on a commuter train, get to the river.

On the thread of the narrative about the journey along the river, the author strings, like beads, everyday episodes, anecdotes, and funny adventures. For example, sailing past the Hampton Court Maze, Harris remembers how he once went there to show it to his visiting relative. Judging by the plan, the labyrinth seemed very simple, but Harris, having gathered about twenty people who were lost along its entire length and assuring them that finding a way out was elementary, led them along it from morning until lunch, until an experienced watchman, who came in the afternoon, brought them into the light of day.

The Molesey Lock and the multi-colored carpet of colorful outfits of travelers resorting to his services remind Jay of two overdressed young ladies with whom he once sailed in the same boat, and how they trembled at every drop that fell on their priceless dresses and lace umbrellas.

As the friends pass by Hampton Church and the cemetery, which Harris certainly wants to see, Jay, not a fan of this kind of entertainment, reflects on how intrusive cemetery guards can sometimes be, and recalls the time when he had to run away from one of such guardians from all over the world. legs, and he certainly wanted to force him to look at a pair of skulls specially reserved for inquisitive tourists.

Harris, dissatisfied that he is not allowed to go ashore even on such a significant occasion, reaches into the basket for lemonade. At the same time, he continues to control the boat, which does not tolerate such negligence and crashes into the shore. Harris dives into the basket, sticks his head into its bottom and, with his legs spread out in the air, remains in this position until Jay comes to his rescue.

Having moored at Hampton Park for a snack, the travelers get out of the boat, and after breakfast Harris begins to sing comic couplets as only he can do it. When he has to pull the boat on a towline, Jay, without hiding his indignation, expresses everything that he thinks about the waywardness and treachery of the towline, which, having just been stretched, again gets tangled in an unimaginable way and quarrels with everyone who, trying to bring it more or less ordered state, touches it. However, when you are dealing with a towline, and especially with young ladies pulling a boat on a towline, it is impossible to get bored. They manage to wrap themselves in it so much that they almost strangle themselves, and having unraveled, they throw themselves on the grass and begin to laugh. Then they get up, pull the boat too fast for a while and then stop and run it aground. True, the young people who stretch the canvas onto the boat for an overnight stay are also not inferior to them in the originality of their execution. So, George and Harris wrap themselves in canvas and, with faces blackened from suffocation, wait for Jay to free them from captivity.

After dinner, the character and mood of travelers change dramatically. If, as they have already noticed, the river climate influences the general increase in irritability, then full stomachs, on the contrary, turn people into complacent phlegmatic people. The friends spend the night in the boat, but, oddly enough, even the laziest of them are not particularly inclined to sleep for a long time by the bumps and nails protruding from its bottom. They get up at sunrise and continue on their way. The next morning, a sharp icy wind blows, and not a trace remains of the friends’ evening intention to swim before breakfast. However, Jay still has to dive for the shirt that fell into the water. All chilled, he returns to the boat to the cheerful laughter of George. When it turns out that George's shirt is wet, its owner moves at lightning speed from unbridled joy to gloomy indignation and curses.

Harris begins to cook breakfast, but out of the six eggs that miraculously ended up in the frying pan, only one spoonful of burnt mash remains. For dessert after lunch, the friends intend to eat canned pineapples, but it turns out that the can opener was left at home. After numerous unsuccessful attempts to open the can with an ordinary knife, scissors, the tip of a hook and a mast and the wounds resulting from these attempts, the irritated travelers throw the can, which by that time had acquired an unimaginable appearance, into the middle of the river.

Then they sail and, daydreaming, crash into the punt of three respectable fishermen. In Marlowe they leave the boat and spend the night at the Crown Hotel. The next morning, friends go shopping. They leave each store with a boy-porter carrying a basket of groceries. As a result, when they approach the river, they are followed by a whole horde of boys with baskets. The boatman is incredibly surprised when he learns that the heroes rented not a steam boat or a pontoon, but only a four-oared skiff.

Friends have a real hatred for arrogant boats and their arrogant horns. Therefore, by all means they try to dangle in front of their noses as often as possible and cause them as much trouble and trouble as possible.

The next day, the young gentlemen peel the potatoes, but their peeling reduces the size of the potato to the size of a nut. Montmorency fights with a boiling kettle. The teapot emerges victorious from this struggle and instills horror and hatred in Montmorency for a long time. After dinner, George plans to play the banjo he brought with him. However, nothing good comes of this. Montmorency's mournful howl and George's playing are in no way conducive to calming the nerves.

The next day he has to row, and Jay remembers how he first came into contact with rowing, how he built rafts from stolen boards and how he had to pay for it (with cuffs and slaps on the head). And when he went sailing for the first time, he crashed into a muddy bank. Trying to get out of it, he broke all the oars and spent three whole hours in this self-made trap until some fisherman towed his boat to the pier.

Near Reading, George fishes the corpse of a drowned woman out of the water and fills the air with a scream of horror. At Streatley, travelers stay for two days to take their clothes to the laundry. Before this, under the leadership of George, they independently attempted to wash it in the Thames, but after this event, the Thames apparently became much cleaner than it was, and the washerwoman had to not just wash the dirt from their clothes, but rake it away.

In one of the hotels, friends see a stuffed huge trout in the lobby. Everyone who comes in and finds the young people alone assures them that it was he who caught her. Clumsy George breaks the trout, and it turns out that the fish is made of plaster.

Having reached Oxford, the friends stop there for three days and then set off on their way back. All day long they have to row to the accompaniment of rain. At first they are delighted with this weather, and Jay and Harris begin to sing about gypsy life. In the evening they play cards and have a fascinating conversation about deaths from rheumatism, bronchitis and pneumonia. Following this, a heartbreaking melody performed by George on a banjo completely deprives the travelers of their presence of mind, and Harris begins to sob like a child.

The next day, these nature lovers cannot withstand the severe test sent to them by the weather, abandon the boat at Pangbourn in the care of the boatman and in the evening arrive safely in London, where an excellent dinner in a restaurant reconciles them with life, and they raise their glasses to their wise last act.

CHAPTER XIV

Wargrave. - Cabinet of wax figures. - Sonning. - Our stew. - Montmorency mocks. - The battle of Montmorency with the teapot. - George is practicing playing the banjo. - Complete disappointment. - The sad lot of amateur musicians. - Learning to play the bagpipes. - After dinner, Harris becomes despondent. - George and I are going for a walk. - We return hungry and wet. - Strange behavior of Harris. - An amazing story about Harris and the swans. - Harris experiences a troubled night

After breakfast we took advantage of a fair breeze which carried us easily past Wargrave and Shiplake. Nestled comfortably in a bend of the river, sweetly dozing under the rays of the midday sun, Wargrave reminds you, when you float by, of a charming old picture, which is then imprinted for a long time on the retina of memory.

Wargrave's George and Dragon Inn boasts a sign, one side of which was painted by Leslie, a member of the Royal Academy, and the other by Hodgson, one of his fellows. Leslie depicted a battle with a dragon; Hodgson added the “After the Battle” scene: St. George the Victorious is resting after the labors of the righteous over a glass of beer.

Day, the author of Sandford and Merton, lived in Wargrave and - to the greater glory of the city - was murdered there. They'll show you at Wargrave Church memorial plaque in honor of Mrs. Sarah Hill, who bequeathed a capital from which one pound sterling was to be divided annually at Easter between two boys and two girls who “never disobeyed their parents, never, so far as is known, cursed, never told a lie, never took “They didn’t break anything without asking and they didn’t break glass.” Just think about it; to lose such pleasures for the sake of just five shillings a year! It is not worth it!

There is a legend that once, many years ago, a boy appeared in the city who really had never done anything like this (or, if he did, then in such a way that no one knew about it, and nothing more was demanded or expected from him), and thus won the crown of glory. After that, he was put under a glass bell and shown in the city hall for three weeks.

The further fate of the money is unknown to anyone. Rumor has it that they are transferred annually to the nearest waxworks cabinet.

Shiplake is a charming town, but it is not visible from the river as it is on a hill. Tennyson was married in Shiplake Church.

Further, as far as Sonning, the river is dotted with many islands; here it is calm, quiet and deserted. Only at dusk a few couples of village lovers wander along its banks. Arry and Lord Fitznoodle were left behind in Henley, and dirty, gloomy Reading was still a long way off. In these places it’s good to dream about bygone days, about disappeared faces and images, about things that could have happened and did not happen - so that they would be empty!

In Sonning we got off the boat and went for a walk around the town. This is the most magical place on the Thames. It looks more like a decoration than a real city, built of brick and mortar. All his houses are surrounded by rose bushes, and now, in early June, they are surrounded by waves of a delicious aroma. If you happen to be in Sonning, stop by the Bull, behind the church. This is a real rustic old inn with a green square courtyard in front of the façade, where evening hours Old people gather under the trees and discuss village news over a mug of ale. You will find amazing rooms with low ceilings, shutters on the windows, winding passages and extremely uncomfortable stairs.

After wandering around lovely Sonning for an hour, we decided that there was no point in rushing to Reading, but rather to return for an overnight stay to one of the Shiplake islands. It was quite early when we settled down there, and George said that since evening was still a long way off, we had an excellent opportunity to prepare an incredibly luxurious dinner. He said that he would show us the highest class of river cooking, and suggested that we cook up an Irish lamb stew from vegetables, leftover cold beef and all sorts of leftover pieces.

The idea seemed brilliant to us. George gathered some brushwood and built a fire, while Harris and I began peeling potatoes. It never occurred to me that peeling potatoes was such a difficult undertaking. It was the most enormous task of its kind that had ever fallen to my lot. We set to work cheerfully, one might even say with enthusiasm, but our good spirits had completely left us by the time we finished the first potato. The more we peeled, the more husks remained on it, and when we finally peeled off all the husks and cut out all the eyes, there was nothing left of the potato - at least nothing worth mentioning. George came up and looked at her: she was the size of a nut. George said:

No, it won't work out that way! You're just ruining the potatoes. The potatoes need to be scraped.

We started scraping, but it turned out that scraping was even more difficult than cleaning. They have such fantastic shapes, these potatoes - continuous bumps, depressions and warts. We worked hard for twenty-five minutes and scraped off four pieces. Here we went on strike. We said it would take us the rest of the evening to scrub ourselves off.

I never thought that scraping potatoes and wallowing in the mud were the same thing. It was hard to believe that the peel that covered Harris and me from head to toe came from just four potatoes! This is what savings and diligence can achieve.

George said it was ridiculous to put only four potatoes in a lamb stew, so we washed another half dozen and put them in the pot, unpeeled. We added a head of cabbage and ten pounds of peas. George mixed it all up and said there was still a lot of room left, so we searched both baskets and poured all the leftovers, scraps and stubs into the stew. We also had half the meat pudding and a piece of bacon; we put them in there too. Then George found half a can of salmon and threw that into the pan as well.

He said that's the beauty of Irish stew: you get rid of a whole bunch of unnecessary stuff. I fished two cracked eggs out of the basket, and they also went to work. George said eggs would thicken the sauce.

I had already forgotten the rest of the ingredients of our concoction; I only know that nothing was left out. I also remember how at the end of this procedure Montmorency, who showed the greatest interest in everything that was happening, walked away somewhere with a serious and thoughtful look, and a few minutes later brought a dead water rat in his teeth. Apparently, he wanted to make his own contribution to our feast, but whether it was mockery or a sincere desire to help, I cannot say.

A debate broke out about whether to put a rat in the stew or not. Harris said that in his opinion it should be put in, since, among other things, a rat would do. However, George pointed out that there was no precedent. He said that he had never heard of water rats being put in Irish stew, and that he, being a cautious person, was not inclined to experiment.

Harris said:

If you don't try anything new, how will you know what is good and what is bad? It’s people like you who slow down world progress. Think about the man who tried German sausage for the first time!

Our Irish stew was a great success! Never in my life has food given me such pleasure. There was something unusually fresh and even savory about this stew. We were all already tired of old, hackneyed dishes, but here was a dish with such a bouquet and taste that you will not find anywhere else!

Plus, it was nutritious. As George put it, there was a lot to chew on! True, the peas and potatoes could have been softer, but we all have good teeth, so it was unimportant. As for the sauce, it was a whole poem in itself - perhaps a little heavy for weak stomachs, but meaningful.

At the end we had tea and cherry pie. Meanwhile, Montmorency opened military action against the teapot and was completely defeated.

Throughout the trip he showed a lively interest in the teapot. He often sat and watched with great surprise as he seethed, and at times he growled, trying to irritate him. When the kettle began to hiss and spit, Montmorency saw this as a challenge and prepared to rush at the enemy, but every time someone intervened and carried away the prey before he could get to it.

Today he decided to get ahead of us. As soon as the kettle began to hiss, Montmorency growled, jumped up and walked towards him with a threatening look. The teapot was very small, but full of courage, and in response it spat on him.

“Oh, so!” Montmorency growled, baring his teeth. “I’ll show you how to insult the venerable hardworking dog! You're just a pathetic, long-nosed, vile scoundrel! Here I am!

And he rushed at the poor little teapot and grabbed it by the spout.

Following this, a heartbreaking scream was heard in the evening silence. Montmorency jumped out of the boat and took a walk to calm his nerves. He ran around the entire island three times, averaging thirty-five miles an hour, stopping every now and then to bury his nose in the cold mud.

After this, Montmorency began to treat the teapot with horror, suspicion and hatred. As soon as he saw the kettle, he tucked his tail and quickly backed away, growling, and when the kettle was put on the spirit lamp, Montmorency jumped out of the boat and sat on the shore until the end of the tea party.

After dinner, George pulled out his banjo and was about to play, but Harris protested; he said that he had a headache and such a test was beyond his strength. George believed that music, on the contrary, would be useful, since it generally calms the nerves and cures headaches. He even played a few chords as an example.

Harris said he preferred the headache.

George never learned to play the banjo. There were too many disappointments along the way. During our journey he sometimes tried to practice in the evenings, but invariably failed: Harris commented on his playing in terms that would have discouraged anyone. In addition, Montmorency sat next to him every time and accompanied the performance with a mournful howl. What kind of game is this, in such conditions!

Why the hell does he howl like that when I play? - George was indignant, throwing his shoe at him.

Why the hell are you playing like that when he howls? - objected Harris, picking up the shoe. - Leave him alone. How can he not howl! He has an ear for music, and your playing will inevitably make you howl!

George then decided to put off his musical studies until he returned home. But even here he was unlucky. Mrs. Popits always came to him and said that she was very sorry - because she personally liked to listen to George - but there was a lady upstairs, and she interesting position, and the doctor fears disastrous consequences for the child.

After that, George tried to practice at night in a nearby park. But the neighbors complained to the police, and George was put under surveillance, and one night he was caught. The evidence was irrefutable, and he was sentenced to six months of abstinence from musical studies.

As a result, George completely gave up. True, after the required six months, he made several weak attempts to resume his studies, but was met with the same coldness and indifference from the world. He gave up the fight, became completely desperate, posted an advertisement for the sale of the instrument at half price “due to its uselessness,” and began to practice the art of performing card tricks.

How much dedication it takes to learn to play a musical instrument! It would seem that society, for its own benefit, should help a person learning to play any instrument. But no!

I knew a young man who was fond of playing the bagpipes. You would be shocked to know how much resistance he had to overcome. Even his own family did not give him, so to speak, active support. His father was strongly opposed to this idea from the very beginning and showed complete callousness.

At first my friend tried to exercise in the morning, but soon he had to give it up because of his sister. She was pious and considered it the greatest sin to start the morning in this way.

Then he began to play at night, when the whole family went to bed, but nothing came of this either, since their house acquired a bad reputation. Belated passers-by stopped at the windows, listened, and the next morning notified the whole city that a brutal murder had been committed at Mr. Jefferson's house the previous night; they described the screams of the unfortunate man, the rude curses and curses of the killer, pleas for mercy and the last death rattle of the victim.

After this, my friend was allowed to practice during the day in the kitchen with the doors tightly closed. However, despite such precautions, the most successful passages still reached the living room and brought his mother to tears.

She said that at these sounds she remembered her poor late father (the poor fellow was swallowed by a shark while swimming off the coast of New Guinea - she could not explain what a shark and bagpipes had in common).

Then they gave my friend a shed at the end of the garden a quarter of a mile from the house and forced him to carry his bagpipes there every time he took up his exercises. But it happened that an unsuspecting guest, whom they forgot to initiate into this matter and warn in advance, went out for a walk in the garden without any preparation, and suddenly the sounds of bagpipes reached his ears. If it was a man strong-willed- the matter was limited to fainting, but people with mediocre intelligence, as a rule, went crazy.

It must be admitted that the first steps of an amateur bagpipe player are painful to the extreme. I realized this when I heard my young friend play. Apparently the bagpipes are unusually difficult instrument. From the very beginning you have to stock up on air for the entire melody at once - at least, watching Jefferson, I came to this conclusion.

He began brilliantly: with a heartbreaking, warlike note, from which the listener jumped up as if scalded. But soon the musician switched to piano, then to pianissimo, and the last bars of the melody were already drowned in continuous gurgling and hissing.

You need enviable health to play the bagpipes!

Young Jefferson only managed to learn one tune, but I never heard anyone complain about the poverty of his repertoire - God forbid! It was, in his words, a melody: “The Campbells are coming, hurray, hurray!” - although his father insisted that these were “Bluebells of Scotland”. What it really was, no one knew, but everyone agreed that there was something Scottish in the melody.

Guests were allowed to guess three times, but for some reason they always hit the mark...

After dinner Harris became intolerable; Apparently, the stew harmed him - he was not used to a luxurious life. So George and I decided to leave him in the boat and wander around Henley. Harris said he would drink a glass of whiskey, smoke a pipe, and get everything ready for the night. We agreed that we would shout when we returned, and he would bring the boat to the shore and pick us up.

“Just don’t try to fall asleep, old man,” we said at parting.

Don’t worry: as long as this stew is in me, I won’t fall asleep,” he muttered, steering the boat towards the island.

Henley was bustling with activity as preparations were underway for the boat race. We met a bunch of acquaintances, and in their pleasant company time flew by... Only at eleven o'clock did we get ready to head back. We had to walk four miles to “home,” as by this time we began to call our little boat.

It was a dull, cold night, it was drizzling, and while we trudged along the dark, silent fields, quietly talking and conferring whether we were lost, our imagination pictured a cozy boat and bright light, breaking through the tightly stretched tarpaulin, and Harris, and Montmorency, and whiskey, and we really wanted to get there as quickly as possible.

We imagined how we climbed inside, tired and hungry, and how our comfortable, warm, welcoming boat, like a giant firefly, sparkled on the gloomy river under the trees hidden in the darkness. We saw ourselves at dinner, devouring cold meat and passing each other slices of bread, we heard the cheerful clinking of knives and cheerful voices that, having filled our home, burst out into the darkness of the night. And we couldn't wait to turn these visions into reality.

Finally we got out onto the towpath. We were completely happy, because before that we had no idea whether we were going to the river or from the river, and when a person is hungry and wants to sleep, such uncertainty is like a knife in his heart. It struck a quarter past twelve as we passed Shiplake, and then George asked thoughtfully:

By the way, do you happen to remember what kind of island it was?

N-no,” I answered, also falling into thought, “I don’t remember.” How many were there in total?

Only four,” George consoled me. - If Harris is awake, everything will be all right.

What if he fell asleep? - I was horrified. However, we immediately rejected this unworthy assumption.

When we reached the first island, we shouted, but there was no answer; then we went to the second one and tried again with the same result.

Oh, I remembered! - George exclaimed. - Our parking is at the third island.

We were filled with hope, rushed to the third island and screamed.

No answer!

Things were getting serious. It was already long after midnight. The hotels in Shiplake and Henley were overcrowded, and it would be absurd to break into houses and cottages in the middle of the night asking if they would rent us a room. George put forward a proposal to return to Henley, beat up the policeman and thus secure a place in jail. But then a doubt arose: “What if he doesn’t want to take us away and just fights back?” We couldn't fight the cops all night, could we? In addition, there was a danger of overdoing it and ending up in jail for six months.

In complete despair, we wandered through the darkness to where, as it seemed to us, the fourth island was located. But everything was useless. The rain began to pour down harder and, apparently, was not going to stop. We were wet to the bone, chilled and discouraged. We began to wonder whether there were only four islands or more, and whether we had actually reached these islands or somewhere a full mile away, or finally wandered into God knows where? In the dark everything looks so strange and unusual! We began to understand the horror of small children abandoned in the forest.

And so, when we have already lost all hope... yes, I know that in all novels and stories the most exciting events take place precisely at this moment, but I have no other choice. In writing this book, I have decided to strictly adhere to the truth, and I intend not to deviate from this rule, even if some expressions seem hackneyed.

So, I have to say that this happened at a time when we had lost all hope. Just when we had lost all hope, I suddenly noticed a strange, mysterious light flickering from somewhere below, through the trees on the opposite bank. The light was so weak and ghostly that at first I thought of ghosts. But the very next moment the thought struck me that this was our boat, and I screamed so loudly that the night itself probably trembled on its bed.

We waited for a minute, holding our breath, and then - oh, divine music in the darkness! - we heard Montmorency bark in response. We raised a wild roar, from which even the dead would wake up (by the way, I could never understand why people don’t use this method to revive drowned people), and an hour later, as it seemed to us, but in fact about five minutes later, we saw an illuminated boat slowly sailing towards us, and heard Harris's sleepy voice asking where we were.

There was something subtly strange in Harris's behavior, something unlike ordinary fatigue. He brought the boat to the shore in a place where we could not reach it, and immediately fell asleep. It took a monstrous amount of screaming and cursing to wake him up again and set his mind straight. However, in the end we succeeded and got on board safely.

Harris looked completely devastated - this caught our eyes as soon as we found ourselves in the boat. He gave the impression of a man who had suffered a severe shock. We asked him what happened. He said: "Swans!"

Apparently, we set up our camp near the swans' nest; Soon after George and I went to Henley, the female returned and made a terrible noise. Harris chased her away and she left, but then returned with her hubby. Harris said that he had to put up a good fight with this couple, but in the end courage and skill prevailed and the swans were smashed to smithereens.

Half an hour later they returned and brought with them eighteen more swans. As far as one could understand from Harris's story, it was a real massacre. The swans tried to drag him and Montmorency out of the boat and drown him, he fought like a lion for four whole hours, and killed a great many, and they all went somewhere to die.

How many swans did you say there were?

Thirty-two,” Harris answered sleepily.

Didn't you just say eighteen? - George was surprised.

“Nothing of the sort,” growled Harris, “I said twelve.” What, I can’t count?

We never figured out this story with the swans. When we asked Harris the next morning, he said: “What kind of swans?” - and, apparently, decided that George and I were all dreaming.

Oh, how delightful it was to find ourselves again in our reliable boat after all the horrors and worries we had experienced! We dined with appetite - George and I - and were not averse to drinking punch, but punch requires whiskey, and we could not find it. We asked Harris what he had done with it, but Harris suddenly stopped understanding what whiskey was and what we were talking about in general. Montmorency clearly understood what was going on, but remained silent.

I slept well that night and might have slept even better if it had not been for Harris. I vaguely remember waking up a dozen times during the night, as Harris was traveling around the boat with a lantern in his hand, looking for the accessories of his toilet. Apparently he spent the whole night worrying about their safety.

Twice he woke up George and me to find out if we were lying on his pants. The second time George went completely mad.

Why the hell did you need pants in the middle of the night? - he was indignant. - Why don't you go to bed?

The next time I woke up, Harris was mourning the loss of his socks. I still have a vague memory of Harris tossing me from side to side, muttering something about his umbrella, which in a completely incomprehensible way had disappeared to God knows where.