Друзья, Рождество ещё не скоро, но готовить сани надо, как гласит народная мудрость, уже летом, а оно реально на носу. Вот вам Рождественская волшебная сказка - сразу для трёх групп семьи:
каждая глава состоит из трёх частей - первую часть родители читают детям, а когда они засыпают, родители читают вторую часть уже для себя; когда и они засыпают, часть третью читают домащние питомцы ПРО СЕБЯ или ДЛЯ СЕБЯ.
CONTENT
Preface. A faire tale ABOUT AN ORDINARY KINGDOM
CHAPTER ONE. The Royal family is having breakfast…
СHAPTER TWO. Hrabus got the crown, and Giglio lost it
CHAPTER THREE. BlackWand and other Influential Persons
CHAPTER FOUR. The Feya is not invited to the christening
CHAPTER FIVE. From Angelica's little maidservant
CHAPTER SIX. About what Prince Giglio did.
CHAPTER SEVEN. Giglio quarrels with Angelica
CHAPTER EIGHT. Countess picked up the ring
CHAPTER NINE. Betsinda serves a hot bottle
CHAPTER TEN. Chrabus was seriously angry
CHAPTER ELEVEN. Spusku.NET deceives Betsinda and Giglio
CHAPTER TWELVE. What happened next with Betsinda
CHAPTER THIRTEEN. Rosalba gets into the castle count Ocay
CHAPTER FOURTEEN. About what happened to Giglio
CHAPTER FIFTEENTH. We return to Rosalba again
CHAPTER SIXTEEN. Atakkoy back to headquarters soverein
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN. A fierce battle, who won it
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN. All arrive at Blombadina
CHAPTER NINETEEN. Last action
COMMENTS
Movies and fairy tale
Louis XVII. Fate and legend
Preface
A faire tale
ABOUT AN ORDINARY KINGDOM
English writer William Thackeray is best known for his long-classic novel "Vanity Fair". Here you will meet Thackeray the storyteller and similar writers, such as the Japanese storyteller Junji Kinoshita ("The Dormition of the Frog"). Thackeray is not only a storyteller, he is also an artist, and he illustrated his own fairy tale.
William Makepeace Thackeray (1811-1863) was born in Calcutta; his father was an official in the revenue office of the East India Company. After the death of his father, he went to England and entered the Lon-don "School of the Gray Brothers", then became a student at the Uni-versity of Cambridge. His childhood in India is not lost on the writer: too often, he brings back his heroes, children and adults, devoted sol-diers, swaggering nabobs, dark adventurers. His kings, therefore, are very conventional, in geographical terms. This is a generalized image of world power. Thackeray has a remarkably acute perception of man. At Cambridge, he drew enthusiastically and even considered becoming a professional artist, practicing the art of sketching caricatures in passing. The characters turned out to be funny, sometimes evil, or ridiculous, but always vital and categorically different from each other. Fascinated by drawing and writing, Thackeray did not become a model student and soon left Cambridge, for which there were other reasons. The bankrupt-cy of the Indian bank, where his entire father's inheritance was invested, forced Thackeray to look for a living. He worked as a journalist, pub-lishing in magazines. Literature and painting still attracted him, as they often did with the English. The incident helped him to resolve his inter-nal dispute. It was then that Charles Dickens was looking for an illus-trator for the Pickwick Papers (1836-1837), and Thackeray would have received the offer if Dickens had not preferred another talented draughtsman - Brown, who worked under the pseudonym Fiz. There-fore, the choice of Dickens helped Thackeray to make the final choice and embark on the path of writing. However, Thackeray still did not give up drawing, and, already a recognized writer, he himself illustrated several of his novels. Since 1842, he has been regularly published in the humorous weekly Punch. It was there that his satirical essays pub-lished, which were later collected in the popular "Book of Snobs". In 1848, the writer's cult novel "Vanity Fair" appeared. Therefore, Thack-eray's fame came.
In the following decade, two more famous works were published - The History of Pendennis (1850) and The Newcombs (1855), the histor-ical novels The History of Henry Esmond (1852); and The Virginians (1859), as well as a number of other books. Here are the stories of en-tire families and fleeting sketches that will be remembered for a long time. Provincial townsfolk and metropolitan gentlemen, bankers who crave titles and aristocrats who have no money to maintain prestige, fashionable dandies, corrupt newspapermen, merchant's daughters, lively adventurers, young people who came to London to make a career — all of them pass before the reader's mind, creating a true picture of the England of that time. Thackeray observed the life of his contempo-raries not only in London, but also during his trips to India and Ireland. In each individual image of him, in each depicted fate, there was some-thing not only of the truth about England, but also of the general truth of the modern world. No matter what Thackeray writes about, you can always feel how outraged he is by social inequality, the "law of the jun-gle" that reigns in the world of pure logic - the right of the strong to humiliate and oppress the weak. This institutionalized system of rela-tions revolted him to the core, and Thackeray, as a great realist, does not want to put up with this course of things. Reflecting on the fate and character of his characters, Thackeray often sketched their pencil por-traits on paper, from which his illustrations were later born. The fairy tale of the ring and the rose was born directly from his drawings. The funny figures Thackeray had drawn for his two daughters, Annie, fif-teen, and Minnie, thirteen, had fascinated him so much that he wanted to invent a whole story about them. So in 1854 this magical work was born, which Thackeray published under the pseudonym M.-A. Tit-marsh. It was a fairy tale about a kingdom where everything looks neat and tidy. People live richly, like to eat and drink, go to visit, play cards. And if this fairy tale tells about the fact that the princess got lost in the forest and disappeared, and the prince had to drink a lot of dope and travel a lot around the world before he took the throne, then what fairy tale can do without such an entourage?
However, the more carefully you read this amazing fairy tale, the more obvious its strangeness is. In addition, already something not at all fabulous seems to the reader in the heroes of this fairy tale. Here is the family of King Hrabus XXIV gathered for breakfast in the morning. They are all nice, good-natured people; they have had a good night's sleep and are now eating with great appetite. The king hurriedly looked through the dispatches, read the newspapers, then they had a family conversation — about bills, about relatives, about neighbors, what is even more pleasant - about balls and dinners, and what is the best dress to wear, and how much the new bracelets and necklace will cost the queen. No, this is not a royal conversation at all! It looks more like the family of some Grosvenor Square businessperson. Evil philistines, greedy, envious, they changed only the dress, but not the appearance. Not fooling anyone ermine mantle of Hanabusa XXIV; we can easily guess it and its surroundings all those newly born English bourgeoisie, that the writer does not get tired to make fun of in his books, it is they, the rich, the kings of a new life, instead of traditional monarchs. In the house of Hanabusa no pity. Prince of the blood, Giglio is only a poor relative here. He was robbed to the skin, tolerated only out of charity, and would gladly have been starved or floated somewhere to the end of the world, if they were sure that everything would go smoothly. Betsinda (no one knows yet that she is a real princess, named Rosalba) is kept here as a servant, and then mercilessly thrown out into the street barefoot, in the bitter cold. In this new world of the advanced 19th cen-tury-the "age of steam and electricity", the price is only what is profita-ble, what brings money and gives power. Now even a fairy can be thrown out of the door if she happens to come empty-handed, but the neighboring prince Obalda (Bulbo) will be welcomed with open arms, even though he is terribly stupid and ugly. However, BRABUS had no better than their king Hog-wild Highwayman did. As for the courtiers, they are in both states in no way inferior to their monarchs, to whom they are loyal only until the first disaster. They are flattering and hypo-critical, but in a difficult hour, they will turn away from their ruler with a calm soul, as does the obsequious Countess of Spusunet, whose main concern is to dig deeper into the treasury and then, if possible, take the throne herself. Moreover, if the Minister under Krause is a graph Razvanel, in honor goes Hog Baron castle hocus Pocus.The heroes of the fairy tale live in a difficult and dangerous world. There is misery lurking around every corner, and the strong seek to offend the weak — be it a child or a poor man. This world is very unstable: it is ruled by lies and treachery, and therefore even a prince of the blood can instantly find himself in a dense forest or on a high road. That is why Thackeray gives his heroes patience and courage - only the strong-minded and kind will survive; but in the trials his mind will grow stronger and his char-acter will be hardened, human dignity will be formed. What would Prince Giglio be good for if he did not have to go through many trials of life? He would have sworded and hunted; he would not have been able to read and write properly. After all, without the knowledge of the law of true life, according to honor and conscience, neither a magic ring nor a rose will bring a person happiness.
Princess Rosalba (Betsinde) and Prince Giglio had to go for happiness to distant lands, and although Paphlagonia (Сappadokia) and Pontia (Crim Tartary) — the countries are fictional, we sometimes do not think about it: everything in them resembles the real England of that time and suggests the interconnectedness of the whole world, all the kingdoms among themselves. Stagecoaches go everywhere on the roads, door knockers are hung on the doors, which are rattled by postmen and mes-sengers, princes and earls are shined with Warren's wax, which was used by Thackeray's contemporaries, and footmen everywhere say "your grace" and "sir", with the only difference that in Pontia there is the Tower of London, and in Paphlagonia — Newgate prison, where in the XVIII and early XIX centuries, criminals were imprisoned in Eng-land. Only they put lions in the Tower, and they want to send a rebel-lious prince to Newgate. In short, everything in this fictional world seemed to be mixed up and took on a legitimate fairy-tale form. Kings, of course, do not eat many sausages. In the war, they did not have wa-terproof and bulletproof armor. In addition, no matter how annoying and unpleasant the guest (in addition to the neighboring prince) was in real life, he would not have been sent to the scaffold, and the obstinate girl would not have been thrown to the lions. However, this is a fairy tale, and the kings here are not real, but as if self-proclaimed, and now everything is possible here, even magic and the sorcerer who creates it. With a wave of her miraculous wand, she restores the violated justice. Thackeray longed for the good fortune of his heroes. However, in the novels he wrote in the last years of his life, he managed to do this with great stretch. The world around him was too hostile to his heroes. Thackeray was well aware of how many ugly laws, unfair relationships, and ugly habits there are in this world, and therefore in the later novels of the writer a note of sadness sounds more and more clearly, and the modest personal happiness that his characters eventually achieve is out of proportion to their ordeal. The tale of the Ring and the Rose was written nine years before its author's death. Moreover, here he already had special opportunities for the desired happy end, because in this genre he could easily arrange the happiness of his favorite characters with a simple wave of a magic wand. Thackeray longed for the good fortune of his heroes. However, in the novels he wrote in the last years of his life, he managed to do this with great stretch. The world around him was too hostile to his heroes. Thackeray was well aware of how many ugly laws, unfair relationships, and ugly habits there are in this world, and therefore in the later novels of the writer a note of sadness sounds more and more clearly, and the modest personal happiness that his characters eventually achieve is out of proportion to their ordeal. The tale of the Ring and the Rose was written nine years before its au-thor's death. Moreover, here he already had special opportunities for the desired happy end, because in this genre he could easily arrange the happiness of his favorite characters with a simple wave of a magic wand. Well, let it be a fairy tale, that is, a lie, in which there is still a hint. Let the people in it turn into shoehorns or lawn mowers, and let the doorknockers turn into people. Thackeray remained, despite every-thing, true to the principles of realism. He depicted life with all its laws and the mores that reigned in it. He told many evil truths in this simple-looking fairy tale to his imperious contemporaries — both titled and untitled. Even the royal power was severely ridiculed. Of course, one must have a rare independence of mind to speak so mockingly about power in the middle of the 19th century in a country where the same system still formally reigns to this day.
Special introduction by Thackeray
It happened once that the author spent Christmas abroad, in a strange city, where, by an interesting coincidence, many English chil-dren gathered. In this town can't get even simple magic lantern to give the kids a holiday, and, of course, is no place to buy funny paper dolls, which all children love to play at Christmas, king, Queen, a lady with Beau, Beau, a soldier and the other heroes of the carnival. A friend of mine, Miss Bunch, a governess in a large family who lived in the dress circle of the same house as me and my pets (I'll tell you a secret, it was the Poniatowski Palace in Rome, in the lower floor of which was the shop of the Spillmans — the best confectioners in the world), so Miss Bunch asked me to draw these figures to please the children. This girl always knows how to invent something funny, and pie and I immedi-ately made up a funny story from my drawings and read it in the faces of the children for long evenings, so that it turned out to be a real show for them. Our little friends were very amused by the adventures of Gi-glio, Obould, Rosalba and Angelica. I will not conceal that the appear-ance of the living door attendant caused a storm of delight, and the im-potent rage of the Countess of Сontess Gruffanuff was met with general rejoicing. Then I thought: if this story is so liked by some children, why not please others? In a few days, the students will return to the colleges, where they will get busy and, under the supervision of their caring men-tors, will learn all sorts of wisdom. In the meantime, we have a vacation — so let us have a legitimate laugh, have a lot of fun, and you, senior comrades not a sin to make a little joke, dance, fool around. Therefore, the author wishes you happy holidays and invites you to a home per-formance about some simple kingdom. Although... This kingdom is not so simply.
December 1854.
M. A. Titmarsh
CHAPTER ONE.
The Royal family is having breakfast
Here is the Lord of Paphlagonia, Brabus-Hrabus XXIV, sitting with his wife and only child at the royal breakfast table, reading a letter he has just received, and the letter tells of the imminent arrival of Prince Ubal-du, son and heir of King Zagrabast, who now rules all of Pontopia. Look at the pleasure that shines on his un-monarchical Pontic face! He is so engrossed in the Pontic bishop's letter that he has not even touched the august rolls, and the boiled eggs served for breakfast are already quite cold.
"What?" The same Bugger, the incomparable rake and daredevil? Prin-cess Angelica exclaimed excitedly. — He is so good-looking, so learned, and so witty, especially after he has beaten an army of a hundred thou-sand giants and won the Battle of Thirimbumbum!"
— And who told you about it, my dear? What is it?" asked the king.
— A little bird told me.
"Poor Giglio! Angelica's mother sighed and poured herself a cup of tea. "But he's better now.
"Oh, come on! Angelica exclaimed, and shook her head, which was decorated with a whole cloud of curlers.
The voice behind the scenes:
Breakfast of the royal lords.
All the villains will be punished!
"You drink all your tea," said the monarch gloomily.
— It is better to drink tea than a glass of port or brandy and soda, ' re-plied the Queen.
"I only meant to say that you are a great tea-drinker, my dear," said the lord of Paphlagonia, suppressing his irritation. — and you, Angelica, I hope you don't need any new clothes now?" Your dressmakers ' bills are impressive. However, you, dear husband, it is necessary to take care of your upcoming celebrations. I would prefer only dinners, but of course, you will demand balls. I cannot bear to see that blue velvet dress of yours, what kind of fabric is it. There is no demolition for him! Moreover, my dear, I would also like you to wear a new necklace. Or-der no more than a hundred or a hundred and fifty thousand pounds. In addition, not a penny more.
"What about Giglio, my friend?" The queen asked.
- Yes, let him go far away…
"It's about my own nephew, sir! The only son of the late monarch! »
"Madame, what do you mean?" What did I say? Let him go to the tailor and ordered what we need and accounts will give Rasoolu — that they pay. Do not give him a bottom or a tire! Uh... I mean, all the best, I wanted to say! He must know no need of anything. Give him two guin-eas for his pocket money right now, my dear, and order some bracelets for your pretty hands as well as your necklace.
The Queen put one arm around her husband and the other around her daughter's waist; then, with a kiss on the back of her husband's head, she and her daughter left the dining room to prepare everything for the reception of the distinguished guest. As soon as they were gone, the smile that had shone on the face of the father and the master disap-peared, along with all his royal importance, and he was left alone with himself. It is impossible, even in color, to describe fully the mental an-guish of Hrabus at that moment: his sparkling eyes and flared nostrils, as well as his dressing gown, handkerchief and shoes. Here is what: Grabus left alone with him. He snatched up one of the many egg-glasses that adorned the king's table, rushed to the sideboard, pulled out a bot-tle of brandy, poured himself one and two, then put the glass down, laughed, and exclaimed hoarsely:
— Now, BRABUS, you are human again! Alas! — He went on, taking another sip of his drink.) — Until I became king, I was not drawn to this poison. I did not drink anything but spring water, and I did not drink a drop of warmed brandy. Faster than a mountain stream, I ran through the forest with a musket, shaking the dew from the branches, and shot partridges, snipe, and even horned deer. Shakespeare is truly right when he says: Yes, it is not easy for us to bow our head when it is crowned with a crown. In addition, why did I take it away from my nephew, the stupid Giglio? What did I say? (He shudders.) Took it away? No, no! I did not take it away, no! Get lost, you filthy word! I just put the crown of the monarch of Paphlagon on my worthy head. Now I hold the crown scepter in one hand, and the Paphlagonian power in the other! Well, could this poor little baby, a snotty crybaby, who was with the nurse yesterday and sucked his breast, and begged for a lollipop, well, could he carry such a heavy crown? In addition, could he, girded with the sword of our royal ancestors, go into the field to fight this vile foe?
Therefore, His Majesty continued to convince himself of sinlessness, considering that the white verse is a serious argument in favor of those who own the appropriated. At first he wanted to reward the injured party, and even knew how to do it, but now that the opportunity has presented itself to conclude the much-desired marriage alliance and thereby unite two countries and two peoples who have hitherto contin-uously waged bloody and ruinous wars, namely, the Paphlagonians and the Pontians (Crim Tartary), he must abandon the idea of returning the crown to Giglio. If his brother, King Savio, had lived, he would have taken the symbols of power from his own son and returned them to the rightful king.
How easy it is for others to deceive themselves by taking what they want for granted!
The king immediately cheered up, quickly read all the cold newspapers, finished the eggs and dried buns, then rang the bell, and the first minis-ter appeared in front of him. And the queen, after thinking for a minute or two about whether to go to the sick Giglio or wait for him to recover, said Somoy gently to herself:
— There is no hurry at all. Business time, fun-an hour. I will visit Gi-glio later, and now I will attend to an urgent matter — I will go to the jeweler, and finally order a necklace and bracelets. My husband's desire is my law. The princess went up to her room and told her house clean-er, Betsinda, to take all the clothes out of the chests for fitting. They had both forgotten about Giglio, as they had forgotten about the dinner they had eaten a year ago.
The voice behind the scenes:
And our Grabus as sin,
He did not behave the best!
_______The light gradually goes out, and at the same time the croak-ing of frog’s increases. The green spotlight illuminates the person who owns the voice behind the scenes. This is the so-called Chronicler histo-rian. He sits at a low table and writes something in a thick notebook. Through the darkness, a few figures can be seen sitting in chairs at a distance these are the so-called Spies. They make sure that the Chroni-cler does not confuse the epochs and does not get lost in particular; they do this by twisting the spring on the back of the historian with a special key, thereby setting the hand of the Time Clock to the desired numbers. A legitimate question arises: why cannot they set the Time Clock correctly finally, so that the epochs do not jump back and forth in the Chronicler's head? The fact is that he had a pernicious habit of scratching his head when he fell into a reverie. (Alternatively, vice ver-sa.) Anyway, he did it from time to time, and it would have been all right, except for the fact that it was for this reason that the Clock of Time was regularly disturbed. Just now, he was in the era of the next French Revolution, and this is what he wrote in his notebook________
« Chapter I. It is not often that it falls to the historian to perpetuate events more unusual than those took place this year, when four con-tenders were competing for the French crown at once, with equal rights, dignity, courage and popularity. The battle was hot. The first is His Royal Highness Louis-Antoine-Frederick-Samuel-Anne-Marie, Duke of Brittany and son of Louis XVI. The poor prince, who, along with his unfortunate parents, suffered in captivity in the Temple, somehow managed to escape from the dungeon, hiding (I will immediately ex-plain: his captors had treated him so inhumanly that the young prince had grown impossibly thin and tiny) in the cocked hat of a member of the Convention, Reordered. After all, in the turbulent revolutionary times, they wore three-cornered hats of gigantic size. He spent a consid-erable part of his life in Germany; for thirty years he languished in the casemates of Spielberg; and when he did manage to escape from there to England, then there he was imprisoned in the Tower of London, al-legedly for debts, but it is obvious that this was the work of his political opponents. The worthy prince should not be confused with the many impostors who claim to be the descendants of the unfortunate victim of the first revolution. We have more extensive information about the sec-ond applicant, Henry of Bordeaux. In 1843, after fleeing abroad with his small household, he took lodgings in an abandoned London quarter called Belgrave Square. Many French nobles came to him, despite the persecution of the usurper who sat on the throne; some of the most prominent representatives of the English nobility - including the famous knight without fear or reproach, the Duke of Jenkins-also helped the recklessly brave young prince with advice, money, and, of course, their valiant sword. The third contender was His Imperial Highness Prince John Thomas Napoleon, a fifteen-year-old cousin of the late emperor and, according to some, a prince of the House of Gomersal. He argued, with justice, that since the direct heirs of the illustrious Corsican had renounced their claim to the throne, he, Prince John Thomas, the next of kin after them, might well have succeeded to the throne of the Em-pire. In seeking the crown, he had pinned his hopes on the loyalty of the French and his trusty sword. The scepter that the three princes above mentioned were so eager to possess was held in the hands of the illustrious monarch, His Majesty King Louis Philippe of France. There is reason to believe that this wise monarch did not enjoy the respect due to such a sovereign among his subjects. Moreover, the frivolous people became a burden to his rule. This people suddenly took such a dislike to the charming royal family, for which his Majesty, with his usual hoarding, did his best to provide as decent a content as possible, that there are no words to describe it all. Therefore, there was every reason to believe that the highest political leaders in the country, to whom his Majesty had so greatly annoyed, had no loyal feelings for the royal court and personally for its sacred person. It was from the above-mentioned pretenders that Louis Philippe, that greatest of princes (at that time he was almost a hundred years old), had to defend his crown.
The city of Paris is fortified by one hundred and twenty-four forts, each of which has a thousand guns, is provided for a long time with ammu-nition and provisions, and everything is arranged so that, if necessary, the Tuileries Palace can easily be shelled. If the mob attacked the palace, as it did in August 1792 and July 1830, it could be razed to the ground in an hour; at the same time, the capital is thus well protected from for-eigners. No less reliable protection from external enemies was the terri-ble state of the roads. Only half a mile of railway had been built in France since the British companies had withdrawn, and any army al-ready accustomed, like all the armies of Europe, to advance at the rate of sixty miles an hour would have been irritated to death to see such roads, and would have thought a hundred times before advancing from any of the frontiers - from the coast, from the Rhine, from the Alps, or from the Pyrenees - to the capital of France. French people, not think-ing about patriotism, resented the rough way these vices in the country and contrary to common sense argued that five hundred seventy-five trillion francs spent to strengthen the structures would have to invest in any peaceful company. Only the king lived very quietly under the pro-tection of his fortified forts. Since the goal is to describe as vividly as possible the extraordinary events of that time, the actions and feelings of the people and parties involved, the best thing to do is to refer to the documents of that time, which are abundant. It is funny in our time to read on the pages of the "Monitor" and "Journal des Debats " reports about the amazing events of those days.
1884 year began with an unusually calm start. At the royal court in the Tuileries, there was an extraordinary gaiety. The twenty-three younger English princes, the sons of Her Majesty Queen Victoria, graced the balls with their presence; the Russian emperor and his entire family paid the King of France a traditional visit; the King of Belgium, as al-ways, visited his august father-in-law, ostensibly for the sake of per-forming a family duty and the pleasure of seeing a relative, but in reali-ty to demand the dowry of the Queen of Belgium, which Louis Philippe of Orleans stubbornly refused to pay. Who would have thought that in the midst of such a festive atmosphere, there was danger, and in the midst of such silence, a bloody rebellion was brewing? The largest of the madhouses in Paris was the Chariton, and it was this residence that the snide journalists from the Journal des Debats predicted for the pre-tender to the throne of Louis XVI. However, the next day, namely, Saturday, February 29, an article appeared in the same newspaper of a much more serious and even startling content; in it, through the mask of carelessness, the anxiety of the government was clearly visible. On Fri-day, February 28, the "Journal de Deba" published an article that did not cause much excitement on the stock exchange, so it seemed ridicu-lous. It said:
"The new Louis XVII! It is reported from Calais that a certain obscure person, recently arrived from England (from Bedlam, we believe), pre-tends to be the son of the unfortunate Louis XVI. This is the twenty-fourth applicant who claims that his father was the August prisoner of the Temple. These pretensions aside, however, the poor fellow is oth-erwise reported to be quite harmless; several old women, who swear that they have recognized him as the Dauphin, accompany him; he does not attempt to seize the crown by force of arms, but only waits for heaven itself to place him on the throne. If His Majesty comes to Paris, we believe he will not hesitate to take up his residence at the Palace of Chariton. So far, we have ignored the rumor (which has been circulating among the notorious blackmailers and in the dirtiest pubs of the capi-tal) that a certain celebrity - but why should we not directly name Prince John Thomas Napoleon? "She came to France with criminal in-tentions and revolutionary designs. However, the morning edition of Monitor confirms this shameful fact.
_____________At that moment, the Spies came out of their hiding place and, slapping the Chronicler on the back, adjusted the hands of the Time Clock. First, the year 1884, which had been agreed with the revolution-ary calendar that Napoleon himself had canceled, turned into 1848, and then the Chronicler, slightly choking, stood for a while in silence, listen-ing to the growing croaking of frogs outside the palace window, finally spoke, as usual, to himself: _______
"1. I cannot write further, because I do not really understand how to transfer my future reader from the era of the next French Revolution to a different kind of modernity. Simply put how to transfer the reader to the environment of frog life and get into the Quaker mood. Why is there such a green light around? It is simple, it is not the twilight of the hall at all, and it is just that we are at the bottom of a swamp right now. Over there, among the water grasses, a rather plump catfish has slipped through. Do you see? You are beginning to think you are a Quaker yourself. Where is your chin? He was gone. Your eyes are going to pop out of your head. Are you silent? Okay. In addition, if so… Frogs, too, are not all the same like, for example, peas. In addition, they can be pretty, too, but we humans do not always understand that this is just coquetry. Therefore, it is important to understand that croaking has its own nuances; it is not monotonous and sometimes expresses too differ-ent feelings. Now I will throw a stone, a simple one that is lying idle under my feet, and I will take it and throw it into the swamp. The cho-rus of frogs will immediately stop. This is the end of everything for a person. However, for frogs, it is the opposite: they will only start from this moment. After all, to frogs, this stone will seem like a real block that suddenly fell from the sky. So, the experience begins…»
At the same moment, he throws a pebble into the swamp. The beam of light goes out, the sound of water splashing is heard. The chorus of frogs stops. Then it brightens again. The chronicler walks along the bot-tom of the swamp, but for some reason it looks like the intersection of an ordinary city street. The stems of water lilies are very similar to the poles of a power line. Right in the center of the intersection lies a huge block; gradually frogs begin to come running from all sides. In the midst of the uproar, one of the frogs comes to the center, climbs up on a rock, and begins to make his speech:
- Citizens, how do you imagine all this? This is an obvious conspiracy! Rocks do not just fall out of the sky. This is a favorite tactic of the Kapuri party. Purpose: to cause disorganization and confusion in socie-ty.
Everyone is making even more noise. Fierce shouts are heard: "Kapuri scoundrels! Death to Kapuri! » Moreover, suddenly the noise grew louder as they saw the old satirist pinned down under the rock. He is still moving. The old man did not jump out of the way in time. They pull him out from under the rock, and he quickly recovers. Here every-one already understands that this is really a conspiracy, although the old-timers of the pond immediately began to claim that on average, such a block falls from the sky into the pond once every three days. Then there was another uproar, everyone wanted to know who was re-ally doing all this. The satirist calmly stated that people do it for noth-ing to do. Therefore, there were three versions of the incident: it is a conspiracy, a natural disaster, or people. However, the latest version seemed the most improbable. The unbelievers hotly persuaded the pro-ponents of this particular theory: "Try it, stick your head out, and you'll get it right on the head!"
The satirist, among other things, taught at the university. Then two more characters – deputies from the parliament-pulled up. A police of-ficer brought them in. He quickly wrapped duct tape around the block and forbade anyone to approach it. The victim was given the suggestion that he should have immediately made a statement to the police, and not wait for the mercy of nature. Here the protester on the stone held out his business card directly into the hands of the senior deputy. It was very long written on it: "The Volunteer Union of the Struggle for the fi-nal and complete completion of the repatriation of All Prisoners of War..." The deputy looked at him strangely and said: "A minute before that, a member of parliament was killed." Everyone shouted, " How did this happen? “ The deputy replied: "We held the meeting leaning out of the water for a better sound. Moreover, suddenly this rock flies out of the sky. The deputy of the See (he belonged to the Demo-Free party) fell victim...»
A member of the volunteer detachment began to prove that this was the machinations of the Kapuri party, and nothing else. The police officer, saying that everyone was giving some confused testimony, turned and rode off in an unknown direction, without drawing up a report.
CHAPTER TWO.
Hrabus got the crown, and Giglio lost it
Ten or twelve thousand years ago, in Paphlagonia, as in some other states, there seems to have been no law of succession. In any case, when the crowned Savio died and left his brother as guardian of his orphaned son and regent, this treacherous relative did Brabus-Hrabus XXIV, gave a magnificent coronation, and ordered the native nobility to swear allegiance to themselves. Moreover, while Hrabus held court balls, dis-tributed money, and corn offices, the Paphlagonian nobility did not care much about who sat on the throne; as for the common people, they were equally indifferent in those early days. When the crowned Savio died, his son Giglio was still young in years, and therefore did not feel very sad about the loss of the crown and power, no more than the loss of some toy. He had plenty of sweets and a variety of toys, he sat back five days a week, and when I grew, I could ride out to hunt, and most importantly — to enjoy a sweet cousin, the only daughter of the king, and all this poor man was pleased as punch; he was not at all jealous of his uncle's mantle and scepter, its big, awkward, hard touch and a heavy crown, which he wore on his head from morning to night. Look at the portrait of Hrabus that has come down to us, and you will prob-ably agree with me that sometimes he was quite tired of his uncomfort-able velvet clothes, ermine, diamonds, and other splendors that adorned his body. No, I do not want to be steaming in this hot robe with this thing on my head from day to day!
Here sits our Grabus left,
Moreover, in front of the Queen.
As for the Queen, she must have been pretty in her youth, and though she had grown somewhat stout with the years, her features, as may be easily seen in the portrait, retained a certain agreeableness. In addition, if she was a lover of gossip, cards, finery, and flattery, then let us be le-nient with her: we ourselves sin a lot in this way. She was kind to her nephew; and if she sometimes felt a twinge of conscience because her husband had taken the crown from the young prince, she consoled her-self with the thought that his majesty might be an invader, but he was a decent man, and after his death, Giglio would sit on the throne with his dearly beloved cousin. The first minister was the old dignitary Razvorol; he swore fealty to Hrabus with a warm heart, and the mon-arch entrusted him with all the
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