III. [ѕеревод не найден]
The deaconТs masterpiece
Or the wonderful Уone-hoss shayФ
¬ этом случае транспорт был изготовлен исключительно интенсиональными методами. ’олмс часто демонстрировал своЄ нетерпение в общении с логиками, чьи способности в манипул€ции Ђкартамиї всегда казались ему несоизмеримыми с их знани€ми Ђтерриторийї, которые эти карты должны были обозначать. Ђя ценю людейї, пишет он в одном из своих эссе сборника The Autocrat of the Breakfast-Table, Ђпрежде всего за их пр€мую св€зь с истинойЕ а не за то, как они мастерски умеют обращатьс€ со своими иде€миї.
Have you heard of the wonderful one-hoss shay,
That was built in such a logical way
It ran a hundred years to a day,
And then, of a sudden, it Ц ah, but stay,
IТll tell you what happened without delay,
Scaring the parson into fits,
Frightening people out of their wits, Ц
Have you ever heard of that, I say?
Seventeen hundred and fifty-five.
Georgius Secundus was then alive, Ц
Snuffy old drone from the German hive.
That was the year when Lisbon-town
Saw the earth open and gulp her down,
And BraddockТs army was done so brown,
Left without a scalp to its crown.
It was on the terrible Earthquake-day
That the Deacon finished the one-hoss shay.
Now in building of chaises, I tell you what,
There is always somewhere a weakest spot, Ц
In hub, tire, felloe, in spring or thill,
In panel, or crossbar, or floor, or sill,
In screw, bolt, thoroughbrace,†Ц lurking still,
Find it somewhere you must and will, Ц
Above or below, or within or without, Ц
And thatТs the reason, beyond a doubt,
A chaise breaks down, but doesnТt wear out.
But the Deacon swore (as Deacons do,
With an УI dew vum,Ф or an УI tell yeouФ)
He would build one shay to beat the taown
ТNТ the keounty ТnТ all the kentry raounТ;
It should be so built that it couldnТ break daown:
УFur,Ф said the Deacon, УТtis mighty plain
Thut the weakesТ place musТ stanТ the strain;
ТNТ the way tТ fix it, uz I maintain,
Is only jest
TТ make that place uz strong uz the rest.Ф
So the Deacon inquired of the village folk
Where he could find the strongest oak,
That couldnТt be split nor bent nor broke, Ц
That was for spokes and floor and sills;
He sent for lancewood to make the thills;
The crossbars were ash, from the straightest trees,
The panels of white-wood, that cuts like cheese,
But lasts like iron for things like these;
The hubs of logs from the УSettlerТs ellum,Ф Ц
Last of its timber,†Ц they couldnТt sell Тem,
Never an axe had seen their chips,
And the wedges flew from between their lips,
Their blunt ends frizzled like celery-tips;
Step and prop-iron, bolt and screw,
Spring, tire, axle, and linchpin too,
Steel of the finest, bright and blue;
Thoroughbrace bison-skin, thick and wide;
Boot, top, dasher, from tough old hide
Found in the pit when the tanner died.
That was the way he Уput her through.Ф
УThere!Ф said the Deacon, Уnaow sheТll dew!Ф
Do! I tell you, I rather guess
She was a wonder, and nothing less!
Colts grew horses, beards turned gray,
Deacon and deaconess dropped away,
Children and grandchildren Ц where were they?
But there stood the stout old one-hoss shay
As fresh as on Lisbon-earthquake-day!
EIGHTEEN HUNDRED; Ц it came and found
The DeaconТs masterpiece strong and sound.
Eighteen hundred increased by ten; Ц
УHahnsum kerridgeФ they called it then.
Eighteen hundred and twenty came; Ц
Running as usual; much the same.
Thirty and forty at last arrive,
And then come fifty, and FIFTY-FIVE.
Little of all we value here
Wakes on the morn of its hundreth year
Without both feeling and looking queer.
In fact, thereТs nothing that keeps its youth,
So far as I know, but a tree and truth.
(This is a moral that runs at large;
Take it.†Ц YouТre welcome.†Ц No extra charge.)
FIRST OF NOVEMBER,†Ц the Earthquake-day, Ц
There are traces of age in the one-hoss shay,
A general flavor of mild decay,
But nothing local, as one may say.
There couldnТt be,†Ц for the DeaconТs art
Had made it so like in every part
That there wasnТt a chance for one to start.
For the wheels were just as strong as the thills,
And the floor was just as strong as the sills,
And the panels just as strong as the floor,
And the whipple-tree neither less nor more,
And the back crossbar as strong as the fore,
And spring and axle and hub encore.
And yet, as a whole, it is past a doubt
In another hour it will be worn out!
First of November, ТFifty-five!
This morning the parson takes a drive.
Now, small boys, get out of the way!
Here comes the wonderful one-hoss shay,
Drawn by a rat-tailed, ewe-necked bay.
УHuddup!Ф said the parson.†Ц Off went they.
The parson was working his SundayТs text, Ц
Had got to fifthly, and stopped perplexed
At what the Ц Moses Ц was coming next.
All at once the horse stood still,
Close by the meetТnТ-house on the hill.
First a shiver, and then a thrill,
Then something decidedly like a spill, Ц
And the parson was sitting upon a rock,
At half past nine by the meetТn-house clock, Ц
Just the hour of the Earthquake shock!
What do you think the parson found,
When he got up and stared around?
The poor old chaise in a heap or mound,
As if it had been to the mill and ground!
You see, of course, if youТre not a dunce,
How it went to pieces all at once, Ц
All at once, and nothing first, Ц
Just as bubbles do when they burst.
End of the wonderful one-hoss shay.
Logic is logic. ThatТs all I say.