Читать книгу Чистый nonsense (сборник) онлайн | страница 7

“How grateful,” said the old gentleman to the two ladies, “all children, and parents too, ought to be to the statesman who has given his time to composing that charming book!”

(The ladies looked puzzled, as indeed was I, the author.)

“Do you not know who is the writer of it?” asked the gentleman.

“The name is Edward Lear,” said one of the ladies.

“Ah!” said the first speaker, “so it is printed; but that is only a whim of the real author, the Earl of Derby. Edward is his Christian name, and, as you may see, LEAR is only EARL transposed.”

“But,” said the lady, doubtingly, “here is a dedication to the great-grandchildren, grand-nephews, and grand-nieces of Edward, thirteenth Earl of Derby, by the author, Edward Lear.”

“That,” replied the other, “is simply a piece of mystification; I am in a position to know that the whole book was composed and illustrated by Lord Derby himself. In fact, there is no such a person at all as Edward Lear.”

“Yet,” said the other lady, “some friends of mine tell me they know Mr. Lear.”

“Quite a mistake! completely a mistake!” said the old gentleman, becoming rather angry at the contradiction; “I am well aware of what I am saying: I can inform you, no such a person as Edward Lear exists!”

Hitherto I had kept silence; but as my hat was, as well as my handkerchief and stick, largely marked inside with my name, and as I happened to have in my pocket several letters addressed to me, the temptation was too great to resist; so, flashing all these articles at once on my would-be extinguisher's attention, I speedily reduced him to silence.

Long years ago, in days when much of my time was passed in a country house, where children and mirth abounded, the lines beginning, “There was an old man of Tobago,” were suggested to me by a valued friend, as a form of verse lending itself to limitless variety for rhymes and pictures; and thenceforth the greater part of the original drawings and verses for the first Book of Nonsense were struck off with a pen, no assistance ever having been given me in any way but that of uproarious delight and welcome at the appearance of every new absurdity.