Мобі Дік

The Carpet-Bag

           Trueenough,thoughtI,asthispassageoccurredtomymindoldblack-letter,thoureasonestwell.Yes,theseeyesarewindows,andthisbodyofmineisthehouse.Whatapitytheydidn’tstopupthechinksandthecranniesthough,andthrustinalittlelinthereandthere.Butit’stoolatetomakeanyimprovementsnow.Theuniverseisfinished;thecopestoneison,andthechipswerecartedoffamillionyearsago.PoorLazarusthere,chatteringhisteethagainstthecurbstoneforhispillow,andshakingoffhistatterswithhisshiverings,hemightplugupbothearswithrags,andputacorn-cobintohismouth,andyetthatwouldnotkeepoutthetempestuousEuroclydon.Euroclydon!saysoldDives,inhisredsilkenwrapper(hehadaredderoneafterwards)pooh,pooh!Whatafinefrostynight;howOrionglitters;whatnorthernlights!Letthemtalkoftheirorientalsummerclimesofeverlastingconservatories;givemetheprivilegeofmakingmyownsummerwithmyowncoals.

           ButwhatthinksLazarus?Canhewarmhisbluehandsbyholdingthemuptothegrandnorthernlights?WouldnotLazarusratherbeinSumatrathanhere?Wouldhenotfarratherlayhimdownlengthwisealongthelineoftheequator;yea,yegods!godowntothefierypititself,inordertokeepoutthisfrost?

           Now,thatLazarusshouldliestrandedthereonthecurbstonebeforethedoorofDives,thisismorewonderfulthanthatanicebergshouldbemooredtooneoftheMoluccas.YetDiveshimself,hetooliveslikeaCzarinanicepalacemadeoffrozensighs,andbeingapresidentofatemperancesociety,heonlydrinksthetepidtearsoforphans.

           Butnomoreofthisblubberingnow,wearegoinga-whaling,andthereisplentyofthatyettocome.Letusscrapetheicefromourfrostedfeet,andseewhatsortofaplacethis"Spouter"maybe.

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