Disclaimer: герои принадлежат Толкину, часть фраз -- Шоу, тенгвар -- Феанаро.
It was the days of bliss in Valinor and the Eldar were happy in their labours. In those days the wisest of them resolved to create the place where every one could enrich one's knowledge and become a lore-master. So Tirion's University was created. There were many lore-masters there. The languages were taught by Rumil and Fëanáro. The latter was young but as he had made much better Rumil's tengwar he became one of the university masters. So Rumil taught Telerin and Valarin to those who were eager to know more, and Fëanáro taught Quenya to every one, and he took special care of the skills of beautiful writing and right speaking. *** It was the first day of learning with a new teacher. Young nissi were excited -- sure, the teacher was of their age. They chattered and giggled, and dreamt up how they would play jokes at their teacher who naturally should be shy and timid. Their dreams about jokes, however, remained dreams. As far as Fëanáro entered the room all the talks ended. Twenty-six pair of eyes fixed on him. -- Today you start a course of Quenya. It is your mother tongue; let us speak it correctly and precisely. It is a gift of Eru and you'll see the beauty and glory of it. If you are diligent enough, -- he added suddenly. The lesson began. *** Thirteen girls were writing something in their papers. The chatter was forgotten for a long time, all their attention was riveted to their tengwar. Fëanáro was walking between the tables and showing from time to time how to write better. He was to improve the writing of all the girls. Almost all for one of them had a perfect handwriting. -- Your handwriting is great, it's brilliant, -- he said to this girl. She smiled. -- It's enough for today, -- Fëanáro said to all girls. -- You must train it once more at home. Nissi gathered their staff and went away, but the girl with perfect writing skills stayed. -- I heard [s]at one can write not only by right but also by left hand, -- she said. Fëanáro made a wry face. -- What have you said?.. -- I heard [s]at one... -- the girl started to repeat. Fëanáro's lámatyávë was dying in dreadful agony hearing this sound. -- Why do you speak so terrible? -- Fëanáro always calls a Morgoth a Morgoth. -- Terrible? -- she was astonished. -- Yes, terrible, do you understand Quenya? -- Fëanáro asked in a chafe. -- Awful, horrible, dreadful... all that means terrible. -- [s]ere is no difficulty in understanding, -- the girl felt hurt a bit. -- I always speak [s]is way, my friends speak [s]e same and... -- Stop it immediately! -- Fëanáro was at the edge of his temper. -- It is a pure nightmare. You are very good at writing but you must spare no effort to improve your terrible speaking. The girl frowned. -- It's not _so_ terrible, -- she said. -- It's awful enough to make me die, -- the noldo answered categorically. -- I must go and you must not speak this horrible sound any more. -- Do you mean [s]is sound? -- the girl smiled. Fëanáro shot a furious glance at her and went away. *** -- Well, I think that's the whole show, -- said Fëanáro. -- It's really amazing. I haven't taken half of it in, you know, -- Finwё meant the different types of sound which they had heard. -- I can pronounce twenty-four distinct vowel sounds; but your hundred and thirty beat me. I can't hear a bit of difference between most of them. -- That comes with practice, -- his son shrugged his shoulders. A woman came in. She helped Fëanáro about the house for he lived alone since his father had married for the second time. -- A young girl wants to see you, Fëanáro. -- A young girl! What does she want? -- I don't know. I thought perhaps you wanted her to talk into your machines... Fëanáro got inflamed. -- Has she an interesting accent? -- Oh, something dreadful, really, -- answered Lindё (that was her name). She went away and came back with a red-haired girl. Fëanáro recognized her at once and didn't bother to hide his disappointment. -- Well, I know her. And I heard her yesterday... she really speaks terrible. But there is nothing interesting, she just pronounces thule not right. The girl looked angry. -- First, I have a name... -- What a surprise! --... and my name is Nerdanel, -- she continued speaking without paying any attention to his remark. -- Second, I have a deal. I've come to take lessons. -- No, -- the answer was short. -- The lessons at the university are enough, I never teach at home. -- But I have a really interesting offer, -- Nerdanel didn't want to give up. -- You know, I am a daughter of Mahtan. And I know [s]at you want to have him as a master. Fëanáro was really eager to be apprenticed to a great smith. But... -- No, -- he said again. Finwё understood that it was high time to break into the conversation. -- Nerdanel, don't take it to heart. He is just not sure that he'll be able to do it, -- the king smiled. -- Father, you are not serious, are you? -- I'll say you're the greatest teacher alive if you make that good, -- Finwё said without a shadow of a smile. -- Don't know... she goes at the university anyway and she is so intrude! -- You're certainly not going to turn her head with flattery, Kurvo, -- his father noticed. -- Oh, don't say that, lord: there's more ways than one of turning a girl's head; and nobody can do it better than Fëanáro, though he may not always mean it. I do hope, my king, you won't encourage him to do anything foolish, -- Lindё interrupted. Fëanáro suddenly changed his decision. -- I make her pronunciation perfect in a week, if she has a good ear and a quick tongue. Finwё hemmed. -- Do you want to bet, father? -- Fëanáro raised his eyebrows. -- Do you have doubts? -- No way, -- Finwё's eyes smiled but his face was serious. -- So you stay here... Nerdanel, till I make you a normal noldo, -- Fëanáro cаme to a determination. Lindё frowned. -- Fëanáro, you can't take a girl up like that as if you were picking up a pebble on the beach. Finwё's son stared at her in wonder. -- Why not? -- Why not! But you don't know anything about her. She may be married. Nerdanel made a grimace that was a clear evidence of her thoughts. -- Nonsense! -- she exclaimed. -- Who would marry me? Fëanáro smiled ironically. -- By Eru, the streets will be strewn with the bodies of men shooting themselves for your sake before I've done with you. Nerdanel looked not very enthusiastic. -- [s]at wasn't my aim, -- she said coldly. -- Does it occur to you, Kurvo, that the girl has some feelings? -- Finwё was curious about it. -- Oh no, I don't think so. Not any feelings that we need bother about, -- he said without hesitation. -- Have you, Nerdanel? -- My feelings are feelings of any person, -- the same coldness. -- I have doubts, but anyway, you can go with Lindё, she shows you your room. Nerdanel had a great desire to say something else but Lindё took her away right in time. *** Finwё seemed to be confused with something. -- Excuse the straight question, Kurvo. Are you a man of good character where women are concerned? -- Have you ever met a man of good character where women are concerned? -- his son was astonished. -- Yes, and very frequently, -- the king answered without any doubt. -- I haven't. I find that the moment I let a woman make friends with me, she becomes jealous, exacting, suspicious, and a damned nuisance. I find that the moment I let myself make friends with a woman, I become selfish and tyrannical. Women upset everything. When you let them into your life, you find that the woman is driving at one thing and you're driving at another, -- Fëanáro made a little speech. -- So here I am, a confirmed old bachelor, and likely to remain so, -- he said with an absolute conviction. Lindё came back -- I just wish to trouble you with a word, if I may, Fëanáro. -- Well, what have you to say to me? -- he was intrigued. -- Will you please be very particular what you say before the girl? Fëanáro raised his eyebrows. -- Of course. I'm always particular about what I say. Why do you say this to me? -- No, you're not at all particular when you've mislaid anything or when you get a little impatient. Now it doesn't matter before me: I'm used to it. But you really must not swear before the girl. -- I swear! -- Kurvo was indignant. -- I never swear. I detest the habit. What the Morgoth do you mean? But Linde was used to his character. -- That's what I mean. You swear a great deal too much. I don't mind your damning and blasting, and what the Morgoth and where the Morgoth and who the Morgoth -- -- Really! Lindё, this language from your lips! Lindё didn't let to be put off. -- but there is a certain word I must ask you not to use. It begins with the same letter as "ugly". Fëanáro seemed to feel ashamed. -- I cannot charge myself with having ever uttered it, Linde. Except perhaps in a moment of extreme and justifiable excitement. -- Only this morning, -- Lindё was adamant, -- you applied it to your boots, to the butter, and to the brown bread. -- Oh, that! Mere alliteration, Lindё, natural to a... poet. -- Well, whatever you choose to call it, I beg you not to let the girl hear you repeat it. -- Oh, very well, very well. Is that all? -- Kurvo gave up. Lindё gave a long sigh. -- I'm afraid, not. Might I ask you not to come down to breakfast in your dressing-gown, or at any rate not to use it as a napkin to the extent you do. And if you would be so good as not to eat everything off the same plate, and to remember not to put the porridge saucepan out of your hand on the clean tablecloth... You know you nearly choked yourself with a fishbone in the jam only last week, and... -- Oh, please, Lindё, stop it! -- he asked for mercy. Finwё laughed. -- By the way: my dressing-gown smells most damnably of sulfur. -- No doubt it does. But if you change your clothes after working with metals and don't wipe your fingers... -- Oh very well, very well: I'll wipe them in my hair in future. Is that all? -- Fëanáro asked impatiently. -- That's all, -- Lindё smiled. Finwё just shook his head. -- I never knew that your single life is so... troublesome. It might be better for you to come back or...? -- he asked uncertainly. -- No, father. Everything is quite right, don't bother, -- his son answered quietly. *** Few days later... -- Say that. -- What? -- That. -- What [s]at? -- Not sat, that. -- I can't. -- You can. -- [s]at. I can't! -- You must. Say thank. -- [s]ank. -- Say I think. -- I [s]ink. -- A ship can sink. You can think... at least I hope. -- !!! -- You'd better try to speak. I am not very fond of osanwe. -- You insufferable. -- Don't suffer, just say something right. -- Some[s]ing? -- Yes, some Eldar sing. And everyone speaks. Are you sure you are a noldo? -- !!! -- You can't burn me to ashes with a glance. -- That can I do! -- What? -- That! -- What that? -- I might not be able to burn you but at least I can strike you! -- Just now. You have stroke me saying that. -- What?.. *** It was Indis' at-home day. Nobody has yet arrived. The door is opened violently; and Fëanáro rashed. -- Kurvo! What are you doing here today? It is my at home day: you promised not to come. -- I know, Indis. I came on purpose. -- But you mustn't, -- Indis was shocked. --You offend all my friends: they stop coming whenever they meet you. Really, you mustn't stay. -- I must. I've a job for you, -- he winked. -- A phonetic job. Indis was upset. -- You know, I'm of no use, dear. I'm sorry; but I can't get round your vowels; and though I like to get pretty postcards in your patent tengwar, I always have to read the copies in ordinary writing you so thoughtfully send me. -- Well, this is a phonetic job for me. I've picked up a girl. -- Does that mean that some girl has picked you up? -- Indis showed interest. Fëanáro waved his hand. -- Not at all. I don't mean a love affair. -- What a pity! -- this time Indis was really upset. -- Why? -- Well, you never fall in love.... When will you discover that there are some rather nice-looking young women about? Well, tell me about the girl. -- She's coming to see you, -- Finwё's son reported. -- I don't remember asking her, -- Indis said. -- You didn't, -- he said patiently. -- I asked her. I've taught her to speak properly; and she has strict orders as to her behavior. Oh, she'll be all right: don't you fuss. Father is in it with me. I've a sort of bet... I started on her some days ago; and she's getting on like a house on fire. I shall win my bet. She has a quick ear; and she's been easier to teach than my pupils. They are interrupted by the parlor-maid, announcing guests. Some Vanyar came in. -- How do you do? -- they said. -- My stepson Kurufinwё Fëanáro, -- Indis introduced him. -- Your celebrated stepson! I have so longed to meet you, Fëanáro, -- a young nis said. -- Delighted, -- his face suggested otherwise. Their nice conversation was interrupted by the parlor-maid ushering Nerdanel. -- Here she is! -- Fëanáro rose hastily. Nerdanel came to Indis and bowed low. Finwё's wife smiled and they started a conversation with quiet voices. *** Fëanáro's house. Late evening. Nerdanel stood near the portrait. There was a delicate silver-haired woman on the painting. Fëanáro rushed the room. He took off the scarlet cloak; threw it carelessly on the book-stand and threw himself wearily into the easy-chair at the hearth. -- I wonder where my slippers are! -- he exclaimed. Nerdanel looked at him darkly, then left the room and in a moment returned with a pair of large down-at-heel slippers. She placed them on the carpet before Fëanáro, and sat on the sofa without a word. He didn't notice it at all. -- Oh Eru! What an evening! What a crew! It's been a long day. The garden party, a dinner party, and the opera! Rather too much of a good thing. But I've won my bet. Thanks Manwё it's over! Nerdanel turned white not with pain but with fury. Fëanáro never noticed. -- Put out the lights, Nerdanel; and tell Lindё not to make coffee for me in the morning: I'll take tea. She tried to control herself and felt indifferent but in vain. -- What have I done with my slippers? -- Fëanáro grumbled and made for the door. Well, it was the last straw for Nerdanel. She snatched up the slippers, and hurled them at him one after the other with all her force. -- There are your slippers. And there. Take your slippers; and may you never have a day's luck with them! -- she cried. -- What's the matter? -- the voice was deceitfully serene. -- Anything wrong? Nerdanel felt furious. -- Nothing wrong -- with YOU. I've won your bet for you, haven't I? That's enough for you. I don't matter, I suppose. -- YOU won my bet! You! I won it. What did you throw those slippers at me for? -- it started making his blood boil. -- Because I wanted to smash your face, -- she answered with high dignity. --You selfish brute. -- How dare you show your temper to me? -- he felt anger and utter surprise at once. It seemed that she heard nothing of his words. -- You don't care. I know you don't care. You wouldn't care if I was dead. I'm nothing to you -- not so much as [s]ose slippers. -- THOSE slippers. -- I didn't think it made any difference now, -- she looked her indifference. Fëanáro felt uneasy. -- Why have you begun going on like this? May I ask whether you complain of your treatment here? -- No. -- Has anybody behaved badly to you? -- No. -- I presume you don't pretend that I have treated you badly. -- No. -- Well, then, it is no more than fatigue. There's nothing to worry about, -- he tried to calm her down. -- No. Nothing more for you to worry about, -- the same indifference. -- Oh Eru! I wish I was dead, -- she said suddenly. He stared at her. -- Why? in Eru's name, why? -- he felt horror. Real, physical horror. He never forgot his childhood. -- It's only imagination. Low spirits and nothing else. Nobody's hurting you. Nothing's wrong. You go to bed like a good girl and sleep it off. -- By the way, -- the voice was shivering a bit. -- The ring, the one you made for this evening, -- she took it off, --You are so crafty. It was a deft touch to the image of your creation, it might be another bet of yours, didn't it? Take it away, both roles are over. You may however use it in your next experiment. -- How dare you accuse me of such a thing?! -- the pure fury. -- You have wounded me to the heart. -- I'm glad. I've got a little of my own back, anyhow, -- and... to her schame Nerdanel burst into tears. -- Oh Eru... *** -- Dear, do you know what a mess your favourite son has made? -- too soft and calm. Means the speaker is in anger at least. -- What, dear? -- He was on the north to see "something new", as he expressed himself... -- Well, what's the problem then? -- He set out on this journey not alone, -- there appeared a slight irritation in the voice. -- And this is not so dramatic either. -- Do you think he was with his brothers or friends? -- it was burning indignation. -- He was with a young girl and her parents had no idea where she was! What do you think they told me? -- I can imagine. And why did you name him "little father"? I never stole girls.