"Beagle, Peter S - Come Lady Death" - читать интересную книгу автора (Beagle Peter S)

Come Lady Death

by Peter S. Beagle





This all happened in England a long time ago, when that George who spoke English with a heavy
German accent and hated his sons was King. At that time there lived in London a lady who had
nothing to do but give parties. Her name was Flora, Lady Neville, and she was a widow and very
old. She lived in a great house not far from Buckingham Palace, and she had so many servants
that she could not possibly remember all their names; indeed, there were some she had never
even seen. She had more food than she could eat, more gowns than she could ever wear; she had
wine in her cellars that no one would drink in her lifetime, and her private vaults were filled with
great works of art that she did not know she owned. She spent the last years of her life giving
parties and balls to which the greatest lords of England—and sometimes the King himself—
came, and she was known as the wisest and wittiest woman in all London.

But in time her own parties began to bore her, and though she invited the most famous people in
the land and hired the greatest jugglers and acrobats and dancers and magicians to entertain them,
still she found her parties duller and duller. Listening to court gossip, which she had always
loved, made her yawn. The most marvelous music, the most exciting feats of magic put her to
sleep. Watching a beautiful young couple dance by her made her feel sad, and she hated to feel
sad.

And so, one summer afternoon she called her closest friends around her and said to them, "More
and more I find that my parties entertain everyone but me. The secret of my long life is that
nothing has ever been dull for me. For all my life, I have been interested in everything I saw and
been anxious to see more. But I cannot stand to be bored, and I will not go to parties at which I
expect to be bored, especially if they are my own. Therefore, to my next ball I shall invite the one
guest I am sure no one, not even myself, could possibly find boring. My friends, the guest of
honor at my next party shall be Death himself!"

A young poet thought that this was a wonderful idea, but the rest of her friends were terrified and
drew back from her. They did not want to die, they pleaded with her. Death would come for them
when he was ready; why should she invite him before the appointed hour, which would arrive
soon enough? But Lady Neville said, "Precisely. If Death has planned to take any of us on the
night of my party, he will come whether he is invited or not. But if none of us are to die, then I
think it would be charming to have Death among us—perhaps even to perform some little trick if
he is in a good humor. And think of being able to say that we had been to a party with Death! All
of London will envy us, all of England!"

The idea began to please her friends, but a young lord, very new to London, suggested timidly,
"Death is so busy. Suppose he has work to do and cannot accept your invitation?"

"No one has ever refused an invitation of mine," said Lady Neville, "not even the King." And the
young lord was not invited to her party.

She sat down then and there and wrote out the invitation. There was some dispute among her