The Umbrella Merchant read online. About the book “The Umbrella Merchant” by Francis Malka

To my late grandfather Robert Lessard, shoemaker

LA NOYADE DU MARCHAND DE PARAPLUIES

Copyright © 2010, ?ditions Hurtubise – Montr?al

Original title: La noyade du marchand de parapluies

Published by arrangement with Lester Literary Agency

All rights reserved. Any reproduction, complete or partial, including on Internet resources, as well as recording in electronic form for private or public use is possible only with the permission of the copyright owner.

The publisher thanks the Canada Council for the Arts for supporting the translation of this book.

© Natalya Vasilkova, translation, 2017

© Phantom Press, design, publication, 2017

Prologue

The story I am about to tell you is not the story of an umbrella salesman. Moreover, the story that I am about to tell you is not even my own, because I am assigned, in general, a secondary role here - the role of a shipwreck victim. By the will of circumstances, I was left to the mercy of fate, and I was carried away by the flow of events.

In fact, this is simply the story of the first person who was unlucky enough to get in the way of the cursed manuscript. The main character of my absolutely incredible story is not a person, but a handwritten book. A book for which there is an endless hunt: thousands of people are still scouring all six continents. Be extremely attentive - and you will immediately recognize the hunters for the manuscript by the haste with which they try to extract at least some information, by the sparkles flashing in their eyes and betraying malicious intent, by the greed that pushes them from door to door in the hope of discovering at least a thread - by pulling it, they will be able to lay their paw on a priceless treasure... They say that after many years of fruitless searches, a silent rage gradually takes over their souls, and this unexpressed rage clouds their reason, banishes all ability to sympathize, and so successfully that they, without the slightest hesitation will eliminate anyone who tries to interfere with taking possession of the prey.

And yet, do not be afraid, because not a single person - from the most enlightened historian to the most cunning seeker, no one, including the highest paid mercenary, will lay his paws on the manuscript in question. For this book is one of special objects: they cannot be appropriated, they cannot be taken possession of, they cannot be bought, sold, or stolen. Some in their assumptions even go so far as to endow the manuscript with some kind of will - based on the allegedly strange ability it has to influence its destiny and choose its owner.

But what is so good and so special about the notorious manuscript? Why is everyone ready to get her at any cost and, as stated above, lay their paw on her? Because, if you believe the legend, it endows its owner with unimaginable power, gives him enormous power, and no one can intercept this power, no one can subjugate the owner of the book.

I myself had the chance to meet the manuscript, and - since I was unable to tame it - I learned to live next door to it, respect it, and most importantly, survive unpredictable attacks of its anger.

Paradoxically, the power of a book lies not in the words that are written in it, but in those that are not yet there.

Part one

1

It all started in Arles in 1039.

At noon on Wednesday.

The fortified city, just a few decades ago the capital of the Kingdom of Provence, was now going through turbulent times. Despite the fact that Arles had recently gotten rid of its main enemies - first the Saracens, then the Moors - the influence that it had previously exerted over the entire kingdom today extended only to its own suburbs. Marquis William I 1
William I the Pious (860/865-918) - Count of Auvergne, Macon, Bourges and Lyon from 886, Duke of Aquitaine from 893, was actually independent of the King of France, enjoyed unlimited power in his possessions and minted his own coins . – Here and further, unless specifically stated, – note. translation

Who once, developing agriculture, pushing the city boundaries further to the north and south, draining the swamps surrounding Arles, achieved a certain prosperity of his native places, died in the prime of his life, thirty-eight years old, and power passed to his heirs, people much weaker than himself Marquis, and disunited. These latter were unable to cope with popular unrest and constantly fought against riots that arose here and there.

Years passed, another rebellion led to another transfer of rights to the count's power, and Arles plunged into chaos. Various groups of conspirators from the nobility began to challenge this right from one another, the counts, having lost the right to power, surrounded themselves with armed people, created a militia, whose tasks included protecting their master and not giving rest to his rivals. Such “militarization” of Arles fragmented the former capital of Provence to such an extent that new, internal walls grew inside the city walls; these walls facilitated the defense of individual bastions, restrained hostility, and thanks to them, opposing rebel groups could coexist without exterminating each other.

In that gloomy timelessness, the stories of elders about Arles, dazzlingly shining in the center of Provence, sounded like amazing fables. From their very birth, young people grew up among poverty, they were frightened in every possible way from infancy, and it often seemed to them that the era of prosperity and prosperity that their parents talked about was just a wonderful fairy tale, the purpose of which was to maintain their hope.

2

But let's go back to that Wednesday. It was already evening when the Comte de Porcellet's footman slammed his fist on the door of the shoemaker's shop. The roar made me rush to the door, literally jumping out of my shoes. I opened.

- Bertrand? Your visit honors me, but to what?

- Mister Count ordered me to give you this.

Getting down to business, Bertrand tossed a cloth bag into the air. The slight chime of metal with which it fell on the tabletop made it clear What in this bag.

- And how many are there?

“According to my master, twenty-five sous and eight deniers.” 2
Denier is a French silver coin used in the Middle Ages. Twelve deniers equaled one sou, twenty sous equaled one livre.

As agreed. The Count is pleased with your work, and this amount is repayment of the debt.

- Great. Say hello to the Count. And remind him to wax his boots thoroughly this coming fall if he wants them to last longer than the season.

As soon as Bertrand was out of sight, I rushed to the wallet and noisily emptied its contents onto the table. Everything was calculated correctly, Bertrand did not encroach on my bag, and I, happy, singing at the top of my voice, danced around the table. For a week now the only dish available to me was boiled cabbage; I hadn’t eaten anything else and was now salivating at the mere thought of taking a few deniers and finally going to the market. The taste buds of my tongue began to stir: they were waiting for this moment with even more impatience than their owner.

I hid eight deniers in my stockings - an indispensable precaution in case I met robbers on the road, and decided to keep twenty-five sous in a bag: for the first time in my life I had more silver livre at my disposal! I also carefully hid the bag - I placed it away from prying eyes under the roof, where my little hiding place was located. There was only one way to get into it - by moving the ceiling board, from which I had previously pulled out the nails all the way to the bed. And all the same, before I go into the hiding place, I always check that I have closed the shutters properly, because if my neighbors found out about its existence, even if it’s a big deal, oh, how much joy there will be!

The money I received paid for several weeks of continuous hard work. That time, Count de Porcellet entrusted me with twenty-seven pairs of boots, asking, as usual, not just to repair them, no, “to make them as good as new.” My lord commanded a large militia detachment of fifty people, and this made him one of the most formidable Arlesian counts. The size and power of his army could easily have helped de Porcellet spread his influence to the surrounding neighborhoods without much shedding of blood, but he was a peaceful man and valued quiet sleep above power, and besides, he did not want to conquer anyone’s bastions - why get involved? The neighbors might take revenge.

However, something else was important for me: Comte de Porcellet understood that in the labyrinth of walls and gates into which the city had turned, the main advantage of a soldier was not the ability to wield a sword or the strength of his armor, but the quality of his boots. A well-shod person can indeed run faster without succumbing to fatigue, can cover greater distances and move silently, and you can’t imagine anything better - both in defense and in attack.

Despite the fact that my family was relatively poor, I inherited from my father the privilege of living inside the walls, therefore, when I went to bed, I could not be afraid that by the morning I would be cut into pieces. Only a few unconditionally talented artisans, capable of providing the most urgent needs with what they did, received and retained this privilege, which meant the patronage of the nobles. However, the counts generally tried to surround themselves with knowledgeable and skillful people: first of all, so as to benefit from the fruits of their labor, but equally so that they would not be lured away by their rivals. Some of the most respectable artisans even managed to organize something like an auction, emphasizing the extraordinary nature of their products and inflating prices to the utmost, and then go into the service of whichever count and viscount would offer the highest payment. So my father’s shoemaker’s workshop came under the protection of the de Porcellet family.

However, this privilege was not central to his father's legacy. My father - without a doubt, the most skilled of the Arlesian shoemakers - with blood he passed on to me his talent, his sleight of hand and - already teaching - the secrets of his craft. My father taught me to repair torn leather so that no trace of the tear remains, to nail the sole so that it becomes stronger than it was at the very beginning, and most importantly, to guess the shape of the shoe by tapping it by the deformations the worn shoes have undergone. owner's feet. That is, he gifted me with an art that can only be passed on by a master to an apprentice and was as valuable in those days as the art of a musician or artist.

That's why, after my father's death, I became the personal shoemaker of the most powerful family in Arles. From then on, the power of the count's army depended, among other things, on the skill of my hands.

3

Having hidden the money well, I left the workshop and properly locked the door. With eight deniers on my feet, I was shod—who would doubt it! - better than all the shoemakers in our city.

It had been a terrible heat in Arles for several days now. The heavy, almost leaden sun drove my fellow Arlesians under the roof or at least into the shade.

To get to the market, it was necessary to leave the Porcelais bastion behind and go beyond the territory guarded by the count's militia. Passing through the gate in the western wall, I greeted today's sentry, Francois. Several years ago, after an attack on our quarter by a gang of sailors coming from the port, the count ordered the construction of two walls in the west, and the timely measures taken turned out to be beneficial, because after that not a single raid occurred.

And now I’m already outside the walls of the bastion, now I’m already walking along the narrow streets, heading to the right bank of the Grand Rhone, to Trenktai - a quarter that owes its name to the custom of sailors making a notch on the wall of the house every time their drinking companions clink glasses 3
Quarter name Trinquetaille consists of parts of two words: trinquer, that is, “to clink glasses,” and dragle- “notch, mark.”

The gardeners, butcher and fishmonger had just brought fresh goods along the shore. Fresh? The barely perceptible smell of the swamp made it clear that the fish was not the freshest, and I moved to the butcher. For eight deniers you could buy entrecote, carrots, onions and wine. The shoemaker will arrange a real feast for himself today!

When I was already heading home, an unfamiliar man sitting on a wooden box called me in a weak, faded voice.

– Come to me, young man, don’t be afraid! – he called, beckoning with his hand.

Judging by his build and posture, this man was about thirty years old. But as soon as I approached, he raised his head, the sun’s rays fell on his face and highlighted such deep wrinkles that the man in his prime instantly turned into an old man. This shocked me, and I had not yet fully recovered from my amazement when he asked:

-What color do you want?

- Sorry, I did not understand…

– What color umbrella would you like?

- None! I'm not going to buy an umbrella at all!

Really, why? The sun was burning like crazy, and besides, I had just paid the gardener with my last day...

- OK. Then name any color that comes to your mind.

- Well... let's say red.

- Perfect.

The umbrella merchant, with youthful flexibility, leaned to the left, put his hand into the box on which he was sitting, pulled out a folded umbrella, pulled the ring on the handle - and the umbrella instantly, as if by magic, opened. I widened my eyes, and the old man looked kind of pleased: this is how the trick he performed affected the potential buyer.

– I have umbrellas of all possible colors. They say they are simply wonderful, I brought them from the East, because it was the Chinese who invented the umbrella many centuries ago.

- It’s a charming sight, but I need to get home quickly so that the food I bought at the market doesn’t go rotten, it’s hot...

“Well, in that case, see you later, young man.” We will meet again, because the world here gives rise to confidence: sooner or later it will certainly rain.

I returned to the workshop, impressed by the strange meeting and thought where he came from on the embankment, this old man, why he came here and why he was sitting under the scorching sun on a box full of umbrellas...

Fortunately, the feast distracted me from these thoughts: that evening I enjoyed it the same way as counts enjoy every day.

4

The next morning the cloudless sky promised another dazzlingly beautiful day, and I took advantage of this to deliver some orders.

First - two pairs of shoes for the Viscount of Burgundy on the left bank of the Rhone, then a pair of shoes for the son of Count Boson - a little higher in the city. In total I earned a sou and six deniers.

And when he turned back, a lead cloud suddenly appeared and swirled in the sky above Arles, and its appearance meant that a thunderstorm was about to begin. Since I had to walk along the river in any case, I immediately remembered the old man who was selling umbrellas yesterday and decided that now he could be useful to me.

I got to the place where I had seen him the day before, getting pretty wet, but I didn’t even find a trace of the umbrella merchant there. Neither he nor his box-throne were there. Nothing can be done... I went home with nothing, walked, despite the downpour, slowly and repeated to myself that a person who is wet through and through needs an umbrella no more than a legless cripple needs shoes.

5

The next day, when I again needed to carry the finished shoes to Trenktai, I, to my great surprise, noticed that the umbrella merchant was again sitting near the river. There was not a cloud in the clear sky - I immediately checked it.

Out of pure curiosity I approached the old man.

- Oh, it's you, my friend! – he exclaimed when he saw me.

- You know, yesterday I wanted to buy an umbrella, but you weren’t here...

- Rain, young man, rain! Don’t you understand that at my age, and with such painful joints, working in the pouring rain would be painful? Haven't thought about it? I only go outside in good weather.

“Can’t you shelter from the downpour under one of your umbrellas?”

- Can. But is it really possible that when it becomes clear again, someone will buy used umbrellas from me?

– It’s a strange idea to sell umbrellas only in good weather...

- Here! You are starting to understand! You should stock up on umbrellas in good weather! Here you go, I have a red one for you.

The merchant performed the same maneuver as two days ago and handed me the same umbrella. Only this morning I felt that I simply had to buy it. Although, contrary to what the old man said about his joints, they clearly allowed him to demonstrate amazing flexibility without suffering at all from pain.

“That’s six deniers,” said the umbrella merchant.

When I gave him the money, the old man’s face lit up with a grateful smile and he said:

“Of the residents of the city of Arles, you are the only one who purchased my goods from me, and you cannot even imagine how much good your six deniers will bring me.” As a token of gratitude, please accept this gift.

The old man handed me a small book with a leather cover, tied across with a strap - it won’t open with it.

- What is this?

– This book will change your life to an extent that you cannot even imagine. If you strictly follow my instructions, she will make you the most powerful man in the entire kingdom of Provence. But in order for this to happen, you need to keep the book with you for ten days without opening it. It is very important to wait until the eleventh day and only then see what is inside, on its pages. Then you will understand - easily understand! - how to use it.

I took the book and turned it over. The cover was so tattered that it seemed as if the skin was about to fall apart right in your hands, and the book itself was thin, it would be good if it had a dozen pages.

- Who are you? – I asked, looking at the old man.

- Oh, how curious you are, young man! However, I make no secret about my life. I was consul in Rome, then - at different times - the Bishop of Nîmes, the Duke of Avignon and the Prefect of Cordoba... Well, now, as you can see, I sell umbrellas.

It was difficult to believe that the listing of positions that had no connection with each other referred to one person, it was more likely that they were talking about different people in different eras, but I didn’t try to understand anything.

“But if, as you say, a book can make me such a powerful person, why are you giving it to me?” Why not keep it and use it? Can't change your own fate for the better?

– Firstly, I don’t want to change fate for the better. I adore my profession and would not do anything else for all the good in the world. And secondly, my life was long and filled to capacity, all my dreams came true. You, young man, see before you an old, decrepit man to whom this object is not capable of bringing the slightest benefit. You yourself are young and with his help you will be able to secure a brilliant future for yourself.

Not thinking for a second about the consequences of my action at that time, I put the little book in my pocket near the belt of the highway 4
Chausses were pants-stockings in the 11th–15th centuries, or more precisely, stockings that were pulled separately over each leg and attached to the belt with special fasteners. Only in the 14th century were both halves of the shawls combined into one piece of men's clothing - trousers. Chausses could, like tights, fit tightly around the leg, but they could also be somewhat looser.

6

For the next ten days I carefully kept the book, never taking it out of my pocket, although the desire to look at the pages simply burned my fingers and I had to constantly moderate my ardor.

When I passed along the banks of the Rhone on my way to go shopping, I always bowed to the umbrella seller, who, under a cloudless sky, still stubbornly offered his goods and looked completely unperturbed. Meanwhile, during all this time not a single drop fell from the sky.

And I’ve been feeling tired for several days now. Barely felt at first, after a week it became firmly established in my body. Even sleep did not bring relief, and in the morning I woke up a little more tired than I had gone to bed the day before.

Despite the fact that there was enough work, I began to move more slowly and involuntarily measured every gesture in order to save at least a little energy, which gave me the strength to live.

And then the tenth day came.

I suddenly discovered a pile of long-repaired shoes in the corner of the workshop, took three pairs to Bertrand and asked him to give them to the Comte de Porcellet. Bertrand said that M. de Porcellet would pay for the work later: the count did not know that the shoes had already been repaired, and therefore did not leave the required amount.

7

The eleventh day came, and I, terribly excited, barely able to control myself, pulled the book out of my pocket right in the morning, sat down at the kitchen table, put the amazing gift in front of me, began to look and looked at it for a long, long time, although the way the umbrella seller described the book then , intrigued me so much that I was simply trembling with impatience: quickly, quickly, find out what capabilities this extraordinary object has!

Nevertheless, I untied the leather strap and then peeled back the cover slowly, with endless precautions, afraid that the book would crumble in my hands. And then, when there was nothing left to wait, I started reading the first page.

I devoured the entire book in a few minutes - with ever-increasing bewilderment. It was, in fact, only ten pages long, with only a few handwritten lines on each page, but the whole thing told with disconcerting accuracy the events I had experienced over the past ten days. Not a single thing was forgotten!

Throwing the mysterious manuscript onto the table as if it had burned my fingers, I thought: what kind of witchcraft is this that I had to fall victim to? And if this is not witchcraft, who invented and performed such a terrible prank? Naturally, all paths led to the umbrella seller... Let's say. But if it was him, then how did the old man carry out his strange idea? How could he guess and describe what I would be doing for the next ten days after the purchase? No, no one can do this, the text could only be written after Total. And only one person in the world knew what I was doing, only one person during these ten days had access to the manuscript, therefore, only one person could be the author of the text I read. But even I myself have never taken a book out of my pocket!

This unusual and charming story begins in medieval Arles, in 1039. A modest shoemaker one day meets a strange man on the river bank - under the scorching sun he is selling useless umbrellas. Out of courtesy, the young man buys an umbrella from the old man, and at the same time receives a small book with blank pages. From this moment on, the life of the poor shoemaker changes irreversibly; he faces incredible and slightly surreal adventures. But the main thing is that from now on he will create History. More precisely, this will be done by a modest, battered little book, each entry in which will predetermine the course of world history. It is very difficult to control a wayward manuscript, and many people strive to take possession of it...

Without falling into excessive seriousness, Francis Malka talks about the events that determined the fate of Europe and the whole world. The great flood, the construction of the Leaning Tower of Pisa, the campaign of Christopher Columbus, the assassination of Archduke Franz Ferdinand form an educational and adventurous mosaic.

The work was published in 2010 by Phantom Press. On our website you can download the book "The Umbrella Merchant" in fb2, rtf, epub, pdf, txt format or read online. The book's rating is 4 out of 5. Here, before reading, you can also turn to reviews from readers who are already familiar with the book and find out their opinion. In our partner's online store you can buy and read the book in paper form.

Mar 20, 2017

Umbrella merchant Francis Malka

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Title: Umbrella Merchant
Author: Francis Malka
Year: 2010
Genre: Foreign fiction, Historical fiction, Contemporary foreign literature

About the book “The Umbrella Merchant” by Francis Malka

Francis Malka is a contemporary Canadian writer. His acclaimed book, The Umbrella Merchant, is a gripping story full of secrets and mysteries that you can't tear yourself away from for a minute. The story is based on a story about how one day one very strange thing falls into the hands of the main character - a small book that can give its owner a long life and the opportunity to change the future. This prospect certainly looks tempting, but not everything here is so simple and unambiguous. In the context of the supernatural power of this artifact, the author perfectly demonstrated human weaknesses: excessive greed, delusions of grandeur, thirst for universal recognition, excessive ambition and other equally common vices. Thus, before us is not only an incredibly fascinating, but also an endlessly instructive work, which will be useful to read at any age.

In his book, Francis Malka talks about an incident that took place in the French town of Arles in the 11th century. A simple shoemaker once notices a strange stranger on the river bank - under the scorching sun he is selling umbrellas that are completely useless in such weather. Out of curiosity, the young man decides to buy one umbrella from the old man, and at the same time receives an unexpected gift in the form of a book with blank pages. From this very moment, our hero’s life is turned upside down, and now he faces unforgettable and even somewhat surreal adventures. But the most important thing is that from now on the young shoemaker will become the creator of History. And to help him in this will be a nondescript, tattered little book, each note in which is destined to predetermine the course of development of historical events of world significance.

Francis Malka in the novel “The Umbrella Merchant” presents to our attention an amazing, tense, partly fantastic story that will not leave anyone indifferent. By the will of fate, a certain mysterious little book, endowed with unheard-of power, falls into the hands of a simple worker. It is very difficult to control this peculiar manuscript. In addition, there are more than enough contenders for owning it. Without resorting to excessive seriousness, the author narrates a number of incidents that played key roles in the history of Europe and the world. The Great Flood, the construction of the Leaning Tower of Pisa, Columbus's expedition, and the mysterious murder of Franz Ferdinand are intertwined, creating a most curious adventurous mosaic. Thanks to the rich and multifaceted ideological content, as well as the author’s skillful artistic embodiment of his idea, you want to read and re-read this extraordinary book again and again.

On our website about books, you can download the site for free without registration or read online the book “The Umbrella Merchant” by Francis Malka in epub, fb2, txt, rtf, pdf formats for iPad, iPhone, Android and Kindle. The book will give you a lot of pleasant moments and real pleasure from reading. You can buy the full version from our partner. Also, here you will find the latest news from the literary world, learn the biography of your favorite authors. For beginning writers, there is a separate section with useful tips and tricks, interesting articles, thanks to which you yourself can try your hand at literary crafts.

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To my late grandfather Robert Lessard, shoemaker

LA NOYADE DU MARCHAND DE PARAPLUIES

Original title: La noyade du marchand de parapluies

Published by arrangement with Lester Literary Agency

All rights reserved. Any reproduction, complete or partial, including on Internet resources, as well as recording in electronic form for private or public use is possible only with the permission of the copyright owner.

The publisher thanks the Canada Council for the Arts for supporting the translation of this book.

I myself had the chance to meet the manuscript, and - since I was unable to tame it - I learned to live next door to it, respect it, and most importantly, survive unpredictable attacks of its anger.

Paradoxically, the power of a book lies not in the words that are written in it, but in those that are not yet there.

Part one

It all started in Arles in 1039. At noon on Wednesday.

The fortified city, just a few decades ago the capital of the Kingdom of Provence, was now going through turbulent times. Despite the fact that Arles had recently gotten rid of its main enemies - first the Saracens, then the Moors - the influence that it had previously exerted over the entire kingdom today extended only to its own suburbs. Marquis Guillaume I, who once, by developing agriculture, pushing the boundaries of the city further to the north and south, draining the swamps surrounding Arles, achieved a certain prosperity of his native places, died in the prime of his life, at the age of thirty-eight, and power passed to his heirs, people much more weaker than the Marquis himself, and disunited. These latter were unable to cope with popular unrest and constantly fought against riots that arose here and there.

- Bertrand? Your visit honors me, but to what?

- Mister Count ordered me to give you this.

Getting down to business, Bertrand tossed a cloth bag into the air. The slight chime of metal with which it fell on the tabletop made it clear What in this bag.

- And how many are there?

– According to my master, twenty-five sous and eight deniers, as agreed. The Count is pleased with your work, and this amount is repayment of the debt.

- Great. Say hello to the Count. And remind him to wax his boots thoroughly this coming fall if he wants them to last longer than the season.