Уильям Батлер Йейтс
Кельтские сумерки. Уровень 1 / The Celtic Twilight
Адаптация текста и словарь М. Кузнецовой

Дизайн обложки Анастасии Орловой

© Кузнецова М. М., адаптация, словарь, 2023

© ООО «Издательство АСТ», 2023

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THE HOSTING OF THE SIDHE[1]

The host is riding from Knocknarea[2],
And over the grave of Clooth-na-bare[3];
Caolte[4] tossing his burning hair,
And Niamh[5] calling, “Away, come away;
Empty your heart of its mortal dream.
The winds awaken, the leaves spin around,
Our cheeks are pale, our hair is unbound[6],
Our chests are moving, our eyes are shining,
Our arms are waving, our lips are apart,
And if anyone looks at our rushing band,
We come between him and the deed[7] of his hand,
We come between him and the hope of his heart.”
The host is rushing between night and day;
And where is there hope or deed as fair?
Caolte tossing his burning hair,
And Niamh calling, “Away, come away.”

THIS BOOK

Time drops in decay
Like a candle burnt out.
And the mountains and woods
Have their day, have their day;
But, kindly old rout
Of the fire-born moods,
You pass not away.

I wanted to create a small world from the beautiful and meaningful things in this imperfect[8] world, and to show a little piece of Ireland to my own people. I have written down what I have heard and seen. I haven’t separated my beliefs from those of the common people. I have let my characters, including ghosts and fairies, go their own way. The things a person experiences are life’s memories, and anyone can interpret[9] them as they please. I have also interpreted them in my own way, but I will be happy as long as my interpretation suits me.

1893.

W. B. YEATS.

A TELLER OF TALES

Paddy Flynn told me many of the tales in this book. He lived in a small and leaky[10] cabin in Ballisodare[11] village. He described it as the most peaceful place in County Sligo. This place is filled with fairies. The first time I saw him, he was cooking mushrooms. The next time, he was sleeping under a hedge[12] with a smile on his face. He was always happy. But I could sense a hint of sadness in his eyes.

And yet there was much in his life to depress[13] him, for his age, eccentricity, and deafness, and the children were constantly bothering him. Probably that’s why he always advised to be happy and hope for the best.

I wrote down Paddy Flynn’s stories and words in my notebook after meeting him. I feel sad looking at the empty pages at the end that will never be filled. Paddy Flynn passed away[14]. A friend of mine gave him a big bottle of whiskey, and even though he was usually not a heavy drinker[15], he got really excited from this gift, and he didn’t stop drinking for a few days until he passed away. His body was tired from old age and difficult times, and it couldn’t handle the alcohol like it did when he was young.

BELIEF AND UNBELIEF

Some people in the western villages have doubts. Last Christmas, a woman told me that she didn’t believe in hell or ghosts. She thought that hell was made up by the priest[16] to make people behave, and she didn’t think ghosts could freely walk the earth. But she believed in fairies, leprechauns[17], kelpies[18], and fallen angels. I also met a man with a tattoo of a Mohawk Indian on his arm who had similar beliefs and doubts. He said that people never doubt that fairies are real.

A young girl who worked in the village of Grange, near the slopes of Ben Bulben[19],disappeared one night around three years ago. People said that the fairies had stolen her.

A village resident tried to stop them from taking her. But he ended up with nothing in his hands except a broomstick[20]. The villagers asked the constable[21] for help, and he immediately started searching every house. He also advised the villagers to burn all the ragweed[22] on the field where the girl disappeared because ragweed is sacred[23] to the fairies. They spent the whole night burning the ragweed while the constable said special words. In the morning, they found the little girl walking in the field. She said that the fairies had taken her very far away, riding on a magical horse. Eventually, she saw a big river, and the man who tried to save her was floating down the river in a small boat.

MORTAL[24] HELP

Long ago in stories, men were taken away to assist the gods in a battle. Cuchullan[25] helped the goddess Fand’s[26] to defeat another nation and gained her favor. I’ve also heard that the fairies folk can’t even play their game called hurley[27] unless they have a mortal on each team. Without the help of mortals, the fairies folk are weak and cannot even hit the balls. One day, me and my friend were walking on some marshy[28] land in Galway when we saw an old, tough-looking man digging a ditch. My friend had heard that this man had seen something amazing. And eventually we get this story from him. When he was a young boy, he was working with around thirty other men, women, and boys. They were near Tuam[29], not too far from Knock-na-gur. Suddenly, they all saw about one hundred and fifty fairies folk from a distance of around half a mile. There were two of them, he said, in dark clothes like people of our own time, who stood about a hundred yards from one another. The others wore colorful clothes.

He could not see what they were doing, but it seemed like they have been playing hurley. Sometimes they would disappear, and then they came back out of the bodies of the two men in dark clothes. These two men were of the size of living men, but the others were small. He saw them for about half-an-hour, and then the old man he was working for said, “Get on, get on, or we will have no work done!” I asked if he saw the fairies too, “Oh, yes, but he did not want work he was paying wages for to be neglected[30].” He made everybody work so hard that nobody saw what happened to the fairies.

1902.

A VISIONARY[31]

One evening a young man came to my house and started talking about the creation of the earth and heaven and many other things. He had written many poems and painted many mystical drawings. But lately he hadn’t written or painted anything. He feared that the emotional life of the artist was bad for him. However, he willingly recited[32] his poems. Suddenly it seemed to me that he was looking around a little nervously.

“Do you see anything, X–?” I said. “A shining woman, covered by her long hair, is standing near the doorway,” he answered. “Is it some living person who thinks of us?” I said; “No,” he replied; “If it was alive I would feel that. It is a spirit. It is someone who is dead or who has never lived.”

I asked him what he was doing, and he said that he worked as a clerk in a big store. However, he enjoyed walking around the hills and talking to eccentric farmers. He would also make strange and guilt-ridden[33] people to share their problems with him. Another night, when I was at his place, more than one person came to discuss their beliefs and doubts. Sometimes he had visions[34] while talking to them. He has accurately[35] told several people about their past and distant friends, leaving them silent. Even though he was young, he’s much more clever than the oldest people around.

The poetry he recited to me was full of his nature and his visions. Sometimes it was about past lives that he had lived, and sometimes about people from those lives. I told him I wanted to write an article about him and his poetry, and he said that I could do so, but he asked me not to mention his name. He wished to stay “unknown.” The next day, he sent me a collection of his poems along with a note that said: “Here are copies of the verses you liked. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to write or paint anymore. I’m preparing myself for a new life.”

I remember one person in particular. A winter or two ago, he spent much of the night walking up and down the mountain, talking to an old peasant. Both of them were unhappy: X– because he had realized that art and poetry weren’t for him, and the old peasant because his life was ending without any achievements or hope left. Both of them were so Celtic! They were always striving[36] for something that couldn’t be fully expressed in words or actions. The peasant was lost in his mind with sadness. Once he exclaimed, “God owns the heavens, but He wants the world”; and once he complained that his old neighbors were gone and everyone had forgotten about him. They used to bring a chair for him by the fire in every cabin, but now they asked, “Who is that old man over there?” He said, “I feel doomed[37],” and then continued talking about God and heaven. He also said more than once, pointing his arm towards the mountain, “Only I know what happened under the thorn-tree[38] forty years ago,” and as he said it, tears sparkled on his face in the moonlight.

VILLAGE GHOSTS

On old maps, unexplored areas were marked with “Here are lions.” In the villages of fishermen and farmers, we can only write: “Here are ghosts.”

My ghosts live in the village of H–, in Leinster[39]. A person needs to be very careful when passing the village at night. Someone once complained, «By the cross of Jesus! How can I go? If I pass by Dunboy Hill, old Captain Burney might see me. If I go around by the water and up the steps, there’s the headless one and another on the quays[40], and a new one under the old churchyard wall. If I go all the way around the other way, Mrs. Stewart appears at Hillside Gate, and the devil himself is in Hospital Lane.”

I don’t know which spirit he met, but I’m certain it wasn’t the one in Hospital Lane. During the time of cholera, there was a building there to treat patients. After the need was gone, it was torn down, but ever since, the area has been haunted by ghosts, demons, and fairies. There’s a strong farmer in H– named Paddy B–. One night, while passing through Hospital Lane, he saw what he initially thought was a pet rabbit, but then realized it was a white cat. As he came closer, the creature started growing bigger and bigger. The farmer felt his strength draining away, as if it was being sucked out of him. He turned and ran away.

The “Fairies Path” runs through Hospital Lane. Every evening, the fairies travel from the hill to the sea and back again. There’s a cottage at the end of their path, by the sea. One night, Mrs. Arbunathy, who lived there, was waiting for her son to come home and left the door open. Her husband was asleep by the fire when a tall man entered and sat beside him. After a while, the woman asked, “Who are you in God’s name[41]?” The man got up and left, saying, “Never leave the door open at this hour, or something bad may happen to you.” She woke up her husband and told him what happened. He said, “One of the good people has been with us.”

The man probably met Mrs. Stewart at Hillside Gate. When she was alive, she was the wife of the Protestant priest. The village people say that her ghost never harmed anyone.

Not far from Hillside Gate, where she haunts, there was a more interesting spirit for a short time. It appeared in a green lane at the western end of the village. Here’s the story in detail: In a cottage at the village end of the green lane, lived a house painter named Jim Montgomery and his wife. They had several children. One day, he beat his wife, who was a very large woman. Her sister heard about it and came over. She took down one of the window shutters and beat him with it. Jim Montgomery’s behavior worsened over time, and his wife began to go hungry. She didn’t tell anyone because she was very proud. Sometimes, she wouldn’t even have a fire on a cold night. People in the area often heard her husband beating her, but she never told anyone. She became very thin. Finally, one Saturday, there was no food in the house for her and the children. She couldn’t bear it anymore and went to the priest to ask for some money. He gave her thirty shillings. Her husband met her, took the money, and beat her. On the following Monday, she became very ill and sent for Mrs. Kelly. As soon as Mrs. Kelly saw her, she said, “My dear, you’re dying,” and called the priest and the doctor. She died within an hour[42]. After her death, the landlord had taken children to the workhouse[43]. A few nights after they left, Mrs. Kelly was walking home through the green lane. The ghost of Mrs. Montgomery appeared and followed her. It didn’t leave her until she reached her own house. She told the priest, Father R, but he didn’t believe her. A few nights later, Mrs. Kelly met the spirit again in the same place. She was too terrified to go the whole way and stopped at a neighbor’s cottage halfway, asking them to let her in. She cried out, “In the name of God, let me in, or I will break open the door.” They opened the door, and she escaped from the ghost. The next day, she told the priest again. This time he believed her and said the ghost would continue to follow her until she spoke to it.

She met the spirit again in the green lane. She asked why it couldn’t rest. The spirit said they need to take its children from the workhouse and to say three masses[44] for its soul to find peace. “If my husband doesn’t believe you,” she said, “show him this.” She touched Mrs. Kelly’s wrist with three fingers, and the places where they touched turned black. Then the spirit was gone. Montgomery, for a while, didn’t believe that his wife had appeared. He said, “She wouldn’t show herself to Mrs. Kelly, she prefers to appear to respectable people.” But he believed it when he saw the three marks, and took the children out of the workhouse. The priest said the masses, and the ghost hasn’t shown up since. Some time later, Jim Montgomery died in the workhouse because of extreme poverty caused by drinking.

One person saw a woman with white borders on her cap following him, when he was passing the old graveyard wall at night. The strange woman only leaves him when he reaches his own door. The villagers believe that she follows him to seek revenge for some wrongdoing[45]. “I will haunt you when I die” is a common threat. His wife was once scared by what she believes was a demon in the form of a dog.

These are a few examples of outdoor spirits. The more domestic ones gather indoors.

One night, Mrs. Nolan was watching over her dying child in Fluddy’s Lane. Suddenly, she heard knocking at the door. She didn’t open it, fearing it was something inhuman. The knocking stopped. After a while, the front door and then the back door burst open and closed again. Her husband went to see what was wrong and found both doors locked. The child passed away. The doors opened and closed again as before. Then Mrs. Nolan remembered that she had forgotten to leave a window or door open, as is customary[46], for the soul’s departure.

House ghosts are usually harmless beings. They bring good luck to those who live with them. I remember two children who slept in one small room with their mother, sisters, brothers, and a ghost. They sold herrings[47] in the streets of Dublin and didn’t mind the ghost much because they knew they would always sell their fish easily as long as they sleep in the “haunted” room.

I know some people who can see ghosts in the villages of western Ireland. The stories from Connaught[48] are different from those in Leinster. The spirits in H– have a serious and dark manner. They appear to announce someone’s death, fulfill obligations[49], seek revenge[50] for wrongs, and even pay their debts[51]. It’s demons, not ghosts, that transform into white cats or black dogs. The tales from the west have a strange charm. The people who share these stories live in wild and beautiful landscapes. They are farmers and workers who sometimes go fishing. The ghosts here have a good sense of humor. In one western town, spirits are so energetic that if someone who doesn’t believe in them dares to sleep in a haunted house, they throw him out of the window with his bed. In the villages nearby, these creatures take on the most unusual looks. For example, a dead old gentleman steals cabbage from his own garden looking like a large rabbit. And a wicked sea captain stayed inside the plaster of a cottage wall for years, making scary noises in the form of a snipe[52].

“DUST HAS CLOSED HELEN’S EYE”

I recently visited a small group of houses called Ballylee in County Galway, Ireland. It’s not big enough to be called a village, but its name is well-known in the west of Ireland. There is an old square castle called Ballylee, where a farmer and his wife live. There’s also a cottage where their daughter and son-in-law[53] live, and a small mill with an old miller. Last year, I went there a few times to talk to the miller about Biddy Early, a wise woman who lived in Clare years ago. I wanted to know about her saying, “There is a cure for all evil between the two mill-wheels of Ballylee,”. I visited again this summer, and I plan to go back before autumn because Mary Hynes, a beautiful woman whose name is still remembered, died there sixty years ago. An old man guided me away from the mill and the castle, down a narrow path covered in brambles and sloe bushes[54]. I talked to him about a poem in Irish that Raftery[55], a famous poet, wrote about her.

I first heard about the poem from an old woman who lives about two miles up the river. She remembers Raftery and Mary Hynes. She said, “I have never seen anyone as beautiful as she was, and I never will until I die.” She told me that Raftery was nearly blind and had no other way of making a living than going around and reciting poems.

She sang the poem to me and a friend in Irish, and every word was clear and expressive. My friend and I have translated parts of it, but some of it was translated by the local people.

Going to Mass by the will of God,
The day came wet and the wind rose;
I met Mary Hynes at the cross of Kiltartan,
And I fell in love with her then and there.

I spoke to her kind and mannerly,
As by report was her own way;
And she said, “Raftery, my mind is easy,
You may come today to Ballylee.”

When I heard her offer I did not linger,
When her talk went to my heart my heart rose.
We had only to go across the three fields,
We had daylight with us to Ballylee.

The table was laid with glasses and a quart measure,
She had fair hair, and she sitting beside me;
And she said, “Drink, Raftery, and a hundred welcomes,
There is a strong cellar in Ballylee.”

Oh star of light and Oh sun in harvest,
Oh amber[56] hair, Oh my share of the world,
Will you come with me on Sunday
Till we agree together before all the people?

I would not grudge[57] you a song every Sunday evening,
Punch on the table, or wine if you would drink it,
But, Oh King of Glory, dry the roads before me,
Till I find the way to Ballylee.

There is sweet air on the side of the hill
When you are looking down upon Ballylee;
When you are walking in the valley picking nuts
and blackberries,
There is music of the birds in it and music of the Sidhe.

What is the worth of greatness till you have the light
Of the flower of the branch that is by your side?
There is no god to deny it or to try and hide it,
She is the sun in the heavens who wounded my heart.
There was no part of Ireland I did not travel,
From the rivers to the tops of the mountains,
To the edge of Lough Greine[58] whose mouth is hidden,
And I saw no beauty but was behind hers.

Her hair was shining, and her brows were shining too;
Her face was like herself, her mouth pleasant and sweet.
She is the pride, and I give her the branch,
She is the shining flower of Ballylee.

It is Mary Hynes, this calm and easy woman,
Has beauty in her mind and in her face.
If a hundred clerks were gathered together,
They could not write down a half of her ways.

An old weaver[59] says, “Mary Hynes was the most beautiful person ever. My mother used to tell me about her. She was always dressed in white and visited every hurling match. Eleven men asked her to be their wife in one day, but she said “no” to all of them. One night, some men were sitting together, drinking and talking about her. One of them decided to go to Ballylee and see her. However, he fell into Cloon Bog and was found dead the next morning. Mary died of fever before the famine.” An old woman from Derrybrien[60] recalls Mary. She says, “No one has ever been as beautiful as Mary. Her skin was so white that it looked blue, and she had two little blushes on her cheeks.” Another wrinkled woman living near Ballylee says, “I often saw Mary Hynes, and she was really beautiful. She had two curls on each cheek that were silver-colored. I also saw Mary Molloy, who drowned in the river, and Mary Guthrie from Ardrahan[61], but Mary Hynes was the most beautiful of them. She had seen too much of the world. She was a kind person. One day, I was walking through a field, feeling tired, and the Poisin Glegeal (the shining flower) appeared and gave me a glass of fresh milk.” A man by the shore in Kinvara[62], who is too young to remember Mary Hynes, says, “Everyone says there is no one as beautiful as her now. They say her hair was the color of gold. She was poor, but she always dressed nicely. If she attended any gathering, everyone would fight to catch a glimpse of her. Many people were in love with her, but she died young. It is said that anyone who has a song written about them won’t live long.”

People believe that those who are greatly admired are taken by the Sidhe (fairies). The admired and desired individuals are only safe if someone says “God bless them” when looking at them. The old woman who sang the song also believes that Mary Hynes was taken by the Sidhe. People from all over came to see her, and maybe some of them didn’t say “God bless her.” She died young because the gods loved her, as the Sidhe are considered gods. The old saying about her having seen too much of the world might refer to her manner of death in ancient times. These simple country people are much closer to the ancient Greek world that valued beauty more than our educated men. When they talk about her, they blame others and not her. Although they can be harsh, they become gentle, just like the old men of Troy became gentle when Helen passed by on the walls.

The poet who made Mary Hynes famous is also well-known in the west of Ireland. Some people think Raftery was partially blind and say, “I saw Raftery, a dark man, but he could still see her,” or something similar. Others believe he was completely blind, especially towards the end of his life. One day, I asked a man how Raftery could have admired Mary Hynes so much if he was completely blind. He replied, “I think Raftery was completely blind, but blind people have a way of seeing things. They have the power to know more, feel more, do more, and guess more than those with sight. They have a certain wit[63] and wisdom.” Everyone agrees that he was very wise because he was not only blind but also a poet. The weaver, who spoke about Mary Hynes earlier, says, “His poetry was a gift from God, for there are three things that are gifts from God: poetry, dancing, and principles. “ A man at Coole[64] adds, “When he touched a certain part of his head, everything would come to him as if it was written in a book.”

A friend of mine once met a man who was with Raftery when he died, but people say he died alone. Maurteen Gillane told Dr. Hyde that a light was seen going up to heaven from the roof of the house where Raftery lay all night long, and “those were the angels who were with him.” There was also a great light in the hovel[65] all night long, “and those were the angels keeping vigil[66] over him. They honored him because he was such a good poet and sang such religious songs.”

1900.

II

Once, in a town up north, I had a long conversation with a man who grew up in a nearby countryside when he was a boy. He shared with me that when a remarkably beautiful girl was born into a family that wasn’t known for good looks. Her beauty was believed to come from the fairies and was seen as a source of misfortune. He mentioned several names of beautiful girls he had known and said that beauty had never brought happiness to anyone. According to him, beauty was something to be proud of and afraid of. I wish I had written out his words at the time, for they were more picturesque than my memory of them.

1902.

A KNIGHT OF THE SHEEP

In the north, near Ben Bulben and Cope’s mountain, lives a strong farmer who was once known as a knight of the sheep in the old days. He has a forceful nature[67], evident in both his words and actions. There is only one man who can swear as much as him, and that man lives far away on the mountain. When he loses his pipe, he exclaims, “Father in Heaven, what have I done to deserve this?” No one can match his colorful language during a lively bargaining session. He is passionate and abrupt in his movements, and when angered, he waves his white beard with his left hand.

One day, while having dinner with him, the servant-maid announced the arrival of a certain Mr. O’Donnell. A sudden silence fell over the old man and his two daughters. Eventually, the eldest daughter sternly told her father, “Go and invite him in for dinner.” The old man went out and returned looking greatly relieved, saying, “He says he won’t dine with us.” The daughter told him, “Go out and invite him into the back parlor, and offer him some whiskey.” Even though her father didn’t want to do so, he got up and went to the guest. The daughter then turned to me and explained, “Mr. O’Donnell is the tax collector[68], and last year he raised our taxes. My father was very angry and, when he arrived, took him into the dairy. He sent the dairywoman away and continued to swear at him quite a bit. ‘I will teach you, sir,’ O’Donnell replied, ‘that the law can protect its officers.’ But my father reminded him that there were no witnesses. Eventually, my father grew tired[69] and, feeling guilty, said he would show him a shortcut[70] home. When they were halfway to the main road, they met one of my father’s workers who was plowing[71], and this somehow reminded him of the wrong. He sent the worker away and began swearing at the tax collector again. When I heard about it, I was disgusted that he would make such a fuss[72] over a person like O’Donnell. And when I learned a few weeks ago that O’Donnell’s only son had died, I made up my mind to encourage my father to be kind to him the next time he came.”

She then went out to see a neighbor, and I walked towards the back parlor. As I came closer to the door, I heard angry voices inside. The two men seemed to be discussing taxes again. I opened the door, and upon seeing my face, the farmer remembered his peaceful intentions and asked me if I knew where the whiskey was. I had seen him put it in the cupboard, so I find it and bring it out while looking at the thin, sorrowful[73] face of the tax collector. He was older than my friend and looked much weaker. Unlike my friend, who was strong and successful, he seemed like one of those who couldn’t find a place to rest on this earth. I recognized him as a dreamer and said, “You must be from the old O’Donnell family. I know the spot in the river where their treasure[74] is buried, guarded by a serpent with many heads.” “Yes, sir,” he replied, “I am the last descendant[75] of a line of princes.”

We then started talking about various ordinary things, and my friend didn’t once toss up his beard but was very friendly. Eventually, the old tax collector got up to leave, and my friend said, “I hope we can share a drink together next year.” “No, no,” he replied, “I will be dead by then.” “I have also lost sons,” the other said in a gentle voice. “But your sons were not like my son.” And then the two men parted ways, with an angry flush[76] and bitter hearts. If I hadn’t intervened[77] with some common words, they might not have parted but instead engaged in an angry argument about the worth of their dead sons. If I didn’t have compassion for all dreamers, I would have let them fight it out, and I would now have many remarkable oaths[78] to record.

AN ENDURING HEART

One day, a friend of mine was drawing a picture of my Knight of the Sheep. The old man’s daughter was there, and when the conversation turned to love, she said, “Oh, father, tell him about your love story.” The old man took his pipe out of his mouth and said, “Nobody marries the person they love,” and then chuckled[79], “There were fifteen women I liked more than the woman I married,” and he mentioned many women’s names. He then told me that when he was a little boy he had worked for his grandfather. And at that time he was called by his grandfather’s name, which we will say was Doran.He had a close friend named John Byrne, and one day they went to Queenstown[80] to wait for a ship that would take John Byrne to America. While walking along the quay, they saw a girl sitting and crying, with two men arguing in front of her. Doran said, “I think I know what’s wrong. That man must be her brother, and the other man must be her lover. The brother is sending her to America to separate her from the lover. She’s crying so much, but I think I could comfort her myself.” Eventually, the lover and brother left, and Doran started talking to her, saying things like, “Nice weather, Miss.” She responded after a while, and the three of them began talking. The ship didn’t arrive for a few days, so the three of them happily explored the area in horse-drawn carriages. When the ship finally came, Doran had to tell her that he wasn’t going to America. She cried more for him than she did for her first lover. Before boarding the ship, Doran whispered to Byrne, “Now, Byrne, I don’t envy you, but don’t get married young.”

He continued the story, telling how he wrote Byrne the same advice when he received a letter about Byrne’s engagement to the girl. Years passed, and he heard nothing. Finally, he went to America to find out, but he couldn’t find any information. More years went by, his wife passed away, and he grew older, becoming a rich farmer with many responsibilities. He found an excuse to go back to America and resume his search. One day, he struck up a conversation with an Irishman on a train and asked about emigrants from certain places, including the miller’s daughter from Innis Rath[81], mentioning her name. The man replied, “Oh yes, she’s married to my friend, John MacEwing. She lives on such-and-such street in Chicago.” Doran went to Chicago and knocked on her door. She opened it herself and hadn’t changed a bit. He told her his real name, which he started using again after his grandfather passed away, and the name of the man he met on the train. She didn’t recognize him but invited him to stay for dinner, saying her husband would be happy to meet someone who knew his old friend. They talked about many things, but for some reason, he never revealed his true identity to her. During dinner, he asked about Byrne, and she put her head down on the table and started crying. He was worried that her husband might get angry, so he didn’t dare ask what had happened to Byrne. He left shortly after and never saw her again.

1902.

THE SORCERERS[82]

In Ireland, we don’t hear much about dark powers, and it’s rare to meet someone who has seen them. These dark powers are said to be always around us, like bats[83] on an old tree. We don’t hear much about them because dark magic is not commonly practiced. I have met very few people in Ireland who try to communicate with evil powers, and they keep their activities hidden. They are usually small clerks and meet in a room with black curtains for their practices. They didn’t let me into that room, but since I had some knowledge of the mysterious arts, they showed me what they could do in another place. Their leader, a clerk from a flour-mill[84], invited me to join them and witness spirits who can talk to us face to face, in solid and heavy forms like our own.

On the agreed night, I arrived around eight o’clock and found the leader sitting alone in a small dim room. He was wearing a black robe that covered him completely, except for his eyes that peered through two small holes. On the table in front of him, there was a dish with burning herbs, a large bowl, a skull with painted symbols, two crossed daggers[85], and some tools shaped like stones. The sorcerer took a black rooster out of a basket and used one of the daggers to cut its throat, letting the blood flow into the large bowl. He opened a book and started an invocation in a language I couldn’t understand. Before he finished, another sorcerer entered the room and sat on my left side. I had the invoker directly in front of me, and I began to feel a strange effect from his eyes. I struggled against their influence, and my head started to ache. The invocation continued, and nothing happened in the first few minutes. Then the invoker stood up and turned off the light in the room, so there was no light except for the herbs burning on the dish.

Then the person on my left started moving and exclaimed, “Oh God! Oh God!” I asked him what was wrong, but he didn’t realize he had spoken. A moment later, he said he could see a large snake moving around the room. I didn’t see anything with a clear shape, but I felt like dark clouds were forming around me. I knew I had to resist[86] entering a trance state caused by this influence, which felt evil. After a struggle, I managed to dispel the dark clouds and regain[87] my normal senses. The two sorcerers began to see black and white columns moving in the room, and eventually, they saw a man in a monk’s robe[88]. They were confused that I couldn’t see these things because, to them, they appeared as solid as the table in front of them. The invoker seemed to be gaining more power, and I felt as if a wave of darkness was emanating[89] from him and surrounding me. I also noticed that the person on my left had fallen into a deep trance. With a final effort, I pushed away the dark clouds. However, since those clouds were the only shapes I could see without entering a trance, and I didn’t particularly like them, I asked for lights to be turned on. After the necessary ritual, I returned to the ordinary world.

For several days, I couldn’t shake off the feeling of having deformed and grotesque figures lingering around me. The Bright Powers are always beautiful and desirable, and the Dim Powers can be beautiful or strange. However, the Dark Powers manifest their imbalanced nature through shapes of ugliness and horror.

THE DEVIL

One day, an old woman from Mayo[90] told me that something very bad had come down the road and entered the house across from hers. She didn’t say what it was, but I understood. Another time, she shared a story about two of her friends who have met the devil. One of them was standing by the roadside when the person on horseback[91] asked her to join him for a ride. When she said “no”, he disappeared. The other friend was waiting for her boyfriend on the road late at night when something rolled towards her. It looked like a newspaper, but suddenly it flew up into her face. It was the Irish Times[92]! Then it turned into a young man who invited her to go for a walk. She said “no”, and he was gone.

I also know of an old man living on the slopes of Ben Bulben who found the devil ringing a bell under his bed. So, he went and stole the chapel bell[93] and rang it, driving the devil away. Probably, like the other stories, this wasn’t actually the devil but a woodland spirit with cloven feet[94].

HAPPY AND UNHAPPY THEOLOGIANS[95]

I

Once, a woman from Mayo told me a story. She said, “I knew a maid who hanged herself [96]because of her love for God. She felt lonely without the priest and her community, so she used a scarf to hang herself from the banister. As soon as she died, she turned as white as a lily. They gave her a Christian burial, and the priest said that she was immediately with the Lord after her death. So, it doesn’t matter what you do for the love of God.” I understand why she enjoys telling this story. She herself has a strong love for all things holy. She once told me that she sees everything described in a sermon with her own eyes. She described the gates of Purgatory as they appeared to her. One day, she asked me which month and flower were the most beautiful. When I said I didn’t know, she replied, “The month of May because of the Virgin Mary, and the lily of the valley because it never sinned, but came pure out of the rocks.” Then she asked, “Why are there the three cold months of winter?” I didn’t know the answer to that either, so she said, “It’s the sin of humanity and God’s punishment.”

She thinks the fairies are pleasant and beautiful. She never calls them Fallen Angels[97]. They are like regular people, but more attractive. She often watches them drive their wagons[98] through the sky, one after another, in a long line. Even though they once knocked her down[99], she doesn’t think badly of them. She saw them most frequently when she worked in King’s County. One morning, she told me, “Last night, I was waiting for the master until a quarter past eleven. Then I heard a loud noise on the table. I laughed so much that I almost died. It was a sign that I was staying up too late. They wanted the place to themselves.” Once, I told her about someone who saw fairies and fainted. She said, “It couldn’t have been a fairy, but something evil. Nobody faints at the sight of fairies. It must have been a demon. Fairies are the best neighbors. If you treat them well, they will treat you well, but they don’t like it when you cross their path.” Another time she said to me, “They are always kind to the poor.”

II

There is, however, a man in a Galway village who can see nothing but wickedness. Some people think he is very holy, but others think he is a little crazy. He says, “I know a priest who was looking on the ground like he was searching for something, and a voice said to him, ‘If you want to see them, you will see plenty of them,’ and his eyes opened, and he saw many of them on the ground. Sometimes they sing and dance, but they always have split feet[100]. One night, after walking back from Kinvara, he felt one coming beside him. He could feel the horse the fairies was riding, but it didn’t sound like a horse’s hooves[101]. So he stopped, turned around, and loudly said, ‘Go away!’ and the fairies left and never bothered him again. He thinks they are fallen angels, and after their fall, God created Hell[102]”

“I saw Hell once. It was like a vision. It had a tall metal wall around it with an archway[103] and a straight path leading into it. Inside the wall, there were pathways, and on the left, there were five big furnaces[104] where souls were kept with heavy chains. I quickly turned and left, but as I turned, I looked at the wall again and couldn’t see an end to it.

“Another time, I saw Purgatory. It seemed to be in a flat place without any walls, just a bright fire, and souls standing in it. They suffer almost as much as in Hell, but there are no devils there, and they have hope for Heaven.”

“ And I heard a voice calling to me from there, saying, ‘Help me get out of here!’ When I looked, it was a man I knew from the army, an Irishman from this county. “

“I reached out my hand at first, but then I shouted, ‘I’d rather be burned in the flames than come within three yards of you.’ So he said, ‘Well, help me with your prayers,’ and that’s what I do.

1902.

THE LAST GLEEMAN[105]

Michael Moran was born around 1794 in a place called Black Pitts, in Dublin’s Liberties area, specifically in Faddle Alley. Two weeks after he was born, he became blind because of an illness. This became a blessing for his parents because they could send him out to recite rhymes and beg for money on the streets. By the time he became an adult, he was the leader among all the street ballad singers in the Liberties. However, his physical appearance was not impressive. He wore a coarse frieze coat[106] with a cape and scalloped edge[107], old corduroy[108] trousers, big boots, and carried a sturdy stick attached to his wrist with a leather strap. Moran lacked the traditional cloak and leather bag, but he was a true gleeman. He was a poet, a jester[109], and a news bearer[110] for the common people. In the morning, after finishing his breakfast, his wife or a neighbor would read the newspaper to him. They would continue reading until he interrupted[111] and said, “That’s enough – I need some time for my thoughts.” From these moments of reflection[112], he would gather material for his jokes and rhymes for the day.

When his reflective thoughts didn’t bring satisfactory results or when the crowd wanted something different, he would recite or sing a rhythmic tale or ballad about saints or biblical adventures. One of his most well-known religious tales was “St. Mary of Egypt,”. It tells the story of a sinful[113] woman from Egypt named Mary, who followed pilgrims to Jerusalem for questionable reasons. When she was stopped from entering the Temple by supernatural forces, she repented[114] and went to the desert, where she spent the rest of her life in solitary penance[115]. At the end of her life, God sent Bishop Zozimus to hear her confession, administer the last sacrament[116], and with the help of a lion, whom God also sent, dig her grave. Moran also had his own poem called “Moses,” which was a bit closer to poetry without being very close. However, he didn’t have much patience for solemnity[117] and before long, he parodied his own verses like this:

In the land of Egypt, close to the Nile,
King Pharaoh’s daughter went for a stylish swim.
She took her dip[118], then walked back to the land,
To dry her royal skin, she ran along the beach.
A bulrush[119]tripped her, and then she saw
A smiling baby in a bundle of straw[120].
She picked it up and asked in a gentle voice,
“Hey, girls, who among you owns this child?”

But most of his funny rhymes were jokes and teasing about the people he knew. For example, he liked to make fun of a shoemaker who was known for showing off[121] his money but not keeping himself clean. He would sing a song to remind him of his humble beginnings. We only have the first verse of that song:

At the dirty end of Dirty Lane,
Lived a dirty cobbler[122], Dick Maclane;
His wife was in the old king’s reign
A stout brave orange-woman[123].
On Essex Bridge she strained her throat,
And six-a-penny was her cost.
But Dickey wore a brand-new coat,
He got among the yeomen[124].
He was a bigot[125], like his clan,
And in the streets he wildly sang,
O Roly, toly, toly raid, with his old jade[126].

He had a lot of troubles. Once, a policeman arrested him as a vagabond[127], but he was able to defeat the officer in court, and everyone laughed. As Moran’s fame grew, he faced a more serious problem. Several pretenders[128] appeared from all directions. For example, an actor made a lot of money by imitating Moran’s words, songs, and appearance on stage. One night, the actor was having dinner with friends, and they argued about whether his imitation was overdone or not. They decided to ask the public. A forty-shilling supper at a famous cafe was to be the wager[129]. The actor came to Essex Bridge, a place where Moran often visited, and soon gathered a small crowd. He had barely started reciting “In Egypt’s land, contagious to the Nile” when Moran himself arrived, followed by another crowd. The two crowds met with great excitement and laughter. The pretender exclaimed, “Good people, can you believe that anyone would mock the poor blind man like that?”

“Who’s that? It’s someone pretending to be me,” Moran replied.

“Go away, you terrible person! You’re the one pretending to be me. Aren’t you afraid that the heavens will punish you for making fun of a poor blind man?”

“Oh my goodness, is there no protection against this? You’re a very cruel person trying to take away my honest means of living,” poor Moran replied.

“And you, you terrible person, won’t let me continue with the beautiful poem. Kind people, please help me and chase this man away. He’s taking advantage of my blindness.”

The pretender thanked the people for their sympathy and protection, and went on with the poem,

Moran listened in silence for a while. After some time, Moran protested again, saying:

“Don’t any of you recognize me? Can’t you see that it’s me, and that’s someone else?”

“Before I continue with this wonderful story,” the pretender interrupted, “I ask you to donate money to help me keep going.”

“Don’t you have a soul to save, you mocker of heaven?” cried Moran, completely overwhelmed by this latest insult. “Are you trying to rob the poor and deceive the world? Oh, has such wickedness ever been seen before?”

“I’ll leave it up to you, my friends,” said the pretender, “to give money to the real blind man that you all know so well and save me from that trickster[130].” He collected some money while doing so. Meanwhile, Moran started reciting his poem “Mary of Egypt,” but the angry crowd grabbed his stick and were about to hit him when they were once again confused by his striking resemblance[131] to himself. The pretender then called on them “grab that villain and I’ll show you who the imposter is!” They brought him over to Moran, but instead of fighting him, he gave Moran a few shillings and turned to the crowd, explaining that he was just an actor who had won a bet. He left in a great excitement to enjoy the meal he had earned.

In April 1846, the priest received news that Michael Moran was dying. He found him at 15 Patrick Street, lying on bed in a room filled with street singers who had come to cheer him in his final moments. The funeral took place the following day. Some of his admirers and friends joined the hearse with the coffin, as it was a wet and unpleasant day. Not long into the journey, one of them exclaimed, “It’s terribly cold, isn’t it?” “Indeed,” replied another, “we’ll all be as stiff as the corpse[132] when we reach the cemetery.” “Curse him,” said a third, “I wish he had lasted another month when the weather would have been better.”

REGINA, REGINA PIGMEORUM, VENI[133]

One night, a man in his middle age, a young girl who has the ability to see strange lights in the fields among the cows, and me, were walking on a beach in the far west. We were talking about the Forgetful People, who are sometimes called the fairies people, and we came across a cave among black rocks where they always gather. I asked the young girl if she could see anything. She stood still for a few minutes, and I noticed that she entered a kind of trance. Then I called out the names of the great fairies, and after a moment, she said she could hear music coming from inside the rocks. She also heard people talking and applauding someone unseen[134]. Now my friend came closer and suddenly said that we were going to be interrupted because he heard children laughing somewhere beyond the rocks. However, we were completely alone. The spirits of the place had started to affect him as well. In a moment, the girl confirmed what he said. She then saw a bright light coming out of the cave. She saw a group of small people, wearing different colored clothes, mostly red, dancing to a tune she didn’t recognize.

Then I told her to call the queen of the little people to come and talk to us. However, no one responded to her. So, I repeated the words myself, and suddenly a very beautiful tall woman came out of the cave. By that time, I had also entered a kind of trance. Then I told the girl to ask the queen to gather her followers so that we could see them. I had to repeat the command myself. The creatures then came out of the cave and lined up in four groups, if I remember correctly. One of the groups held branches in their hands, while others wore necklaces made of snake scales[135] I can’t remember their clothes because I was completely captivated[136] by the beautiful woman. I asked her to tell the seer[137] if these caves were the most important fairies places in the area. No, this was not the greatest fairies place, there was a bigger one a little further ahead. Then I asked if it was true that they took away mortals and replaced their souls. “We change the bodies,” was her answer. I asked if any of them were ever born as humans. “Yes.” “Do I know anyone were among your people before birth?” “You do.” “Who are they?” “You are not allowed to know.” I asked her other questions about her nature and her purpose in the universe, but it seemed to confuse her. Finally, she seemed to lose patience and wrote a message for me on the visionary sands, not the sandy ground we were standing on: “Be careful and don’t try to know too much about us.” Realizing that I had offended[138] her, I thanked her and let her return to her cave. After a while, the young girl woke up from her trance, felt the cold wind of the world again, and began to shiver.

I will tell you these things as accurately as I can, without any theories to confuse the story. Theories are not very good, and most of mine have disappeared a long time ago. I love better than any theory the sound of the Ivory Gate opening, and I believe that only those who have crossed the rose-covered threshold can catch a glimpse of the distant shine of the Horn Gate[139]. It might be good for all of us to raise the same cry as Lilly the astrologer did in Windsor Forest, “Regina, Regina Pigmeorum, Veni,” and remember with it that God visits His children in dreams. Beautiful tall queen, come closer, and let me see the shadowy beauty of your hair once more.

“AND FAIR, FIERCE WOMEN”

One day, a woman I know, had met a beautiful woman. The woman was standing by the window, looking towards Knocknarea, where Queen Maive is buried. She saw, as she told me, “the most stunning[140] woman traveling from the mountain straight towards her.” The woman had a sword by her side and a raised dagger in her hand. She was dressed in white, with bare arms and feet. The old woman covered her eyes with her hands, and when she uncovered them, the beautiful woman was gone. The neighbors thought it was Queen Maive, who often reveals herself to the locals. The other day, a friend of mine questioned an old woman in a Galway workhouse about Queen Maive and was told that “Queen Maive was beautiful and defeated all her enemies with a stick, as the hazel stick[141] is blessed and the best weapon one can have. You could travel the world with it.” However, the old woman said that Queen Maive became “very disagreeable in the end – oh, very disagreeable. It’s best not to talk about it. It’s best to keep it between the book and the listener.”

Once, I met a young man in the Burren Hills who knew an old poet. The poet used to write his poems in Irish and had met someone named Maive when he was young. She said she was a queen “among them” and asked the poet if he wanted money or pleasure. He chose pleasure, and she loved him for a while before leaving him. From then on, he was always very sad. The young man had heard the poet sing a poem many times, but he could only remember that it was “very sad” and that the poet called Maive the “most beautiful of all beauties.”

1902.

ENCHANTED WOODS

I

Last summer, after I finished my work for the day, I would often go for walks in some woods. There, I would frequently meet an old man from the countryside and talk to him about his work and the woods. Sometimes, a friend would go with me, and the old man would share his thoughts more openly with them than with me. He had spent his whole life cutting down trees from the paths. He had also thought a lot about the natural and supernatural creatures in the woods. He said he heard the hedgehog grunting like a man. He strongly believed that the hedgehog steals apples by rolling around under an apple tree until apples stick to its quills[142]. He was also convinced that the cats in the woods have their own language. He said, “Cats were once serpents, and they were turned into cats during a big change in the world. That’s why they are difficult to kill and why it’s dangerous to mess with them. If you bother a cat, it might scratch or bite you in a way that would put poison into you, just like a serpent.” He spoke with great interest about all the wild creatures in the woods.

At least once, he has seen a strange sight in the woods. He said, “One time, when I was cutting timber over in Inchy, around eight o’clock in the morning, I saw a girl picking nuts. Her brown hair hung down over her shoulders, and she had a fresh and pleasant face. She was tall and didn’t wear anything on her head, and her dress was simple. When she sensed my presence, she quickly was gone. I followed her and searched for her, but I never saw her again from that day to this, never again.”

Others too have seen spirits in the Enchanted Woods. A worker told us about what his friend saw in a part of the woods called Shanwalla. He said, “One evening, I said goodbye to Lawrence Mangan in the yard, and he went through the path in Shanwalla. Two hours later, he was back in the yard and asked me to light a candle in the stable. He told me that when he entered Shanwalla, a little creature about as tall as his knee but with a head as big as a man’s body appeared and guided him off the path and around. Finally, it led him to the lime-kiln[143], and then it disappeared.”

A woman told me about something she and others saw in the river. She said, “I came over the stile[144] from the chapel, and others were with me. Suddenly, a strong gust of wind[145] came, and two trees bent and broke, falling into the river. Those who were with me saw many figures, but I only saw one sitting by the bank where the trees fell. The figure was dressed in dark clothes, and it had no head.”

A man told me that when he was a boy, he and another boy went to catch a horse in a field. This field is located near the lake, just a little away from the woods. He said to his companion, “I bet a button that if I throw a pebble at that bush, it will stay on it.” He meant that the bush was so dense[146] that the pebble wouldn’t be able to go through it. So, he picked up a pebble, and as soon as it hit the bush, the most beautiful music came out from it. They ran away, and when they had gone about two hundred yards, they looked back and saw a woman dressed in white walking in circles around the bush. “First, it appeared as a woman, and then as a man, and it kept going around the bush.”

1902

MIRACULOUS CREATURES

In the Enchanted Woods, there are small animals like martens, badgers, and foxes. But there are also bigger and stronger creatures that can’t be caught with traps[147]. They are magical creatures that bring both hope and fear. Some can fly, while others move through the thickets[148] near the Gates of Death. Someone I know says that his father was once in the woods of Inchy, where the children from Gort[149] used to steal fishing rods[150]. He was sitting by a wall with his dog when he heard something running from Owbawn Weir. He couldn’t see anything, but the sound of its feet on the ground was like the sound of the feet of a deer. The dog got scared and scratched at the wall, but the man could only hear the sound of hooves. Another time, the man’s father told him that he was in a boat on the lake with a few men from Gort. One of them had a spear[151] for catching eels, and when he put it into the water, it hit something. The man fainted, and they had to carry him out of the boat to land. When he woke up, he said that what he struck was definitely not a fish! A friend of mine thought that these scary creatures, which are often found in lakes, were placed there long ago by clever enchanters[152] to guard the gates of wisdom. He believes that if we sent our spirits into the water, we would become one with the strange and powerful energies, and maybe even conquer[153] the world.

1902.

ARISTOTLE OF THE BOOKS

The friend who can make the wood-cutter talk more easily than anyone else recently visited his old wife. She lives in a cottage near the edge of the woods and loves to share old stories, just like her husband. This time, she started talking about Goban and his wisdom. But then she said, “Aristotle of the Books was also very wise and had a lot of experience, but didn’t the bees outsmart him in the end? He wanted to know how they packed the honeycomb[154], so he spent almost two weeks watching them, but he couldn’t see how they did it. Then he made a hive[155] with a glass cover and placed it over the bees. But when he went to look through the glass, the bees had covered it with wax, making it as black as a pot, and he was as blind as before. He said he had never been so fooled before. They had him that time surely!”

1902.

THE SWINE OF THE GODS

A few years ago, my friend told me about something that happened to him when he was a young man and was training with some rebels from Connaught. There were only a few of them, and they drove up a hill until they reached a quiet spot. They left the car and went further up the hill with their rifles, where they practiced for a while. As they were coming back, they noticed a very thin pig with long legs following them. Someone jokingly said it was a fairies pig, and they all began to run as part of the joke. Surprisingly, the pig started running too, and somehow, this playful chase turned into real fear. When they got to the car, they made the horse gallop as fast as possible, but the pig continued to follow them. At one point, one of them raised his rifle to shoot at the pig, but when he looked through the barrel, he couldn’t see anything. Eventually, they turned a corner and arrived at a village. They told the villagers what had happened, and the villagers grabbed pitchforks[156], spades, and other tools to drive the pig away. However, when they reached the corner, they couldn’t find anything.

1902.

KIDNAPPERS

Near the town of Sligo, on the southern side of Ben Bulben, there is a small white square on the limestone. No one has ever touched it. It is the entrance to the land of fairies. During the middle of the night, the magical beings come from the door and walk on the land, invisible to all except for a few fairies-doctors who may look out from their homes to see what the fairies are up to. If there is a newborn baby or a newlywed[157] nearby, the fairies-doctors pay extra attention because sometimes the fairies take them into their mountains, and they become part of the land of the fairies.

In the early 19th century, a mysterious apothecary[158] named Dr. Opendon appeared at the western corner of Market Street in Sligo. At the time, a woman named Mrs. Ormsby’s husband fell mysteriously ill, and the doctors couldn’t figure out what was wrong with him. Desperate, Mrs. Ormsby turned to Dr. Opendon. When she entered his shop, she saw a black cat sitting by the fire. Dr. Opendon, dressed in black like the cat, came in, and his wife followed him, also dressed in black. Mrs. Ormsby gave the doctor a guinea[159] and he gave her a small bottle. Wonderfully, her husband recovered. Dr. Opendon continued to cure many people, but one day, a rich patient died. The doctor, his wife, and the black cat all disappeared overnight. A year later, Mr. Ormsby fell ill again. Mrs. Ormsby thought that the fairies wanted to take her handsome husband, so she visited the fairies-doctor at Cairnsfoot. After hearing her story, the fairies-doctor went behind the back door and started murmuring spells. This time, her husband recovered as well. However, he fell ill again, and Mrs. Ormsby went back to the fairies-doctor at Cairnsfoot. This time, the doctor told her there was no hope, and her husband died. From then on, Mrs. Ormsby believed that she knew where her husband was, and it wasn’t in heaven, hell, or purgatory. She believed that a wooden log was left in place of her husband, but it was enchanted to look like his dead body.

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Примечания

1

sidhe – феи, волшебный народ Ирландии в гэльском фольклоре

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2

Knocknarea – большой холм к западу от города Слайго в графстве Слайго, Ирландия

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3

Clooth-na-bare – фея, которая искала смерти в самом глубоком озере в мире, которое она нашла в Слайго;

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4

Caolte – в написании Йейтса, Кейл мак Ронайн, воин и член племени фианна в фенианском цикле ирландской мифологии.

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5

Niamh – Ниав, В ирландской мифологии – дочь богов моря Мананнана мак Лира и одна из королев Тир-на-Ног, страны вечной молодости.

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6

hair is unbound – волосы распущены

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7

deed – дело, поступок, свершение

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8

imperfect – несовершенный

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9

interpret – толковать, объяснять, интерпретировать

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10

leaky – дырявый, протекающий

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11

Ballisodare – Баллисадэр, деревня в Ирландии в графстве Слайго

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12

hedge – изгородь

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13

to depress – огорчать

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14

pass away – умирать, уходить из жизни

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15

heavy drinker – часто пьющий, пьяница

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16

priest – священник

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17

leprechauns – лепреконы

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18

kelpie – в шотландском фольклоре опасное водное существо, меняющее облик, которое может появляться на суше в виде лошади.

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19

Ben Bulben – столовая гора в Ирландии

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20

broomstick – метла

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21

constable – констебль, полицейский чин

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22

ragweed – амброзия

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23

sacred – священный

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24

Mortal – смертный

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25

Cuchullan – Кухулин, герой ирландских мифов.

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26

Fand – Фанд, кельтская морская богиня, которая, как полагают некоторые ученые, произошла от морского божества Мэнкса (исконных обитателей острова Мэн).

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hurley – Хёрлинг, командный вид спорта кельтского происхождения, относящийся к гэльским играм. В хёрлинг играют деревянными клюшками и мячом.

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marshy – болотистый

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Tuam – Туам, малый город в Ирландии в графстве Голуэй

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to neglect – пренебрегать, забрасывать

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visionary – провидец

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to recite – декламировать, читать

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guilt-ridden – охваченный чувством вины

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visions – видения

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accurately – точно, безошибочно

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to strive – стараться, устремляться, бороться

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doomed – обреченный

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thorn-tree – терновое дерево

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Leinster – Ленстер, провинция на востоке Ирландии, целиком расположенная на территории Республики Ирландии

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quay – причал

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in God’s name – во имя Господа!

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within an hour – в течение часа

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workhouse – работный дом

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mass – месса

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wrongdoing – проступок, злодеяние

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as is customary – как это принято

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herring – сельдь

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Connaught – Коннахт, провинция на западе Ирландии, объединяющая графства Голуэй, Литрим, Майо, Роскоммон и Слайго

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fulfill obligations – выполнять обязательства

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seek revenge – искать мести

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pay debts – выплачивать долги

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snipe – бекас, небольшая птица с очень длинным, прямым и острым клювом.

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son-in-law – зять

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sloe bushes – терновые кусты

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Raftery – Рафтери, ирландский поэт, которого часто называли последним странствующим бардом.

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amber – янтарь, янтарные

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grudge – жалеть

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Lough Greine – Лох-Грэйни, озеро в графстве Клэр, Ирландия.

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weaver – ткач

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Derrybrien – Деррибрин, деревня в Ирландии, находится в графстве Голуэй

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Ardrahan – Ардрахан, деревня в Ирландии, находится в графстве Голуэй.

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Kinvara – Кинвара, портовая деревня на юго-западе графства Голуэй, Ирландия.

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wit – остроумие

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Coole – Кул, деревня в Ирландии, находится в графстве Уэстмит.

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hovel – сарай, амбар

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to keep a vigil – нести вахту, сторожить

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forceful nature – волевой характер

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tax collector – сборщик налогов

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grew tired – почувствовал усталость

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shortcut – кратчайший путь

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to plow – вспахивать, пахать

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make a fuss – поднимать шум

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sorrowful – печальный, грустный, жалобный

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treasure – сокровище

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last descendant – последний потомок

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angry flush – гневный румянец

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to intervene – вмешиваться

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oaths – клятвы

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to chuckle – посмеиваться, хихикать

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Queenstown – Ков, город в Ирландии, находится в графстве Корк. С 1849 по 1922 годы назывался Куинстауном в честь Королевы Виктории.

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Innis Rath – Инис-Рат, остров, расположенный в Лох-Эрн, в графстве Фермана, Северная Ирландия.

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sorcerers – колдуны

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bats – летучие мыши

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flour-mill – мукомольная фабрика

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dagger – кинжал

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to resist – сопротивляться

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to regain – восстанавливать, вновь обретать

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monk’s robe – монашеская ряса

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to emanate – исходить

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Mayo – Ме2йо, графство на западе Ирландии. Входит в состав провинции Коннахт на территории Республики Ирландии.

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on horseback – верхом на лошади

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Irish Times – «Айриш таймс», ирландская ежедневная широкоформатная газета, издается с 29 марта 1859 года.

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chapel bell – колокол часовни

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cloven feet – копытца

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theologians – теологи

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hanged herself – повесилась

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Fallen Angels – падшие ангелы

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wagon – повозка

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knocked her down – сбили ее с ног

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split feet – раздвоенные ступни

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hooves – копыта

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Hell – ад

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archway – арка, свод

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furnace – печь

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gleeman – менестрель

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coarse frieze coat – грубое шерстяное пальто

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scalloped edge – зубчатый край

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corduroy – вельветовый

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jester – шут

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news bearer – разносчик новостей

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to interrupt – прерывать, обрывать

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reflection – размышление

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sinful – грешный

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to repent – каяться

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solitary penance – уединенное покаяние

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sacrament – причастие

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solemnity – торжественность, серьезность

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to take a dip – искупаться, окунуться

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bulrush – камыш

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bundle of straw – пучок соломы

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to show off – хвастаться

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cobbler – сапожник

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orange-woman – женщина, торгующая апельсинами

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yeomen – Йомены, в феодальной Англии свободные мелкие землевладельцы, которые самостоятельно занимались обработкой земли.

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bigot – фанатик, ханжа

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jade – кляча

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vagabond – бродяга, бродяжничество было официально запрещено законом

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pretender – притворщик, самозванец

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wager – ставка

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trickster – обманщик

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striking resemblance – поразительное сходство

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as stiff as the corpse – такой же окоченевший, как труп

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Regina, Regina Pigmeorum, veni – Приди, королева, королева пигмеев (лат.)

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unseen – невидимый

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snake scales – змеиная чешуя

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completely captivated – полностью очарован

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seer – провидец, провидица

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to offend – обижать, оскорблять, задевать

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Gates of Horn and Ivory – Врата из рога и слоновой кости, литературный образ, используемый для отличия истинных снов от ложных. Фраза возникла в греческом языке, в котором слово «рог» похоже на слово «исполнять», а слово «слоновая кость» похоже на слово «обманывать».

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stunning – поразительный

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hazel stick – ореховая палочка

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quills – иглы

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lime-kiln – печь для обжига извести

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stile – ограда

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gust of wind – порыв ветра

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dense – плотный

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traps – ловушки

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thickets – заросли

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Gort – Горт, посёлок в Ирландии, находится в графстве Голуэй

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fishing rods – удочки

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spear – копье

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enchanters – чародеи

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to conquer – завоевывать, покорять

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honeycomb – соты

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hive – улей

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pitchforks – вилы

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newlywed – молодожен, новобрачный

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apothecary – аптекарь

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guinea – гинея, английская, затем британская золотая монета.

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