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       ?    :       .         .         .

         ,   1640-      .       ,     ,      .                ,    .  ,  ,  .          .

    -,        ,   ,     .      .





 

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       ?    :       .         .         .

         ,   1640-      .       ,     ,      .                ,    .  ,  ,  .          .

    -,        ,   ,     .      .



  .., 2026.



John Buchan  

Forbidden Forest  



Asa did what was right in the eyes of the Lord      

and rejected all the idols that they had made    ,  

his fathers The heights were not destroyed.       .

Third Book of Kings 15:11-14    15 11-14



Prologue 

Time, my grandfather used to say, stood still in this mountain valley. ,   ,     . But the truth of his saying died with him, and before the first daisies on his grave had faded, a new world came knocking at the door.        ,         ,       . That was thirty years ago, and we are reaping the benefits of change.     ,     . The name of the parish has changed;   ; the white church building, which had served the community for more than two centuries, has been rebuilt in brick Gothic style;   ,     , ,    ; a railway line has been built along the Aller, which every summer faithfully brings holidaymakers from towns located a hundred miles away.     ,         ,     . Below Stag Hill are houses and shops clustered together, there is also a boarding school with a very good reputation, two hotels, converted to meet new requirements, a garage and a bank.       ,    -    ,  ,      ,   . The old settlement has lost all importance, giving way to the new town that has grown up around the station;     ,   ,   ; however, it has long ceased to be a village with thatched buildings, randomly scattered along the mountain river. ,         ,     . It must be the enemy of the human race who has sharpened the river bed into embankments as smooth as sewer drains and thrown a reinforced concrete bridge across it, simultaneously replacing the thatch on the roofs with gray-green slate.           ,   ,       ,      - . Only the ruins of the ancient kirk remained untouched - I can see them as if they were today:           : standing in thickets of sorrel and nettles, surrounded by a cracked stone fence laid without mortar, protecting only from curious sheep wandering from Crossbasket.      ,  ,     ,      ,   .

The old families that lived here are gone, even their names have been forgotten.      ,     . Long before I was born the Hawkshaws, who owned Calydon Castle, had vanished;      ,   ; though there still lingered for a long time one worthy family, who had migrated to this region from Edinburgh in the seventeenth century, but they too were driven out by a flood of rough newcomers from the West.         ,         ,         . The farmers are now mostly new, for even the peasants, destined to endure to the last, have overcome their clumsiness and moved away.      ,   ,       ,   ,  . I learned from the postman that today there are no Monfreys or Sprots in Budiley, that there remains only one Pennecook and a couple of Ritchies and Shillinglaws, who used to be countless.    ,       ,  ,          ,     . In this renewed world it is absurd to expect that anyone still remembers the legends that stirred my soul when I was a child.      ,  -   ,   ,    . No one anymore can tell when or why the pickaxe on the border with Crossbasket was destroyed and why the cemetery there became overgrown with weeds.     ,                . Many have never heard that there was once a pickaxe on this site.    ,  -     .

However, this does not particularly surprise me, because the kirk in Budily stood abandoned for almost three centuries - even in the years of my childhood, few people remembered the name of its last priest.      ,                  ,     . From a legend, his story turned into a "saying" that everyone knows, but no one can explain.       "",   ,     . My interest in it was first aroused by Jess Blaine, the steward's daughter.        ,  . Choking with anger after another of my pranks, she wished me the fate of the priest from Budily, explaining it with the words:       ,       ,   : "The devil will grab you and drag you to hell." "      ". Frightened, I complained to the nanny, who was quite indignant at the incident and described Jess as "a shameful clumsy woman who fills the child's head with all sorts of black lies." "Don't be afraid, little one," she reassured me. ,   ,         " ,      " " , ,    . - "No The Devil never came for the priest in Budili.         . I heard there was a pastor, a kind and nice man.  ,      . Those were the Fairies, my dear.   , . He lived with them and lived happily and died, never drinking from an empty cup."    -   ,      ". I remember telling my playmates about this, and they carried the story home and came back with confirmation or refutation. ,       ,             . Some followed the Devil's version, and some the Fairies', which proves that tradition speaks in two voices.    ,    ,  ,      . The Fairies' supporters were slightly superior in numbers, and one April evening in a battle not far from the ruined kirk we cornered the Devil's followers and almost convinced them of our rightness.     ,  -                    . But in our theory, apart from the fact that the priest from Budili was kidnapped by the Fairies, and not the Devil, there was nothing else.    ,  ,      ,   ,    .

Years later I heard the story in many places and read it in many books:               : in a folio I came across in a Dutch library, in the family archives of a Catholic family in Lancashire, in the margins of the second Latin edition of George Wishart's Montrose, in the diaries of a Scottish captain and a London glovemaker, and in an exercise book belonging to a Welsh schoolgirl who lived in the seventeenth century.  ,       ,       ,      ""  ,            ,   ,    . Now I have a good idea of what really happened, but at first I could not connect it with the parish of Woodiley as I knew it:    ,     ,             ,    : a picturesque landscape, severe and definite, containing no hint of mystery;  ,   ,        ; bare hills, gloomy in late autumn and winter, but at other times pleasing to the eye in a Pickwickian way with bald tops, neatly planted with pine woods and girdled with mathematically calculated stone fences;  ,     ,       -  ,          ; level, well-kept fields in the valley bed; ,     ; the artificial calm of mountain streams in the middle of carefully drained land;        ; a neat stone village, sparkling with glass and metal.   ,    . True, two miles from here the noble Aller carried its stormy waters, and beyond it high hills raised gloomy slopes to the sky, pierced, like a sword through the heart, by the Rud Valley. ,         ,          , ,    ,  . But the parish of Woodili itself - where did its charms disappear?         ? From books I learned that the great forest of Melanudrigill, descending from its dark heights, once reached the very outskirts of the village.    ,    ,     , -     . But still it was difficult to reconcile this discovery with my idea of an asphalt highway shining in the sun, telegraph wires singing in the wind, fir trees on the roadsides, exemplary pastures and neat groves.                 ,      ,   ,     .

Then one evening, standing on Buck's Hill, I looked at the countryside with new eyes.   - ,    ,      . The sky above me was a strange leaden hue, and where the sun was setting there was a blue rift in the clouds, which gave the shadows strange shapes.       ,  ,   ,   ,     . It occurred to me then that if I were a general who had to fight in these parts, I would do well to put Woodili on the map as a strategically advantageous position.   ,    ,      ,            . The parish lay on the border between the Scottish lowlands and the south, a route of land and water - yes, and  can I say that?         ,       ,     ? - and spirit, for this route runs through narrow mountain gorges, dividing crops from wasteland.   ,        ,    . I looked east, at the slopes spreading out on my left hand and behind me, cultivated by man to the limits of possibility and in ancient times inhabited by the Picts.    ,         ,          . Mine headframes on the horizon, familiar hilltops in The moorlands and the checkered fields had not been able to kill the romance in my heart, and that evening I seemed to see a beast ancient and dangerous, a real wolf in sheep's clothing To the right rose the mountain range, the mother of all our rivers.    ,                   ,      ,       ,         ,    . Time and weather hardly change its appearance, but then, in the ghostly evening light, emphasizing the silhouette but hiding the details, the mountains seemed distant and terrible giants, and not the gentle giants lulling my native valleys Below me lay Woodili, also strangely changed:        ,  ,    ,  ,   ,      ,    ,        ,    : darkness, like the shadow of a solar eclipse, covered it too. ,     ,   . It was only an illusion, and I knew it perfectly well, but I could not help but accept it, for it was precisely such a sight that my heart longed for.    ,     ,     ,       .

It was the same parish of Woodilee, but three hundred years ago.      ,   . And since I had been given a clue, imagination helped to complete the picture of things invisible to the eye  The highways had disappeared, leaving only country roads, boggy in the lowlands and rocky on the slopes, leading to Edinburgh or in the opposite direction, to Carlisle.       ,    ,     ,   ,       ,         ,  . I saw only a handful of houses, but those that were standing were brown as peat, and on the church hill I noticed four gray walls of the kirk and next to them the manse, sunken in thickets of elder and young ash trees.     ,  ,  ,  ,  ,                ,       . Woodilee was not open to the sun and wind then.        . It was a cluster of peasant houses and farmsteads, squeezed in by a vast primeval forest that covered the whole area except the tops of the highest hills;       ,    ,   ,     ; the forest rolled over the mountain ridges, strangling the valleys in its embrace and flowed down to the very edge of the water, resembling a matted skin thrown over the entire surrounding landscape.     ,           ,   ,     . My lips whispered the word "Melanudrigill", and I realized that Woodili had not been seen like this for more than three centuries, since the time when it lay in the ghostly shadow of the remains of the ancient Caledonian forest, where in ancient times Merlin played the harp, and Arthur called his people together      "",   ,         ,    ,          ,        ,     

Then the whistle of a locomotive sounded, a light came on at the crossing, and the vision dissolved.    ,    ,   . As I walked down the hill in the gathering twilight, I thought that back then, in my childhood, the memory of the forest surrounding me on all sides still lived in Woodilee, even if the name Melanudrigill had been forgotten.      ,  ,  ,  ,           ,      . The voice of old Jock Dodds, who had served as a forester at Calydon for fifty years, rang in my ears.       ,       . Sitting on a large stone behind the forge and smoking a pipe, he often told me fascinating stories.         ,      . He talked about his father and his father's father, a local hero armed with a flintlock rifle.         ,  ,   . "In winter he would lie down in the middle of the peat bogs or in the woods, even if he had become completely decrepit, and start shooting wild swans and gray geese until they Clyde to Aller are flying. "      ,     ,        ,        . And how many deer have he killed?     ". I noticed that there were no deer in the area, but he only shook his head and said that in the time of his grandfather the Black Forest was still dense.  ,      ,       ,          . Both Windiways and Riverslaw had a fair amount of them. "  ,      ". But when I tried to ask about the Forest in more detail, Jock always evaded the answer.        ,     . Now I know that our area was associated with the Romans, and with Michael the Scotsman himself.    ,       ,     . There is a lair of beasts and a haven of sorcerers. "     ". Its decline began long ago, in the Famine Years, and the last tree burned in the hearth in the time of Jock's father, in the memorable Winter of the Sixteen Day Storm     -,   ,          ,     

I remembered that some places here were considered sacred, and others were avoided.  ,      ,    . In summer and spring, at dusk, no one approached Mary's Cross, a shapeless stone in a field overgrown with bracken, but at midday on Midsummer, the girls decorated it with flowers.           ,    ,  -,           . It was said that there was no trout in one stretch of the river between the village and the now dried-up Fenian Fen. ,                . Moreover, right in the middle of the best turnip field at Riverlaw there bubbled up a spring which we children called Thirsty Katie, and which the old people called the Shepherd's Well, and the old people shook their heads or sighed when they mentioned it, because there the priest of Woodilee had left the mortal earth and gone to Fairyland.  ,         ,  , ,   ,     ,  ,  ,    ,              .



Chapter 1  1

Arrival of the Priest  

The Reverend David Sempill entered upon the ministry at Woodilee on the fifteenth day of August, in the year of our Lord one thousand six hundred and forty-four.                  . He was no stranger to this mountain valley, for as a boy he had come there to visit his grandfather, the miller at Rudfoot.        ,        ,  . In those years the voice of the church community was put above the wishes of the powerful;            ; Mr. Sempill, as the saying goes, "was elected by the people," and therefore everyone in the parish looked forward to his entry into office.  ,  , "  ",            . The year before, he had received the approval of the Elders of Edinburgh, was ordained at Woodilee on the last Sunday in June of that year, and on the first Sunday in August the Reverend Pastor Mungo Muirhead of Aller parish loudly presented him to the congregation.        ,             ,         ̸       . Sempill's belongings, mostly books, had arrived from Edinburgh in eight pack horses, and having safely escaped the dangers of Carnvote Fen, were now pitched on the second floor of a damp cottage standing between the kirk and the stream Woodilee.  ,    ,        ,     ,        ,      . A modest widow named Isobel Veitch was entrusted with the care of the house, and when all was ready, David himself rode up on a grey Shetland pony from Newbiggin, where he had been staying temporarily with relatives, and took possession of the new dwelling.          ,     ,         ,     ,      . When he saw Woodilee, he began to sing;  ,  ; as he crossed the threshold of the house, he bowed his head and prayed;   ,    ; and when at last he was settled in the little room which he called "the study," he saw his precious books on the shelf, passed his hand over the table at which he intended to write great works, and looked through the dim window at the gooseberry bushes in the garden and the silvery waters of the stream, he almost wept with heartfelt gratitude and joy.      ,   "",      ,    ,      ,              ,        .

During the first hour he surveyed his property.        . The house was small and squat, the heather-covered roof provided shelter for more than one swarm of bees.     ,         . The facade overlooked the road and was partially hidden behind a narrow strip of greenery, where the river carried white smooth stones.           ,      . Behind the house there was a garden with a couple of dozen wild apple trees, the small fruits of which were hardly worth picking.         ,       . There was also a lawn for drying clothes, a bird cherry, some stocks and aconite and a bed with more valuable herbs:      ,  ,         : sage, mint and oregano. ,   . In the yard there was a brewery and a barn, or rather a punya, for storing supplies given to the priest as part of his salary;      ,  ,   ,     ; opposite them there was a stable for two horses, a barn with three stalls, a wattle and daub chicken coop, and in the very corner, near the pickaxe fence, a pile of dung was hidden among the nettles.       ,    , -,    ,   ,     .

The inside of the house was not very cozy.      . On this warm August day, a cold blew from the earthen floors.          . Light entered the low entryway only through the open door.         . To the right was a living room with a wooden ceiling and floor and roughly plastered walls;            ; a clock cabinet made by the Leith master John Atchison in 1601 had already been installed there.     ,       1601 . To the left was the kitchen, and from it one could go into the brewery.   ,        . Here, at the entrance to a small cellar, like a dog kennel, Isobel put up her bed.  ,    ,   , ,    . A very steep staircase led to the second floor, directly to the priest's bedroom.   ,    ,    . This room was considered the best in the house, since it had a fireplace.      ,      . The bedroom was connected by one door with the only guest room, and the second door led into an unheated little room which the pastor had designated as a study, that is, in his opinion, the most wonderful room in the house.         ,       ,     ,  ,   ,     .

David wandered about his new abode like a schoolboy returning home, and indeed, with his thick golden hair, fresh face, and slender, straight figure, he resembled a boy.     ,  ,  , , ,   ,    ,     . He spilled wort in the brewery and spilled pease meal on himself in the poona.             . Isobel watched with apprehension as he tasted wild apples from the apple trees in the orchard and tried to scare away a starling that had perched on a tree near the pickaxe by throwing at it the bitten but not liked fruits.    ,            ,     ,    ,    . Then he shouted for her to bring water to wash away the dust of the road.   ,       . The warm rays of the August sun fell on the small courtyard, soothing sounds floated in the midday air:        ,      : the splash of the river waves, the hammering of the forge, the bleating of sheep, grazing on the slope, and the hum of bees in the stocks.   ,    ,  ,   ,     . The priest rubbed his cheeks and smiled, and Isobel's wrinkled red face blossomed with an answering smile.     ,         . "Oh, sir," she said, "the Lord has given us life in such a glorious place and a peaceful haven. ", ,   ,            . Let us thank Him for this."     ". And when David announced a fervent amen to the surrounding area, throwing her a towel, a noise on the porch announced the arrival of the first guests.       ,   ,        .

There were at least three of them, all clergymen from the neighbouring parishes.      ,     . They rode into Woodiley on their small horses to greet the young man.           . The livestock filled the stable and byre, and the brothers in Christ settled down on a rough bench near the lawn.     ,           . They intended to dine at the village inn, so as not to disturb Mr. Sempill:      ,     : they would never have turned up like this, uninvited, if they thought they would be entertained.         ,  ,   ,     . However, the hospitable Isobel, who thought that entertaining guests on the day of a housewarming was a good thing, managed to persuade them:   ,  , ,         ,   : "Mr. Sempill will burn with shame if the gentlemen do not break bread with him." "    ,        ". Food in the house she's got plenty, she's just thrown a chicken into the cauldron, and this morning a whole bunch of partridges arrived from Chasehope, oh, she'll roast them The priests smiled with humility and hope.    -,       ,         ,           . "Your servant is not a treasure, Mr. Sempill. "   ,  ,  . A sensible and decent woman - the house in Woodilee will be a full cup."           ".

The Reverend Mungo Muirhead had a round, clean-shaven face, a thick neck, and a massive frame.   ̸   ,   ,     . He had a wide, thin-lipped mouth, pressed into a line like a lawyer's, a fleshy nose, and large gray eyes, much of the time thoughtful, like a cow's, but sometimes sparkling with insight.      ,   ,   ,      ,    ,   ,    . His skin was pale, and he was rapidly losing his hair, so that at first glance this sedate man brought to mind hills with vast, faded slopes.    ,    ,                . Being the parson of Aller and the only townsman in this company, he wore a talard and beffchen, not forgetting his hat.         ,     ,    . The Reverend Ebenezer Proudfoot, from the moorland village of Bold, was made of different stuff.                . He wore homespun peasant clothes, on his head a blue beret, on his feet rough shoes with leather laces and old itchy woolen trousers.      ,    ,            . Huge, with a sinewy body and a narrow face, he looked at the world with small blue eyes, in which one could read rough power and fiery spirit. ,      ,       ,        . The third, Mr. James Fordyce from the neighboring parish of Coldshaw, was fragile and thin, pale either from ill health or from intense mental work. ,       ,    ,     ,      . Dressed in a faded blue caftan, he wrapped himself in a plaid even in the August sun.     ,        . His face could have been called handsome if his cheeks were not sunken and his mouth was not twisted, as if from pain or doubt, but his gentle and sad, almost girlish, brown eyes atoned for everything.       ,          ,     ,    ,  ,    .

At noon they sat down to table.      . Mr. Muirhead said a long prayer, inspired by the aroma coming from the kitchen, and beginning appropriately:  ̸   ,  ,   ,   : "I will sing to the Lord who has dealt bountifully with me." " ,  ". Suddenly all the dishes appeared on the bare plank table at once:         : a pot of barley soup, a boiled fowl, a couple of partridges on a spit, and a plate of oatcakes.    ,  ,        . The Edinburgh merchant had supplied his son with kitchen utensils and dishes in an abundance not seen in most parsonages, so that there were knives, forks, and pewter plates enough for every guest.           ,      ,  ,       . Everyone looked in amazement at the display of wealth, and Mr. Proudfoot, as if in rebellion against such luxury, preferred to pick the bones of the poultry hands.       ,   ,     ,      . The home-brewed beer did not disappoint either, and everyone, with the exception of Mr. Fordyce, did it justice - Isobel often filled the only mug that was passed from hand to hand.     ,  ,    ,         ,     .

"This is life, Mr. David," exclaimed Mr. Muirhead, who was in an extremely good humor, "not at all like it was under your predecessor.    ,  ,    ̸,     ,    ,    . The worthy Mr. McMichael did not have such a treat, let alone unleavened cakes.         ,    . But you have treated us to a splendid repast.      .

David tried to find out about his forerunner, of whom he only remembered that in his childhood days the pastor was very old and rode around the parish on a white pony.      ,    ,                .

"He was a God-fearing and hard-working minister," said Mr. Muirhead, "but as far as I can remember, the weight of his years was always heavy upon him.       ,    ̸,      ,        . And he never left the same ordinary until everyone had learned him by heart.            ,      . I have heard that in his sermons he once lingered for a year and a half on the phrase, 'And they came to Elim;  ,      -        "   ; there were twelve springs of water, and threescore and ten date trees; and they encamped there by the waters.'         ,      ". Something tells me he was not strong in reasoning. -  ,      .

"He was very diligent in his service," said Mr. Proudfoot, "and had no equal in guarding tables.      ,    ,         . Verily, sirs, he was the trumpet of the Lord. , ,     .

"There is no doubt that he was a good man," said Mr. Fordyce, "and he was rewarded in heaven."     ,     ,    ,      . But he was too old and weak for such a sinful parish.           . I have fears that he turned out to be a bad shepherd.    ,     . I remember there was talk about sending a committee here to investigate. ,    ,        .

 I disagree!   !  cried Mr. Muirhead.    ̸.  I object in general.    . The elders of Woodilee have always been renowned for their piety.      . Is not Ephraim Caird here, who took part in the Assembly, and lent his hand to that invaluable work for the glory of God in the East Kirk of St. Giles's two years ago?      ,                       ? Is not Peter Pennecook from here, with his unrivaled gift of prayerful fervor, comparable only to that of Rutherford himself?          ,      ? And, remembering the Bishops' Wars, how steadfastly Amos Ritchie supported the Covenant, not afraid to go out with an ancient musket left to him by his godfather.     ,       ,      ,     . There is plenty of true religion in Woodilee.      .




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