"T. H. White - The Once and Future King" - читать интересную книгу автора (White T.H)

Agravaine moved his stern in the soft, rusty ashes of the turf impatiently. He considered that Gareth was
a fool.
"Tell us the story," he said, to change the subject, "about how pigs were made."
"Or the one," said Gawaine, "about the great Conan who was enchanted to a chair. He was stuck on it,
whatever, and they could not get him off. So they pulled him from it by force, and then there was a
necessity on them to graft a piece of skin on his bottomтАФbut it was sheepskin, and from thenceforth the

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stockings worn by the Fianna were made from the wool which grew on Conan!"
"No, do not," said Gareth. "Let there be no stories. Let us sit and talk wisely, my heroes, on deep
matters. Let us talk about our father, who is away to the wars."
St. Toirdealbhach took a deep draught of his mountain dew, and spat in the fire.
"Isn't war the grand thing," he observed reminiscently. "I did be going to wars a great deal wan time,
before I was sainted. Only I got tired on them."
Gawaine said: "I cannot see how people ever get tired of wars. I am sure I will not. After all, it is a
gentleman's occupation. I mean, it would be like getting tired of hunting, or of hawks."
"War," said Toirdealbhach, "be's a good thing if there doesn't be too many in it. When there's too many
fighting, how would you know what you are fighting about at all? There did be fine wars in Old Ireland,
but it would be about a bull or something, and every man had his heart in it from the start."
"Why did you get tired of wars?"
" Twas thim same numbers had thim destroyed altogether. Who would want to be killing a mortal for
what he didn't understand, or for nothing? I took up with the single combats instead."
"That must have been a long time ago."
"Aye," said the saint regretfully. "Thim bullets I was telling ye about, now: the brains didn't be much
good widout they were taken in single combat. It was the virtue of them."
"I incline my agreement with Toirdealbhach," said Gareth. "After all, what is the good of killing poor
kerns who do not know anything? It would be much better for the people who are angry to fight each
other thelmselves, knight against knight."
"But you could not have any wars at all, like that," exclaimed Gaheris.
"It would be absurd," said Gawaine. "You must have people, galore of people, in a war."
"Otherwise you could not kill them," explained Agravaine.
The saint helped himself to a fresh dose of whisky, hummed a few bars of Poteen, Good Luck to Ye,
Dear, and glanced at Mother Morlan. He was feeling a new heresy coming over him, possibly as a result
of the spirits, and it had something to do with the celibacy of the clergy. He had one already about the
shape of his tonsure, and the usual one about the date of Easter, as well as his own Pelagian businessтАФ
but the latest was beginning to make him feel as if the presence of children was unnecessary.
"Wars," he said with disgust. "And how would kids like you be talking about them, will ye tell me, and
you no bigger than sitting hens? Be off now, before I beget an ill wish toward ye."


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Saints, as the Old Ones knew very well, were a bad class of people to cross, so the children stood up
hastily.
"Och, now," they said. "Your Holiness, no offence, we are sure. We were only at wishing to make an