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

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5
Mother Marian's house in the Out Isles was hardly bigger than a large dog kennelтАФbut it was
comfortable and full of interesting things. There were two horseshoes nailed on the doorтАФfive statues
bought from pilgrims, with the used-up rosaries wound round themтАФfor beads break, if one is a good
prayerтАФseveral bunches of fairy-flax laid on top of the salt-boxтАФsome scapulars wound round the poker
тАФtwenty bottles of mountain dew, all empty but oneтАФabout a bushel of withered palm, relic of Palm
Sundays for the past seventy yearsтАФand plenty of woollen thread for tying round the cow's tail when
she was calving. There was also a large scythe blade which the old lady hoped to use on a burglarтАФif
ever one was foolish enough to come that wayтАФand, in the chimney, there were hung some ash-rungs
which her deceased husband had been intending to use for flails, together with eel skins and strips of
horse leather as hangings to them. Under the eel skins was an enormous bottle of holy water, and in front
of the turf fire sat one of the Irish Saints who lived in the beehive cells of the outer islands, with a glass
of water-of-life in his hand. He was a relapsed saint, who had fallen into the Pelagian heresy of
Celestius, and he believed that the soul was capable of its own salvation. He was busy saving it with
Mother Morlan and the usquebaugh.
"God and Mary to you, Mother Morlan," said Gawaine. "We have come for a story, ma'am, about the
shee."
"God and Mary and Andrew to you," exclaimed the beldame. "And you asking me for a story, whateffer,
with his reverence here among the ashes!"
"Good evening, St. Toirdealbhach, we did not notice you because of the dark."
"The blessing of God to you."
"The same blessing to you yourself."
"It must be about murders," said Agravaine. "About murders and some corbies which peck out your
eyes."
"No, no," cried Gareth. "It must be about a mysterious girl who marries a man because he has stolen the
giant's magic horse."
"Glory be to God," remarked St. Toirdealbhach. "It does be a strange story yer after wanting entirely."
"Come now, St. Toirdealbhach, tell us one yourself."
"Tell us about Ireland."
'Tell us about Queen Maeve, who desired the bull."


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"Or dance us one of the jigs."
"Maircy on the puir bairns, to think of his holiness dancing a jig!"
The four representatives of the upper classes sat down wherever they couldтАФthere were only two stools
тАФand stared at the holy man in receptive silence.
"Is it a moral tale yer after?"
"No, no. No morals. We like a story about fighting. Come, St. Toirdealbhach, what about the time you
broke the Bishop's head?"
The saint drank a big gulp of his white whisky and spat in the fire.
"There was a king in it one tune," said he, and the whole audience made a rustling noise with their
rumps, as they settled down.
"There was a king in it, one time," said St. Toirdealbhach, "and this king, what do you think, was called