Да ну нахрен, переведу завтра -_-
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Winter is the time for tales, and no one knows it better than a storyteller from Loode. He could spin a yarn longer than an old weaver; here is what tells today:
“There once was a Franciscan monk who travelled to Suffolk to see his uncle. The uncle was a wicked old scoundrel and nothing made him happier than a good trickery. One of his legs was like any other man’s, and another was made of wood; but both kicked as hard as another. His hands swindled, cheated, poked, and punched; his eyes peeked and leered; his mouth swore, lied, and slandered. He drunk enough to drown a fish, and worked less than a fat bishop.
“Is there nothing,” asked his nephew the Monk, “That would make you change your ways?” He was a very naïve young man, or he wouldn’t have bothered to wonder.
“Nothing,” said the Uncle proudly, “For there is not a decent bone in my whole body. I am so good at being bad that I dare say I’m badder the bad Old Nick himself!”
At this, the crooked old man by the fire cackled.
“Oh yes, you are!” he crowed, “Are you now, uncle? You are a simpleton and no mistake; badder than Ole Nick, haha!..” and the old man laughed and laughed, and the Uncle’s face grew red, and his eyes grew dark in anger.
“Wretched old cripple,” cried the Uncle, “I will break your leg to match the other to teach you a lesson!” his huge hands that never done the day’s work clenched into huge fists that have started and ended many a pub’s fights, “There wasn’t such a wicked rogue and rascal as me in hell and above, that I’m willing to bet!”
“And I,” said the old man, “Am not the one to pass on a bet.
READ MOREYou are a brag and you are the one who needs a lesson; and you’ll get it because I am a sort of a wandering teacher. Make you wager, you boasting fool.”
“It would be a great shame to turn away from sin if I am so gifted at being a sinner, and so lousy at being honest. But I am a gambler through and through, so here’s a deal: if I do a single good thing to-day, and you, my lame friend, do none or worse, than you will win and I swear to hot hells that I will be true gentleman from now to my deathbed!”
They agreed to part ways until evening: the crippled old man, the Uncle, and Nephew the Monk.
“We will meet here at the sunset,” said the old man, “And decide who was the wickedest of us two.”
“What a daft old bat,” said the Uncle to his nephew, expecting an easy win, “How can a ninny like this believe to beat me!.. His head must’ve turned to cabbage with age.”
But the nephew did not laugh.
“I wish you didn’t challenge him, dear Uncle,” he said, “Something is not right, and I have a bad feeling about the whole business.”
“Sure you do,” said the Uncle, “Because you are a wet blanket and always have been. I’ll show you and that bumpkin that I’m the crookedest crook that ever cooked a crime.”
He left. The nephew said a prayer to the Lord, preached to the drunks, gave his bread to the poor, and saved a cat. And all the time, while he was busy doing God’s work, he waited, thinking about the strange bet.
True to his word, the old man returned at the sunset, and soon the Uncle came back too.
“Well,” said the Uncle, “A good day to be bad!..”
“Have you done much wickedness?” asked the old man with a peculiar smile.
“Oh yes, that I have. I have started a fire at a poor man’s farm, so they will starve to death when winter comes and no mistake.”
“Nice work, my good fellow,” chuckled the old man, “But didn’t you know that a warlord from long ago buried his treasure right beneath where that poor farmer’s cottage stood? He meant to come back and dig it out, but he and his people fell in battle, and so none was left to know about it. The farmer surely discovered it and now he and his family will prosper, all thanks to you.”
The Uncle clenched his teeth.
“I’ve met an orphan. She was in rags and had not a coin with her, but her hair was bright like gold. I cut it short, and she cried enough to fill a river!”
“That orphan would’ve become a lover to one vile lord, and in turn do evil and lawless things. But now she despaired so much that she went to the St. Catherine abbey and prayed there; now she will stay at the convent, and in ten years she will become a prioress; and after her time, she will be known as a saint. What a divine spirit must’ve ruled your hand when you cut that braid!”
The Uncle growled in anger.
“I shoved an old woman under the cart when I was coming to meet you here,” he said, “Now, there, surely that was evil – the woman was blind and could barely walk!”
The old man laughed heartily as he answered: “You saved that woman’s life! ‘tis true she was blind and had she kept on her way, she would have walked straight into a well. She’d break her old neck, not to mention spoil the water for an entire village. But worry not, my gentle-hearted uncle, she wasn’t killed by that cart – only slightly dazed, and taken to the house to heal. In that house, a good lady found that though the woman was blinder than a bat, she could weave lace better than a spider. The lady loves her lace dresses, so naturally she kept the old woman and gave her a roof and food, not to mention the wage! Aren’t you a true and righteous one, to protect and save the weak and the poor?”
“Let’s hear your story, cripple,” said the Uncle shortly.
“Oh well, I started by giving money to that hungry wretch at the square.”
The Uncle snickered, “Kind of you, dear sir, kind indeed! You’ve given your coin to an honest man, for I know him. He’s down on his luck, but not a crook.”
“He will be, for he was so happy with the gold that he decided it wouldn’t be so ill to drink and play a little – and then a little turned to more, and then to too much. He lost the money I gave him, and then the money he didn’t have. He got into a fight, and grabbed someone’s purse, and got caught. Now he will go to jail, and his family will go hungry.”
“You are a dodgy cheater,” said the Uncle, “It was lucky move and no more!”
“Turned out, I had some more money to spare,” he continued, “So I gave them to my old friend, Bishop Stephan, who happened to pass by the neighborhood.”
“Ho, ho! Can’t walk by a church and not give a helping hand, that’s for sure! He’ll build another abbey or a hospital with your penny.”
“True,” said the old man, “I keep close with many of the clergy – they help me in turn, so we work together well. But the Bishop will hardly put that penny into the church; his manor needs repair, and after all, he needs to pay the mayor and the governor. Now that he has the money, he’ll help his rich friends be richer, and the poor people be poorer.”
“Sly old swindler,” the Uncle said bitterly, “Done with your day’s chores, are we?”
“Not quite. On the way back, I saw a widow crying for help as she was pulled away by two thugs. I stopped and helped her, beating both thugs and kicking them into a ditch.”
“Aren’t you a chivalrous old fellow,” chuckled the Uncle, “Helping that poor soul! She was grateful, and I’d bet she will say many prayers for your well-being.”
“Grateful she was,” agreed the old man, “But I doubt she even knows a prayer. For this woman was a thief and cheat, and I happen to know that she didn’t become a widow by accident. Had she been arrested by those two men, her crimes would have come to an end; as it is, she will continue to ploy and play, and kill if it comes to this. But I’ll see her again one day to get my due, no worry!”
The Uncle swore and shook with rage.
“Who are you,” he said, “That you think you can outwit me like this? Well, you won all right, and now I’ll give you a taste of my fist in your toothless mouth!”
But even as he spoke, the old man rose to his feet. His left leg was lame, but suddenly he was so huge and dark that no light came except for the red glow of his eyes.
“You are a fool,” he said, “To ever think that you can best me, and more fool to mock me. Now, you’ve laughed at my leg – so I’ll take yours!” And his giant hand snatched the Uncle’s wooden leg just like this!
The Nephew crossed himself and uttered a prayer, and suddenly there was no old man as if he never crossed the threshold. He was gone, and so was the wooden leg.
“My dear uncle,” said the nephew, “I do believe you’ve lost your bet.”
The uncle lived an honest man’s life, with hard work and a virtuous wife: a worthy punishment in itself; the Devil got a wooden leg; and the Monk was the only one who won, for it was his wish that came true. So it usually is: for the one who wins is he who does not bet with the Devil.
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22.01.2019 в 12:20Кстати, я тебе на мэйл отправила книгу Туве Янссон, она дошла?
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22.01.2019 в 21:25Да, после средневековья и староанглийского аллитерация начинает просачиваться даже в рабочую переписку -D тут вообще я в основном на ругательствах отрывалась, и всё равно везде оно!
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23.01.2019 в 11:53-
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25.01.2019 в 09:13