Читать книгу Кельтские сумерки. Уровень 1 / The Celtic Twilight - Уильям Батлер Йейтс - Страница 10

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.