type="note">[60] recalls Mary. She says, “No one has ever been as beautiful as Mary. Her skin was so white that it looked blue, and she had two little blushes on her cheeks.” Another wrinkled woman living near Ballylee says, “I often saw Mary Hynes, and she was really beautiful. She had two curls on each cheek that were silver-colored. I also saw Mary Molloy, who drowned in the river, and Mary Guthrie from Ardrahan[61], but Mary Hynes was the most beautiful of them. She had seen too much of the world. She was a kind person. One day, I was walking through a field, feeling tired, and the Poisin Glegeal (the shining flower) appeared and gave me a glass of fresh milk.” A man by the shore in Kinvara[62], who is too young to remember Mary Hynes, says, “Everyone says there is no one as beautiful as her now. They say her hair was the color of gold. She was poor, but she always dressed nicely. If she attended any gathering, everyone would fight to catch a glimpse of her. Many people were in love with her, but she died young. It is said that anyone who has a song written about them won’t live long.”
People believe that those who are greatly admired are taken by the Sidhe (fairies). The admired and desired individuals are only safe if someone says “God bless them” when looking at them. The old woman who sang the song also believes that Mary Hynes was taken by the Sidhe. People from all over came to see her, and maybe some of them didn’t say “God bless her.” She died young because the gods loved her, as the Sidhe are considered gods. The old saying about her having seen too much of the world might refer to her manner of death in ancient times. These simple country people are much closer to the ancient Greek world that valued beauty more than our educated men. When they talk about her, they blame others and not her. Although they can be harsh, they become gentle, just like the old men of Troy became gentle when Helen passed by on the walls.
The poet who made Mary Hynes famous is also well-known in the west of Ireland. Some people think Raftery was partially blind and say, “I saw Raftery, a dark man, but he could still see her,” or something similar. Others believe he was completely blind, especially towards the end of his life. One day, I asked a man how Raftery could have admired Mary Hynes so much if he was completely blind. He replied, “I think Raftery was completely blind, but blind people have a way of seeing things. They have the power to know more, feel more, do more, and guess more than those with sight. They have a certain wit[63] and wisdom.” Everyone agrees that he was very wise because he was not only blind but also a poet. The weaver, who spoke about Mary Hynes earlier, says, “His poetry was a gift from God, for there are three things that are gifts from God: poetry, dancing, and principles. “ A man at Coole[64] adds, “When he touched a certain part of his head, everything would come to him as if it was written in a book.”
A friend of mine once met a man who was with Raftery when he died, but people say he died alone. Maurteen Gillane told Dr. Hyde that a light was seen going up to heaven from the roof of the house where Raftery lay all night long, and “those were the angels who were with him.” There was also a great light in the hovel[65] all night long, “and those were the angels keeping vigil[66] over him. They honored him because he was such a good poet and sang such religious songs.”
Once, in a town up north, I had a long conversation with a man who grew up in a nearby countryside when he was a boy. He shared with me that when a remarkably beautiful girl was born into a family that wasn’t known for good looks. Her beauty was believed to come from the fairies and was seen as a source of misfortune. He mentioned several names of beautiful girls he had known and said that beauty had never brought happiness to anyone. According to him, beauty was something to be proud of and afraid of. I wish I had written out his words at the time, for they were more picturesque than my memory of them.
A KNIGHT OF THE SHEEP
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
Ardrahan – Ардрахан, деревня в Ирландии, находится в графстве Голуэй.
Kinvara – Кинвара, портовая деревня на юго-западе графства Голуэй, Ирландия.
wit – остроумие
Coole – Кул, деревня в Ирландии, находится в графстве Уэстмит.
hovel – сарай, амбар
to keep a vigil – нести вахту, сторожить
forceful nature – волевой характер
tax collector – сборщик налогов
grew tired – почувствовал усталость
shortcut – кратчайший путь
to plow – вспахивать, пахать
make a fuss – поднимать шум
sorrowful – печальный, грустный, жалобный
treasure – сокровище
last descendant – последний потомок
angry flush – гневный румянец
to intervene – вмешиваться
