"Hope Mirrlees - Lud in the Mist" - читать интересную книгу автора (Mirrlees Hope)

XXI. The Old Goatherd

XXII. Who Is Portunus?

XXIII. The Northern Fire-Box and Dead Men's Tales

XXIV. Belling the Cat
XXV. The Law Crouches and Springs

XXVI. "Neither Trees Nor Men"

XXVII. The Fair in the Elfin Marches

XXVIII. "By the Sun, Moon and Stars and the Golden Apples of the West"

XXIX. A Message Comes to Hazel and the First Swallow to Dame Marigold

XXX. Master Ambrose Keeps His Vow

XXXI. The Initiate

XXXII. Conclusion


The Sirens stand, as it would seem, to the ancient and the modern, for the impulses in life as yet
immoralised, imperious longings, ecstasies, whether of love or art, or philosophy, magical voices calling to
a man from his "Land of Heart's Desire," and to which if he hearken it may be that he will return no more
— voices, too, which, whether a man sail by or stay to hearken, still sing on.
Jane Harrison.

Chapter I

Master Nathaniel Chanticleer

The Free State of Dorimare was a very small country, but, seeing that it was bounded on the south by
the sea and on the north and east by mountains, while its centre consisted of a rich plain, watered by two
rivers, a considerable variety of scenery and vegetation was to be found within its borders. Indeed,
towards the west, in striking contrast with the pastoral sobriety of the central plain, the aspect of the
country became, if not tropical, at any rate distinctly exotic. Nor was this to be wondered at, perhaps; for
beyond the Debatable Hills (the boundary of Dorimare in the west) lay Fairyland. There had, however,
been no intercourse between the two countries for many centuries.

The social and commercial centre of Dorimare was its capital, Lud-in-the-Mist, which was situated at
the confluence of two rivers about ten miles from the sea and fifty from the Elfin Hills.
Lud-in-the-Mist had all the things that make an old town pleasant. It had an ancient Guild Hall, built of
mellow golden bricks and covered with ivy and, when the sun shone on it, it looked like a rotten apricot;
it had a harbour in which rode vessels with white and red and tawny sails; it had flat brick houses — not
the mere carapace of human beings, but ancient living creatures, renewing and modifying themselves with
each generation under their changeless antique roofs. It had old arches, framing delicate landscapes that
one could walk into, and a picturesque old graveyard on the top of a hill, and little open squares where