"Smith, Clark Ashton - Tales of Averoigne" - читать интересную книгу автора (Smith Clark Ashton)

once.'
His servants gave him the required direction, and he went out,
following slowly the footpath they had indicated, till he was beyond
sight of the chateau. Then he quickened his pace, and began to finger
the hilt of his rapier as he went on through the thickening woods.
'I am a little afraid, Olivier. Shall we go any farther?'
Adele and Olivier had wandered beyond the limits of their
customary stroll, and were nearing a portion of the forest of Averoigne
where the trees were older and taller than all others. Here, some of the
huge oaks were said to date back to pagan days. Few people ever
passed beneath them; and queer beliefs and legends concerning them
had been prevalent among the local peasantry for ages. Things had
been seen within these precincts, whose very existence was an affront
to science and a blasphemy to religion; and evil influences were said to
attend those who dared to intrude upon the sullen umbrage of the
immemorial glades and thickets. The beliefs varied, and the legends
were far from explicit; but all agreed that the wood was haunted by
some entity inimical to man, some primordial spirit of ill that was
ancienter than Christ or Satan. Panic, madness, demoniac possession,
or baleful, unreasoning passions that led them to doom, were the lot of
all who had trodden the demesnes of this entity. There were those who
whispered what the spirit was, who told incredible tales regarding its
true nature, and described its true aspect; but such tales were not meet
for the ear of devout Christians.. _Ѕ
'Prithee, let us go on,' said Olivier. 'Look you, Madame, and see
how the ancient trees have put on the emerald freshness of April, how
innocently they rejoice in the sun's return.'
'But the stories people tell, Olivier.'
'They are stories to frighten children. Let us go on. There is nothing
to harm us here, but much of beauty to enchant.'
Indeed, as he had said, the great-limbed oaks and venerable beeches
were fresh with their new-born foliage. The forest wore an aspect of
blitheness and vertumnal gaiety, and it was hard to believe the old
superstitions and legends. The day was one of those days when hearts
that feel the urgency of an unavowed love are fain to wander
indefinitely. So, after certain feminine demurs, and many reassurances,
Adele allowed Olivier to persuade her, and they ment on.
The feet of anirnals, if not of men, had continued the path they
were following, and had made an easy way into the wood of fabulous
evil. The drooping boughs enfolded them with arms of soft verdure,
and seemed to draw them in; and shafts of yellow sunshine rifted the
high trees, to aureole the lovely secret lilies that bloomed about the
darkly writhing coils of enormous roots. The trees were twisted and
knotted, were heavy with centurial incrustations of bark, were humped
and misshapen with the growth of unremembered years; but there was
an air of antique wisdom about them, together with a tranquil
friendliness. Adele exclaimed with delight; and neither she nor Olivier
was aware of anything sinister or doubtful in the unison of exquisite
beauty and gnarled quaintness which the old forest offered to them.
'Was I not right?' Olivier queried. 'Is there ought to fear in harmless