Ирландские сказки

УДК 
372.8
ББК 
81.2 Англ-93
 
Д 40

ISBN 978-5-9925-0786-7

Джейкобс Дж.
Д 40 Ирландские сказки: Книга для чтения на английском языке. — СПб.: КАРО, 2012. — 224 с. — 
(Серия «Classical literature»)

ISBN 978-5-9925-0786-7.

В книгу вошли старинные ирландские сказки, собранные знаменитым английским фольклористом Джозефом 
Джейкобсом (1854–1916). Сказки, передававшиеся из уст в 
уста с XI века, порой забавные и лукавые, порой загадочные 
и волшебные. Их герои-кельты умные и глупые, добрые и 
злые, жадные и щедрые. В этих сказках слышны будущие 
европейские и русские сказания о Бременских музыкантах, 
Золушке, Гусях-Лебедях и Жар-птицах, а добро всегда побеждает зло.

УДК 372.8
ББК 81.2 Англ-93

© КАРО, 2012

HUDDEN AND DUDDEN 
AND DONALD O’NEARY

Th ere was once upon a time two farmers, and their 
names were Hudden and Dudden. Th ey had poultry 
in their yards, sheep on the uplands, and scores of 
cattle in the meadow-land alongside the river. But for 
all that they weren’t happy. For just between their two 
farms there lived a poor man by the name of Donald 
O’Neary. He had a hovel over his head1 and a strip of 
grass that was barely enough to keep his one cow, 
Daisy, from starving, and, though she did her best, it 
was but seldom that Donald got a drink of milk or a 
roll of butter from Daisy. You would think there was 
little here to make Hudden and Dudden jealous, but 
so it is, the more one has the more one wants, and Donald’s neighbours lay awake of nights scheming how 
they might get hold of his little strip of grassland. 
Daisy, poor thing, they never thought of; she was just 
a bag of bones.
One day Hudden met Dudden, and they were soon 
grumbling as usual, and all to the tune of, ‘If only we 
could get that vagabond Donald O’Neary out of the 
country.’

1 had a hovel over his head — (разг.) жил в сарае

IRISH TALES

4

‘Let’s kill Daisy,’ said Hudden at last; ‘if that doesn’t 
make him clear out, nothing will.’
No sooner said than agreed, and it wasn’t dark 
before Hudden and Dudden crept up to the little shed 
where lay poor Daisy trying her best to chew the cud, 
though she hadn’t had as much grass in the day as 
would cover your hand. And when Donald came to 
see if Daisy was all snug for the night, the poor beast 
had only time to lick his hand once before she died.
Well, Donald was a shrewd fellow, and downhearted 
though he was, began to think if he could get any good 
out of Daisy’s death. He thought and he thought, and 
the next day you could have seen him trudging off  
early to the fair, Daisy’s hide over his shoulder, every 
penny he had jingling in his pockets. Just before he 
got to the fair, he made several slits in the hide, put a 
penny in each slit, walked into the best inn of the town 
as bold as if it belonged to him, and, hanging the hide 
up to a nail in the wall, sat down.
‘Some of your best whiskey,’ says he to the landlord. 
But the landlord didn’t like his looks. ‘Is it fearing I 
won’t pay you, you are?’ says Donald. ‘Why, I have a 
hide here that gives me all the money I want.’ And 
with that he hit it a whack with his stick and out 
hopped a penny. Th e landlord opened his eyes, as you 
may fancy.
‘What’ll you take for that hide?’
‘It’s not for sale, my good man.’
‘Will you take a gold piece?’

HUDDEN AND DUDDEN AND DONALD O’NEARY 

‘It’s not for sale, I tell you. Hasn’t it kept me and 
mine for years?’ and with that Donald hit the hide 
another whack and out jumped a second penny.
Well, the long and the short of it1 was that Donald 
let the hide go, and, that very evening, who but he 
should walk up to Hudden’s door?
‘Good evening, Hudden. Will you lend me your 
best pair of scales?’
Hudden stared and Hudden scratched his head, 
but he lent the scales.
When Donald was safe at home, he pulled out his 
pocketful of bright gold and began to weigh each piece 
in the scales. But Hudden had put a lump of butter at 
the bottom, and so the last piece of gold stuck fast to 
the scales when he took them back to Hud den.
If Hudden had stared before, he stared ten times 
more now, and no sooner was Donald’s back turned, 
than he was off  as hard as he could pelt to Dudden’s.
‘Good evening, Dudden. Th at vagabond, bad luck 
to him —’
‘You mean Donald O’Neary?’
‘And who else should I mean? He’s back here weighing out sackfuls of gold.’
‘How do you know that?’
‘Here are my scales that he borrowed, and here’s a 
gold piece still sticking to them.’

1 the long and the short of it — (устар.) короче говоря

IRISH TALES

6

Off  they went together, and they came to Donald’s 
door. Donald had fi nished making the last pile of ten 
gold pieces. And he couldn’t fi nish because a piece 
had stuck to the scales.
In they walked without an ‘If you please’ or ‘By 
your leave’1.
‘Well, I never!2’ Th at was all they could say.
‘Good evening, Hudden; good-evening, Dudden. 
Ah! You thought you had played me a fi ne trick, but 
you never did me a better turn in all your lives. When 
I found poor Daisy dead, I thought to myself, “Well, 
her hide may fetch something”; and it did. Hides are 
worth their weight in gold in the market just now.’
Hudden nudged Dudden, and Dudden winked at 
Hudden.
‘Good evening, Donald O’Neary.’
‘Good evening, kind friends.’
Th e next day there wasn’t a cow or a calf that 
belong ed to Hudden or Dudden but her hide was 
going to the fair in Hudden’s biggest cart drawn by 
Dudden’s strongest pair of horses.
When they came to the fair, each one took a hide 
over his arm, and there they were walking through 
the fair, bawling out at the top of their voices, ‘Hides 
to sell! Hides to sell!’

1 without an ‘If you please’ or ‘By your leave’ — (устар.) 
не сказав ни «позвольте», ни «с вашего разрешения»
2 Well, I never! — (воскл.) Ну ничего себе!

HUDDEN AND DUDDEN AND DONALD O’NEARY 

7

Out came the tanner.
‘How much for your hides, my good men?’
‘Th eir weight in gold.’
‘It’s early in the day to come out of the tavern.’ Th at 
was all the tanner said, and back he went to his 
yard.
‘Hides to sell! Fine fresh hides to sell!’
Out came the cobbler.
‘How much for your hides, my men?’
‘Th eir weight in gold.’
‘Is it making game of me you are! Take that for 
your pains,’ and the cobbler dealt Hudden a blow 
that made him stagger.
Up the people came running from one end of the 
fair to the other. ‘What’s the matter? What’s the 
matter?’ cried they.
‘Here are a couple of vagabonds selling hides at 
their weight in gold,’ said the cobbler.
‘Hold ’em fast; hold ’em fast!’ bawled the innkeeper, 
who was the last to come up, he was so fat. ‘I’ll wager 
it’s one of the rogues who tricked me out of thirty gold 
pieces yesterday for a wretched hide.’
It was more kicks than halfpence that Hudden and 
Dudden got before they were well on their way home 
again, and they didn’t run the slower because all the 
dogs of the town were at their heels1.

1 were at their heels — (разг.) бежали за ними (чуть 
не хватали за пятки)

IRISH TALES

8

Well, as you may fancy, if they loved Donald little 
before, they loved him less now.
‘What’s the matter, friends?’ said be, as he saw them 
tearing along, their hats knocked in, and their coats 
torn off , and their faces black and blue. ‘Is it fi ghting 
you’ve been? Or mayhap you met the police, in luck 
to them?’
‘We’ll police you, you vagabond. It’s mighty smart 
you thought yourself, deluding us with your lying 
tales.’
‘Who deluded you? Didn’t you see the gold with 
your own two eyes?’
But it was no use talking. Pay for it he must, and 
should. Th ere was a meal-sack handy, and into it Hudden and Dudden popped Donald O’Neary, tied him 
up tight, ran a pole through the knot, and off  they 
started for the Brown Lake of the Bog, each with a 
pole-end on his shoulder, and Donald O’Neary 
between.
But the Brown Lake was far, the road was dusty, 
Hudden and Dudden were sore and weary, and parched 
with thirst. Th ere was an inn by the roadside.
‘Let’s go in,’ said Hudden; ‘I’m dead beat1. It’s heavy 
he is for the little he had to eat.’
If Hudden was willing, so was Dudden. As for 
Donald, you may be sure his leave wasn’t asked, but 

1 I’m dead beat — (разг.) я совершенно выбился из сил

HUDDEN AND DUDDEN AND DONALD O’NEARY 

9

he was lumped down at the inn door for all the world 
as if1 he had been a sack of potatoes.
‘Sit still, you vagabond,’ said Dudden; ‘if we don’t 
mind waiting, you needn’t.’
Donald held his peace, but aft er a while he heard 
the glasses clink, and Hudden singing away at the 
top of his voice.
‘I won’t have her, I tell you; I won’t have her!’ said 
Donald. But nobody heeded what he said.
‘I won’t have her, I tell you; I won’t have her!’ said 
Donald, and this time he said it louder; but nobody 
heeded what he said.
‘I won’t have her, I tell you; I won’t have her!’ said 
Donald; and this time he said it as loud as he 
could.
‘And who won’t you have, may I be so bold as to 
ask?’ said a farmer, who had just come up with a 
drove of cattle and was turning in for a glass.
‘It’s the king’s daughter. Th ey are bothering the 
life out of me to marry her.’
‘You’re the lucky fellow. I’d give something to be 
in your shoes.’ 
‘Do you see that now! Wouldn’t it be a fi ne thing 
for a farmer to be marrying a princess, all dressed 
in gold and jewels?’
‘Jewels, do you say? Ah, now, couldn’t you take 
me with you?’

1 for all the world as if — (устар.) точно так, как если бы

IRISH TALES

10

‘Well, you’re an honest fellow, and as I don’t care for 
the king’s daughter, though she’s as beautiful as the day, 
and is covered with jewels from top to toe, you shall 
have her. Just undo the cord, and let me out; they tied 
me up tight, as they knew I’d run away from her.’
Out crawled Donald, in crept the farmer.
‘Now lie still, and don’t mind the shaking; it’s only 
rumbling over the palace steps you’ll be. And maybe 
they’ll abuse you for a vagabond, who won’t have the 
king’s daughter; but you needn’t mind that. Ah! It’s a 
deal I’m giving up for you, sure as it is that I don’t care 
for the princess.’
‘Take my cattle in exchange,’ said the farmer; and 
you may guess it wasn’t long before Donald was at 
their tails driving them homewards.
Out came Hudden and Dudden, and the one took 
one end of the pole, and the other the other.
‘I’m thinking he’s heavier,’ said Hudden.
‘Ah, never mind,’ said Dudden; ‘it’s only a step now 
to the Brown Lake.’
‘I’ll have her now! I’ll have her now!’ bawled the 
farmer, from inside the sack.
‘By my faith1, and you shall though,’ said Hudden, 
and he laid his stick across the sack.
‘I’ll have her! I’ll have her!’ bawled the farmer, 
louder than ever.

1 By my faith — от лат. bona fi de, по чести говоря; 
клянусь честью