According to tradition, the winner of the games at Olympia was proclaimed immediately after the end of the competition in the stadium or hippodrome. The award ceremony was held on the last day of the Olympic festival in the Temple of Zeus, and later at the main, eastern entrance of this temple, where crowds of pilgrims and guests gathered. The ceremony managers set up a carved wood table on which olive wreaths were laid out. The most honorable sign of valor and the only award from the organizers of the games, the Olympian’s wreath consisted of two branches tied with purple ribbons, cut with a gold knife sacred tree, which, according to legend, was planted in Altis by Hercules. During the traditional ritual, the Hellanodics placed branches with silver leaves on the heads of the Olympians on top of the white armbands received by the athletes and horsemen on the day of their victory. The herald loudly announced the name of the winner, the name of his father and the name of the city from which he came.

The Olympionist was also honored to be included in the Bassicalium - the list of winners of the Olympia Games. The list of Olympic heroes was compiled in the 4th century BC by Hippias of Elis, a famous sophist and orator, mathematician and astronomer, grammarian and archaeologist, distinguished by his extraordinary memory, which is why the Greeks called him “much-knowing.” It was Hippias who wrote down the name of the first Olympian on his list. - Corebus, a native of the same Peloponnesian region of Elis and a cook by profession, who surpassed his rivals in dromos in the first ancient Olympic Games ah 776 BC.

Ancient historians relied on Hippias’s list, which lists the winners of games over almost three centuries. However, the last major Greek historian, Polybius, believed that the names of Olympians began to be written down from the 27th Olympiad (672 BC), and before that they were kept in memory by the organizers of the games. After Hippias, the list of Olympians was apparently kept by the priests of the Temple of Zeus. Modern scientists believe that in the complete Olympic Bassicalia there are 1029 names of the winners of the ancient games.

The first Olympian to be crowned with an olive wreath was Daicles of Messenia, who won the dromos at the 7th Olympiad (752 BC). The first two-time and first three-time Olympian is Pantacles from Athens, winner in dromos at the 21st Olympiad (696 BC), in dromos and diaulos at the 22nd Olympiad (692 BC). The first team victory was achieved by the team from the Elis region, which competed in the quadriga race at the 27th Olympiad (672 BC). The first 4-time Olympian is Echion from Sparta, undefeated in dromos and diaulos at the 29th Olympiad (664 BC) and the 30th Olympiad (660 BC). He also became the first 5-time and first 6-time Olympian, performing in the same types of running at the 31st Olympics (656 BC). The first to win 7 victorious wreaths was Astil from Croton/Syracuse, who competed in dromos, diaulos and hoplitodrome at the 73rd, 74th and 75th Olympiads (488, 484 and 480 BC). The first woman to be declared an Olympian was Canisca, daughter of the king of Sparta, who drove a quadriga in races on the hippodrome at the 96th Olympiad (396 BC). 4 years later she repeated her success. The youngest Olympian is 12-year-old Damiscus from Massena, who won the ephebe competition in dromos at the 103rd Olympiad (368 BC). The first to win 10 olive wreaths was Heriodorus of Megara, unsurpassed in trumpet competitions at ten games (328-292 BC). The first 12-time Olympian was Leonidas from the island of Rhodes, who won dromos, diaulos and hoplithodrome at four Olympics (164-152 BC).

The winner of the Olympic Games received universal recognition along with an olive wreath (this tradition dates back to 752 BC) and purple ribbons. During the feast that followed the competition, solemn hymns-epics composed by the famous poets Pindar, Simonides, and Bacchylides were sung in honor of the Olympians. The Olympians were so famous that the year of the Olympiad was often named after the winner. He became one of the most respected people in his city (for the residents of which the victory of a fellow countryman at the Olympics was also a great honor). The name of the Olympian winner and the name of his father were solemnly announced and carved on marble slabs exhibited in Olympia for public viewing. In their homeland, Olympians were exempt from all state duties and enjoyed places of honor in the theater and at all festivities. The Olympian was also given posthumous honors in his homeland. And according to the one introduced in the 6th century. BC. in practice, the three-time winner of the Games could erect his statue in Altis. There are known cases when Olympians were deified and revered as local heroes. The ancient Greeks considered victory a sign of the deity’s favor, Zeus’s attention to the athlete and to the city where he came from.

The first Olympian known to us was Korab from Elis, who won the race over one stage in 776 BC.

The most famous - and the only athlete in the entire history of the ancient Olympic Games who won 6 Olympics - was the “strongest among the strong,” the wrestler Milo from Croton. A native of the Greek colonial city of Croton (southern modern Italy) and, according to some sources, a student of Pythagoras, he won his first victory at the 60th Olympiad (540 BC) in competitions among youths. From 532 BC to 516 BC he won 5 more Olympic titles - already among adult athletes. In 512 BC Milon, who was already over 40 years old, tried to win his seventh title, but lost to a younger opponent. Olympian Milo was also a repeated winner of the Pythian, Isthmian, Nemean Games and many local competitions. Mentions of it can be found in the works of Pausanias, Cicero and other authors.

Another outstanding athlete, Leonidas from Rhodes, won in three “running” disciplines at four Olympics in a row (164 BC - 152 BC): running one and two stages, as well as running with weapons.

Astilus from Croton entered the history of the ancient Olympic Games not only as one of the record holders for the number of victories (6 - in running one and two stages at the Games from 488 BC to 480 BC). If at his first Olympics Astil competed for Croton, then at the next two - for Syracuse. Former fellow countrymen took revenge on him for his betrayal: the statue of the champion in Croton was demolished, and his former house turned into a prison.

In the history of the ancient Greek Olympic Games there are entire Olympic dynasties. Thus, the grandfather of the champion in fist fighting, Poseidor of Rhodes, Diagoras, as well as his uncles Akusilaus and Damagetes, were also Olympians. Diagoras, whose exceptional stamina and honesty in boxing matches won him great respect from spectators and was sung in the odes of Pindar, witnessed the Olympic victories of his sons - respectively, in boxing and pankration. (According to legend, when the grateful sons placed their champion wreaths on their father’s head and lifted him onto their shoulders, one of the applauding spectators exclaimed: “Die, Diagoras, die! Die, because you have nothing more to want from life!” And the excited Diagoras died immediately in the arms of his sons.)

Many Olympians were distinguished by exceptional physical properties. For example, the champion in the two-stadion race (404 BC) Lasthenes of Tebeia is credited with victory in an unusual competition with a horse, and Aegeus of Argos, who won the race on long distances(328 BC), after that, running, without making a single stop along the way, he covered the distance from Olympia to his hometown to quickly bring good news to fellow countrymen. Victory was also achieved thanks to a unique technique. Thus, the extremely durable and agile boxer Melankom from Cariya, winner of the Olympic Games of 49 AD, during the fight constantly kept his arms extended forward, due to which he avoided the enemy’s blows, while he himself extremely rarely struck back - in in the end, the physically and emotionally exhausted opponent admitted defeat. And about the winner of the Olympic Games 460 BC. in the dolichodrome of Ladas from Argos they said that he runs so easily that he does not even leave traces on the ground.

Among the participants and winners of the Olympic Games were such famous scientists and thinkers as Demosthenes, Democritus, Plato, Aristotle, Socrates, Pythagoras, Hippocrates. Moreover, they competed not only in the fine arts. For example, Pythagoras was a champion in fist fighting, and Plato was a champion in pankration.

1. Fairies of Merlin's Rock

About two hundred years ago there lived a certain poor man. He worked as a farm laborer on a farm in Lanerkshire, was there, as they say, at his beck and call - he carried out various assignments and did everything that was ordered.

One day the owner sent him to dig peat in a peat bog. And I must tell you that at the end of this peat bog there was a rock, very strange in appearance. It was nicknamed "Merlin's Rock". It was called that way because, according to legend, the famous wizard Merlin once lived in it.

So the farmhand came to the peat bog and set to work with great zeal. He had been digging peat for a long time in the area next to Merlin's Rock and had already dug up a whole heap when he suddenly shuddered in surprise - in front of him stood such a tiny woman as he had never seen in his life - about two feet tall, no more. She was wearing a green dress and red stockings, and her long yellow hair was not tied with a ribbon or braid and was scattered over her shoulders.

The woman was so small and so pretty that the farmhand, lost in surprise, stopped working and, sticking a spade into the peat, looked at her with all his eyes. But he was even more surprised when the woman raised a tiny finger and said:

What would you say if I sent my husband to take the roof off your house, huh? You people imagine that everything is allowed to you! “She stamped her tiny foot and ordered the farmhand in a stern voice: “Now put the peat in its place, otherwise you will repent later!”

The poor man has repeatedly heard all sorts of stories about fairies and how they take revenge on their offenders. He trembled with fear and began to put the peat back. He placed each piece in the very place from which he took it, so that all his labors were in vain.

But now he was done with it and looked around in search of his outlandish interlocutor. And there was no trace of her. How and where she disappeared, he did not notice. The farmhand threw the spade over his shoulder, returned to the farm and reported to the owner about everything that had happened to him. And then he said that it was better to dig peat at the other end of the peat bog.

But the owner just laughed. He himself did not believe in spirits, nor in fairies, nor in elves - in a word, in anything magical, and he did not like the fact that his farmhand believed in all sorts of nonsense. And so he decided to reason with him. He ordered the farm laborer to immediately harness the horse to the cart, go to the peat bog and pick up all the dug peat from there, and when he returned to the farm, spread the peat in the yard to dry.

The farmhand didn’t want to carry out the owner’s orders, but there was nothing to do - he had to. But week after week passed without anything bad happening to him, and he finally calmed down. He even began to think that he had simply dreamed of the little woman and, therefore, his master was right.

Winter passed, spring passed, summer passed, and then autumn came again, and exactly a year has passed since the day when the farmhand dug peat at Merlin's Rock.

That day, the farmhand left the farm after sunset and headed to his home. As a reward for his hard work, the owner gave him a small jug of milk, and the farmhand carried it to his wife.

His soul was cheerful, and he walked briskly, humming a song. But as soon as he approached Merlin's Rock, he was overcome by irresistible fatigue. His eyes were drooping, as if he were going to sleep, and his legs felt as heavy as lead.

“Let me sit here and rest a little,” he thought. “Nowadays the road home seems very long to me.” And so he sat down in the grass under a rock and soon fell asleep in a deep, heavy sleep.

He woke up around midnight. The moon rose over Merlin's Rock. The farmhand rubbed his eyes and saw that a huge round dance of fairies was swirling around him. They sang, danced, laughed, pointed at the farm laborer with tiny fingers, shook their little fists at him, and circled and circled around him in the light of the moon.

Not remembering himself from surprise, the farmhand rose to his feet and tried to walk away - away from the fairies. Not so! No matter which direction he stepped, the fairies rushed after him and did not let him out of their enchanted circle. So the farm laborer could not break free.

But then they stopped dancing, brought the prettiest and most elegant fairy to him and shouted with shrill laughter:

Dance, man, dance with us! Dance and you will never want to leave us again! And this is your pair!

The poor farm laborer didn't know how to dance. He embarrassedly resisted and waved away the elegant fairy. But she grabbed his hands and pulled him along. And it was as if a witchcraft potion had penetrated his veins. Another moment, and he was already jumping, spinning, gliding through the air and bowing, as if all his life he had done nothing but dance. But what’s strangest of all is that he completely forgot about his home and family. He felt so good that he lost all desire to run away from the fairies.

A cheerful round dance swirled all night. The little fairies danced like crazy, and the farmhand danced in their enchanted circle. But suddenly a loud “kook-ka-re-ku” sounded over the peat bog. It was the rooster on the farm who crowed his greeting to the dawn at the top of his lungs.

The fun stopped instantly. The round dance broke up. The Fen, with alarming cries, huddled together and rushed towards Merlin's Rock, dragging the farmhand along with them. And as soon as they reached the rock, a door opened by itself, which the farmhand had never noticed before. And before the fairies had time to penetrate the rock, the door slammed noisily.

It led to a huge hall. It was dimly lit with thin candles and filled with tiny boxes. The Fen were so tired from dancing that they immediately went to bed on their beds, and the farmhand sat down on a piece of stone in the corner and thought: “What will happen next?”

But he must have been bewitched. When the fairies woke up and began to bustle about the housework, the farmhand looked at them with curiosity. And he didn’t even think about parting with them. Fen was engaged not only in housekeeping, but also in other rather strange things - a farm laborer had never seen anything like this in his life - but as you will find out later, he was forbidden to talk about this.

And then, towards evening, someone touched his elbow. The farmhand shuddered and, turning around, saw the same tiny woman in a green dress and red stockings who scolded him a year ago when he was digging peat.

“Last year you removed the peat from the roof of my house,” she said, “but the peat flooring grew on it again and was covered with grass. So you can go home. You were punished for what you did. But now the term of your punishment is over, and it was considerable. Just swear first that you will not tell people about what you saw while you lived among us.

The farmhand happily agreed and solemnly swore to remain silent. Then the door was opened, and the farmhand came out of the rock into the free air.

His jug of milk stood in the grass, where he had placed it before falling asleep. It seemed as if the farmer had given him this jug just yesterday evening.

But when the farmhand returned home, he found out that this was not so. His wife looked at him in fright, as if he were a ghost, and the children grew up and, apparently, did not even recognize their father - they stared at him as if at a stranger. And no wonder - after all, he broke up with them when they were very young.

Where have you been all these long, long years? - the farmhand's wife cried when she came to her senses and finally believed that he was really her husband, and not a ghost. - How did you have the courage to leave me and the children?

And then the farmhand understood everything: the day that he spent in Merlin’s Rock was equal to seven years of life among people. This is how cruelly the “little people” - the fairies - punished him!

2. Elf Knight

In one remote corner of Scotland there is a deserted heath - a peatland overgrown with heather. They say that in ancient times a certain knight from the world of elves and spirits wandered there. People saw him rarely, about once every seven years, but throughout the entire area they were afraid of him. After all, there have been cases when a person dared to walk through this wasteland and disappeared without a trace. No matter how much they searched for him, no matter how carefully they examined almost every inch of the ground, not a trace of him was found. And so the people, trembling with horror, returned home after a fruitless search, shook their heads and said that the missing man must be in captivity of the terrible elf knight.

The wasteland has always been deserted, because no one dared to set foot on it, much less settle there. And so wild animals began to live in the wasteland. They calmly made holes and lairs for themselves, knowing that mortal hunters would not disturb them.

Not far from this wasteland lived two young men - Earl St. Clair and Earl Gregory. They were very friendly - they rode together, hunted together, and sometimes fought side by side.

They both loved hunting very much. And so Count Gregory once invited his friend to hunt in the wasteland, despite the fact that, according to rumors, an elf knight was wandering there.

“I almost don’t believe in him,” he exclaimed with a laugh. “In my opinion, all the stories about him are just old wives’ tales, the kind they use to scare little kids so they don’t run through the heather thickets.” After all, it won’t take long for a child to get lost there. It’s a pity that such rich hunting grounds are wasted, and we, bearded men, have no business listening to all sorts of tall tales.

But Count St. Clair did not even smile at these words.

WITH evil spirits jokes are bad,” he objected. - And these are not at all fairy tales that other travelers walked through the wasteland and then disappeared without a trace. But you said the truth - it’s a pity that such hunting grounds are wasted because of some elf knight. Just think - after all, he considers this land his own and takes a toll from us mortals if we dare to set foot on it. However, I heard that you can protect yourself from a knight if you just put on the sign of the Holy Trinity - the shamrock. So let's tie a shamrock to each of our hands. Then we will have nothing to fear.

Sir Gregory laughed loudly.

Do you think I'm a baby? - he said. - For a child who is first scared of some stupid fable, and then believes that a clover leaf can protect him? No, no, wear this sign yourself if you want, and I rely only on my good bow and arrows.

But Count St. Clair did things his own way. He did not forget what his mother told him when he sat on her lap as a small child. And she said that the one who wears a shamrock has nothing to fear from evil spells, no matter whose - a sorcerer or a witch, an elf or a demon.

And so he went to the meadow, picked a clover leaf and tied it to his hand with a silk scarf. Then he mounted his horse and, together with Count Gregory, rode to a deserted wilderness.

Several hours passed. Everything was going well with the friends, and in the heat of the hunt they even forgot about their fears. And suddenly both pulled the reins, held their horses and began to anxiously peer into the distance.

Some unfamiliar horseman crossed their path, and their friends wanted to know who he was and where he came from.

“Whoever he is, I swear he’s going fast,” said Count Gregory. “I thought that not a single horse in the world could gallop my steed.” But now I see that this rider’s horse is seven times faster than mine. Let's go after him and find out where he came from.

God forbid you chase after him! - exclaimed Earl St. Clair. - After all, this is the elf knight himself! Don't you see that he doesn't ride on the ground, but flies through the air? Although at first it seems as if he is riding a simple horse, in fact he is carried by someone’s mighty wings. And these wings flap through the air like a bird’s. How can you keep up with him? A dark day will come for you if you try to catch up with him.

But Count St. Clair forgot that he himself wears a talisman that allows him to see things as they really are. But Count Gregory does not have such a talisman, and therefore his eyes do not discern what his friend noticed. That is why he was surprised and alarmed when Count Gregory said sharply:

You're completely obsessed with the elf knight! But it seems to me that this rider is just some kind of noble knight - he is dressed in green clothes, riding on a large black horse. I love brave riders, and therefore I want to know his name and rank. So I will chase him at least to the ends of the world.

And, without adding a word, Count Gregory spurred his horse and galloped off in the direction where the mysterious rider was rushing. And Earl St. Clair was left alone on the wasteland. His fingers involuntarily reached for the shamrock, and words of prayer flowed from his trembling lips.

He realized that his friend was already bewitched. And Count St. Clair decided to follow him, if necessary, even to the ends of the earth, and try to disenchant him.

Meanwhile, Count Gregory kept galloping and galloping forward, following the knight in green clothes. He galloped over peat bogs, overgrown with heather, and across streams, and over mosses, and finally drove into such a wilderness where he had never looked in his life. It was blowing here cold wind, as if it had flown in from the glaciers, and there was a thick layer of frost on the withered grass. And here a sight awaited him from which any mortal would recoil in horror.

He saw a huge circle drawn on the ground. The grass inside this circle was nothing like the withered, frozen grass on the wasteland. It was green, lush, lush, and on it danced hundreds of light, like shadows, elves and fairies in wide, transparent, dull blue clothes that fluttered in the wind like serpentine wisps of fog.

The spirits screamed and sang, waved their arms above their heads, and rushed from side to side like crazy. When they saw Count Gregory - and he stopped his horse at the edge of the circle - they began to beckon him to them with their bony fingers.

Come here, come here! - they shouted. - Come, dance with us, and then we will drink to your health from the circular cup of our lord.

Oddly enough, the spell that shackled the young count was so strong that, although he was scared, he could not help but follow the call of the elves. He threw the reins around the horse's neck and was about to step inside the circle. But then one old gray-haired elf separated from his brothers and approached him. He must not have dared to leave the enchanted circle - he stopped at its very edge. Then he bent down and, pretending that he wanted to pick something up from the ground, said in a hoarse whisper:

I don't know who you are or where you come from, sir knight. But if life is dear to you, beware of entering the circle and having fun with us. Otherwise you will die.

But Count Gregory only laughed.

“I promised myself to catch up with the knight in green,” he said, “and I will keep this word, even if I am destined to fall into the underworld.

And he stepped over the line of the circle and found himself in the very thick of the dancing spirits.

Then they all screamed even more shrilly, sang even louder, and spun even faster than before. And then suddenly everyone fell silent at once, and the crowd divided, freeing up a passage in the middle. And so the spirits, with signs, ordered the count to walk along this passage.

He immediately went and soon approached the very middle of the enchanted circle. There, at a table made of red marble, sat the same knight in clothes as green as grass, whom Count Gregory had been chasing for so long. On the table in front of the knight stood a marvelous bowl made of a solid emerald, decorated with blood-red rubies.

This bowl was filled with heather mash, and the mash foamed, almost overflowing. The elf knight took the cup in his hands and gave it to Count Gregory with a majestic bow. And he suddenly felt very thirsty. He raised the cup to his lips and began to drink.

He drank, but the mash in the bowl did not decrease. It was still full to the brim. And then for the first time Count Gregory’s heart trembled, and he regretted that he had embarked on such a dangerous path.

But it was already too late to regret. He felt that his whole body was numb, and a deathly pallor was spreading across his face. Without even having time to shout for help, he dropped the cup from his weakened hands and fell to the ground, like a knockdown, at the feet of the lord of the elves.

Here the crowd of spirits let out a loud cry of triumph. After all, there is no greater joy for them than to lure an unwary mortal into their circle and bewitch him so that he remains with them for many years.

But soon their jubilant cries died down. The spirits began to mutter and whisper something to each other with frightened faces - their keen hearing caught the noise that instilled fear in their hearts. It was the sound of human steps, so decisive and confident that the spirits immediately guessed: the stranger, whoever he was, was free from evil spells. And if so, it means he can harm them and take away their prisoner.

Their fears were justified. It was the brave Count St. Clair who approached them without fear or hesitation, for he bore the sacred sign.

As soon as he saw the enchanted circle, he decided to immediately cross the magic line. But then the old gray-haired elf, who had recently spoken with Count Gregory, stopped him.

Oh, woe, woe! - he whispered, and sorrow wafted from his wrinkled face. “Have you, like your companion, come to pay tribute to the lord of the elves with years of your life?” Listen, if you have a wife and child, I conjure you with everything that is sacred to you, leave here before it’s too late.

Who are you and where did you come from? - asked the count, looking affectionately at the elf.

“I’m from where you yourself came from,” the elf answered sadly. “I, like you, was once a mortal man. But I went to this witchcraft wasteland, and the lord of the elves appeared to me in the guise of a beautiful knight. He seemed so brave, noble and generous to me that I followed him and drank his heather mash. And now I am doomed to vegetate here for seven long years. And your friend, Sir Earl, also tasted this damned drink and now lies dead at the feet of our lord. True, he will wake up, but he will wake up as I have become, and, just like me, he will become a slave of the elves.

Can't I really help him before he turns into an elf? - Earl St. Clair exclaimed hotly. “I am not afraid of the spell of the cruel knight who took him prisoner, for I bear the sign of one who is stronger than him.” Tell me quickly, little man, what should I do - time is running out!

“You can do something, Sir Count,” said the elf, “but it is very dangerous.” And if you fail, even the power of the sacred sign will not save you.

What should I do? - the count repeated impatiently.

“You must stand motionless and wait in the frost and cold wind until dawn breaks and the morning bell rings in the holy church,” answered the old elf. “Then slowly walk around the entire enchanted circle nine times.” Then boldly step over the line and approach the red marble table at which the lord of the elves sits. On this table you will see an emerald bowl. It is decorated with rubies and filled with heather mash. Take this cup and take it away. But don't say a word the whole time. After all, the enchanted land on which we dance seems solid only to mortals. In fact, there is an unsteady swamp, a quagmire, and under it a huge underground lake. A terrible monster lives in that lake. If you utter a single word in this swamp, you will fail and die in the underground waters.

Here the gray-haired elf took a step back and returned to the crowd of other elves. And Count St. Clair was left alone outside the vicious circle. And there he stood, shivering from the cold, motionless throughout the long night.

But then the gray streak of dawn dawned over the tops of the mountains, and it seemed to him as if the elves were beginning to shrink and melt. When the quiet ringing of bells echoed over the wasteland, Count St. Clair began to walk around the enchanted circle. Time after time he walked around the circle, despite the fact that a loud angry voice arose from the crowd of elves, similar to distant rumbles of thunder. The very ground under his feet seemed to shake and heave, as if trying to shake off the intruder.

But the power of the sacred mark on his hand helped him survive.

And so he walked around the circle nine times, then boldly stepped over the line and rushed to the middle of the circle. And what was his surprise when he saw that all the elves who had been dancing here were now frozen and lying on the ground like little icicles! They dotted the ground so thickly that he barely managed to avoid stepping on them.

When he approached the marble table, his hair stood on end. The lord of the elves was sitting at the table. He, too, was numb and frozen, like his subjects, and the numb Count Gregory lay at his feet.

And everything here was motionless, except for two ravens, black as coal. They sat at the ends of the table, as if guarding an emerald bowl, beat their wings and croaked hoarsely.

Count St. Clair took the precious cup in his hands, and then the crows rose into the air and began to circle above his head. They croaked furiously, threatening to knock the cup out of his hands with their clawed paws. Then the frozen elves and their powerful ruler himself stirred in their sleep and stood up, as if deciding to grab the daring stranger. But the power of the shamrock prevented them. If not for this sacred sign, Count St. Clair would not have been saved.

But then he went back with the cup in his hand, and was deafened by an ominous noise. Crows croaked, half-frozen elves screeched, and the noisy sighs of a terrible monster were heard from underground. It hid in its underground lake and thirsted for prey.

However, the brave Earl St. Clair paid no attention to anything. He resolutely walked forward, believing in the power of the sacred shamrock, and this power protected him from all dangers.

As soon as the bells had ceased, Earl St. Clair stepped onto the solid ground, beyond the line of the enchanted circle and threw the elves' witchcraft cup far away from himself.

And suddenly all the frozen elves disappeared along with their master and his marble table, and no one was left on the lush grass except Count Gregory. And he slowly woke up from his witchcraft sleep, stretched and rose to his feet, trembling all over. He looked around in confusion and probably did not remember how he got here.

Then Count St. Clair ran up. He hugged his friend and did not let go of his embrace until he came to his senses and hot blood flowed through his veins.

Then the friends approached the place where Count St. Clair threw the magic cup. But there they found only a small fragment of basalt instead. There was a hole in it, and in it a drop of dew.

3. Page and silver cup

Once upon a time there lived a boy. He served as a page in a rich castle. He was an obedient boy, and everyone in the castle loved him - both the noble count, his master, whom he served on one knee, and the corpulent old butler, who was at his beck and call.

The castle stood on the edge of a cliff, overlooking the sea. Its walls were thick, and on the side facing the sea there was a small door in the wall. It led to a narrow staircase, and the staircase went down a cliff to the water. Along its steps you could go ashore and swim in the sparkling sea on a sunny summer morning.

Around the castle were flower beds, gardens, lawns, and beyond them a vast, heather-covered wasteland stretched to a distant mountain range.

The little page loved to walk through this wasteland in free time. There he ran as much as he wanted, chasing bumblebees, catching butterflies, looking for bird nests. The old butler willingly let the page go for a walk - he knew that it was good for a healthy boy to frolic in the fresh air. But before letting the page go, the old man always warned him:

Just look, baby, don’t forget my order: go for a walk, but stay away from Fairy Hill. After all, with the “little people” you have to keep your eyes open!

He called the Fairy Hill a small green mound that rose about twenty yards from the garden gate. People said that fairies live in this hill and they punish everyone who dares to approach their home. Therefore, the villagers walked half a mile around the hill, even during the day, because they were afraid to get too close to it and anger the “little people.” And at night people did not walk through the wasteland at all. After all, everyone knows that at night fairies fly out of their monastery, and the door to it remains wide open. So it may happen that some unlucky mortal makes a mistake and ends up through this door to the fairies.

But the page boy was a daredevil. Not only was he not afraid of fairies, but he actually longed to see their abode. He couldn't wait to find out what these fairies were like!

And then one night, when everyone was sleeping, the boy quietly got out of the castle. He opened the door in the wall, ran down the stone stairs to the sea, then climbed onto the heather and rushed straight to Fairy Hill.

To his great pleasure, it turned out that people were telling the truth: the top of the Fairy Hill was cut off like a knife, and light was pouring from inside.

The boy's heart began to beat - he was so curious to know what was inside! He gathered his courage, ran up the hill and jumped into the hole.

And so he found himself in a huge hall, lit by countless tiny candles. Here, at a shiny, varnished table, sat many fairies, elves, and gnomes. They were dressed, some in green, some in yellow, some in pink dresses. Others wore blue, purple, bright scarlet clothes - in a word, all the colors of the rainbow.

The page boy, standing in a dark corner, marveled at the fairies and thought: “How many of them there are, these little ones! How strange that they live next door to people, but people don’t know anything about them!” And suddenly someone - the boy did not notice who exactly - proclaimed:

Bring the cup!

Immediately, two little page elves in bright scarlet liveries rushed from the table to a tiny closet in the rock. Then they returned, bending under the weight of a magnificent silver goblet, richly decorated on the outside and gilded on the inside.

They placed the cup in the middle of the table, and all the fairies clapped their hands and shouted with joy. Then they took turns drinking from the goblet. But no matter how much they drank, the wine in the cup did not decrease. It remained full to the brim all the time, although no one topped it up. And the wine in the goblet changed all the time, as if by magic. Each person sitting at the table took turns picking up a goblet and saying what wine he wanted to taste. And the cup was instantly filled with this very wine.

“It would be nice to take this cup home! - thought the page boy. - Otherwise, no one will believe that I was here. I need to take something from here, to prove that I was here.” And he began to wait for an opportunity.

Soon the fairies noticed him. But they were not at all angry with him for sneaking into their home. They even seemed delighted to see him and invited him to sit at the table.

However, little by little they began to be rude and insolent to their uninvited guest. They mocked the boy for serving mere mortals. They said that they knew everything that was happening in the castle, and they made fun of the old butler. But the boy loved him dearly. They also ridiculed the food that the boy ate in the castle, saying that it was only suitable for animals. And when the page elves in bright scarlet liveries put some new dish on the table, the fairies moved the dish to the boy and treated him:

Try! You won't have to taste this in the castle.

Finally the boy could not stand their ridicule. Besides, he decided to take the cup away, and it was time to do it. He stood up and picked up the goblet, grasping the stem tightly with both hands.

I'll drink water for your health! - he shouted.

And the ruby ​​red wine in the goblet instantly turned into clear cold water.

The boy raised the cup to his lips, but did not drink, but with one jerk splashed all the water onto the candles. The hall immediately plunged into impenetrable darkness, and the boy, holding the precious cup tightly in his hands, rushed to the upper hole and jumped out of Fairy Hill into the light of the stars. He jumped out just in time, barely in time, because at that same moment the mound collapsed behind him with a roar.

And so the page boy began to run as fast as he could across the dewy wasteland, and the whole crowd of fairies set off in pursuit of him.

The fairies seemed to have gone wild with rage. The boy heard their piercing, angry screams and understood well that if they caught up with him, do not expect mercy. His heart sank. No matter how fast he ran, how could he compete with the fairies! And they were already catching up with him. It seemed that a little more and he would die.

But suddenly a mysterious voice sounded in the darkness:

If you want to find a way to the castle,

However, he remembered that fairies would not be able to touch a person if he stepped on the wet coastal sand.

And so the page turned to the side and ran to the shore. His feet sank into the dry sand, he was breathing heavily and already thought that he was about to fall exhausted. But still he ran.

And the fairies were catching up with him, and those who were rushing ahead were already ready to grab him. But then the page boy stepped onto the wet, hard sand, from which the sea waves had just subsided, and realized that he had been saved.

After all, fairies could not take a single step here. They stood on the dry sand and shouted loudly in frustration and rage, and the page boy, with a precious goblet in his hands, rushed along the edge of the shore. He quickly ran up the steps of the stone staircase and disappeared behind a door in the thick wall.

Many years later. The page boy himself became a respectable butler and taught the little pages how to serve. And the precious cup, a witness to his adventure, was kept in the castle.

4. The blacksmith and the fairies

In Conisgall on the Isle of Islay there once lived a blacksmith named Alasdair MacEachern, nicknamed Alasdair Strong-Hand. He lived near his forge in a stone hut. His wife died in childbirth and left him his only son, Neil. Neil was a quiet young man, short, with thoughtful eyes. He helped his father well in the forge and promised to become a skilled craftsman. Neighbors advised Alasdair to take better care of his son until he became an adult. After all, the “little people” most willingly kidnap young men like him. The fairies take them to the Land of Light and do not let them go, forcing them to dance until the unfortunate ones dance to death.

Alasdair listened to the advice of his neighbors and began to hang a rowan branch over the door of his house every evening. After all, rowan is a reliable protection against the spell of the “little people.”

But one day Alasdair had to leave on business. He was planning to return home only the next day and before leaving he told his son:

Make sure you don’t forget to hang a rowan branch in front of the front door this evening, otherwise the “little people” will drag you in.

Neil nodded and said he wouldn't forget, and Alasdair Strong Arm left.

After he left, Neil swept the floor in the room, milked the goat, fed the chickens, then wrapped half a dozen oatcakes in a rag and a piece of goat cheese and went to the mountains. There he loved to wander, feeling the elastic heather bending under his feet, and listening to the murmuring of streams that flow down the mountain slope.

He had come far that day. He wandered on and on, getting hungry, snacking on oatcakes and goat cheese, and when it was already dark, he returned home, barely dragging his feet. I threw myself on my bed in the corner and immediately fell asleep. He completely forgot about his father’s order and did not hang a rowan branch over the door.

The next day the blacksmith returned home, and what did he see? Entrance door it is wide open, the fire is not burning in the hearth, the floor is not swept, the goat is not milked, the rooster and chickens are fed. He began to loudly call his son - he wanted to ask why he was sitting with his hands folded. And suddenly, in the corner where Neil’s bed stood, a weak, thin and strange voice sounded:

I’m here, father, I haven’t gotten out of bed yet. I'm sick... I'll have to lie down until I get better.

Alasdair was very alarmed, and when he approached the bed, he was horrified - his son could not be recognized! He lay under the blanket, pale and emaciated. His face turned yellow and covered with wrinkles - in a word, it seemed that he was not a young man, but an old man.

So Neil lay there for several days, and he did not feel better, although he ate like a glutton - he ate all day long, without a break, and still could not get enough.

Alasdair didn't know what to do. But one day an old man came to him, who was known as a wise and knowledgeable man. The blacksmith was glad to see his guest, hoping that he would understand Neil’s illness. And he began to tell the old man what misfortune had befallen the young man, and he listened attentively and nodded his head at times. Finally, Alasdair finished his story and, together with his guest, examined Neil. Then they both left the house, and the elder said:

You ask me what is wrong with your son, and I will tell you that it is not your son at all. Neil was replaced. He was kidnapped by the "little people" while you were away, and left in his place by a changeling.

The blacksmith looked at the old man in despair.

Oh, what to do? - he asked. - And will I never see my son again?

“I will tell you what you must do,” the elder answered. - But first you need to find out for sure that there really is a changeling on your son’s bed... Go home and pick up as many empty eggshells as you can find. Carefully lay them out in front of the changeling, pour water into the shells, and then pick them up one by one and carry them as if they were very heavy. And when you approach the fireplace, again place them as carefully as possible in front of the fire.

Alasdair decided to listen to the elder and returned home. There he carried out his advice exactly. And suddenly from the bed in the corner he heard a creaky laugh and the shrill voice of the one whom the blacksmith took for his son:

I’m already eight hundred years old, but I’ve never seen anything like this in my life!

Alasdair immediately went to the elder, and he said:

Well, there is no more doubt - your son has been replaced. Now you get rid of the changeling as quickly as possible, and then I will teach you how to find your son. Build a hot fire in front of the changeling's bed. He will ask you: “Why is this?” And you say: “Now you’ll see!” and then grab it and throw it into the fire. He will then fly into the smoke hole in the roof.

The blacksmith returned home again and did as the elder advised. He lit a fire in front of the changeling's bed, and he asked in a shrill, thin voice:

Why is this?

Now you'll see! - answered the blacksmith.

He grabbed the changeling and threw him into the fire. The changeling gave a shrill squeal, jumped up on his yellow legs, and, along with the smoke, flew straight through the hole in the roof. Here there was no trace of him.

Now what should I do? - Alesdair asked the elder. - I need to find my son immediately.

The fairies dragged your son into that round green hillock,” the old man answered and pointed his finger at the grassy mound behind the blacksmith’s house. - That's where they live inside. On the night of the next full moon, the hillock will open, and then go there to look for your son. Take with you Holy Bible, dagger and rooster and enter the hillock. You will hear singing and cheerful noise, see dancing and dazzling light. And so that the hillock doesn’t close behind you, stick your dagger into the ground at the entrance - the fairies don’t dare touch cold steel that is forged by human hands. Then step forward boldly and without any fear - the holy book will protect you from all dangers. Soon you will enter a spacious chamber and at the end you will see your son working at an anvil. The “little people” will question you, and you tell him that you came for your son and you won’t leave without him.

Then the elder said goodbye to the blacksmith, who thanked him and wished him happiness.

It must be said that Alasdair was not only strong, but also brave, and he was looking forward to going in search of Neil. The moon was in decline. Every day it decreased, then disappeared, then appeared again. And when the full moon finally arrived, the blacksmith left the house and walked towards a green mound on the mountain slope. A dagger in a sheath hung from his belt, in his bosom he carried a holy book, and under his arm was a soundly sleeping rooster.

Soon Alesdair approached the mound, and it seemed to him that soft singing and cheerful noise were coming from there. He began to wait at the foot of the hillock, and the singing sounded louder and louder, and suddenly the hillock opened, and a bright light splashed out from there. Alasdair jumped up, grabbed the dagger from its sheath and, trembling, stuck it into the ground at the entrance to the Fairyland, as the elder had told him. Then he boldly walked into the bright light. He clutched the holy book tightly to his chest, and carried the rooster under the arm of his left hand.

And then he saw a crowd of fairies and their witchcraft dances, dangerous for people. After all, a mortal, if he gets to the fairies, will inevitably dance with them until he drops, until he suddenly finds himself on a cold mountain slope, decrepit, lonely.

The blacksmith also saw his son. Pale, wild-eyed, Neil was forging something on a magic anvil, in the middle of a crowd of green-robed fairies.

And the fairies, as soon as they noticed the uninvited guest, rushed to him in a crowd to find out how a mortal dared to break into their domain. But none of them could get close to Alesdair and enchant him - the blacksmith was protected by the holy book. And so he looked at his son and shouted:

Break my son's spell and send him home to yours!

And at that moment - after all, time in the world of fairies runs faster than in the world of mortals - dawn broke over the mountain slope, and the rooster under Alesdair’s arm began to stir, woke up, and his red comb stood up. The rooster craned his neck and crowed loudly, welcoming the coming day.

And fairies are afraid of the cock's crow. For them, it sounds like an order to shut themselves in their monastery, because they do not dare to keep it open in daylight. The “little people” were confused, and their laughter died down. The fairies began to push Alasdair and Neil towards the exit, demanding that the blacksmith quickly pull his dagger out of the ground - they needed to close the mound and hide their abode from human eyes. But as soon as Alasdair took his dagger and the mound closed behind him and his son, someone’s inhuman voice shouted:

Your son will be mute until he breaks my spell! May the curse of the fairies fall on him!

And so the blacksmith and his son again found themselves on the familiar mountain slope. They peered into the short grass in the light of dawn, but could not find the place where the entrance to the Land of Light was.

Then they returned home, and Alasdair again began to blow the bellows in the forge, and his son helped him. But great grief befell the blacksmith - ever since Neil escaped captivity in Fairyland, his lips closed and he could not utter a word. Thus the fairies' prediction came true. And Neil already thought that he would remain mute until the end of his days, because he did not know how to dispel witchcraft.

But one year and one day have passed since Neil returned home. Alasdair was then forging a new broadsword for the leader of his clan, and Neil was helping his father. He held a red-hot steel broadsword over the fire, trying to keep the blade sharp and well-tempered. And all this time he was silent.

But when Alasdair was already finishing his work, Neil suddenly remembered his short captivity in the Fairyland. He remembered what kind of anvil there was and how sparks scattered from it in all directions; I remembered how skillfully the elf blacksmiths forged their shining swords and how they tempered the blades with spells so that their magical weapons would never fail their master. And then, to Alesdair’s surprise, Neil began to forge the leader’s broadsword himself. And the broadsword came out exactly like the ones the fairies forged for themselves. And Neil, having finished everything, stepped back and looked triumphantly at his father.

This broadsword will never let down anyone who picks it up! - he said.

Those were the first words he spoke in one year and one day. After all, fortunately, he did exactly what was required in order to disenchant himself: he forged a magical weapon and thereby dispelled the fairies' spell.

From that hour he completely forgot about the Land of Light and over time replaced his father, becoming the best blacksmith in his entire clan. And the leader of the clan valued the magic broadsword he forged above all his treasures, for this broadsword never failed its owner in battle, but brought great victories to him and glory to the entire clan.

5. Tam-Lin

Beautiful Janet was the daughter of an earl. He lived in the south of Scotland in a castle of gray stone, near green meadows. One day the girl got tired of sitting sewing in her little room, got bored of playing chess for a long time with the ladies who lived in the castle, and so she put on a green dress, braided her golden hair and went alone into the dense forests of Carterhow.

On this clear sunny day, she wandered in the green shade through quiet clearings overgrown with lush grass. White bells spread out like a carpet under her feet, and wild roses bloomed everywhere. And so Janet reached out and plucked White flower to tuck it into his belt. But as soon as she picked it, a young man suddenly appeared on the path in front of her.

How dare you pluck our wild roses and wander here in Carterhoe Forest without my permission? - he asked Janet.

“I didn’t want to do anything bad,” she justified herself.

And he handed the girl a scarlet rosehip flower.

Who are you, sweet-tongued young man? - Janet asked and took the flower.

“My name is Tam-Lin,” the young man answered.

I've heard about you! You are a knight from the elf tribe! - Janet exclaimed in fear and threw away the flower.

“Don’t be afraid, beautiful Janet,” said Tam-Lin. - Although people call me an elf knight, I was born a mortal, like you yourself.

And then Janet listened to his story in surprise.

“My parents died when I was a child,” Tam-Lin began, “and my grandfather, the Earl of Roxbrough, took me in with him. One day we were hunting in these very forests, and suddenly some strange cold wind blew from the north, so sharp that it seemed as if it was blowing through every leaf on the tree. And I was overcome by drowsiness. I fell behind my companions and finally fell off my horse in a heavy sleep, and when I woke up, I saw that I was in the land of the elves. Their queen came while I was sleeping and kidnapped me.

Tam-Lin paused, as if remembering the green, unearthly land of the elves.

Since then,” he continued, “I have been firmly bound by the spell of the elf queen. During the day I watch over the forest of Carterhoe, and at night I return to her country. Oh Janet, how I long to return to mortal life! With all my heart I long to be bewitched.

He said this with such sorrow that Janet exclaimed:

Is this really impossible?

Tam-Lin took her hands in his and said:

Tomorrow is All Saints' Day, Janet. On this and only this night can I return to the life of mortals. After all, on All Hallows' Eve, the elves ride horses and I ride with them.

Tell me how I can help you,” Janet asked. - I want to break your spell with all my heart.

At midnight, go to the crossroads, said Tam-Lin, and wait there until the elves appear. When their first squad arrives, you stand still - let them pass by. Skip the second squad too. And in the third detachment I will ride on a horse as white as milk. I will have a golden crown on my head... Then, Janet, you run up to me, pull me off the horse and hug me. And no matter what they turn me into, hold me tightly - don’t let me out of your arms. So you will return me to the people.

Shortly after midnight, Janet hurried to the crossroads and waited there, hidden behind a hedge of thorns. The moon was shining, the water in the ditches glistened. The thorns cast strange shadows on the ground, and the branches of the trees rustled mysteriously.

And then Janet heard the quiet ringing of bells on horse bridles coming from the direction from which the wind was blowing, and she guessed that the elf horses were already close.

A shiver ran through her body. She wrapped her cloak tighter and began to peer at the road. First she discerned the faint shine of the silver harness, then the white sparkling plaque on the forehead of the leading horse. And then the elf riders appeared. Their pale, thin faces were turned to the moon, their strange curls fluttered in the wind.

The first detachment, led by the elf queen herself, passed. She was sitting on a black horse. Janet stood motionless and let the first squad pass. She did not move even when the second detachment passed. But in the third squad she saw Tam-Lin. He sat on a horse as white as milk, and a golden crown sparkled on his head. Then Janet ran out from behind the thorn hedge, grabbed the white horse by the bridle, and pulled the rider to the ground and hugged him.

And then an inhuman cry rose:

Tam-Lin is missing!

The Elf Queen pulled on the reins with a jerk, and her black horse reared. The horsewoman turned around and fixed her beautiful unearthly eyes on Janet and Tam-lin. And by the power of her spell, Tam-Lin began to shrink and shrink in Janet’s arms and turned into a small, rough lizard. But Janet did not let her go, but pressed her to her heart.

And suddenly she felt that she had something slippery in her hands - this lizard turned into a cold snake and wrapped itself around her neck. But Janet did not let go of the snake either - she held it tightly.

Here sharp pain burned her hands - cold snake turned into a red-hot iron bar. Tears flowed down Janet's cheeks - she was in so much pain - but she held Tam-Lin tightly and did not let go of him.

Then the elf queen finally realized that she had lost her captive because a mortal woman had loved him devotedly. And the queen of the elves returned Tam-Lin to his former appearance - he became a man again. But he was naked as a newborn baby, and Janet triumphantly wrapped him in her green cloak.

The elf riders rode off. Someone's thin green hand took the reins of the white horse on which Tam-Lin was riding and led him away. And then the mournful voice of the elf queen was heard:

I had a knight, the most beautiful of all my horsemen, and I lost him! He returned to the mortal world. Goodbye Tam-Lin! If I had known that a mortal woman would win you with her love, I would have taken your heart out of flesh and blood and instead put a heart of stone into your chest. And if I had known that fair Janet would come to Carterhow, I would have taken out your gray eyes and given you eyes of wood!

While she was speaking, the faint light of dawn dawned, and the elf riders, with inhuman cries, spurred their horses and disappeared along with the night. And when the quiet ringing of the bells on the horses' bridles died away, Tam-Lin took Janet's burned hands in his own, and together they returned to the castle of gray stone where her father lived.

6. The Bagpiper of Keil

There is a huge cave in Kintyre. The dark entrance to it gapes between the cliffs of the rocky shore, like a wide gaping mouth. In ancient times, this cave was the abode of fairies.

There was a rumor that there were many narrow, winding, underground passages in the cave and that they stretched far into the interior of the country. Somewhere at the crossroads of these underground roads there is a huge hall. There, in the light of countless magical candles, fairies led by their queen dance and feast to the sounds of magical music from countless elf musicians. And there they judge the mortals who dared to enter their domain.

But almost no one dared to enter the huge cave. All residents of the west coast of Scotland knew well what dangers and obsessions threatened a mortal who entered the fairy's domain.

In Keila there once lived a brave bagpiper named Alesdair. The fame of his playing spread throughout Kintyre. When his neighbors got together after the day's work, Alasdair played them dance tunes on his bagpipes, so joyfully that everyone started dancing. And then suddenly he starts an old song - one of those that his grandfathers and great-grandfathers played - and then people listen in silence. A bowl of foamy ale goes around in a circle, and the flame of the hearth, where peat is placed with prayer, illuminates everything around with a bright light.

The bagpiper's dog, a small fox terrier, always sat there. The dog and his owner loved each other deeply and never parted.

And then one evening, when the fun was in full swing, Alasdair, having sipped more than once from the circular bowl, became cheerful and, when he finished playing some song, said to his friends:

Now I'll play you another song. It is no worse than those played by the fairies themselves in a large cave on the seaside.

He picked up his bagpipes again and was about to begin, but the farmers stopped him. They all knew that the fairies were angry with mortals who decided to compete with them in their art, and they believed that it was inappropriate for Alasdair to boast so much. The bagpiper had just begun to play when he was interrupted by farmer Ian McGraw.

“Oh, Alasdair,” he said, “you’d better give up!” What is true is true - you are the most skilled piper in all of Kintyre, but we all know that the fairies in the big cave can play in ways we could not even dream of. With their play they can tear a child away from his mother and a man from his beloved.

The bagpiper just smiled and proudly objected:

Well, Ian McGraw, you said what you wanted to say, and I'll argue with you. I bet that this very night I will walk with my bagpipes through all the underground passages in the large cave, and then return to the light of day. All this time I will play the bagpipes, but nothing bad will happen to me. And in the fairy abode no one can play this beautiful song, like this one, for example.

The neighbors just gasped at his impudent words, and the bagpiper again put the bagpipe pipe to his lips and began to play the cheerful “Song Without a Title.” None of those gathered had ever heard such a beautiful and cheerful tune in their lives.

Meanwhile, the fairies feasted and had fun in their huge hall. And then they heard Alasdair boasting, and they were angry with the impudent piper from Keil. Then the unearthly music of countless elf musicians sounded even louder and wilder, and the flames of countless candles began to flutter. And the fairy queen herself prepared to enchant the brave bagpiper with powerful spells as soon as he entered her domain.

The bagpiper's dog must have sensed all this - he bristled and growled lowly as Alasdair left the merry gathering and headed towards the cliffs, continuing to play "The Untitled Song". But the dog loved his owner so much that he did not want to be left behind and ran after him. He caught up with Alasdair when he had already approached the entrance to a large cave.

The neighbors also saw off Alesdair, but they walked at a distance. And so the bagpiper, his hat askew, fearlessly stepped into the darkness of the cave, his plaid skirt fluttering with every step. The faithful dog ran at his heels.

The neighbors looked after them, peered into the darkness of the cave and listened for a long time to the cheerful, ringing sounds of the wormwood. And many said, shaking their heads:

Oh, we will never see our brave piper from Keil again!

A little later, the cheerful music suddenly turned into a heartbreaking screech and immediately stopped. Then, echoing loudly from the stone walls, an ominous inhuman laughter echoed through the winding underground passages and reached the exit of the cave. And suddenly there was silence.

The neighbors were still standing motionless, trembling with fear for their wonderful bagpiper, when suddenly his fox terrier ran out of the cave, whining and limping. It was difficult to recognize the poor dog! He was all peeled off - not a hair was left on his body - and rushed as fast as he could, without knowing where, his eyes rolling out in horror, as if green fairy dogs were chasing him.

But his owner never left the cave. The neighbors waited for Alasdair until dawn broke over the sea. They called him with their hands to their mouths. But no one ever saw the piper from Keil again.

Not a single person in all of Kintyre dared to step into the dark cave and go looking for him. After all, everyone has heard the ominous laughter of fairies, and no one can even remember this laughter without a shiver creeping down his spine.

But this is not the end of the story about the bagpiper from Keil. One evening Ian McGraw and his wife were sitting by the fire on their farm, which stood several miles from the seaside. And suddenly the farmer's wife leaned over and put her ear to the stone slab that lay in front of the hearth.

Do you hear, master, how they play the bagpipes? - she asked her husband.

The farmer also listened and was amazed. After all, both he and his wife heard “The Untitled Song” and guessed that it was being played by Alasdair, forever doomed by the fairies to wander through the underground passages that stretch far into the interior of the country.

The farmer and his wife all listened, and the song gradually died away. And suddenly the plaintive voice of the bagpiper himself was heard:

I can no longer go out into the world,

I am doomed to wander, and there is no salvation for me!

Oh, my inescapable grief!..

Nowadays it is said that people still living heard a bagpiper playing as they passed through the place where Ian McGraw's farm once stood. And every time this cry of despair burst into the sounds of the song.

7. Farquhar MacNeil

Once upon a time there lived a young man named Farquhar MacNeil. One day he had to change his job and go to a new place. On the very first evening, the hostess told him to go to the neighbor’s mountain and ask him for a sieve. Her sieve had a hole and she needed to sift the flour.

Farquhar readily agreed and got ready to set off. The hostess explained to him which path he should take and said that it would not be difficult to find his neighbor’s house - there would be a light on in his window.

Soon Farquhar noticed that not far away, to the left of the path, something was glowing, and thought that it was in the neighbor’s window. He managed to forget that the hostess told him to go straight along the path up the mountain, and turned left, in the direction where the light was on.

It seemed to him that he was already approaching the neighbor’s house, when suddenly he tripped, fell, fell through the ground and flew down. He flew like this for a long time until he finally fell straight into the fairies' living room. And she was deep underground.

There were many fairies gathered in the living room, all of them doing different things.

At the very entrance, or rather, under the hole through which Farquhar had fallen, two little old fairies in black aprons and white caps were diligently grinding grain in a hand mill made of two flat millstones. Two other younger fairies in blue dresses with streaks and white scarves took ground flour and kneaded dough from it into crumpets. Then they put the crumpets in a frying pan and baked them on the fire of the hearth. The hearth was in the corner, and the peat burned in it, not hotly.

And in the very middle of the spacious room, a large crowd of fairies, elves and spirits danced dashingly to the sounds of tiny bagpipes. A small dark dwarf was playing the bagpipes. He sat on a stone ledge high above the crowd.

When Farquhar suddenly appeared among the fairies, they all froze and stared at him in fear. But as soon as they saw that he was not hurt, they bowed gravely to him and asked him to sit down. And then, as if nothing had happened, some again began to play and dance, and some to do housework.

But Farquhar himself loved to dance, so he did not at all want to sit alone on the sidelines of the merry dancing. And he asked the fairies to let him dance with them.

They seemed surprised by his request, but still respected it. And so Farquhar began to dance and danced as merrily as the hairdryers themselves.

But then a strange change happened to him. He forgot where he came from and where he was going, he forgot his native home, forgot all my past life. He only knew that he wanted to stay with the fairy forever.

And he stayed with them. After all, he was already bewitched and therefore became like them. At night he could wander unseen on the ground, drink dew from the grass, suck nectar from flowers. And he did all this so deftly and silently, as if he had been born an elf.

Time passed, and one evening Farquhar flew out with a crowd of cheerful friends on a big trip. They took off early because they were going to stay with the One Who Lives on the Moon, and they had to return home before the first rooster.

Everything would have worked out well if Farquhar had watched where he was flying. But he was too ardently courting the young fairy flying next to him, so he did not see the house that stood in his way. Hit a chimney and got stuck in the thatched roof.

His companions did not notice anything and merrily rushed off into the distance, so that Farquhar had to extricate himself. So he began to climb out of the straw and inadvertently looked into the wide pipe. He sees a beautiful young woman sitting downstairs in the kitchen, nursing a rosy-cheeked child.

It must be said that when Farquhar was a man, he loved children very much. And then it involuntarily escaped his tongue good wishes to this child.

God bless you! - he said, looking at the mother and child.

He had no idea what this would lead to. But as soon as he had time to utter a good wish, the spell that weighed on him dissipated, and he again became the same as he was before.

Farquhar immediately remembered all his loved ones in his homeland, and his new mistress, who must be looking forward to the sieve. It seemed to him that several weeks had already passed since he went for this sieve. And he hurried back to the farm.

While he was walking there, everything around him was a wonder. A forest has grown where there was no forest before; stone fences stood where there had been no fences before. Oddly enough, he could not find the way to the farm and, worse than that, - I didn’t even find my father’s house. Where his house stood, Farquhar saw only dense thickets of nettles.

Confused, he began to look for someone who could explain to him what it all meant. Finally he saw an old man who was covering the roof of one house with thatch.

The old man was so skinny and gray-haired that from a distance Farquhar even mistook him for a piece of fog, and only when he came closer did he see that it was a man. Farquhar thought that such a decrepit old man was probably deaf, and therefore he came close to the wall of the house and asked in a loud voice:

Do you know where all my friends and family went and what happened to my father's house?

The old man listened to him and shook his head.

“I’ve never heard of your father,” he answered slowly. - But maybe my father will tell you something about him.

Your father! - exclaimed Farquhar, very surprised. - Is your father still alive?

“Alive,” the old man answered, chuckling. - When you enter the house, you will see him in an armchair by the fireplace.

Farquhar entered the house and saw another old man there. This one was so skinny, wrinkled, hunched over that he looked at least a hundred years old. With weak hands he twisted the ropes used to secure the thatch on the roof.

Can't you tell me anything about my family and my father's house? - Farquhar asked him. although I doubted that such an ancient old man was capable of uttering a word.

“I can’t,” muttered the old man, “but my father, he probably can.”

Your father! - Farquhar exclaimed, lost in surprise. - But he probably died a long time ago!

The old man shook his head with a wise smile.

Look there,” he said and pointed with a crooked finger at the leather bag that hung on the wooden bedpost in the corner.

Farquhar walked up to the bed and was almost scared to death - a tiny old man with a wrinkled face and a red cap looked out of his bag. He had completely shrunk and dried up, he was so old.

Take it out, it won’t hurt you,” said the old man who was sitting by the fire and chuckled.

Farquhar carefully took the tiny old man between his thumb and forefinger, took him out of the bag and placed him in the palm of his left hand. The old man was so shriveled from old age that he looked like a relic.

Maybe you at least know what happened to my stepfather’s house and where my relatives went? - Farquhar asked for the third time; but he no longer hoped to receive an answer.

“They all died long before I was born,” the tiny old man squeaked. “I haven’t seen any of them myself, but I heard my father talk about them.

So, that means I'm older than you! - Farquhar cried, stunned.

And this struck him so much that his bones suddenly crumbled into dust, and he collapsed on the floor in a heap of gray dust.