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鸟鸣溪谷柳鸣春,万类和融释醉痕。骚客登楼临曲水,金威雅集胜兰亭。

 
 
 

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韦兰剑(中)  

2015-05-15 11:58:50|  分类: 译著 |  标签: |举报 |字号 订阅

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韦兰剑

 

【英】鲁迪亚德·吉卜林著

熊良銋 译

 

“我们,丹恩和我常常说,”乌娜结结巴巴地说,“如果当真发生了意外,我们准——准知道怎么办;可——可是现在似乎有些大不一样。”

“她的意思是说,遇到小精灵,”丹恩解释说,“她是决不相信的——即使她六岁了也决不信。”

“我信,”乌娜说。“起码,我可以算是半信半疑的,我们学会了‘再见啦,奖赏’。你知道‘再见啦,奖赏与小精灵’吗?”

“你是指这个吗?”蒲克说。他把大脑袋往后一扬,就接着第二行唱起:

 

“贤惠的主妇现在可以说,

因为如今牛奶场的婆娘们

吃穿和她们一样阔绰;

虽然她们打扫灶台厨房

(‘乌娜,一起来!’)

与淑女们一样惯于争妍,

然而近来有人检查清洁卫生

在她的鞋里发现了六分钱?”

 

歌声在平坦的草地上回荡。“我当然知道这首歌,”他说。

“接下来是关于光环的诗,”丹恩说,“小时候,这首诗总是让我内心感到不舒坦。”

“‘见证那些光环和圆舞曲,’你说的是这首吗?”蒲克瓮声瓮气地说,声音就象教堂的大风琴。

 

“属于他们的 依然辉煌,

追溯到玛丽女王时代,

在许多草原上激荡,

可是自从伊丽莎白末期,

再后来是詹姆斯掌权,

荒野上再也看不到

因为时间一去不复返。

 

“我好久没有听见人们唱这支歌了,但是丛林四周也没有合适的伴奏:这是真的。山中人都走了,我亲眼看见他们来到古老的英格兰,又亲眼看见他们走的。巨人山怪,马形水鬼,棕仙魔哥,小鬼;林子,树,土堆,水精;人,山者,宝卫士,良民小矮人,巫师,妖精,黑夜骑士,小仙子,女水妖和其他的人们——走了,统统走了!我看见他们与橡树,桉树和蒺藜一起来到古老的英格兰的而一旦橡树,桉树和蒺藜走了,我也会走。

丹恩环视着草坪——看见乌娜在下大门旁的橡树下;看见一排桉树悬垂在水獭池边,因为这时磨坊不需用水,车水沟的水就漫了出来,还看见枝节横生的老山楂树附近,三条奶牛在给颈脖子搔痒。

“好的,”他说,随后又补充道,“今年秋天,我还要栽上好多好多的橡子树。”

“那你岂不是极顶的老了?”乌娜说。

“不算老——如同附近的老乡所说,是相当长寿罢了。我想想——当巨石阵新生时,我的朋友总是在夜间就把我的奶油准备好。对,还在远古燧人氏在钱克顿伯里光环下制作露池以前。”

乌娜抱紧双手,“啊”的惊叫了一声,点了点头。

“她想出了一个办法,”丹恩解释道,”每当她想出一个办法时,总是这个样子的。

“我是在想——假设我们省出些粥来给你放在阁楼上呢? 如果我们把它留在幼儿园,人们会注意到的。”

 “是学校食堂,”丹恩脱口而出,乌娜一下子涨红了脸,因为他们有一个庄严的约定,到了夏天,就不再把学校食堂唤作幼儿园了。

“愿上帝保佑你金子般的心!”蒲克说。“你将来会成为一位善解人意的能干姑娘。我真的不想你们为我省出一碗稀饭来;但是如果我需要,我一定会对你们讲的。”

说罢,他伸直腰腿躺在干草坪上,孩子们伸开四肢躺在他旁边,他们赤裸的双脚翘在空中随意摆动。他们感觉不再害怕他了,象对待他们的老朋友古怪的修篱工霍布登那样。他不用成年人的问题来烦他们,也不嘲笑驴头面罩,只是最通情达理地躺着独自微笑。

“你们带有刀子吗?”他终于发话了。

丹恩递过去一把户外用的单刃刀,蒲克用它在神圈中心划开了一块草皮。

“那是做什么用的——魔术?”乌娜说,此时蒲克在压制巧克力方糖,切割开象许多奶酪。

“这是我的一个魔术,”他答道,又切开一块。“你们看,我不会让你们进山的,因为山中人已经离去;但是如果你们想从我这里取走财物,我也许能让你们看看,在当今世上真正异乎寻常的东西。这些是你们当然该得到的。”

“什么是取走财物?”丹恩小心翼翼地说。

“这是人们在买卖土地时形成的一种习俗。他们常常切出一个土块,把它交给买主,而你不能合法拥有你的土地——它实际上并不属于你——直到另一个人真正给你一块——象这样的。”他捧出那些草皮。

“可这是我们自己的草地呀,”丹恩退一步说。“难道你要把它也魔法掉?”

蒲克笑了。“我知道这是你们的草地,可是这里面还有更多东西,是你们和你们爸爸意想不到的。猜猜看!”

他把目光转向乌娜。

“我来试试,”她说,丹恩立即也仿效她。

“现在你们俩合法拥有了整个英格兰,”蒲克开言道,嗓音象唱歌。“当着橡树,桉树和蒺藜的面起誓,你们可以自由往来观光,知道在那里我会露面或超过你们。你们必须看应该看见的,必须听应该听见的,虽然这些应该已经发生三千年;你们还要记住勿疑勿怕。握紧!把我给你们的都握紧。”

孩子们闭上了眼睛,可是什么都没有发生。

“好啦?”乌娜说,失望地睁开双眼。“我原以为有龙哩。”

“‘虽然这些应该已经发生三千年,’”蒲克说,掰了掰手指头。“不,恐怕三千年前还没有龙哩。”

 “可什么都没有发生呀,”丹恩说。

“等一会儿,”蒲克说。“一棵大橡树不可能是一年长成的——老英格兰比二十棵橡树的年龄还要古老。咱们再坐下来想一想。我能这样一次坐想一百年。”

“啊,可你是神仙呀,”丹恩说。

“你们听见我说过那个词儿吗?”蒲克快速反问道。

“没有。你谈到过‘山中人’,可你从未说过‘神仙’,”乌娜说。“我对此一直感到很奇怪。你喜欢这个称呼吗?”

“你们觉得一直被称作‘凡人’或‘人类’怎样?”蒲克说;“或者被称作‘亚当的儿子’或‘夏娃的女儿’如何呢?”

“我根本就不喜欢这类称呼,”丹恩说。“在《天方夜谭》里天神和恶魔就是那样谈话的。”

这正是我对这类说法——我从不提起的那个词儿——的感受。况且,你们所称呼的,却是山中人从未听说过的,是凭空捏造的——有蝶翅的小飞虫,薄纱衬裙,头发林里闪光的星星,以及魔杖,象学校老师的教棒,专用来惩罚调皮生,奖赏优秀生,我太懂他们了!

“我们不是指那类东西,”丹恩说。“我们也不喜欢他们。”

“的确如此,”蒲克说。“难道你不知道,山中人不愿意被混同于那些翅膀花哨的,挥舞魔棒的,满嘴蜜糖摇头摆尾的骗子们吗?蝴蝶翅,真是的!我看见胡恩爵士带着一队人马,从廷塔杰尔城堡出发,顶着狂暴的西南风,向海巴西挺进,大雾弥漫在城堡的上空,山中的马匹受惊若狂。他们悄悄地走出来,象海鸥一样尖叫,反将被向内地驱赶整整五英里,才能再度顶风回来。蝴蝶翅!这是魔术——跟梅林一样惯用的黑魔术,整个大海都是绿火焰白浪涛,水里还有美人鱼在唱歌。山中的马匹伴着雷电,奔驰在海涛上。古时候都是这样!”

“妙极了,”丹恩说,但乌娜却不寒而慄。

“如此看来,我倒觉得他们走了好;但是什么迫使山中人离开的呢?”乌娜问道。

“原因是多样的。改天我给你们讲——那件事酿成了历史上最大规模的迁徙,”蒲克说。“但是他们并不是一起迁走的。几百年间,他们一个接一个地离去了。他们大多是外国人,适应不了我们这儿的气候。他们很早就迁走了。”

“那有多早呀?”丹恩说。

 “好几千年了。事实上他们起初都是天神。腓尼基人来买白铁时就带了一些来;高卢人,朱特人,丹麦人,弗里西人,盎格鲁人登陆时有带来的更多。他们那时候老是来登陆,或者被赶回到船上,他们总是带来一些天神。英格兰不适合神仙呆。现在我要继续从头讲起了。一碗稀饭,一碟牛奶,还有与老乡在小巷里打趣,这对我来说就足够了,就象现在这样。我是本地人,你们看,我也与我们同时代的人和谐相处。但是,别的人大多数坚持要当神仙,建造庙宇,神坛,要有他们自己的牧师和牺牲。”

“人在柳条筐里焚烧?”丹恩说。“就象布莱克小姐给我们讲的那样?”

“牺牲有各种各样,”蒲克说。“若不是人,就是马,牛,猪,或是蜂蜜酒——就是那种粘粘的甜啤酒。我根本就不喜欢。他们都是倔强而不切实际的偶像,这些老东西。可是结果呢?人类在青壮年都不愿成为牺牲,甚至不愿意牺牲他们农场的牲口。过了一阵子,人类只留下老东西孤零零的,神庙的屋顶坍塌了,老东西们只好急忙出走,尽其所能地乞讨为生。他们有些人开始在林子里闲逛,夜间藏在墓地里呻吟。如果他们哀号声很大很久,就可能惊动一个可怜的乡下佬宰杀一只母鸡,或者留下一磅奶油给他们。我记得有一位女神名叫柏丽萨玛。她后来成了兰开夏郡某地的一位普通的河神。我还有好几百位朋友。他们原先都是神仙。后来成了山中人,再后来就迁到别地去了,由于种种原因,他们与英国人难以相处。我记得只有一个老东西,他在降生到尘世以后,一直靠诚实的劳动为生。他名叫韦兰,是为某些神仙服务的铁匠。我不记得他们的名字了,但是他惯常为他们锻造刀剑和长矛。我记得他曾说过他与北欧的雷神托尔是亲戚。”

“是《仙宫神鹰》里的托尔吗?”乌娜说。她一直在阅读这本传奇书。

“也许吧,”蒲克说。“即使世道艰难时,他仍然不乞讨也不为盗。他坚持做工;我有幸能为他做了一件事,改变了他的命运。”

“给我们讲一讲吧,”丹恩说。“我很喜欢听有关老东西的故事。”

他们换了个舒服的姿势躺着,各自嚼着一根草茎。蒲克斜倚在自己的一只结实的胳膊上,继续说道:“我们来设想一下吧!我第一次遇见他,是在十一月的一天下午,当时下着暴风雪,在皮文西平原——”

“皮文西?你是说就在山那边的皮文西?”丹恩手指着南方。

“对,但是古时候那里全是沼泽地,一直延伸到霍斯桥和海登尼野。我就在比肯山——当时人们称之为布鲁南堡——我看见燃烧茅草发出暗淡的火焰,就下去看个究竟。有几个海盗——我猜想他们准是皮奥芬的人马——正在纵火焚烧平原上的一个村庄,而韦兰的身影——一个高大的黑木头人,颈项上有一串琥珀珠——躺在一艘装有三十二支桨的黑色大帆船的船头上,这艘船是刚刚登岸的。天气刺骨的冷!船甲板上悬挂着冰柱,船桨披上一层冰变得光滑,韦兰的嘴唇上也有冰茬。他一见到我就用自己的语言,絮絮不休地对我讲,他将如何如何要统治英格兰,我又如何能闻到从林肯郡到人岛他的神坛里的香烟味。我不在乎这些!我见过太多的神仙进占古老的英格兰,闹得鸡犬不宁。我让他大声下令,制止他的士兵焚烧村庄。我接着说(我不知道自己在想些什么),‘众神的铁匠,’我说,‘我看,你们流落路边做工赚钱谋生的时间已经到来。’”

“韦兰怎么说?”乌娜问道。“他生气了吗?”

“他咒骂我,怒目圆睁。我走了,去唤醒本地的老百姓。但是海盗们征服了这个国家,几百年来,韦兰成了一位很重要的天神。到处都有他的神庙——从林肯郡到人岛,如他所说——他的祭品也是很不道德的。说句公道话,他更喜欢马而不喜欢人;然而是人是马不重要了,我只知道他必须立即下降到尘世间——象别的老东西那样。我给了他许多时间——我给了他大约一千年——而在这一千年的末尾,我走进了他在安多佛附近的一座神庙,看看他的香火如何旺盛。果然有他的神坛,有他的神像,有他的牧师,有信徒会众,除开韦兰和牧师,大家都似乎很快乐。古时候,在牧师选信徒作祭品之前,他们总是怏怏不乐的;你们要是身临其境,也会有同感受。祭奠仪式开始时,一位牧师冲出来,拽住一个人上到神坛,用一把小金斧假装敲打那人的脑袋,那人就倒下装死。然后大家一起高呼:‘给韦兰献祭!给韦兰献祭!’”

 

 

附录:原文

 

Weland’s SwordPart II

 

Written by Rudyard Kipling

Translated by William Xiong

 

‘We always said, Dan and I,’ Una stammered, ‘that if it ever happened we’d know ex-actly what to do; but — but now it seems all different somehow.’

‘She means meeting a fairy,’ said Dan. ‘I never believed in ’em — not after I was six, anyhow.’

‘I did,’ said Una. ‘At least, I sort of half believed till we learned “Farewell Rewards.” Do you know “Farewell Rewards and Fairies”?’

‘Do you mean this?’ said Puck. He threw his big head back and began at the second line:—

 

‘Good housewives now may say,

For now foul sluts in dairies

Do fare as well as they;

For though they sweep their hearths no less

(‘Join in, Una!’)

Than maids were wont to do,

Yet who of late for cleanliness

Finds sixpence in her shoe?’

 

The echoes flapped all along the flat meadow.

‘Of course I know it,’ he said.

‘And then there’s the verse about the Rings,’ said Dan. ‘When I was little it always made me feel unhappy in my inside.’

‘“Witness those rings and roundelays,” do you mean?’ boomed Puck, with a voice like a great church organ.

 

‘Of theirs which yet remain,

Were footed in Queen Mary’s days

On many a grassy plain.

But since of late Elizabeth,

And later James came in,

Are never seen on any heath

As when the time hath been.

 

‘It’s some time since I heard that sung, but there’s no good beating about the bush: it’s true. The People of the Hills have all left. I saw them come into Old England and I saw them go. Giants, trolls, kelpies, brownies, goblins, imps; wood, tree, mound, and water spirits; heath-people, hill-watchers, treasure-guards, good people, little people, pishogues, leprechauns, night-riders, pixies, nixies, gnomes and the rest — gone, all gone! I came into England with Oak, Ash, and Thorn, and when Oak, Ash, and Thorn are gone I shall go too.’

Dan looked round the meadow — at Una’s Oak by the lower gate, at the line of ash trees that overhang Otter Pool where the millstream spills over when the mill does not need it, and at the gnarled old white-thorn where Three Cows scratched their necks.

‘It’s all right,’ he said; and added, ‘I’m planting a lot of acorns this autumn too.’

‘Then aren’t you most awfully old?’ said Una.

‘Not old — fairly long-lived, as folk say hereabouts. Let me see — my friends used to set my dish of cream for me o’ nights when Stonehenge was new. Yes, before the Flint Men made the Dewpond under Chanctonbury Ring.’

Una clasped her hands, cried ‘Oh!’ and nodded her head.

‘She’s thought a plan,’ Dan explained. ‘She always does like that when she thinks a plan.’

‘I was thinking — suppose we saved some of our porridge and put it in the attic for youThey’d notice if we left it in the nursery.’

‘Schoolroom,’ said Dan, quickly, and Una flushed, because they had made a solemn treaty that summer not to call the schoolroom the nursery any more.

‘Bless your heart o’ gold!’ said Puck. ‘You’ll make a fine considering wench some market-day. I really don’t want you to put out a bowl for me; but if ever I need a bite, be sure I’ll tell you.’

He stretched himself at length on the dry grass, and the children stretched out beside him, their bare legs waving happily in the air. They felt they could not be afraid of him any more than of their particular friend old Hobden, the hedger. He did not bother them with grown-up questions, or laugh at the donkey’s head, but lay and smiled to himself in the most sensible way.

‘Have you a knife on you?’ he said at last.

Dan handed over his big one-bladed outdoor knife, and Puck began to carve out a piece of turf from the centre of the Ring.

‘What’s that for — Magic?’ said Una, as he pressed up the square of chocolate loam that cut like so much cheese.

‘One of my little magics,’ he answered, and cut another. ‘You see, I can’t let you into the Hills because the People of the Hills have gone; but if you care to take seizin from me, I may be able to show you something out of the common here on Human Earth. You certainly deserve it.’

‘What’s taking seizin?’ said Dan, cautiously.

‘It’s an old custom the people had when they bought and sold land. They used to cut out a clod and hand it over to the buyer, and you weren’t lawfully seized of your land — it didn’t really belong to you — till the other fellow had actually given you a piece of it — like this.’ He held out the turves.

‘But it’s our own meadow,’ said Dan, drawing back. ‘Are you going to magic it away?’

Puck laughed. ‘I know it’s your meadow, but there’s a great deal more in it than you or your father ever guessed. Try!’

He turned his eyes on Una.

‘I’ll do it,’ she said. Dan followed her example at once.

‘Now are you two lawfully seized and possessed of all Old England,’ began Puck, in a sing-song voice. ‘By Right of Oak, Ash, and Thorn are you free to come and go and look and know where I shall show or best you please. You shall see What you shall see and you shall hear What you shall hear, though It shall have happened three thousand year; and you shall know neither Doubt nor Fear. Fast! Hold fast all I give you.’

The children shut their eyes, but nothing happened.

‘Well?’ said Una, disappointedly opening them. ‘I thought there would be dragons.’

Though It shall have happened three thousand year,’ said Puck, and counted on his fingers. ‘No; I’m afraid there were no dragons three thousand years ago.’

‘But there hasn’t happened anything at all,’ said Dan.

‘Wait awhile,’ said Puck. ‘You don’t grow an oak in a year — and Old England’s older than twenty oaks. Let’s sit down again and think. I can do that for a century at a time.’

‘Ah, but you are a fairy,’ said Dan.

‘Have you ever heard me say that word yet?’ said Puck, quickly.

‘No. You talk about “the People of the Hills,” but you never say “fairies,”’ said Una. ‘I was wondering at that. Don’t you like it?’

‘How would you like to be called “mortal” or “human being” all the time?’ said Puck; ‘or “son of Adam” or “daughter of Eve”?’

‘I shouldn’t like it at all,’ said Dan. ‘That’s how the Djinns and Afrits talk in the Arabian Nights.’

‘And that’s how I feel about saying — that word that I don’t say. Besides, what you call them are made-up things the People of the Hills have never heard of — little buzzflies with butterfly wings and gauze petticoats, and shiny stars in their hair, and a wand like a schoolteacher’s cane for punishing bad boys and rewarding good ones. I know ’em!’

‘We don’t mean that sort,’ said Dan. ‘We hate ’em too.’

‘Exactly,’ said Puck. ‘Can you wonder that the People of the Hills don’t care to be confused with that painty-winged, wand-waving, sugar-and-shake-your-head set of impostors? Butterfly wings, indeed! I’ve seen Sir Huon and a troop of his people setting off from Tintagel Castle for Hy–Brasil in the teeth of a sou’-westerly gale, with the spray flying all over the castle, and the Horses of the Hill wild with fright. Out they’d go in a lull, screaming like gulls, and back they’d be driven five good miles inland before they could come head to wind again. Butterfly-wings! It was Magic — Magic as black as Merlin could make it, and the whole sea was green fire and white foam with singing mermaids in it. And the Horses of the Hill picked their way from one wave to another by the lightning flashes! That was how it was in the old days!’

‘Splendid,’ said Dan, but Una shuddered.

‘I’m glad they’re gone, then; but what made the People of the Hills go away?’ Una asked.

‘Different things. I’ll tell you one of them some day — the thing that made the biggest flit of any,’ said Puck. ‘But they didn’t all flit at once. They dropped off, one by one, through the centuries. Most of them were foreigners who couldn’t stand our climate. They flitted early.’

‘How early?’ said Dan.

‘A couple of thousand years or more. The fact is they began as Gods. The Phoenicians brought some over when they came to buy tin; and the Gauls, and the Jutes, and the Danes, and the Frisians, and the Angles brought more when they landed. They were always landing in those days, or being driven back to their ships, and they always brought their Gods with them. England is a bad country for Gods. Now, I began as I mean to go on. A bowl of porridge, a dish of milk, and a little quiet fun with the country folk in the lanes was enough for me then, as it is now. I belong here, you see, and I have been mixed up with people all my days. But most of the others insisted on being Gods, and having temples, and altars, and priests, and sacrifices of their own.’

‘People burned in wicker baskets?’ said Dan. ‘Like Miss Blake tells us about?’

‘All sorts of sacrifices,’ said Puck. ‘If it wasn’t men, it was horses, or cattle, or pigs, or metheglin — that’s a sticky, sweet sort of beer. I never liked it. They were a stiff-necked, extravagant set of idols, the Old Things. But what was the result? Men don’t like being sacrificed at the best of times; they don’t even like sacrificing their farm-horses. After a while men simply left the Old Things alone, and the roofs of their temples fell in, and the Old Things had to scuttle out and pick up a living as they could. Some of them took to hanging about trees, and hiding in graves and groaning o’ nights. If they groaned loud enough and long enough they might frighten a poor countryman into sacrificing a hen, or leaving a pound of butter for them. I remember one Goddess called Belisama. She became a common wet water-spirit somewhere in Lancashire. And there were hundreds of other friends of mine. First they were Gods. Then they were People of the Hills, and then they flitted to other places because they couldn’t get on with the English for one reason or another. There was only one Old Thing, I remember, who honestly worked for his living after he came down in the world. He was called Weland, and he was a smith to some Gods. I’ve forgotten their names, but he used to make them swords and spears. I think he claimed kin with Thor of the Scandinavians.’

Heroes of Asgard Thor?’ said Una. She had been reading the book.

‘Perhaps,’ answered Puck. ‘None the less, when bad times came, he didn’t beg or steal. He worked; and I was lucky enough to be able to do him a good turn.’

‘Tell us about it,’ said Dan. ‘I think I like hearing of Old Things.’

They rearranged themselves comfortably, each chewing a grass stem. Puck propped himself on one strong arm and went on:

‘Let’s think! I met Weland first on a November afternoon in a sleet storm, on Pevensey Level ——’

‘Pevensey? Over the hill, you mean?’ Dan pointed south.

‘Yes; but it was all marsh in those days, right up to Horsebridge and Hydeneye. I was on Beacon Hill — they called it Brunanburgh then — when I saw the pale flame that burning thatch makes, and I went down to look. Some pirates — I think they must have been Peofn’s men — were burning a village on the Levels, and Weland’s image — a big, black wooden thing with amber beads round its neck — lay in the bows of a black thirty-two-oar galley that they had just beached. Bitter cold it was! There were icicles hanging from her deck, and the oars were glazed over with ice, and there was ice on Weland’s lips. When he saw me he began a long chant in his own tongue, telling me how he was going to rule England, and how I should smell the smoke of his altars from Lincolnshire to the Isle of Wight. I didn’t care! I’d seen too many Gods charging into Old England to be upset about it. I let him sing himself out while his men were burning the village, and then I said (I don’t know what put it into my head), “Smith of the Gods,” I said, “the time comes when I shall meet you plying your trade for hire by the wayside.”’

‘What did Weland say?’ said Una. ‘Was he angry?’

‘He called me names and rolled his eyes, and I went away to wake up the people inland. But the pirates conquered the country, and for centuries Weland was a most important God. He had temples everywhere — from Lincolnshire to the Isle of Wight, as he said — and his sacrifices were simply scandalous. To do him justice, he preferred horses to men; but men or horses, I knew that presently he’d have to come down in the world — like the other Old Things. I gave him lots of time — I gave him about a thousand years — and at the end of ’em I went into one of his temples near Andover to see how he prospered. There was his altar, and there was his image, and there were his priests, and there were the congregation, and everybody seemed quite happy, except Weland and the priests. In the old days the congregation were unhappy until the priests had chosen their sacrifices; and so would you have been. When the service began a priest rushed out, dragged a man up to the altar, pretended to hit him on the head with a little gilt axe, and the man fell down and pretended to die. Then everybody shouted: “A sacrifice to Weland! A sacrifice to Weland!”’

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