Molly Rowe Raferty was the offspring—I mean daughter—of that same old man, Jack Raferty, who was famous for always wearing his hat only on his head. And his whole family had oddities, which is true, that’s true. That's what everyone thought who knew them well. They even said - although I won’t guarantee that this is the true truth, so as not to lie to you - that if they didn’t put on shoes or boots, then they walked around with their shoes off. True, I later heard that maybe this is not entirely true, and therefore, in order not to slander them in vain, it’s better not to even remember it.
Yes, so Jack Rafferty had two offspring, Paddy and Molly. Well, why are you all laughing? I mean son and daughter. All the neighbors always believed that they were brother and sister, but who knows whether this is true or not, you yourself understand; so with God's help there is nothing for us to talk about here.
You never know what other outrages were told about them, it’s even sickening to repeat. It’s as if old Jack and Paddy, when they walk, first step forward with one foot, and then only with the other, everything is not like people.
And they said about Molly Rowe that she had a strange habit of closing her eyes when she slept. If this is indeed the case, so much the worse for her, because even a child can see that when you close your eyes, you can’t see anything at all.
In general, Molly Rowe was the right girl: healthy, tall, well-fed, and her cute little head burned like fire - this is because of her fiery red hair. That's why she was nicknamed Molly Rowe, that is, Red. Her arms and neck were the same color as her hair. And you’ve probably never seen such a cute, flattened and red nose on anyone. And her fists - after all, God also blessed her with fists - looked very much like huge swedes that had turned red in the sun.
And - in order to speak only the truth to the end - she was also fiery in character, like her head, and there is nothing surprising in this, well, hot, so who hasn’t experienced the warmth of all the Rafertys? And since God does not give anything in vain, Molly’s healthy and red fists - if only everything we said about them was true - served her not for decoration, but for work. In any case, bearing in mind her lively character, there was no fear that they would become pampered from idleness, and there was sure evidence of this.
On top of that, she also squinted one eye, although in some ways it even suited her. But her poor future husband, when she got him, should have gotten it into his head, just in case, that she sees everything even around the corner and, of course, will reveal all his dark deeds. Although I won’t guarantee that this is precisely because she is oblique, so as not to lie to you.
Well, with God's blessing, Molly Rowe fell in love. It so happened that next door to her lived a congenital vagabond, nicknamed Gnus Gilspie, who suffered from even greater beauty than herself. Nasty, may the Almighty protect us, was, as they say, a damned Presbyterian and did not want to recognize Christmas Eve - what a wicked one - except, as they say, according to the old style.
Gnus was especially good if you looked at him in the dark, just like Molly herself. Well, it is known for certain, if you believe the rumors, that it was the night dates that provided them with a happy opportunity to retire from all people in order to find each other. And it all ended with the fact that soon both families began to seriously think about what to do next.
Molly's brother, Paddy O'Rafferty, offered Gnus two options to choose from. It may not be worth talking about them, but one did put Gnus in a dead end, but, knowing his opponent well, Gnus quickly conceded. One way or another, the wedding could not be avoided. And so they decided that on the very next Sunday the Reverend Samuel M'Shattle, a Presbyterian minister, would unite the lovers.
But I must tell you that in recent years this was the first wedding between a damned infidel and a Catholic, and, of course, objections poured in from both sides. If not for one circumstance, this wedding would never have happened. True, the bride’s uncle, the old sorcerer Harry Connolly, could have calmed down all those dissatisfied with the help of a remedy known to him alone, but he did not at all want his niece to marry such a guy, and therefore opposed this marriage with all his might. However, all of Molly's friends did not pay attention to him and stood for the wedding. And so, as I already told you, a Sunday was appointed that would unite the loving couple forever.
The long-awaited day came, and Molly, as befits her, went to listen to mass, and Gnus went to the prayer house. After this, they were supposed to meet again at the house of Jack Raferty, where after mass the Catholic priest, Father M'Sorley, was going to drop in to dine with them and keep company with Presbyter M'Shatlu, who was supposed to unite the young people.
There was no one left at home except old Jack Rafferty and his wife. She needed to cook dinner, because, to tell the truth, no matter what, a feast was expected.
Perhaps, if he had known everything in advance, this same Father M'Sorley should have, in addition to the mass, also performed the wedding ceremony - after all, Molly's friends were not very happy with the way the presbyter was covering the marriage. But who would care about this: a wedding here, a wedding there?
And I’ll tell you what: just as Mrs. Rafferty was about to tie a napkin with a huge pudding, an angry Harry Connolly, a sorcerer, entered the house and shouted:
- Damn you, what are you doing here?!
-What is it, Harry? What's happened?
- How did what happen? After all, the sun disappeared completely, and the moon rose and jumped up! The end of the world is about to begin, and you are sitting here as if nothing had happened, as if it were just raining. Go out into the street quickly and cross yourself three times in the name of the four great martyrs! Don’t you know what the prophecy says: “Quickly, fill the pot to the brim” (he probably wanted to say: don’t overfill your cups of patience). Do you see every day how our star falls into tartarar? Come out quickly, I tell you! Look at the sun and see what a terrible situation it is in. Well, live!
Oh my God, Jack suddenly rushes to the door, and his wife gallops off like a two-year-old filly. Finally, both found themselves behind the house, near a climb over the fence, and began to look out for what was wrong in the sky.
“Listen, Jack,” his wife says to him, “do you see anything?”
“Blast my eyes, nothing,” he replies. “Except just the sun, which hid behind the clouds.” Thank God, nothing seemed to have happened.
- And if it doesn’t happen, Jack, what’s wrong with Harry, because he always knows everything?
“I’m afraid it’s all because of the wedding,” says Jack. “Between us, it’s not so pious of Molly to marry a damned infidel, and if only not... But now nothing can be done, although even the sun itself refuses to look at such matters.”
“Well, as for that,” says the wife, blinking her eyes, “since our Molly suits Gnus, then thank God.” Only I know in whose hands the whip will be. Still, let's ask Harry what's wrong with the sun.
They immediately returned to the house and asked Harry a question:
- Harry, what happened? After all, you alone in the whole world can know what happened.
- ABOUT! - said Harry and pursed his mouth in a wry smile. - The sun has colic, he’s all twisted, but don’t pay attention. I just wanted to tell you that the wedding will be even more fun than you thought, that’s all.” And with these words he put on his hat and left.
Well, after this answer they both breathed freely, and, shouting to Harry to return to dinner, Jack sat down with his pipe and took a good drag, and his wife, without wasting time, tied up a napkin with the pudding and lowered it into the pot to boil.
For some time everything went on like this, calmly and smoothly. Jack puffed on his pipe, and his wife cooked, cooked, in a word, hurried, as if on a hunt. Suddenly Jack—he was still sitting, as I said, making himself comfortable by the fire—felt as if the pot was moving, as if dancing. This seemed very strange to him.
“Katie,” he said, “what the hell do you have in that pot on the fire?”
— Ordinary pudding, and nothing more. Why are you asking?
“Wow,” he says, “would a pot start dancing a jig out of the blue, huh?” Thunder and lightning, look at him!
Fathers! And in fact, the pot was jumping up, down, from side to side, dancing such a jig, just hold on. But anyone could immediately see that he was not dancing on his own, but that something inside was forcing him to do such pretzels.
“I swear by the holes in my new coat,” Jack shouted, “someone is alive there, otherwise the pot would never have started bouncing like that.”
- Oh my God, you're probably right, Jack. There's something fishy here, someone got into the pot. What a disaster! What should we do now?
And as soon as she said this, the pot jumped up, like some kind of prima ballerina. And from such a jump, which would have wiped the nose of any dance teacher, the lid flew off the pot, the pudding itself jumped out of it and, well, jumped around the room like a pea on a drum.
Jack began to swear, Katie began to be baptized. Then Jack screamed and Katie screamed:
- In the name of all that is holy, don't come near us! Nobody wanted to offend you!
But the pudding went straight to Jack, and he jumped first onto a chair and then onto the kitchen table to get away from the pudding. Then the pudding galloped towards Katie, and she began to shout out her prayers at the top of her lungs, and that clever rascal, the pudding, jumped up and danced around her, as if he was amused by her fright.
“If only you could get me a pitchfork,” Jack said, “I’d show him!” I would shake the soul out of him!
- What are you, what are you! - Katie screamed, afraid that witchcraft was involved in this matter. - Let's talk to him in a good way. You never know what else he is capable of. Well, calm down,” she turned to the pudding, “calm down, dear.” Don't touch honest people who didn't even intend to offend you. After all, it’s not us, really, it’s not us, it’s old Harry Connolly who bewitched you. Chase him if you really want to, but take pity on me, the old woman. Well, hush, hush, darling, there’s no reason to scare me like that, those crosses - no reason.
Well, the pudding seemed to heed the woman’s words and galloped away from her again to Jack. But he, having convinced his wife that the pudding was indeed enchanted, and therefore it was better to talk to him more gently, decided, like his wife, to address him with the most tender words.
“Believe me, your honor,” said Jack, “my wife is telling the absolute truth.” On my health, we would be extremely grateful if your honor would calm down a little. Of course, we understand perfectly well that if you were not a true gentleman, you would behave completely differently. Harry, you old wretch, that's who you need! He has just passed along this road, and if your honor hurries, you will catch up with him in no time. However, I swear by my offspring, the dance teacher did not waste his time on you! All the best, your honor. Have a smooth path! I wish you never to meet a priest or an alderman! When Jack had finished, the pudding seemed to understand his hint and, without haste, galloped towards the exit, and since the house was located right next to the road, the pudding immediately turned towards the bridge along the very path that old Harry had just taken.
Of course, Jack and Katie ran out after him to see where he was going, and since it was a Sunday, it goes without saying that there were more people walking along the road than usual. What is true is true. And when everyone saw Jack and his wife running for the pudding, soon, probably, the whole neighborhood followed them.
- What happened, Jack Rafferty? Katie, tell me, finally, what does all this mean?
- Oh, this is all my holiday pudding! - answered Katie. “He was bewitched, and now he is in a hurry but hot on the heels of...” but then she paused, not wanting to pronounce the name of her brother, “after the one who bewitched him.”
This turned out to be enough. Having found support, Jack regained his courage and says to Katie:
- Go back! And, without delay, prepare a new pudding, and no worse than the first. By the way, here's Bridget, Paddy Scanlen's wife. She invites you to brew it at their house. After all, you will have to cook the rest of the dinner on your fireplace. And Paddy himself will lend me a pitchfork to pursue the impudent fugitive until, with the help of my faithful neighbors, I pin him down.
Everyone agreed to this, and Katie returned to prepare another pudding. Meanwhile, Jack and a good half of all the inhabitants set off in pursuit of the first one, taking with them shovels, spades, pitchforks, scythes, flails and other tools that there are in the world. However, the pudding rushed forward, doing almost six Irish miles per hour - an unheard-of speed!
Catholics, Protestants, Presbyterians - whoever was chasing him - and all armed to the teeth, as I already told you. And if the poor fellow had not been in such a hurry, he would have had a bad time. But then he jumped up, and someone was about to put him on a pitchfork, but only the pudding jumped even higher, and some sneak, wanting to break off a piece of it from the other side, got a pitchfork in his side instead of the pudding. And Big Frank Farrell, the miller from Ballybulteen, received a blow in the back, from which he screamed so much that it could probably be heard at the other end of the parish. Some tasted a sharp scythe, some a heavy flail, and some a light shovel, which sent sparks from their eyes.
-Where is he going? - asked one. - I swear on my life, he is heading to the meeting house for a meeting. Long live the Presbyterians, if only he turns to Carntola.
“The soul must be taken out of him if he is a Protestant,” others shouted. “If he turns left, it won’t be enough to roll him into pancakes!” We will not tolerate Protestant puddings!
By God, the good neighbors were just about ready to fight over this, when suddenly, fortunately, the pudding turned aside and began to descend along a narrow side path that led straight to the house of the Methodist preacher. Well, now all the parties began to unanimously vilify the Methodist pudding.
- Yes, he’s a Methodist! - several voices shouted. “But no matter who he is, he won’t be in the Methodist church today.” Now we'll show him! Go ahead, guys, grab your pitchforks!
And everyone rushed headlong for the pudding, but it was not so easy to grab it. They thought they had him pinned against the church fence, when the pudding suddenly eluded them, swung over the fence, jumped into the river and began to swim away quickly, quickly, right before their eyes, light as a shell.
And I must tell you that below this place, along the water itself, on both banks of the river, there was a fence of Colonel Bragshaw's property. And as soon as the pursuers encountered such an obstacle, they immediately went home, every single one of them, men, women, and even children, without ceasing, however, to rack their brains about what kind of pudding this was, where he was hurrying, and what was on his mind.
Of course, if Jack Rafferty and his wife had decided to share with them their opinion that it was Harry Connolly who had been fascinated by the pudding - which they had no doubt at all - poor Harry would have suffered badly from the passionate crowd. But they were smart enough to keep this opinion to themselves, because the old bachelor Harry was a faithful friend of the Raferty family. And so, of course, different rumors began to spread: some said one thing, others another; the Catholic party claimed that the pudding was theirs, and the Presbyterian party denied it and insisted that no, it was their faith, and all that sort of thing.
Meanwhile, Katie Raferty was already at home and, afraid of being late for dinner, quickly prepared a new pudding, exactly the same as the first one that ran away. Then she took it to a neighbor, Paddy Scanlen's house, put it in a pot and put it on the fire to cook. She hoped that the pudding would be ready on time: after all, they were expecting the pastor himself to visit, and he, like a true European, was not averse to tasting a good piece of warm pudding.
In a word, time flew. Gnus and Molly became husband and wife, and you probably have never met a more loving couple. Friends invited to the wedding strolled around before dinner, divided into friendly little circles, chatting and laughing. The pudding was the center of attention; everyone was trying to establish his identity, because, to tell the truth, probably the whole parish was already talking about his adventures.
Meanwhile, lunch was approaching. Paddy Scanlan sat with his wife by the fire and, making himself comfortable, waited for the pudding to boil. Suddenly an excited Harry Connolly bursts in and shouts:
- Damn you, what are you doing here!
-What is it, Harry? What's happened? asks Mrs. Scanlan.
- How did what happen? After all, the sun has completely disappeared, and the moon has already jumped up! The end of the world is about to begin, and you are sitting here as if nothing had happened, as if it were just raining. Go outside quickly and look at the sun, I tell you! You will see what a terrible situation it is in. Well, live!
- Wait a minute, Harry, what is that sticking out from under your jacket, huh?
- Run quickly! - says Harry. - And pray that there will be no doomsday, because the sky is already falling!
By God, it’s hard to even say who jumped out first: Paddy or his wife - they were so frightened by Harry’s pale and wild appearance and his crazy eyes. They left the house and began to look for what was so special about the sky. They looked there, looked here, but did not see anything except the bright sun, which was calmly setting, as usual, and a clear sky with not a cloud in it.
Paddy and his wife immediately turned back laughing to give Harry a hard time - he really was a great joker.
“Bless you, Harry...” they began.
But they didn’t have time to say anything more, as they ran into Harry himself at the door. He walked out, followed by a thin stream of smoke from under his jacket, as if from a furnace.
“Harry,” Bridget shouted, “I swear on my happiness, the tail of your jacket is on fire!” You'll burn! Can't you see the smoke coming from under it?
“Cross yourself three times,” said Harry, continuing to walk and not even looking back, “for the prophecy says: quickly fill the pot to the brim...
But no more words reached them, since Harry suddenly began to behave like a man who was carrying something too hot - or so, in any case, one might think, looking at the haste of his movements and the strange grimaces that he made as he moved away from them.
- What the hell could he have carried under his hollow jacket? - Paddy wondered.
- Fathers, didn’t he steal the pudding? - Bridget caught herself. “After all, there are even worse things going on behind him.”
And both immediately looked into the pot, but the pudding was in place - safe and sound. Then they were even more surprised: what did he finally take with him?
But how could they know what Harry Connolly was doing while they were looking at the sky!
One way or another, the day is over. The treat was ready, and a select group had already gathered to partake of it. The elder met with the Methodist preacher on the way to Jack Raferty's house. In anticipation of food, his devilish appetite flared up. He was well aware that he could take such liberties, and therefore even insisted that the Methodist preacher dine with him. Well, in those days, thank God, clergy of all faiths lived in peace and harmony, not like now, but oh well.
And so lunch was already coming to an end when Jack Rafferty himself asked Katie about the pudding. And before he had time to ask, the pudding immediately appeared, large and important, like a camp kitchen.
“Gentlemen,” Jack Rafferty addresses everyone, “I hope none of you will refuse to try a slice of pudding.” I mean, of course, not the dancer who started traveling today, but his nice, respectable twin, whom my wife prepared.
- Be calm, Jack, we won’t refuse! - the presbyter answers. “You put a good slice on these three plates that are under your right hand. You came here to respect the clergy, and we will try,” he continued, chuckling, because he was a big merry fellow and loved to make jokes, “we will try to show everyone a good example.”
“Please accept my deepest gratitude, gentlemen,” said Jack. “I can guarantee that in such matters you have always shown and, I hope, will show us the best example.” And I only wish I had a more worthy treat to offer you. But we are modest people, gentlemen, and, of course, you are unlikely to find with us what you are accustomed to in high society.
“Better an egg today,” began the Methodist preacher, “than a hen...
“Tomorrow,” he wanted to finish, but hesitated, because, to his great amazement, the presbyter suddenly rose from the table, and before the preacher had time to put the first spoonful of pudding into his mouth and say Jack Robinson, his Presbyterian reverence began to dance a merry jig.
At this very moment, the neighbor's son runs into the room and says that the parish priest is coming to them to congratulate the newlyweds and wish them happiness. And as soon as he conveyed this good news, the priest already appeared among the feasters. However, this holy father did not know what to think when he saw the presbyter circling around the room like a wedding ring. True, he had no time to think especially, because before he had time to sit down, the Methodist preacher jumped up and, with his hands on his hips, set off after his Presbyterian reverend in a sort of rollicking manner.
“Jack Rafferty,” says the Catholic father (yes, by the way, Jack was his tenant), “what does this all mean?” I'm just surprised!
“I don’t know either,” says Jack. Try this pudding, your reverence, so that the young people have something to brag about: they say, the Holy Father himself was treated to them at their wedding. And if you don’t, then no one will.
“Okay, okay,” the priest agrees, “except to respect the young people.” Just a little bit please. However, Jack, this is a real riot,” he continued, pouring a full spoonful of pudding into his mouth. “What happens, is everyone already drunk?”
- The hell with it! - Jack answers. “It seems to me that these gentlemen managed to have enough somewhere earlier, although my house is full of wine.” We've already looked somewhere. What can I do...
But before Jack had time to finish, suddenly the holy father himself - and he was such a quick little man - jumped up a whole yard; and before anyone had time to blink an eye, all three clergy were already dancing, and so diligently, as if someone had hired them.
Hey, I don’t have enough words to describe what happened to the good parishioners when they saw such things. Some choked with laughter, others looked away in bewilderment; the majority believed that the reverend fathers were simply crazy, and everyone else believed that they were probably faking it, as often happens to them.
- Look at them! - one shouted. “You can burn with shame looking at such church ministers.” Blasphemers! It’s still very early, but they don’t look like anyone else!
- That's the devil, what's wrong with them? - others were surprised.
- You'd think they were fascinated by someone. Holy Moses, look at all the jumping that Methodist preacher does! And the presbyter, the presbyter! Who would have thought that he could move his feet so quickly! By God, he throws out knees and taps as well as dance teacher Paddy Horegan himself! Look, the priest is there too! Oh, be damned to him, because he doesn’t want to fall behind these ringleaders. And even on Sunday, ugh! Hey gentlemen, are you buffoons? Pfft, then we wish you success!
But there was no time for jokes, you understand. Imagine how they felt when they suddenly saw how old Jack Raferty himself also started skipping along with them, and even began to dance so dashingly that he even outshone them in his belt. Honestly, not a single spectacle could compare with this. All that was heard from all sides was laughter and shouts of encouragement, everyone was clapping their hands like crazy.
Well, when Jack Rafferty stopped cutting the pudding and left the table, old Harry Connolly immediately took his place: in order, of course, to continue sending the pudding around. And as soon as he sat down, he entered the room - well, who do you think? - Barney Hartigan himself, the bagpiper.
By the way, they sent for him in the afternoon, but then they did not find him at home, and therefore he did not receive the invitation on time and could not come earlier.
- Bah! - Barney was surprised. “You started early, gentlemen!” Why would this be? But, damn it, you will not be left without music as long as there is air in my bagpipes!
And with these words, he performed “Fish Jig” for everyone, and then “Kiss Me, Beauty” - in general, he tried his best. The fun flared up further - more, because the old rogue Harry remained at the pudding all the time, and this should not be forgotten! Perhaps he was deliberately in no hurry to cover everyone with pudding at once. He proposed first to the bride, and before you had time to gasp, she was already dancing next to the Methodist preacher, and he, not to be left behind, jumped up so smartly that everyone simply laughed. Harry liked this, and he decided to immediately select partners for the others. Without wasting a second, he distributed the pudding to everyone, and now, except for himself and the piper, there was not a single pair of heels left in the whole house that did not dance as diligently as if life itself depended on it.
“Barney,” Harry couldn’t resist, “try a piece of this pudding too!” I swear, you have never eaten such delicious pudding in your life. Come on, darling! Take at least a little table. How good!
“Of course, I’ll take it,” said Barney. “Well, it’s not like they attacked someone like that.” Just don't delay, Harry! You know, my hands are full. Is it really a good idea to leave everyone without music? Everyone dances so well to it. Thank you, Harry! Indeed, the famous pudding. Ah, fathers of light, what is this...
Before he had time to say it, he suddenly jumped up with his bagpipes and rushed into the very midst of the dancers.
- Hooray! This is fun, damn it! Long live the people of Ballybultin! Well, one more time, your reverence, turn your lady around! So, on the toe, now on the heel. Beauty! One more time! So! Hurray! Long live Ballybulteen and the clear skies above!
The world has never seen a more deplorable spectacle than this, and probably never will. So I guess. However, the worst was yet to come. When the fun was in full swing, suddenly among the dancers appeared - well, who do you think? - another pudding, as agile and cheerful as the first one! It was too much. Everyone, including the priests, of course, had heard a lot about the strange pudding, and many even saw it and knew for sure that he was bewitched.
Yes, so, as I said, the pudding squeezed into the very crowd of dancers. But his mere appearance was enough: first the three reverend fathers, dancing, hurried away, and after them all the wedding guests jumped, quickly, quickly, each to their own house. And everyone continued to dance, they couldn’t stop, even if they were killed.
Well, really, wasn't it sinful to laugh at the way the parish priest danced along the road to his house, and the elder and the Methodist preacher skipped in the other direction.
In a word, everyone eventually danced to their house and didn’t even get out of breath. The bride and groom danced to the bed. And now you and I, let’s dance.
But before we dance, so that everything is clear, I want to tell you that when Harry crossed the bridge at Ballybulteen, which is two miles below the fence of Colonel Bragshaw's property, he suddenly saw a pudding floating on the river. Well, Harry, of course, waited for him and pulled him out as best he could. The pudding looked completely fresh, no matter how hard the water tried. Harry hid it under the tail of his jacket and, as you might have guessed, slipped it in quite cleverly while Paddy Scanlan and his wife were looking at the sky. And he bewitched the new pudding as simply as the first - he cast a witchcraft spell on it, and that’s it, because everyone knew well that this same Harry was on friendly terms with demons.
Well, so I told you about the adventures of the crazy pudding from Ballybultin. And what happened to him next, I probably won’t tell you, so as not to lie to you.
Translated from Russian · original on wisdomlib.ru