Текст и перевод песни Gimme Hope Jo'Anna - Дай мне надежду, Йоханне [ Eddy Grant ]

Текст и перевод песни Gimme Hope Jo'Anna - Дай мне надежду, Йоханне. В исполнении Eddy Grant [ видео внизу ] Gimme Hope Jo'Anna Дай мне надежду, Йоханне Well Jo'anna she runs a country She runs in Durban and the Transvaal She makes a few of her people happy, oh She don't care about the rest at all She's got a system they call apartheid It keeps a brother in a subjection But maybe pressure will make Jo'anna see How everybody could a live as one Gimme hope, Jo'anna Hope, Jo'anna Gimme hope, Jo'anna 'Fore the morning come Gimme hope, Jo'anna Hope, Jo'anna Hope before the morning come I hear she makes all the golden money To buy new weapons, any shape of guns While every mother in black Soweto fears The killing of another son Sneakin' across all the neighbours' borders Now and again having little fun She doesn't care if the fun and games she play Is dang'rous to ev'ryone Gimme hope, Jo'anna Gimme hope, Jo'anna Gimme hope, Jo'anna 'Fore the morning come Gimme hope, Jo'anna Gimme hope, Jo'anna Hope before the morning come She got supporters in high up places Who turn their heads to the city sun Jo'anna give them the fancy money Oh to tempt anyone who'd come She even knows how to swing opinion In every magazine and the journals For every bad move that this Jo'anna makes They got a good explanation Gimme hope, Jo'anna Gimme hope, Jo'anna Gimme hope, Jo'anna 'Fore the morning come Gimme hope, Jo'anna Gimme hope, Jo'anna Hope before the morning come Even the preacher who works for Jesus The Archbishop who's a peaceful man Together say that the freedom fighters Will overcome the very strong I wanna know if you're blind Jo'anna If you wanna hear the sound of drum Can't you see that the tide is turning Oh don't make me wait till the morning come Do give hope, Jo'anna Gimme hope, Jo'anna Gimme hope, Jo'anna 'Fore the morning come Gimme hope, Jo'anna Gimme hope, Jo'anna Hope before the morning come Gimme hope, Jo'anna Gimme hope, Jo'anna Gimme hope, Jo'anna 'Fore the morning come Gimme hope, Jo'anna Gimme hope, Jo'anna Hope before the morning come Йоханне бежит страны Она пробегает в Дурбане и в Трансваале Она делает своих людей счастливыми, Она не волнуется за остальных Ее систему они называют апартеида Он держит брата в подчинении Но, возможно, под давлением Йоханне увидит Как каждый может жить свободно Дай мне надежду, Йоханне Надежду, Йоханне Дай мне надежду, Йоханне Клянусь прийти утром Дай мне надежду, Йоханне Надежду, Йоханне Надежда приходит до утра Я слышал, она делает золотые деньги Чтобы купить новое оружие, любое оружие Хотя каждая мать в черном страхе Из-за убийства другого сына Крадись со всех соседних границ То и дело с немного развлечься Она не волнуется, она веселится и играет в игры Являясь опасной для каждого Дай мне надежду, Йоханне Дай мне надежду, Йоханне Дай мне надежду, Йоханне Клянусь прийти утром Дай мне надежду, Йоханне Дай мне надежду, Йоханне Надежда приходит до утра Она получила поддержку свысока Кто повернет голову в город солнца Йоханне дает им воображаемые денги Ах, чтобы соблазнить любого, кто приехал Она даже знает, как поменять мнение В каждом журнале и журналах Для каждого плохой ход, что это делает Йоханне Они получат объяснение Дай мне надежду, Йоханне Дай мне надежду, Йоханне Дай мне надежду, Йоханне Клянусь прийти утром Дай мне надежду, Йоханне Дай мне надежду, Йоханне Надежда приходит до утра Даже проповедник, который работает на Иисуса Архиепископ, кто мирный человек Вместе сказать, борцы за свободу Будут преодолевать еще сильнее Я хочу знать, если ты слепа Йоханне Если ты хочешь услышать звук барабана Разве ты не видишь, что поворачивается О, не заставляй меня ждатьнаступдения утра Дай мне надежду, Йоханне Дай мне надежду, Йоханне Дай мне надежду, Йоханне Клянусь прийти утром Дай мне надежду, Йоханне Дай мне надежду, Йоханне Надежда приходит до утра Дай мне надежду, Йоханне Дай мне надежду, Йоханне Дай мне надежду, Йоханне Клянусь прийти утром Дай мне надежду, Йоханне Дай мне надежду, Йоханне Надежда приходит до утра

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Сказка Sunshine Stories - Солнечные истории [ Hans Christian Andersen ]

Сказка Sunshine Stories Now I am going to tell a story,” said the Wind. “Excuse me,” said the Rain, “but now it is my turn—, you have been howling round the corner as hard as ever you could, this long time past.” “Is that your gratitude toward me?” said the Wind. “I who, in honor of you, turn inside out—yes, even break—all the umbrellas, when people won’t have anything to do with you.” “I am going to speak!” said the Sunshine. “Silence!” And the Sunshine said it with such glory and majesty, that the long, weary Wind fell prostrate, and the Rain beat against him, and shook him, and said,—“We won’t stand it! She always breaks through, that Madam Sunshine; we won’t listen to her. What she says is not worth hearing.” But the Sunshine said,—“A beautiful swan flew over the rolling, tumbling waves of the ocean. Every one of its feathers shone like gold: one feather drifted down on the great merchant vessel that, with all sail set, was sailing away. The feather dropped on the curly light hair of a young man, whose business it was to have a care for the goods—,supercargo they called him. The bird of Fortune’s feather touched his forehead, became a pen in his hand, and brought him such luck, that very soon he became a wealthy merchant,—rich enough to have bought for himself spurs of gold; rich enough to change a golden dish into a nobleman’s shield; and I shone on it,” said the Sunshine. “The swan flew further, away over the bright green meadow, where the little shepherd-boy, only seven years old, had lain down in the shadow of the old and only tree there was. The swan, in its flight, kissed one of the leaves of the tree. The leaf fell into the boy’s hand, and it was changed to three leaves, to ten,—yes, to a whole book,—and in it he read about all the wonders of nature, about his native language, about faith and knowledge. At night he laid the book under his head, that he might not forget what he had been reading. The wonderful book led him to the school-bench, and thence in search of knowledge. I have read his name among the names of learned men,” said the Sunshine. “The swan flew into the quiet, lonely forest, rested awhile on the dark, deep lake, where the water-lilies grow; where the wild apples are to be found on the shore ; where the cuckoo and wild pigeon have their homes. “A poor woman was in the wood, gathering firewood branches that had fallen down, and dry sticks; she carried them in a bundle on her back, and in her arms she held her little child. She saw the golden swan, the bird of Fortune, rise from among the reeds on the shore. What was that that glittered? A golden egg, quite warm yet. She laid it in her bosom, and the warmth remained in it. Surely there was life in the egg! She heard a gentle picking inside of the shell, but mistook the sound, and thought it was her own heart that she heard beating. “At home, in the poor cottage, she took out the egg; ‘tick, tick,’ it said, as if it had been a valuable gold watch; but that it was not, only an egg—a real, living egg. The egg cracked and opened, and a dear little baby-swan, all feathered as with purest gold, put out its little head; round its neck it had four rings, and as the poor woman had four boys,—three at home, and the little one that she had had with her in the lonely wood,—she understood at once that here was a ring for each boy and just as she thought of that, the little gold-bt here was a ring for each boy and just as she thought of that, the little gold-biird took flight She kissed each ring, made each of the children kiss one of the rings, laid it next to the child’s heart, then put it on his finger. I saw it all,” said the Sunshine, “and I saw what followed. “One of the boys was playing in a ditch, and took a lump of clay in his hand, turned and twisted and pressed it between his fingers, till it took shape, and was like Jason, who went in search of and found the golden fleece. “The second boy ran out on the meadow, where the flowers stood,—flowers of all imaginable colors; he gathered a handful, and squeezed them so tight that all the juice spurted into his eyes, and some of it wetted the ring. It cribbled and crawled in his thoughts, and in his hands, and after many a day, and many a year, people in the great city talked of the great painter. “The third child held the ring so tight in his teeth, that it gave forth sound, an echo of the song in the depth of his heart. Thoughts and feelings rose in beautiful sounds; rose like singing swans; plunged, like swans, into the deep, deep sea. He became a great master, a great composer, of whom every country has the right to say, ‘He was mine!’ “And the fourth little one was—yes, he was—the ‘ugly duck’ of the family; they said he had the pip, and must have pepper and butter, like the little sick chickens, and that he got; but of me he got a warm, sunny kiss,” said the Sunshine. “He got ten kisses for one; he was a poet, and was buffeted and kissed, alternately, all his life. But he held what no one could take from him,—the Ring of Fortune, from Dame Fortune’s golden swan. His thoughts took wings, and flew up and away, like singing butterflies,—the emblem of immortality!” “That was a dreadfully long story,” said the Wind. “And O, how stupid and tiresome !” said the Rain. “Blow on me, please, that I may revive a little.” And the Wind blew, and the Sunshine said,—“The swan of Fortune flew over the beautiful bay, where the fishermen had set their nets; the poorest of them wanted to get married, and marry he did. To him the swan brought a piece of amber; amber draws things toward it, and it drew hearts to the house. Amber is the most wonderful incense, and there came a soft perfume, as from a church; there came a sweet breath from out of beautiful nature, that God has made. They were so happy and grateful for their peaceful home, and content even in their poverty. Their life became a real Sunshine story!” “I think we had better stop now,” said the Wind, “the Sunshine has talked long enough, and I am dreadfully bored.” “And I also,” said the Rain. And what do we others, who have heard the story, say? We say, “Now my story’s done.”

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Фразовый глагол PUT, значения и примеры использования

Фразовый глагол PUT, значения и примеры использования 1. Put on - надевать одежду; набирать вес; приводить в действие, включать; ставить в смешное положение; подшучивать над кем-то; ставить на сцене She has put on 5 kilos – она набрала 5 килограмм веса Frannie had put on her robe and come out here on the balcony. 2. Put out - вывихнуть ( плечо или руку); гасить или тушить пожар, свет; исключать, удалять, выгонять; отдавать, например, в стирку, в ремонт или еще куда-либо, отдать ребенка в садик; выпускать, производить; причинять неудобство. We have put you out with our arrival — Мы причинили вам неудобство своим приездом This work may be put off till tomorrow — Эту работу можно отложить до завтра 3. Put off- 1) задерживать; 2) выключать, вызывать отвращение Don't put off your homework to the last minute. 4. Put down - высадить пассажиров; отложить, прервать работу; записать, включить в список; критиковать кого-либо публично. We don’t put clients down – Мы не продаём в долг 5. Put up - ставить пьесу; строить здание; вывешивать объявление; повышать цены; выставлять на продажу. A new building was put up in the center of the town — В центре города было построено новое здание 6. Put in - 1) проводить много времени, прилагать много усилий; 2) посадить растение; 3) инвестировать деньги. But of course, Mary Richards never would have been put in charge. 7. Put ahead - Способствовать развитию, переносить, менять (дату) на более ранний срок. I put Gerry ahead of Betty as far as strength is concerned. 8. Put through - соединять по телефону; закончить, выполнить (задание), принимать закон I need it put through by the end of the workday – Тему надо закрыть сегодня 9. Put across / over - обманывать кого-либо You’ll never succeed in putting me over, I’m also very sly. – Тебе никогда не удастся меня обмануть, я тоже очень хитрая. 10. Put about - беспокоить, волновать; распространять информацию. It has been put about that the weather will be cold. — Говорят, что будет холодно. 11. Put apart - сберегать время, деньги It's not the fifteen hundred that's the disgrace, but that I put it apart from the rest of the three thousand 12. Put aside - откладывать на время; положить конец, прекратить думать о чем-либо; экономить, откладывать. Let's put aside our differences and enjoy the evening. 13. Put back - переносить, отсрочивать; передвигать стрелки часов If the event is put back, we guarantee full ticket repayment – В случае переноса мероприятия мы гарантируем возврат денег за билет 14. Put forward - выдвигать чью-либо кандидатуру, предлагать идею; передвигать стрелки часов вперед, ускорять. The clock was put forward half an hour - Часы были переставлены на полчаса вперёд 15. Put over - завершить, достичь цели; откладывать And now put the lens over the galaxy, and what you'll find is that you'll see a ring, an Einstein ring Посередине рисуем картинку галактики. 16. Put together - собирать, соединять All parts of the construction were put together — Все части конструкции были собраны

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Birthday — День рождения

Топик Birthday "What will you do on your birthday?" Most Americans celebrate their birthdays on the day on which they were born. Like in Russia, friends and relatives share in the celebration. However, unlike in Russia, birthday parties have a more spontaneous, less planned guest list and agenda, and there is no particular attempt made to venerate one's guests with vast quantities of gourmet treats (A birthday person is not expected to spend his special day in the kitchen!). Something simple but elegant (not something you would eat any day) and a nice bottle of wine will suffice for this occasion. In the United States an adult person having a birthday feels no particular social obligation to invite guests home for festivities. This time and space is usually reserved for the immediate family and close family friends. Co-workers may have an impromptu group gathering at coffee break time with cake and ice cream and a small gift for which all have contributed. Or they may shout a 'birthday lunch' at a nearby restaurant for the special person or go out for drinks after work. Children may bring cupcakes and candy to school or distribute invitations to their classmates for a party to be held at their home. A cake is baked, group games are played, and prizes and souvenirs are passed out to all of the guests. Cone-shaped paper birthday hats may be worn and noise makers passed out to everyone present. Serving of the ornately decorated birthday cake is the highlight of the birthday celebration for the guests. First the cake is equipped with candles, one candle for each year of the birthday person's life. Then the candles are lit and everyone sings "Happy Birthday to You," after which the special person makes a 'secret wish' and blows the candles out. The custom of putting candles on a birthday cake is said to have started about 200 years ago in Germany, renowned for its high-quality candles. It was considered good luck to blow out all of the candles in one blow. Now it is considered as assurance that the birthday wish will come true. The custom of singing "Happy Birthday to You" began about 100 years ago in America when Mildred and Patty Hill made up the song which has since become a big hit and attracted lots of humorous variations. For the birthday person the highlight of the celebration is often quite conspicuously the opening of the birthday presents. Now, more and more, this custom is reserved for the very formal gift-giving occasion of the wedding. The most common way to wish someone a happy birthday, however, is with a simple birthday card, a custom that began in England about 100 years ago. Some typical examples of simple birthday greetings are: "On your mark, get ready, go! It's time for you to steal the show! Happy Birthday!" "Today's your day, so stay tuned in for birthday fun that makes you grin!" "You're № 1, so have fun on your special day! — Happy Birthday!" They serve as testimony to the fact that in the United States the focus is definitely on the individual, at least on that one very special birthday each year. [ перевод на русский язык ] День рождения Что вы обычно делаете на ваш день рождения? Большинство американцев отмечают свой день рождения в день, когда они родились. Как и в России, к празднованию присоединяются друзья и родственники. Однако, в отличие от России, вечеринки в честь этого дня имеют более спонтанный характер, список приглашенных гостей и программа также менее запланированы. Что касается стола, виновник праздника не проводит весь день на кухне, пытаясь удовлетворить гастрономические вкусы некоторых из гостей. Просто, но со вкусом. Что-то необычное, что вы не едите каждый день и, конечно же, бутылка хорошего вина, этого должно быть достаточно. В США, у взрослого человека нет светской обязанности, приглашать кого-либо для домашнего празднества. В этот день время проводят в семейном кругу и в кругу близких друзей семьи. Сотрудники могут, не планируя заранее пойти с вами в кафе и съесть торт или мороженное и вручить вам общий подарок. Они также могут заказать праздничный обед в близлежащем ресторане для этого человека, или же просто выпить с ним где-нибудь после работы. Дети могут принести конфеты в школу или раздать одноклассникам приглашения на вечеринку, которая состоится дома. Пекут торт, играют в групповые игры, всем гостям вручают призы и сувениры. Можно надеть праздничные конусообразные бумажные шляпы, всем присутствующим раздают шумихи. Момент подачи торта с украшениями — главный момент праздника для всех собравшихся. Торт украшен свечками, по одной на каждый год жизни. Свечи зажигаются, все говорят «с днем рождения!», виновник празднества загадывает желание про себя и задувает свечи. Говорят, что традиция задувания свечей зародилась около 200 лет назад в Германии, славившейся тогда качеством своих свечей. Считалось, что удача будет сопутствовать вам, если вам удастся задуть все свечи сразу за один раз. Сейчас это считается гарантией того, что загаданное желание сбудется. Традиция петь «С днем рождения тебя...» зародилась около ста лет назад в Америке, после того, как Милдред и Патти Хилл сочинили песню, которая сначала стала большим хитом, затем последовало множество ее юмористических переделок. Для человека, у которого день рождения в этот день, самым приятным моментом является, наверное, момент разворачивания подарков. Сейчас этой традиции придерживаются только на свадьбах и то, в довольно формальном виде. Самый распространенный способ поздравления с днем рождения — обычная открытка, этот обычай зародился в Англии примерно сто лет назад. Самые распространенные виды поздравительных открыток на день рождения: «На старт, приготовиться, пошел! Настало твое время! — С днем рождения!» «Сегодня твой день! Оставайся в хорошем настроении и веселись!» «Ты сегодня — номер один, так что веселись в этот день! — С днем рождения!» Открытки свидетельствуют, что в США внимание в этот день сосредоточено на конкретном человеке, по крайней мере, в этот особенный день в каждом году. Вопросы: 1. What will you do on your birthday? 2. What is the difference in birthday parties in America and in your country? 3. How do most Americans celebrate their birthdays? 4. When did the custom of singing "Happy Birthday to You " begin? 5. When did the custom of putting candles on a birthday cake start? 6. What is the most common way to wish someone a happy birthday? Словарик: to suffice — быть достаточным, хватать impromptu — импровизированный to venerate — чтить, благоговеть highlight — основной момент assurance — гарантия, уверенность conspicuous — видный, заметный testimony — свидетельство to grin — улыбаться steal the show — затмить всех

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Сказка Soup from a Sausage Skewer - Суп из колбасы на вертеле [ Hans Christian Andersen ]

Сказка Soup from a Sausage Skewer We had such an excellent dinner yesterday,” said an old mouse of the female sex to another who had not been present at the feast. “I sat number twenty-one below the mouse-king, which was not a bad place. Shall I tell you what we had? Everything was first rate. Mouldy bread, tallow candle, and sausage. And then, when we had finished that course, the same came on all over again; it was as good as two feasts. We were very sociable, and there was as much joking and fun as if we had been all of one family circle. Nothing was left but the sausage skewers, and this formed a subject of conversation, till at last it turned to the proverb, ‘Soup from sausage skins;’ or, as the people in the neighboring country call it, ‘Soup from a sausage skewer.’ Every one had heard the proverb, but no one had ever tasted the soup, much less prepared it. A capital toast was drunk to the inventor of the soup, and some one said he ought to be made a relieving officer to the poor. Was not that witty? Then the old mouse-king rose and promised that the young lady-mouse who should learn how best to prepare this much-admired and savory soup should be his queen, and a year and a day should be allowed for the purpose.” “That was not at all a bad proposal,” said the other mouse; “but how is the soup made?” “Ah, that is more than I can tell you. All the young lady mice were asking the same question. They wished very much to be queen, but they did not want to take the trouble of going out into the world to learn how to make soup, which was absolutely necessary to be done first. But it is not every one who would care to leave her family, or her happy corner by the fire-side at home, even to be made queen. It is not always easy to find bacon and cheese-rind in foreign lands every day, and it is not pleasant to have to endure hunger, and be perhaps, after all, eaten up alive by the cat.” Most probably some such thoughts as these discouraged the majority from going out into the world to collect the required information. Only four mice gave notice that they were ready to set out on the journey. They were young and lively, but poor. Each of them wished to visit one of the four divisions of the world, so that it might be seen which was the most favored by fortune. Every one took a sausage skewer as a traveller’s staff, and to remind them of the object of their journey. They left home early in May, and none of them returned till the first of May in the following year, and then only three of them. Nothing was seen or heard of the fourth, although the day of decision was close at hand. “Ah, yes, there is always some trouble mixed up with the greatest pleasure,” said the mouse-king; but he gave orders that all the mice within a circle of many miles should be invited at once. They were to assemble in the kitchen, and the three travelled mice were to stand in a row before them, while a sausage skewer, covered with crape, was to be stuck up instead of the missing mouse. No one dared to express an opinion until the king spoke, and desired one of them to go on with her story. And now we shall hear what she said. What the First Little Mouse Saw and Heard on Her Travels HEN I first went out into the world,” said the little mouse, “I fancied, as so many of my age do, that I already knew everything, but it was not so. It takes years to acquire great knowledge. I went at once to sea in a ship bound for the north. I had been told that the ship’s cook must know how to prepare every dish at sea, and it is easy enough to do that with plenty of sides of bacon, and large tubs of salt meat and mouldy flour. There I found plenty of delicate food, but no opportunity for learning how to make soup from a sausage skewer. We sailed on for many days and nights; the ship rocked fearfully, and we did not escape without a wetting. As soon as we arrived at the port to which the ship was bound, I left it, and went on shore at a place far towards the north. It is a wonderful thing to leave your own little corner at home, to hide yourself in a ship where there are sure to be some nice snug corners for shelter, then suddenly to find yourself thousands of miles away in a foreign land. I saw large pathless forests of pine and birch trees, which smelt so strong that I sneezed and thought of sausage. There were great lakes also which looked as black as ink at a distance, but were quite clear when I came close to them. Large swans were floating upon them, and I thought at first they were only foam, they lay so still; but when I saw them walk and fly, I knew what they were directly. They belong to the goose species, one can see that by their walk. No one can attempt to disguise family descent. I kept with my own kind, and associated with the forest and field mice, who, however, knew very little, especially about what I wanted to know, and which had actually made me travel abroad. The idea that soup could be made from a sausage skewer was to them such an out-of-the-way, unlikely thought, that it was repeated from one to another through the whole forest. They declared that the problem would never be solved, that the thing was an impossibility. How little I thought that in this place, on the very first night, I should be initiated into the manner of its preparation. “It was the height of summer, which the mice told me was the reason that the forest smelt so strong, and that the herbs were so fragrant, and the lakes with the white swimming swans so dark, and yet so clear. On the margin of the wood, near to three or four houses, a pole, as large as the mainmast of a ship, had been erected, and from the summit hung wreaths of flowers and fluttering ribbons; it was the Maypole. Lads and lasses danced round the pole, and tried to outdo the violins of the musicians with their singing. They were as merry as ever at sunset and in the moonlight, but I took no part in the merry-making. What has a little mouse to do with a Maypole dance? I sat in the soft moss, and held my sausage skewer tight. The moon threw its beams particularly on one spot where stood a tree covered with exceedingly fine moss. I may almost venture to say that it was as fine and soft as the fur of the mouse-king, but it was green, which is a color very agreeable to the eye. All at once I saw the most charming little people marching towards me. They did not reach higher than my knee; they looked like human beings, but were better proportioned, and they called themselves elves. Their clothes were very delicate and fine, for they were made of the leaves of flowers, trimmed with the wings of flies and gnats, which had not a bad effect. By their manner, it appeared as if they were seeking for something. I knew not what, till at last one of them espied me and came towards me, and the foremost pointed to my sausage skewer, and said, ‘There, that is just what we want; see, it is pointed at the top; is it not capital?’ and the longer he looked at my pilgrim’s staff, the more delighted he became. ‘I will lend it to you,’ said I, ‘but not to keep.’ “‘Oh no, we won’t keep it!’ they all cried; and then they seized the skewer, which I gave up to them, and danced with it to the spot where the delicate moss grew, and set it up in the middle of the green. They wanted a maypole, and the one they now had seemed cut out on purpose for them. Then they decorated it so beautifully that it was quite dazzling to look at. Little spiders spun golden threads around it, and then it was hung with fluttering veils and flags so delicately white that they glittered like snow in the moonshine. After that they took colors from the butterfly’s wing, and sprinkled them over the white drapery which gleamed as if covered with flowers and diamonds, so that I could not recognize my sausage skewer at all. Such a maypole had never been seen in all the world as this. Then came a great company of real elves. Nothing could be finer than their clothes, and they invited me to be present at the feast; but I was to keep at a certain distance, because I was too large for them. Then commenced such music that it sounded like a thousand glass bells, and was so full and strong that I thought it must be the song of the swans. I fancied also that I heard the voices of the cuckoo and the black-bird, and it seemed at last as if the whole forest sent forth glorious melodies—the voices of children, the tinkling of bells, and the songs of the birds; and all this wonderful melody came from the elfin maypole. My sausage peg was a complete peal of bells. I could scarcely believe that so much could have been produced from it, till I remembered into what hands it had fallen. I was so much affected that I wept tears such as a little mouse can weep, but they were tears of joy. The night was far too short for me; there are no long nights there in summer, as we often have in this part of the world. When the morning dawned, and the gentle breeze rippled the glassy mirror of the forest lake, all the delicate veils and flags fluttered away into thin air; the waving garlands of the spider’s web, the hanging bridges and galleries, or whatever else they may be called, vanished away as if they had never been. Six elves brought me back my sausage skewer, and at the same time asked me to make any request, which they would grant if in their power; so I begged them, if they could, to tell me how to make soup from a sausage skewer. “‘How do we make it?’ said the chief of the elves with a smile. ‘Why you have just seen it; you scarcely knew your sausage skewer again, I am sure.’ “They think themselves very wise, thought I to myself. Then I told them all about it, and why I had travelled so far, and also what promise had been made at home to the one who should discover the method of preparing this soup. ‘What use will it be,’ I asked, ‘to the mouse-king or to our whole mighty kingdom that I have seen all these beautiful things? I cannot shake the sausage peg and say, Look, here is the skewer, and now the soup will come. That would only produce a dish to be served when people were keeping a fast.’ “Then the elf dipped his finger into the cup of a violet, and said to me, ‘Look here, I will anoint your pilgrim’s staff, so that when you return to your own home and enter the king’s castle, you have only to touch the king with your staff, and violets will spring forth and cover the whole of it, even in the coldest winter time; so I think I have given you really something to carry home, and a little more than something.’” But before the little mouse explained what this something more was, she stretched her staff out to the king, and as it touched him the most beautiful bunch of violets sprang forth and filled the place with perfume. The smell was so powerful that the mouse-king ordered the mice who stood nearest the chimney to thrust their tails into the fire, that there might be a smell of burning, for the perfume of the violets was overpowering, and not the sort of scent that every one liked. “But what was the something more of which you spoke just now?” asked the mouse-king. “Why,” answered the little mouse, “I think it is what they call ‘effect;’” and thereupon she turned the staff round, and behold not a single flower was to be seen upon it! She now only held the naked skewer, and lifted it up as a conductor lifts his baton at a concert. “Violets, the elf told me,” continued the mouse, “are for the sight, the smell, and the touch; so we have only now to produce the effect of hearing and tasting;” and then, as the little mouse beat time with her staff, there came sounds of music, not such music as was heard in the forest, at the elfin feast, but such as is often heard in the kitchen—the sounds of boiling and roasting. It came quite suddenly, like wind rushing through the chimneys, and seemed as if every pot and kettle were boiling over. The fire-shovel clattered down on the brass fender; and then, quite as suddenly, all was still,—nothing could be heard but the light, vapory song of the tea-kettle, which was quite wonderful to hear, for no one could rightly distinguish whether the kettle was just beginning to boil or going to stop. And the little pot steamed, and the great pot simmered, but without any regard for each; indeed there seemed no sense in the pots at all. And as the little mouse waved her baton still more wildly, the pots foamed and threw up bubbles, and boiled over; while again the wind roared and whistled through the chimney, and at last there was such a terrible hubbub, that the little mouse let her stick fall. “That is a strange sort of soup,” said the mouse-king; “shall we not now hear about the preparation?” “That is all,” answered the little mouse, with a bow. “That all!” said the mouse-king; “then we shall be glad to hear what information the next may have to give us.” What the Second Mouse Had to Tell WAS born in the library, at a castle,” said the second mouse. “Very few members of our family ever had the good fortune to get into the dining-room, much less the store-room. On my journey, and here to-day, are the only times I have ever seen a kitchen. We were often obliged to suffer hunger in the library, but then we gained a great deal of knowledge. The rumor reached us of the royal prize offered to those who should be able to make soup from a sausage skewer. Then my old grandmother sought out a manuscript which, however, she could not read, but had heard it read, and in it was written, ‘Those who are poets can make soup of sausage skewers.’ She then asked me if I was a poet. I felt myself quite innocent of any such pretensions. Then she said I must go out and make myself a poet. I asked again what I should be required to do, for it seemed to me quite as difficult as to find out how to make soup of a sausage skewer. My grandmother had heard a great deal of reading in her day, and she told me three principal qualifications were necessary—understanding, imagination, and feeling. ‘If you can manage to acquire these three, you will be a poet, and the sausage-skewer soup will be quite easy to you.’ “So I went forth into the world, and turned my steps towards the west, that I might become a poet. Understanding is the most important matter in everything. I knew that, for the two other qualifications are not thought much of; so I went first to seek for understanding. Where was I to find it? ‘Go to the ant and learn wisdom,’ said the great Jewish king. I knew that from living in a library. So I went straight on till I came to the first great ant-hill, and then I set myself to watch, that I might become wise. The ants are a very respectable people, they are wisdom itself. All they do is like the working of a sum in arithmetic, which comes right. ‘To work and to lay eggs,’ say they, ‘and to provide for posterity, is to live out your time properly;’ and that they truly do. They are divided into the clean and the dirty ants, their rank is pointed out by a number, and the ant-queen is number ONE; and her opinion is the only correct one on everything; she seems to have the whole wisdom of the world in her, which was just the important matter I wished to acquire. She said a great deal which was no doubt very clever; yet to me it sounded like nonsense. She said the ant-hill was the loftiest thing in the world, and yet close to the mound stood a tall tree, which no one could deny was loftier, much loftier, but no mention was made of the tree. One evening an ant lost herself on this tree; she had crept up the stem, not nearly to the top, but higher than any ant had ever ventured; and when at last she returned home she said that she had found something in her travels much higher than the ant-hill. The rest of the ants considered this an insult to the whole community; so she was condemned to wear a muzzle and to live in perpetual solitude. A short time afterwards another ant got on the tree, and made the same journey and the same discovery, but she spoke of it cautiously and indefinitely, and as she was one of the superior ants and very much respected, they believed her, and when she died they erected an eggshell as a monument to her memory, for they cultivated a great respect for science. I saw,” said the little mouse, “that the ants were always running to and fro with her burdens on their backs. Once I saw one of them drop her load; she gave herself a great deal of trouble in trying to raise it again, but she could not succeed. Then two others came up and tried with all their strength to help her, till they nearly dropped their own burdens in doing so; then they were obliged to stop for a moment in their help, for every one must think of himself first. And the ant-queen remarked that their conduct that day showed that they possessed kind hearts and good understanding. ‘These two qualities,’ she continued, ‘place us ants in the highest degree above all other reasonable beings. Understanding must therefore be seen among us in the most prominent manner, and my wisdom is greater than all.’ And so saying she raised herself on her two hind legs, that no one else might be mistaken for her. I could not therefore make an error, so I ate her up. We are to go to the ants to learn wisdom, and I had got the queen. “I now turned and went nearer to the lofty tree already mentioned, which was an oak. It had a tall trunk with a wide-spreading top, and was very old. I knew that a living being dwelt here, a dryad as she is called, who is born with the tree and dies with it. I had heard this in the library, and here was just such a tree, and in it an oak-maiden. She uttered a terrible scream when she caught sight of me so near to her; like many women, she was very much afraid of mice. And she had more real cause for fear than they have, for I might have gnawed through the tree on which her life depended. I spoke to her in a kind and friendly manner, and begged her to take courage. At last she took me up in her delicate hand, and then I told her what had brought me out into the world, and she promised me that perhaps on that very evening she should be able to obtain for me one of the two treasures for which I was seeking. She told me that Phantaesus was her very dear friend, that he was as beautiful as the god of love, that he remained often for many hours with her under the leafy boughs of the tree which then rustled and waved more than ever over them both. He called her his dryad, she said, and the tree his tree; for the grand old oak, with its gnarled trunk, was just to his taste. The root, spreading deep into the earth, the top rising high in the fresh air, knew the value of the drifted snow, the keen wind, and the warm sunshine, as it ought to be known. ‘Yes,’ continued the dryad, ‘the birds sing up above in the branches, and talk to each other about the beautiful fields they have visited in foreign lands; and on one of the withered boughs a stork has built his nest,—it is beautifully arranged, and besides it is pleasant to hear a little about the land of the pyramids. All this pleases Phantaesus, but it is not enough for him; I am obliged to relate to him of my life in the woods; and to go back to my childhood, when I was little, and the tree so small and delicate that a stinging-nettle could overshadow it, and I have to tell everything that has happened since then till now that the tree is so large and strong. Sit you down now under the green bindwood and pay attention, when Phantaesus comes I will find an opportunity to lay hold of his wing and to pull out one of the little feathers. That feather you shall have; a better was never given to any poet, it will be quite enough for you.’ “And when Phantaesus came the feather was plucked, and,” said the little mouse, “I seized and put it in water, and kept it there till it was quite soft. It was very heavy and indigestible, but I managed to nibble it up at last. It is not so easy to nibble one’s self into a poet, there are so many things to get through. Now, however, I had two of them, understanding and imagination; and through these I knew that the third was to be found in the library. A great man has said and written that there are novels whose sole and only use appeared to be that they might relieve mankind of overflowing tears—a kind of sponge, in fact, for sucking up feelings and emotions. I remembered a few of these books, they had always appeared tempting to the appetite; they had been much read, and were so greasy, that they must have absorbed no end of emotions in themselves. I retraced my steps to the library, and literally devoured a whole novel, that is, properly speaking, the interior or soft part of it; the crust, or binding, I left. When I had digested not only this, but a second, I felt a stirring within me; then I ate a small piece of a third romance, and felt myself a poet. I said it to myself, and told others the same. I had head-ache and back-ache, and I cannot tell what aches besides. I thought over all the stories that may be said to be connected with sausage pegs, and all that has ever been written about skewers, and sticks, and staves, and splinters came to my thoughts; the ant-queen must have had a wonderfully clear understanding. I remembered the man who placed a white stick in his mouth by which he could make himself and the stick invisible. I thought of sticks as hobby-horses, staves of music or rhyme, of breaking a stick over a man’s back, and heaven knows how many more phrases of the same sort relating to sticks, staves, and skewers. All my thoughts rein on skewers, sticks of wood, and staves; and as I am, at last, a poet, and I have worked terribly hard to make myself one, I can of course make poetry on anything. I shall therefore be able to wait upon you every day in the week with a poetical history of a skewer. And that is my soup.” “In that case,” said the mouse-king, “we will hear what the third mouse has to say.” “Squeak, squeak,” cried a little mouse at the kitchen door; it was the fourth, and not the third, of the four who were contending for the prize, one whom the rest supposed to be dead. She shot in like an arrow, and overturned the sausage peg that had been covered with crape. She had been running day and night. She had watched an opportunity to get into a goods train, and had travelled by the railway; and yet she had arrived almost too late. She pressed forward, looking very much ruffled. She had lost her sausage skewer, but not her voice; for she began to speak at once as if they only waited for her, and would hear her only, and as if nothing else in the world was of the least consequence. She spoke out so clearly and plainly, and she had come in so suddenly, that no one had time to stop her or to say a word while she was speaking. And now let us hear what she said. What the Fourth Mouse, Who Spoke Before the Third, Had to Tell STARTED off at once to the largest town,” said she, “but the name of it has escaped me. I have a very bad memory for names. I was carried from the railway, with some forfeited goods, to the jail, and on arriving I made my escape, and ran into the house of the turnkey. The turnkey was speaking of his prisoners, especially of one who had uttered thoughtless words. These words had given rise to other words, and at length they were written down and registered: ‘The whole affair is like making soup of sausage skewers,’ said he, ‘but the soup may cost him his neck.’ “Now this raised in me an interest for the prisoner,” continued the little mouse, “and I watched my opportunity, and slipped into his apartment, for there is a mouse-hole to be found behind every closed door. The prisoner looked pale; he had a great beard and large, sparkling eyes. There was a lamp burning, but the walls were so black that they only looked the blacker for it. The prisoner scratched pictures and verses with white chalk on the black walls, but I did not read the verses. I think he found his confinement wearisome, so that I was a welcome guest. He enticed me with bread-crumbs, with whistling, and with gentle words, and seemed so friendly towards me, that by degrees I gained confidence in him, and we became friends; he divided his bread and water with me, gave me cheese and sausage, and I really began to love him. Altogether, I must own that it was a very pleasant intimacy. He let me run about on his hand, and on his arm, and into his sleeve; and I even crept into his beard, and he called me his little friend. I forgot what I had come out into the world for; forgot my sausage skewer which I had laid in a crack in the floor—it is lying there still. I wished to stay with him always where I was, for I knew that if I went away the poor prisoner would have no one to be his friend, which is a sad thing. I stayed, but he did not. He spoke to me so mournfully for the last time, gave me double as much bread and cheese as usual, and kissed his hand to me. Then he went away, and never came back. I know nothing more of his history. “The jailer took possession of me now. He said something about soup from a sausage skewer, but I could not trust him. He took me in his hand certainly, but it was to place me in a cage like a tread-mill. Oh how dreadful it was! I had to run round and round without getting any farther in advance, and only to make everybody laugh. The jailer’s grand-daughter was a charming little thing. She had curly hair like the brightest gold, merry eyes, and such a smiling mouth. “‘You poor little mouse,’ said she, one day as she peeped into my cage, ‘I will set you free.’ She then drew forth the iron fastening, and I sprang out on the window-sill, and from thence to the roof. Free! free! that was all I could think of; not of the object of my journey. It grew dark, and as night was coming on I found a lodging in an old tower, where dwelt a watchman and an owl. I had no confidence in either of them, least of all in the owl, which is like a cat, and has a great failing, for she eats mice. One may however be mistaken sometimes; and so was I, for this was a respectable and well-educated old owl, who knew more than the watchman, and even as much as I did myself. The young owls made a great fuss about everything, but the only rough words she would say to them were, ‘You had better go and make some soup from sausage skewers.’ She was very indulgent and loving to her children. Her conduct gave me such confidence in her, that from the crack where I sat I called out ‘squeak.’ This confidence of mine pleased her so much that she assured me she would take me under her own protection, and that not a creature should do me harm. The fact was, she wickedly meant to keep me in reserve for her own eating in winter, when food would be scarce. Yet she was a very clever lady-owl; she explained to me that the watchman could only hoot with the horn that hung loose at his side; and then she said he is so terribly proud of it, that he imagines himself an owl in the tower;—wants to do great things, but only succeeds in small; all soup on a sausage skewer. Then I begged the owl to give me the recipe for this soup. ‘Soup from a sausage skewer,’ said she, ‘is only a proverb amongst mankind, and may be understood in many ways. Each believes his own way the best, and after all, the proverb signifies nothing.’ ‘Nothing!’ I exclaimed. I was quite struck. Truth is not always agreeable, but truth is above everything else, as the old owl said. I thought over all this, and saw quite plainly that if truth was really so far above everything else, it must be much more valuable than soup from a sausage skewer. So I hastened to get away, that I might be home in time, and bring what was highest and best, and above everything—namely, the truth. The mice are an enlightened people, and the mouse-king is above them all. He is therefore capable of making me queen for the sake of truth.” “Your truth is a falsehood,” said the mouse who had not yet spoken; “I can prepare the soup, and I mean to do so.” How It Was Prepared DID not travel,” said the third mouse; “I stayed in this country: that was the right way. One gains nothing by travelling—everything can be acquired here quite as easily; so I stayed at home. I have not obtained what I know from supernatural beings. I have neither swallowed it, nor learnt it from conversing with owls. I have got it all from my reflections and thoughts. Will you now set the kettle on the fire—so? Now pour the water in—quite full—up to the brim; place it on the fire; make up a good blaze; keep it burning, that the water may boil; it must boil over and over. There, now I throw in the skewer. Will the mouse-king be pleased now to dip his tail into the boiling water, and stir it round with the tail. The longer the king stirs it, the stronger the soup will become. Nothing more is necessary, only to stir it.” “Can no one else do this?” asked the king. “No,” said the mouse; “only in the tail of the mouse-king is this power contained.” And the water boiled and bubbled, as the mouse-king stood close beside the kettle. It seemed rather a dangerous performance; but he turned round, and put out his tail, as mice do in a dairy, when they wish to skim the cream from a pan of milk with their tails and afterwards lick it off. But the mouse-king’s tail had only just touched the hot steam, when he sprang away from the chimney in a great hurry, exclaiming, “Oh, certainly, by all means, you must be my queen; and we will let the soup question rest till our golden wedding, fifty years hence; so that the poor in my kingdom, who are then to have plenty of food, will have something to look forward to for a long time, with great joy.” And very soon the wedding took place. But many of the mice, as they were returning home, said that the soup could not be properly called “soup from a sausage skewer,” but “soup from a mouse’s tail.” They acknowledged also that some of the stories were very well told; but that the whole could have been managed differently. “I should have told it so—and so—and so.” These were the critics who are always so clever afterwards. When this story was circulated all over the world, the opinions upon it were divided; but the story remained the same. And, after all, the best way in everything you undertake, great as well as small, is to expect no thanks for anything you may do, even when it refers to “soup from a sausage skewer.”

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Сказка Something - Нечто [ Hans Christian Andersen ]

Сказка Something I mean to be somebody, and do something useful in the world,” said the eldest of five brothers. “I don’t care how humble my position is, so that I can only do some good, which will be something. I intend to be a brickmaker; bricks are always wanted, and I shall be really doing something.” “Your ‘something’ is not enough for me,” said the second brother; “what you talk of doing is nothing at all, it is journeyman’s work, or might even be done by a machine. No! I should prefer to be a builder at once, there is something real in that. A man gains a position, he becomes a citizen, has his own sign, his own house of call for his workmen: so I shall be a builder. If all goes well, in time I shall become a master, and have my own journeymen, and my wife will be treated as a master’s wife. This is what I call something.” “I call it all nothing,” said the third; “not in reality any position. There are many in a town far above a master builder in position. You may be an upright man, but even as a master you will only be ranked among common men. I know better what to do than that. I will be an architect, which will place me among those who possess riches and intellect, and who speculate in art. I shall certainly have to rise by my own endeavors from a bricklayer’s laborer, or as a carpenter’s apprentice—a lad wearing a paper cap, although I now wear a silk hat. I shall have to fetch beer and spirits for the journeymen, and they will call me ‘thou,’ which will be an insult. I shall endure it, however, for I shall look upon it all as a mere representation, a masquerade, a mummery, which to-morrow, that is, when I myself as a journeyman, shall have served my time, will vanish, and I shall go my way, and all that has passed will be nothing to me. Then I shall enter the academy, and get instructed in drawing, and be called an architect. I may even attain to rank, and have something placed before or after my name, and I shall build as others have done before me. By this there will be always ‘something’ to make me remembered, and is not that worth living for?” “Not in my opinion,” said the fourth; “I will never follow the lead of others, and only imitate what they have done. I will be a genius, and become greater than all of you together. I will create a new style of building, and introduce a plan for erecting houses suitable to the climate, with material easily obtained in the country, and thus suit national feeling and the developments of the age, besides building a storey for my own genius.” “But supposing the climate and the material are not good for much,” said the fifth brother, “that would be very unfortunate for you, and have an influence over your experiments. Nationality may assert itself until it becomes affectation, and the developments of a century may run wild, as youth often does. I see clearly that none of you will ever really be anything worth notice, however you may now fancy it. But do as you like, I shall not imitate you. I mean to keep clear of all these things, and criticize what you do. In every action something imperfect may be discovered, something not right, which I shall make it my business to find out and expose; that will be something, I fancy.” And he kept his word, and became a critic. People said of this fifth brother, “There is something very precise about him; he has a good head-piece, but he does nothing.” And on that very account they thought he must be something. Now, you see, this is a little history which will never end; as long as the world exists, there will always be men like these five brothers. And what became of them? Were they each nothing or something? You shall hear; it is quite a history. The eldest brother, he who fabricated bricks, soon discovered that each brick, when finished, brought him in a small coin, if only a copper one; and many copper pieces, if placed one upon another, can be changed into a shining shilling; and at whatever door a person knocks, who has a number of these in his hands, whether it be the baker’s, the butcher’s, or the tailor’s, the door flies open, and he can get all he wants. So you see the value of bricks. Some of the bricks, however, crumbled to pieces, or were broken, but the elder brother found a use for even these. On the high bank of earth, which formed a dyke on the sea-coast, a poor woman named Margaret wished to build herself a house, so all the imperfect bricks were given to her, and a few whole ones with them; for the eldest brother was a kind-hearted man, although he never achieved anything higher than making bricks. The poor woman built herself a little house—it was small and narrow, and the window was quite crooked, the door too low, and the straw roof might have been better thatched. But still it was a shelter, and from within you could look far over the sea, which dashed wildly against the sea-wall on which the little house was built. The salt waves sprinkled their white foam over it, but it stood firm, and remained long after he who had given the bricks to build it was dead and buried. The second brother of course knew better how to build than poor Margaret, for he served an apprenticeship to learn it. When his time was up, he packed up his knapsack, and went on his travels, singing the journeyman’s song,— “While young, I can wander without a care, And build new houses everywhere; Fair and bright are my dreams of home, Always thought of wherever I roam. Hurrah for a workman’s life of glee! There’s a loved one at home who thinks of me; Home and friends I can ne’er forget, And I mean to be a master yet.” And that is what he did. On his return home, he became a master builder,—built one house after another in the town, till they formed quite a street, which, when finished, became really an ornament to the town. These houses built a house for him in return, which was to be his own. But how can houses build a house? If the houses were asked, they could not answer; but the people would understand, and say, “Certainly the street built his house for him.” It was not very large, and the floor was of lime; but when he danced with his bride on the lime-covered floor, it was to him white and shining, and from every stone in the wall flowers seemed to spring forth and decorate the room as with the richest tapestry. It was really a pretty house, and in it were a happy pair. The flag of the corporation fluttered before it, and the journeymen and apprentices shouted “Hurrah.” He had gained his position, he had made himself something, and at last he died, which was “something” too. Now we come to the architect, the third brother, who had been first a carpenter’s apprentice, had worn a cap, and served as an errand boy, but afterwards went to the academy, and risen to be an architect, a high and noble gentleman. Ah yes, the houses of the new street, which the brother who was a master builder erected, may have built his house for him, but the street received its name from the architect, and the handsomest house in the street became his property. That was something, and he was “something,” for he had a list of titles before and after his name. His children were called “wellborn,” and when he died, his widow was treated as a lady of position, and that was “something.” His name remained always written at the corner of the street, and lived in every one’s mouth as its name. Yes, this also was “something.” And what about the genius of the family—the fourth brother—who wanted to invent something new and original? He tried to build a lofty storey himself, but it fell to pieces, and he fell with it and broke his neck. However, he had a splendid funeral, with the city flags and music in the procession; flowers were strewn on the pavement, and three orations were spoken over his grave, each one longer than the other. He would have liked this very much during his life, as well as the poems about him in the papers, for he liked nothing so well as to be talked of. A monument was also erected over his grave. It was only another storey over him, but that was “something,” Now he was dead, like the three other brothers. The youngest—the critic—outlived them all, which was quite right for him. It gave him the opportunity of having the last word, which to him was of great importance. People always said he had a good head-piece. At last his hour came, and he died, and arrived at the gates of heaven. Souls always enter these gates in pairs; so he found himself standing and waiting for admission with another; and who should it be but old dame Margaret, from the house on the dyke! “It is evidently for the sake of contrast that I and this wretched soul should arrive here exactly at the same time,” said the critic. “Pray who are you, my good woman?” said he; “do you want to get in here too?” And the old woman curtsied as well as she could; she thought it must be St. Peter himself who spoke to her. “I am a poor old woman,” she said, “without my family. I am old Margaret, that lived in the house on the dyke.” “Well, and what have you done—what great deed have you performed down below?” “I have done nothing at all in the world that could give me a claim to have these doors open for me,” she said. “It would be only through mercy that I can be allowed to slip in through the gate.” “In what manner did you leave the world?” he asked, just for the sake of saying something; for it made him feel very weary to stand there and wait. “How I left the world?” she replied; “why, I can scarcely tell you. During the last years of my life I was sick and miserable, and I was unable to bear creeping out of bed suddenly into the frost and cold. Last winter was a hard winter, but I have got over it all now. There were a few mild days, as your honor, no doubt, knows. The ice lay thickly on the lake, as far one could see. The people came from the town, and walked upon it, and they say there were dancing and skating upon it, I believe, and a great feasting. The sound of beautiful music came into my poor little room where I lay. Towards evening, when the moon rose beautifully, though not yet in her full splendor, I glanced from my bed over the wide sea; and there, just where the sea and sky met, rose a curious white cloud. I lay looking at the cloud till I observed a little black spot in the middle of it, which gradually grew larger and larger, and then I knew what it meant—I am old and experienced; and although this token is not often seen, I knew it, and a shuddering seized me. Twice in my life had I seen this same thing, and I knew that there would be an awful storm, with a spring tide, which would overwhelm the poor people who were now out on the ice, drinking, dancing, and making merry. Young and old, the whole city, were there; who was to warn them, if no one noticed the sign, or knew what it meant as I did? I was so alarmed, that I felt more strength and life than I had done for some time. I got out of bed, and reached the window; I could not crawl any farther from weakness and exhaustion; but I managed to open the window. I saw the people outside running and jumping about on the ice; I saw the beautiful flags waving in the wind; I heard the boys shouting, ‘Hurrah!’ and the lads and lasses singing, and everything full of merriment and joy. But there was the white cloud with the black spot hanging over them. I cried out as loudly as I could, but no one heard me; I was too far off from the people. Soon would the storm burst, the ice break, and all who were on it be irretrievably lost. They could not hear me, and to go to them was quite out of my power. Oh, if I could only get them safe on land! Then came the thought, as if from heaven, that I would rather set fire to my bed, and let the house be burnt down, than that so many people should perish miserably. I got a light, and in a few moments the red flames leaped up as a beacon to them. I escaped fortunately as far as the threshold of the door; but there I fell down and remained: I could go no farther. The flames rushed out towards me, flickered on the window, and rose high above the roof. The people on the ice became aware of the fire, and ran as fast as possible to help a poor sick woman, who, as they thought, was being burnt to death. There was not one who did not run. I heard them coming, and I also at the same time was conscious of a rush of air and a sound like the roar of heavy artillery. The spring flood was lifting the ice covering, which brake into a thousand pieces. But the people had reached the sea-wall, where the sparks were flying round. I had saved them all; but I suppose I could not survive the cold and fright; so I came up here to the gates of paradise. I am told they are open to poor creatures such as I am, and I have now no house left on earth; but I do not think that will give me a claim to be admitted here.” Then the gates were opened, and an angel led the old woman in. She had dropped one little straw out of her straw bed, when she set it on fire to save the lives of so many. It had been changed into the purest gold—into gold that constantly grew and expanded into flowers and fruit of immortal beauty. “See,” said the angel, pointing to the wonderful straw, “this is what the poor woman has brought. What dost thou bring? I know thou hast accomplished nothing, not even made a single brick. Even if thou couldst return, and at least produce so much, very likely, when made, the brick would be useless, unless done with a good will, which is always something. But thou canst not return to earth, and I can do nothing for thee.” Then the poor soul, the old mother who had lived in the house on the dyke, pleaded for him. She said, “His brother made all the stone and bricks, and sent them to me to build my poor little dwelling, which was a great deal to do for a poor woman like me. Could not all these bricks and pieces be as a wall of stone to prevail for him? It is an act of mercy; he is wanting it now; and here is the very fountain of mercy.” “Then,” said the angel, “thy brother, he who has been looked upon as the meanest of you all, he whose honest deeds to thee appeared so humble,—it is he who has sent you this heavenly gift. Thou shalt not be turned away. Thou shalt have permission to stand without the gate and reflect, and repent of thy life on earth; but thou shalt not be admitted here until thou hast performed one good deed of repentance, which will indeed for thee be something.” “I could have expressed that better,” thought the critic; but he did not say it aloud, which for him was SOMETHING, after all.

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Interesting facts about English - Интересные факты про английский язык

Интересные факты про английский язык 1. Английский язык не является самым популярным в мире по количеству носителей. Его опережают такие языки как: китайский, арабский и хинди. 2. «Goddessship» – единственное слово, где согласная буква повторяется 3 раза подряд. Или вот еще: rhythm – самое длинное слово с 1 гласной. 3. Самое длинное слово в английском языке – pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosis. Приходится ставить засечки после каждого слога, чтобы не запутаться, где остановился при чтении. За этим кошмаром скрывается название болезни дыхательных путей при вдыхании вулканической пыли и прочей мелкой гадости в виде пыли. 4. Рекордсменом по количеству значений является слово «set»: 44 основных значения для глагола, 17 основных значений для существительного, 7 основных значений для прилагательного и еще до кучи всяких дополнительных значений. 5. Чаще всего в английском языке используется буква E, а реже всего – Q. Имеется в виду, конечно, то, как часто эта буква находится в разных словах. 6. Древнейшее слово в английском языке – town (городок), а также слова: bad, gold, apple. 7. Слово goodbye когда-то прощание полностью звучало как «God be with ye» (староанглийское «Да пребудет с тобой Господь»). 8. Английское слово slave (раб), имеет прямое отношение к славянам: в древние времена германские племена продавали представителей славянских племен в рабство римлянам. 9. Английским поэтам повезло, потому что они не могут найти рифму только к 4 словам: month, orange, silver, purple. Некоторые поэты-любители в поисках удачного варианта пытаются рифмовать orange с courage, porridge, arrange и прочими, казалось бы, похожими словами, однако, очевидно, что такая «рифма» притянута за уши. 10. С самой сложной английской скороговоркой: "The sixth sick sheik‘s sixth sheep‘s sick". Даже носители языка с трудом справляются. 11. В слове indivisibility буква I повторяется 6 раз. 12. Самое короткое предложение в английском языке может состоять из трех букв (I am/I do), а если I am сократить до I´m, то вообще из двух! 13. Предложение «The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog» уникально тем, что здесь встречаются все буквы английского алфавита. 14. Еще одно интересное предложение: «A rough-coated, dough-faced, thoughtful ploughman strode through the streets of Scarborough; after falling into a slough, he coughed and hiccoughed». Уникальность его в том, что здесь встречаются все 9 вариантов прочтения буквосочетания «ough». Наглядный пример того, что в английском самое сложное – это правила чтения (а точнее, их отсутствие). 15. Точка на буквой «i» в английском языке называется TITTLE (капелька). 16. «Almost» — самое длинное слово английского языка, в котором все буквы расположены в алфавитном порядке. 17. В английском языке есть только 4 слова с окончанием на «dous»: «tremendous», «horrendous», «stupendous», and «hazardous». 18. «Underground» – единственное слово в английском языке, которое начинается и оканчивается на «und.» 19. «Stewardesses» – самое длинное слово, которое можно напечатать только левой рукой. 20. Символ & когда-то был в английском алфавите. Сейчас же он называется «амперсэнд» и не считается буквой. 21. Слово «queue» единственное слово, чье произношение не изменится, если убрать последние 4 буквы.

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Сказка She Was Good for Nothing - Она была хороша для настоящего [ Hans Christian Andersen ]

Сказка She Was Good for Nothing The mayor stood at the open window. He looked smart, for his shirt-frill, in which he had stuck a breast-pin, and his ruffles, were very fine. He had shaved his chin uncommonly smooth, although he had cut himself slightly, and had stuck a piece of newspaper over the place. “Hark ’ee, youngster!” cried he. The boy to whom he spoke was no other than the son of a poor washer-woman, who was just going past the house. He stopped, and respectfully took off his cap. The peak of this cap was broken in the middle, so that he could easily roll it up and put it in his pocket. He stood before the mayor in his poor but clean and well-mended clothes, with heavy wooden shoes on his feet, looking as humble as if it had been the king himself. “You are a good and civil boy,” said the mayor. “I suppose your mother is busy washing the clothes down by the river, and you are going to carry that thing to her that you have in your pocket. It is very bad for your mother. How much have you got in it?” “Only half a quartern,” stammered the boy in a frightened voice. “And she has had just as much this morning already?” “No, it was yesterday,” replied the boy. “Two halves make a whole,” said the mayor. “She’s good for nothing. What a sad thing it is with these people. Tell your mother she ought to be ashamed of herself. Don’t you become a drunkard, but I expect you will though. Poor child! there, go now.” The boy went on his way with his cap in his hand, while the wind fluttered his golden hair till the locks stood up straight. He turned round the corner of the street into the little lane that led to the river, where his mother stood in the water by her washing bench, beating the linen with a heavy wooden bar. The floodgates at the mill had been drawn up, and as the water rolled rapidly on, the sheets were dragged along by the stream, and nearly overturned the bench, so that the washer-woman was obliged to lean against it to keep it steady. “I have been very nearly carried away,” she said; “it is a good thing that you are come, for I want something to strengthen me. It is cold in the water, and I have stood here six hours. Have you brought anything for me?” The boy drew the bottle from his pocket, and the mother put it to her lips, and drank a little. “Ah, how much good that does, and how it warms me,” she said; “it is as good as a hot meal, and not so dear. Drink a little, my boy; you look quite pale; you are shivering in your thin clothes, and autumn has really come. Oh, how cold the water is! I hope I shall not be ill. But no, I must not be afraid of that. Give me a little more, and you may have a sip too, but only a sip; you must not get used to it, my poor, dear child.” She stepped up to the bridge on which the boy stood as she spoke, and came on shore. The water dripped from the straw mat which she had bound round her body, and from her gown. “I work hard and suffer pain with my poor hands,” said she, “but I do it willingly, that I may be able to bring you up honestly and truthfully, my dear boy.” At the same moment, a woman, rather older than herself, came towards them. She was a miserable-looking object, lame of one leg, and with a large false curl hanging down over one of her eyes, which was blind. This curl was intended to conceal the blind eye, but it made the defect only more visible. She was a friend of the laundress, and was called, among the neighbors, “Lame Martha, with the curl.” “Oh, you poor thing; how you do work, standing there in the water!” she exclaimed. “You really do need something to give you a little warmth, and yet spiteful people cry out about the few drops you take.” And then Martha repeated to the laundress, in a very few minutes, all that the mayor had said to her boy, which she had overheard; and she felt very angry that any man could speak, as he had done, of a mother to her own child, about the few drops she had taken; and she was still more angry because, on that very day, the mayor was going to have a dinner-party, at which there would be wine, strong, rich wine, drunk by the bottle. “Many will take more than they ought, but they don’t call that drinking! They are all right, you are good for nothing indeed!” cried Martha indignantly. “And so he spoke to you in that way, did he, my child?” said the washer-woman, and her lips trembled as she spoke. “He says you have a mother who is good for nothing. Well, perhaps he is right, but he should not have said it to my child. How much has happened to me from that house!” “Yes,” said Martha; “I remember you were in service there, and lived in the house when the mayor’s parents were alive; how many years ago that is. Bushels of salt have been eaten since then, and people may well be thirsty,” and Martha smiled. “The mayor’s great dinner-party to-day ought to have been put off, but the news came too late. The footman told me the dinner was already cooked, when a letter came to say that the mayor’s younger brother in Copenhagen is dead.” “Dead!” cried the laundress, turning pale as death. “Yes, certainly,” replied Martha; “but why do you take it so much to heart? I suppose you knew him years ago, when you were in service there?” “Is he dead?” she exclaimed. “Oh, he was such a kind, good-hearted man, there are not many like him,” and the tears rolled down her cheeks as she spoke. Then she cried, “Oh, dear me; I feel quite ill: everything is going round me, I cannot bear it. Is the bottle empty?” and she leaned against the plank. “Dear me, you are ill indeed,” said the other woman. “Come, cheer up; perhaps it will pass off. No, indeed, I see you are really ill; the best thing for me to do is to lead you home.” “But my washing yonder?” “I will take care of that. Come, give me your arm. The boy can stay here and take care of the linen, and I’ll come back and finish the washing; it is but a trifle.” The limbs of the laundress shook under her, and she said, “I have stood too long in the cold water, and I have had nothing to eat the whole day since the morning. O kind Heaven, help me to get home; I am in a burning fever. Oh, my poor child,” and she burst into tears. And he, poor boy, wept also, as he sat alone by the river, near to and watching the damp linen. The two women walked very slowly. The laundress slipped and tottered through the lane, and round the corner, into the street where the mayor lived; and just as she reached the front of his house, she sank down upon the pavement. Many persons came round her, and Lame Martha ran into the house for help. The mayor and his guests came to the window. “Oh, it is the laundress,” said he; “she has had a little drop too much. She is good for nothing. It is a sad thing for her pretty little son. I like the boy very well; but the mother is good for nothing.” After a while the laundress recovered herself, and they led her to her poor dwelling, and put her to bed. Kind Martha warmed a mug of beer for her, with butter and sugar—she considered this the best medicine—and then hastened to the river, washed and rinsed, badly enough, to be sure, but she did her best. Then she drew the linen ashore, wet as it was, and laid it in a basket. Before evening, she was sitting in the poor little room with the laundress. The mayor’s cook had given her some roasted potatoes and a beautiful piece of fat for the sick woman. Martha and the boy enjoyed these good things very much; but the sick woman could only say that the smell was very nourishing, she thought. By-and-by the boy was put to bed, in the same bed as the one in which his mother lay; but he slept at her feet, covered with an old quilt made of blue and white patchwork. The laundress felt a little better by this time. The warm beer had strengthened her, and the smell of the good food had been pleasant to her. “Many thanks, you good soul,” she said to Martha. “Now the boy is asleep, I will tell you all. He is soon asleep. How gentle and sweet he looks as he lies there with his eyes closed! He does not know how his mother has suffered; and Heaven grant he never may know it. I was in service at the counsellor’s, the father of the mayor, and it happened that the youngest of his sons, the student, came home. I was a young wild girl then, but honest; that I can declare in the sight of Heaven. The student was merry and gay, brave and affectionate; every drop of blood in him was good and honorable; a better man never lived on earth. He was the son of the house, and I was only a maid; but he loved me truly and honorably, and he told his mother of it. She was to him as an angel upon earth; she was so wise and loving. He went to travel, and before he started he placed a gold ring on my finger; and as soon as he was out of the house, my mistress sent for me. Gently and earnestly she drew me to her, and spake as if an angel were speaking. She showed me clearly, in spirit and in truth, the difference there was between him and me. ‘He is pleased now,’ she said, ‘with your pretty face; but good looks do not last long. You have not been educated like he has. You are not equals in mind and rank, and therein lies the misfortune. I esteem the poor,’ she added. ‘In the sight of God, they may occupy a higher place than many of the rich; but here upon earth we must beware of entering upon a false track, lest we are overturned in our plans, like a carriage that travels by a dangerous road. I know a worthy man, an artisan, who wishes to marry you. I mean Eric, the glovemaker. He is a widower, without children, and in a good position. Will you think it over?’ Every word she said pierced my heart like a knife; but I knew she was right, and the thought pressed heavily upon me. I kissed her hand, and wept bitter tears, and I wept still more when I went to my room, and threw myself on the bed. I passed through a dreadful night; God knows what I suffered, and how I struggled. The following Sunday I went to the house of God to pray for light to direct my path. It seemed like a providence that as I stepped out of church Eric came towards me; and then there remained not a doubt in my mind. We were suited to each other in rank and circumstances. He was, even then, a man of good means. I went up to him, and took his hand, and said, ‘Do you still feel the same for me?’ ‘Yes; ever and always,’ said he. ‘Will you, then, marry a maiden who honors and esteems you, although she cannot offer you her love? but that may come.’ ‘Yes, it will come,’ said he; and we joined our hands together, and I went home to my mistress. The gold ring which her son had given me I wore next to my heart. I could not place it on my finger during the daytime, but only in the evening, when I went to bed. I kissed the ring till my lips almost bled, and then I gave it to my mistress, and told her that the banns were to be put up for me and the glovemaker the following week. Then my mistress threw her arms round me, and kissed me. She did not say that I was ‘good for nothing;’ very likely I was better then than I am now; but the misfortunes of this world, were unknown to me then. At Michaelmas we were married, and for the first year everything went well with us. We had a journeyman and an apprentice, and you were our servant, Martha.” “Ah, yes, and you were a dear, good mistress,” said Martha, “I shall never forget how kind you and your husband were to me.” “Yes, those were happy years when you were with us, although we had no children at first. The student I never met again. Yet I saw him once, although he did not see me. He came to his mother’s funeral. I saw him, looking pale as death, and deeply troubled, standing at her grave; for she was his mother. Sometime after, when his father died, he was in foreign lands, and did not come home. I know that he never married, I believe he became a lawyer. He had forgotten me, and even had we met he would not have known me, for I have lost all my good looks, and perhaps that is all for the best.” And then she spoke of the dark days of trial, when misfortune had fallen upon them. “We had five hundred dollars,” she said, “and there was a house in the street to be sold for two hundred, so we thought it would be worth our while to pull it down and build a new one in its place; so it was bought. The builder and carpenter made an estimate that the new house would cost ten hundred and twenty dollars to build. Eric had credit, so he borrowed the money in the chief town. But the captain, who was bringing it to him, was shipwrecked, and the money lost. Just about this time, my dear sweet boy, who lies sleeping there, was born, and my husband was attacked with a severe lingering illness. For three quarters of a year I was obliged to dress and undress him. We were backward in our payments, we borrowed more money, and all that we had was lost and sold, and then my husband died. Since then I have worked, toiled, and striven for the sake of the child. I have scrubbed and washed both coarse and fine linen, but I have not been able to make myself better off; and it was God’s will. In His own time He will take me to Himself, but I know He will never forsake my boy.” Then she fell asleep. In the morning she felt much refreshed, and strong enough, as she thought, to go on with her work. But as soon as she stepped into the cold water, a sudden faintness seized her; she clutched at the air convulsively with her hand, took one step forward, and fell. Her head rested on dry land, but her feet were in the water; her wooden shoes, which were only tied on by a wisp of straw, were carried away by the stream, and thus she was found by Martha when she came to bring her some coffee. In the meantime a messenger had been sent to her house by the mayor, to say that she must come to him immediately, as he had something to tell her. It was too late; a surgeon had been sent for to open a vein in her arm, but the poor woman was dead. “She has drunk herself to death,” said the cruel mayor. In the letter, containing the news of his brother’s death, it was stated that he had left in his will a legacy of six hundred dollars to the glovemaker’s widow, who had been his mother’s maid, to be paid with discretion, in large or small sums to the widow or her child. “There was something between my brother and her, I remember,” said the mayor; “it is a good thing that she is out of the way, for now the boy will have the whole. I will place him with honest people to bring him up, that he may become a respectable working man.” And the blessing of God rested upon these words. The mayor sent for the boy to come to him, and promised to take care of him, but most cruelly added that it was a good thing that his mother was dead, for “she was good for nothing.” They carried her to the churchyard, the churchyard in which the poor were buried. Martha strewed sand on the grave and planted a rose-tree upon it, and the boy stood by her side. “Oh, my poor mother!” he cried, while the tears rolled down his cheeks. “Is it true what they say, that she was good for nothing?” “No, indeed, it is not true,” replied the old servant, raising her eyes to heaven; “she was worth a great deal; I knew it years ago, and since the last night of her life I am more certain of it than ever. I say she was a good and worthy woman, and God, who is in heaven, knows I am speaking the truth, though the world may say, even now she was good for nothing.”

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Useful phrases on Hobbies - Полезные фразы на тему Хобби, увлечения

Полезные фразы по теме "Хобби, увлечения" 1. Как Вы обычно проводите свободное время? - How do you usually spend your free time? 2. Я - большой поклонник/фанат ...футбола (тенниса, хоккея). - I am a great/big fan of... football ( tennis, hockey) 3.Мое хобби — фотография (спорт, туризм). - My hobby is taking photographs (sports, tourism). 4. Я люблю путешествовать (читать, кататься на лыжах). - I like travelling (reading, skiing). 5. Я собираю марки (открытки, значки, монеты) - I collect stamps (post-cards, badges, coins). 6. Что в этом (хобби) интересного? - How can a hobby like that be any fun? 7. Какие у Вас хобби? - What hobbies do you have? 8. Чем Вы интересуетесь? - What are you interested in? 9. Я люблю спорт, музыку, кино, собирать марки. - I like (love, am fond of) sports (music, cinema, collecting stamps). 10. Как давно Вы увлекаетесь этим? - For how long has it been your hobby? 11. Мое увлечение требует много времени. - My hobby takes me quite a lot of time. 12. У меня мало времени на мое увлечение. - I don't have too much time for my hobby. 13. Какая у Вас любимая книга (Какой у Вас любимый вид спорта, музыкальный жанр, фильм)? - What is your favourite book ( kind of sport/music, film)? 14. Мне нравится встречаться с разными людьми. - I love meeting different people. 15. Я очень часто сижу в Интернете. - I surf the net quite often. 16. Я коллекционирую марки (пивные банки, автографы) несколько лет. - I've been collecting stamps (beercans, autographs) for some years. 17. Где (когда) будет соревнование (концерт, фильм, выставка)? - Where (when) will the competition (concert, film, exhibition) take place? 18. У меня много (два, три) домашних животных. - I've got many (two, three) pets.

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