THE ONE-MILLION-POUND BANK-NOTE
Examination Card # 1
THE DINNER PARTY
(abridged)
(N. Monsarrat. The Dinner Party. Short Stories to Read and Discuss. – Mн.: “Лексис”, 2001. Pp.3-5)
Thirty years ago I was fifteen. My uncle Octavian was then (in 1925) a very rich man. He was a charming host whose villa on the Cote d’Azur was a meeting place of the rich, and he was a very hospitable man until January 3, 1925.
There was nothing special about that day, in the life of my uncle Octavian, except that it was his fifty-fifth birthday. As usual on such a day, he was giving a dinner-party, a party for twelve people. All of them were old friends; two of them, indeed, were what they called then “old flames”.
It was exciting to me to be in such company, which included besides the two “old flames”, and their husbands, a newspaper proprietor and his American wife; a recent prime-minister of France and a well-known statesman of post-war Germany, and a Habsburg prince and princess. The company was remarkable! But I should also stress that they were all old and close friends of my uncle Octavian.
√Towards the end of a wonderful dinner when the servants had left, my uncle leaned forward to have a look at a beautiful diamond ring on the princess’s hand. She turned her hand gracefully towards my uncle.
Across the table, the newspaper proprietor leant across and said: “May I also have a look, Therese?” She smiled and nodded. Then she took off the ring and held it out to him. “It was my grandmother’s,” she said. “I have not worn it for many years. It is said to have once belonged to Genghis Khan.”
There were exclamations of surprise. The ring was passed from hand to hand.
It was some twenty minutes later when the princess stood up, giving the signal for the ladies to leave the table. She looked round us with a pleasant smile. Then she said: “Before we leave you, may I have my ring back?”√
There was a pause, while each of us looked expectantly at his neighbour. Then there was silence.
The princess was still smiling, though less easily. “If you please,” she said again. “Then we can leave the gentlemen to their port.”
When no one answered her, and the silence continued, I still thought it could only be a joke, and that one of us – probably the prince himself – would produce the ring with a laugh. But when nothing happed at all, I knew that the rest of the night would be awful.
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I am sure you know what followed. There was the awkwardness of the guests – all of them old friends. There was the fact that no one would meet anyone else’s eye. The guests overturned the chairs, examined the carpet and then the whole room.
All these things happened, but they did not bring the princess’s ring back. It had vanished – a diamond ring worth possibly two thousand pounds – in a roomful of twelve people, all old friends. No servants had entered the room. No one had left it for a moment. The thief was one of us, one of my uncle Octavian’s old friends.
It was the French cabinet minister who wanted to be searched, indeed, he had already started turning out his pockets, before my uncle held up his hand and stopped him.
Uncle Octavian’s face was pale when he said: “There will be no searching. Not in my house. You are all my friends. The ring can only be lost. If we do not find it” – he bowed towards the princess – “I will make amends myself.”
The fruitless search began again. But there was no ring anywhere, though the guests stayed nearly till morning – nobody wanted to be the first to leave.
I do not know how my uncle Octavian “made amends”. I know that, to my family’s surprise, he was rather poor when he died. It would be wrong to say that he died a broken man, but he did die a very sad man who never gave a single lunch or dinner-party for the last thirty years of his life.
Notes
Octavian [ok'teiviэn]
Cote d’Azur ['kзυt dæ'zjυэ] – Лазурный берег
“old flame” – старая любовь, предмет страсти в прошлом
proprietor [prэ'praiэtэ] – владелец, собственник
Habsburg ['hæpsbз:g] – Габсбург
Therese [ti'ri:z]
Genghis Khan ['dзeŋgis 'kα:n] – Чингиз Хан
make amends [э'mendz] – возместить убытки
Examination Card # 2
LETTERS IN THE MAIL
(extract)
(E. Caldwell. Letters in the Mail. Short Stories to Read and Discuss. – Mн.: “Лексис”, 2001. Pp.7-9)
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As a general rule, almost everybody likes to receive mail, and probably nobody in the whole town of Stillwater liked to get letters in the mail more than Ray Buffin. However, the fact was that Ray received fewer letters in his box at the post-office than anybody else.
“Dog bite it!” Ray would say with a sad expression on his long thin face when he took one more last look at his box and left the post-office. At a time like that his whole tall body sagged and drooped with disappointment. “No mail again this time but I’ve got a good feeling deep down inside of me that one of these days I’m going to get some.”
√It had been like that with Ray Buffin almost all his life. He had no living relatives to write to him. But once a month he got a bill from the gas and electric company. And, of course, since he had no friend to correspond with and didn’t know anybody outside Stillwater, he did not write letters himself. The only exception had been once many years before – he had been about thirty years old at the time – when he had written a letter to a young girl in town telling her that he loved her and saying how beautiful he thought she was. He had ended the letter by asking her to marry him, but he had not received a reply.
Two of the young men in town, Guy Hodge and Ralph Barnhill, who were always thinking up pranks to play on people, decided that they would send Ray a letter and sign it with a fictitious name. Their jokes were always good-natured and they did not hurt anybody.√
The way they planned the joke on Ray, they would tell everybody in the post-office to watch Ray when he received a letter in his box, and then somebody would ask him in a loud voice if he had received a love letter from a girl. After that somebody would snatch the letter out of his hand and read it out loud for everybody to hear.
Guy and Ralph went around the corner to the telephone exchange, where Gracie Brooks was the night switchboard operator.
Gracie was an elderly girl who had worked for the telephone company since she graduated from high school. She had remained single all those years, and because she lived such a lonely life, operated the switchboard all night and slept during the day, she realized that there was little opportunity for her to meet somebody who would marry her.
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After Guy Hodge and Ralph Barnhill had told her what they were planning to do and had asked her to write the letter to Ray, because they wanted it to be in feminine handwriting, Gracie said that she would have nothing to do with their plan.
“That’s cruel,” she told them. “I could never do such a cruel thing. Besides, I wish you wouldn’t get anybody else to write it, either – not to Ray Buffin.”
“Come on, Gracie,” Ralph said. “We won’t tell Ray or anybody else that you wrote it. He’ll never know. You won’t have to worry about that.”
Suddenly Gracie turned round and hid her face as she was unable to keep her eyes from filling with tears. It seemed like a lifetime since she had received a letter from ray Buffin saying he loved her and wanted to marry her. She had just graduated from high school then and had started to work for the telephone company, and since she was young and had no thoughts about marriage, she did not answer the letter. During all those years they had seen each other occasionally, but seldom more than a polite greeting had passed between them, and each time she saw Ray he looked sadder and more lonely. In recent years there had been times when she wanted to run to Ray, throw her arms around his neck, and beg him to forgive her for not answering his letter. If she had answered his letter, they probably would have been married all those years and neither of them would be lonely now.
Examination Card # 3
THE ADVENTURE OF MY AUNT
(abridged)
(W. Irwing. The Adventure of My Aunt. Short Stories to Read and Discuss. – Mн.: “Лексис”, 2001. Pp. 25-27)
My aunt was a big woman, very tall, with a strong mind and will. She was what you call a very manly woman. My uncle was a thin, small man, very weak, with no will at all. He was no match for my aunt. From the day of their marriage he began to grow smaller and weaker.
When he died, my aunt was very sorry by the death of her poor dear husband. She did all that a widow could do to honour his memory. She spent very much money on her mourning dress, she wore a miniature of him about her neck as large as a small clock; and she had a full-length portrait of him always hanging in her bedroom.
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√Some time passed, and my aunt decided to move to her country-house. The house stood in a lonely, wild part of the country. The servants, most of whom came with my aunt from town, did not like the sad-looking old place. My aunt herself seemed to be struck with the lonely appearance of her house. Before she went to bed, therefore, she herself examined the doors and windows and locked them with her own hands. Then she carried the keys from the house together with a little box of money and jewels, to her own room.
One evening, after she had sent away her girl-servant she sat by her toilet-table, arranging her hair. She sat for some time looking at her face in the glass first on one side, then on the other.
Suddenly she thought she heard something move behind her. She looked round quickly, but there was nothing to be seen. Nothing but the painted portrait of her poor dear husband on the wall behind her.√ She gave a heavy sigh to his memory as she always did whenever she spoke of him in company, and went on arranging her hair. Her sigh was re-echoed. She looked round again, but no one was to be seen.
“Oh, it is only the wind,” she thought and went on putting her hair in papers, but her eyes were still fixed on her own reflection and the reflection of her husband’s portrait in the looking-glass. Suddenly it seemed to her that in the glass she saw one of the eyes of the portrait move. It gave her a shock.
“I must make sure,” she thought and moved the candle so that the light fell on the eye in the glass. Now she was sure that it moved. But not only that, it seemed to give her a wink exactly as her husband used to do when he was living. Now my aunt got really frightened. Her heart began to beat fast. She suddenly remembered all the frightful stories about ghosts and criminals that she had heard.
But her fear soon was over. Next moment, my aunt who, as I have said, had a remarkably strong will, became calm. She went on arranging her hair. She even sang her favourite song in a low voice and did not make a single false note. She again moved the candle and while moving it she overturned her work-box. Then she took the candle and began without any hurry to pick up the articles one by one from the floor. She picked up something near the door, then opened the door, looked for a moment into the corridor as if in doubt whether to go and then walked quietly out.
She hurried down the stairs and ordered the servants to arm themselves with anything they could find. They returned almost at once and entered the room. All was quiet and exactly in the same order as when my aunt had left it. They came up to the portrait of my uncle.
“Pull down that picture,” ordered my aunt.
The picture was pulled down, and from behind it, they pulled out a big, black-bearded fellow, trembling form head to foot. He said that he had got into my aunt’s room to get her box of money and jewels, when all the house was asleep. He had made a hole in one of the eyes of the portrait and had hidden behind it.
My aunt did not send for the police. She ordered the servants to pull the man through the horse-pond and dry him with a wooden “towel”.
Notes
mourning dress ['mo:niŋ] – траурный наряд
horse-pond – пруд для лошадей
Examination Card # 4
THE ONE-MILLION-POUND BANK-NOTE
(extract)
(W. Irwing. The One-Million-Pound Bank-Note. Short Stories to Read and Discuss. – Mн.: “Лексис”, 2001. Pp. 30-31)
When I got to London I had nothing in my pocket and not a friend in that whole great city. √Nobody wanted to give me work, because my clothes were old and worn. I had eaten nothing for two days; I was hungry and everything looked gloomy. I was passing by a rich man’s house when I heard a voice from an open window: “Come in here, please.”
The servant who opened the door and showed me where to go gave me an unpleasant look as I passed him and went into a big room, where two old gentleman were sitting, looking at me with interest. They immediately began to ask me questions about myself, and soon they had my whole story. They knew everything about me, but I knew nothing about them: who they were, what they were or why they were interested in me. I didn’t know that they were brothers who enjoyed discussing all kinds of questions and never agreed with each other. Now they had made an unusual and strange bet.√
You remember, perhaps, that the Bank of England printed two bank-notes of a million pounds each, to pay for something England had bought from a foreign country. I don’t know why, but only one of the notes was used; the other note was still in the Bank. The two old gentlemen had been talking about the note; and they began to imagine what would happen if an honest, clever man with no friends in London and no other money tried to live on the one-million-pound note. The older brother was sure that the man would die of hunger, because he wouldn’t be able to use the note; the other said the man could use the note. The older brother said the man couldn’t take the note to a bank or anywhere else, because he would be arrested; the younger brother said he would bet twenty thousand pounds that the man would live a month on the note, and that he wouldn’t be put into prison. The older brother agreed to the bet. The younger brother went to the Bank of England and bought the note. When he returned, he wrote a special letter. Then the two brothers sat at the window all day, to find the right man.
They saw many honest faces that were not clever enough; many that were both clever and honest, but not poor enough, or if they were poor, they were Londoners with many friends in the city. There was always something wrong until they saw me; and they agreed that I was the right person. So they had called me in.
I was still trying to imagine what these two strange old men wanted of me when one of them handed me an envelope, but he said, “No, open it at home and think about it; don’t hurry.” So I left the house, sure that this was some strange kind of joke.
As soon as I was in the street, I opened the envelope. I saw that there was money in it! I lost no time, but pushed the envelope into my pocket and hurried to the first restaurant I could find. And there I ate! I ate until I could eat no more; and then I took out the money and looked at it – and it made my head go round. A million pounds – five million dollars!
When I came to myself, the first thing I noticed was that the owner of the restaurant was standing behind me, looking at the note in my hand. His eyes and his mouth were open wide, and he couldn’t move. I handed the note to him and said:
“Bring me the change, please.”
But he refused to touch the money. He said that he hadn’t enough change.
“I’m sorry ,” I said. “But you must find the change. I haven’t any other money.”
But he said it was nothing, he was happy to see a man with so much money in his restaurant. I could pay another time. He invited me to come and eat there as often as I liked; and he walked with me to the door and opened it for me.
Examination Card # 5
PAINTING THE FENCE
(extract)
(H.A. Smith. Painting the Fence. Short Stories to Read and Discuss. – Mн.: “Лексис”, 2001. Pp.38-39)
My wife, Betsy, and I were on the Queen Elizabeth, coming back form our first trip to Europe. On the first day, we played our favourite game, trying to guess what the different people were. Betsy called my attention to one man with grey hair that stood up on his head, and with deep dark blue eyes. He was dressed in an old sweater and trousers, and summer shoes on his feet. I immediately guessed that he was an artist, a French artist.
On the second day, I was walking around the deck when I saw the same man. He had pulled his chair into a corner where the wind wasn’t so sharp and when I pushed my nose into his corner, he raised his head and gave me a very angry look. I began to move away, saying I was sorry, when suddenly his expression changed.
“Wait!” he called out.
His English was good, and he asked me if I had a moment to help him with a small problem. He showed me the ship’s daily crossword puzzle, and I managed to help him with the question he could not answer. He quickly wrote the word in, and then flew away along the deck without saying good-bye.
I didn’t see him again until the next day. He came to me and showed me a silver pen. “I won it!” he said. “The first prize! Come and have a cocktail with me!”
We went to his room and had a drink. He thanked me again and again for helping him with the puzzle. Then he asked me about myself. √We talked for half an hour, and at last he asked me whether I could keep a secret. I told him I could, and then he told me that his real name was Lautisse.
I told Betsy all about it, so after lunch we went to the library and asked the librarian who Lautisse was. She told us that Lautisse was probably the most famous painter in the world. Lautisse had suddenly stopped painting, saying he had decided never to paint again, and he had not painted anything for the last ten years. After that Betsy made me invite him to our room and he came. We became quite friendly, and he told us he was an unhappy man and hated people; that he lived alone in his villa on the Riviera and never saw anybody. He planned to spend a month in New York, where nobody knew him, and Betsy invited him to come to our place in the country for a week-end.√
Lautisse came on the twelve o’clock train and I met him at the station. We had promised that there wouldn’t be any other guests, and that we wouldn’t talk to him about art.
I got up early the next morning, and while I was having breakfast I remembered about a job that I had to do. The fence around our vegetable garden needed new paint, and after breakfast I went out with a bucket half full of white paint. But before I could begin, Lautisse came into the garden. I asked him whether he had had breakfast, and he said my wife was preparing it for him. He asked me what I was going to do and I told him. He insisted on my beginning immediately. He took the bucket of paint from me and said: “First, I’ll show you.”
I am not Tom Sawyer – I didn’t want anybody to paint the fence for me. So, after a minute or two, I stopped him. “I’ll continue,” I said. “No, no!” he cried, and he went on, working more quickly. And when Betsy called to him that his breakfast was ready, he said impatiently, “No, no! No breakfast. I will paint the fence.”
I argued with him, but he refused to listen. I went into the house and told Betsy: “I can’t do anything with him. He is going to paint the whole fence.” Betsy laughed at me. “Let him,” she said. “He’s having a good time.” So I took the Sunday newspaper and began to read; but every half hour I went out to watch him painting. I was a little angry, because I had wanted to paint my fence myself. But of course, I said nothing: he was my guest. He spent three hours, and finished the whole fence. Then he came in, with paint on his clothes and on his hands and face. His eyes were shining. “I finished it!” he cried happily. “The whole thing.” He made me come with him to look at his work.
Examination Card # 6
BREAKFAST
(abridged)
(J. Steinbeck. Stories. – M.: Айрис-пресс, 2004. Pp. 47-51)
This thing fills me with pleasure. I don’t know why, I can see it in the smallest detail. I find myself recalling it again and again and each time remembering brings the curious warm pleasure.
It was very early in the morning. The eastern mountains were black-blue, but behind them the light stood up faintly colored at the mountain rims.
And it was cold, not painfully so, but cold enough so that I rubbed my hands and put them deep into my pockets. I walked along a country road and ahead of me I saw a tent that was only a little lighter gray than the ground. Beside the tent there was a flash of orange fire showing out of an old rusty iron stove. Gray smoke flew up out of the stove-pipe, spread out and disappeared.
I saw a young woman beside the stove, really a girl. She was dressed in a faded cotton skirt and waist. As I came close I saw that she carried a baby in her arm and the baby was nursing, its head under her waist out of the cold. The mother moved about, poking the fire, opening the oven door; and all the time the baby was nursing, but that didn’t interfere with the mother’s work, nor with the light quick gracefulness of her movements.
I was close now and I could smell frying bacon and baking bread, the warmest, pleasantest smells I know. I came near to the stove and stretched my hands out to it and shivered all over when the warmth struck me. Then a young man came out of the tent and an older man followed him. They were sharp-faced men, and they looked much alike.
√The younger had a dark beard and the older had a gray beard. Their heads and faces were wet, their cheeks shone with water. Together they stood looking quietly at the lightening east; they yawned together and looked at the light on the hill rims. They turned and saw me.
“Morning,” said the older man. His face was neither friendly nor unfriendly.
“Morning, sir,” I said.
“Morning,” said the young man.
The water was slowly drying on their faces. They came to the stove and warmed their hands at it.
The girl kept to her work, her eyes on what she was doing. Her hair was tied back with a string and it hung down her back. She set tin cups on a big box, set tin plates and knives and forks out too. Then she took out fried bacon and laid it on a big tin platter. She opened the rusty oven door and took out a square pan full of high big biscuits.√
The elder man turned to me, “Had your breakfast?”
“No.”
“Well, sit down with us, then.”
That was the signal. We went to the box and squatted on the ground about it.
The girl set out the platter of bacon, the brown high biscuits, a bowl of bacon gravy and a pot of coffee, and then she squatted down by the box too. The baby was still nursing, its head up under her waist out of the cold.
We filled our plates, poured bacon gravy over our biscuits and sugared our coffee. The older man filled his mouth full and he chewed and chewed and swallowed. Then he said, “God Almighty, it’s good,” and he filled his mouth again.
The young man said, “We’ve been eating good for twelve days.”
We all ate quickly, and refilled our plates and ate quickly again until we were full and warm.
There was a reddish color in the light now that made the air seem colder. The two men faced the east and their faces were lighted by the dawn, and I looked up for a moment and saw the image of the mountain and the light coming over it reflected in the older man’s eyes.
Then the two men stood up together. “Got to get going,” the older man said.
The younger turned to me. “If you want to pick cotton, we could maybe get you on,”
“No, I’ve got to go along. Thanks for breakfast.”
The older man waved his hand in a negative. “O.K. Glad to have you.” They walked away together. And I walked away down the country road.
Notes
not painfully so – не мучительно (холодно)
the baby was nursing – ребенок сосал грудь
its head under her waist out of the cold – голова ребенка была под корсажем матери, куда не достигал холод
platter – блюдо
God Almighty [o:l'maiti]– Великий боже
we could maybe get you on – возможно, мы могли бы пристроить вас
in a negative – в знак отрицания
Examination Card # 7
THE GOLD BUG
(extract)
(E.A Poe. The Gold Bug. – M.: Глосса, 1997. Pp. 3-6)
Many years ago I made the acquaintance of a certain Mr. William Legrand. He was of an ancient Huguenot family, and had once been wealthy; but a number of misfortunes had made him poor. He left New Orleans, the city of his forefathers, and settled at Sullivan’s Island near Charleston, South Carolina.
This island is a very singular one. It is covered with sea sand, and is about three miles long and no more than a quarter of a mile wide. It is separated from the mainland by a small creek which makes its way slowly through the reeds, a favourite place of water birds.
The vegetation on the island is poor and of small size, as is natural in such a place. No great trees are seen anywhere, except the western part of the island where Fort Moultry stands. There are also some poor-looking buildings there to which people go in summer, wishing to get away from Charleston, with its dust and fever. The rest of the island is covered with myrtle. It is fifteen or twenty feet high here and fills the air with its sweet smell.
Not far from the eastern end of the island Legrand had built himself a small hut, in which he was living when I first met him. In a short time we became friends. He was well educated and had unusual powers of mind, but from time to time he had strange fits of enthusiasm followed by deep melancholy. He had many books, but seldom read them. Most of all he liked hunting and fishing, or wandering along the shore, looking for shells and insects for his collection. In these excursions he was usually accompanied by his old Negro-servant Jupiter who was very much devoted to his master.
√The winters in the latitude of Sullivan’s Island are not very cold, and people seldom need a fire in autumn. But one day, about the middle of October, 18--, was unusually cold. Just before sunset I decided to visit Legrand. I had not seen him for some weeks, because at that time I was living in Charleston, a distance of nine miles form the island. I went to his hut, knocked at the door, and, getting no reply, took the key from the place where it was usually hidden, unlocked the door and went in. A bright fire was blazing upon the hearth. I threw off my coat, took an arm-chair by the fire, and awaited patiently the arrival of my friend.
Legrand came soon after dark and gave me a most cordial welcome. He was in one of his fits of enthusiasm. He had found a rare plant, and, more than this, he had caught, with Jupiter’s help, a beetle which was quite unknown to him.√ He said that he wished to hear my opinion of it the next day.
“And why not tonight?” I asked him, rubbing my hands over the fire, and wishing the whole tribe of beetles at the devil.
“Oh, if I had only known that you were here! You see, when I was coming home I met Lieutenant G. from the fort and gave him the bug to show it to his comrades. If you stay here tonight, I shall send Jup for it at sunrise. It is the most beautiful thing on earth.”
“What? Sunrise?”
“No, the bug. It is of a bright gold colour with two black spots on the back. But I can give you some idea of its shape!”
Saying this, he took a seat at a small table on which were a pen and ink, but no paper.
“Never mind,” he said, “that will do.” And he took from his pocket a scrap of what seemed to be very dirty paper, and made on it a rough drawing with his pen. […] I looked at the paper which I was holding in my hand, and, to speak the truth, I was puzzled when I saw my friend’s drawing.
“Oh!” I said, “this is a very strange beetle, new to me. It looks like a death’s head.”
Notes
Legrand [lэ'grα:ŋ]
Huguenot ['hju:gэnot] – гугенотский
Fort Moultry ['mзυltri]
unusual powers of mind – незаурядный ум
Jupiter ['dзu:pitэ], сокр. Jup [dзΛp]
wishing … at the devil – посылая к чертям
a death’s head – череп
Examination Card # 8
THE SEA CHEST
(abridged)
(R.L. Stevenson. Treasure Island. – M.: Айрис-пресс, 2001. Pp. 18-20)
I lost no time, of course, and told my mother all that I knew. We realized at once what a difficult and dangerous position we were in. Indeed, it seemed impossible for us to remain any longer in the house. The fall of coals in the fireplace, the ticking of the clock filled us with alarm. √We decided to ask for help in the nearest village. No sooner said than done. We ran out at once into the evening and the frosty fog.
The village lay not far away from the inn, on the other side of the next cove. It was already dark when we reached the village and I’ll never forget how glad I was to see the yellow shine of candles in doors and windows. However, it soon became clear that this was the only help we were to get there. Nobody agreed to return with us to the Admiral Benbow. The more we told of our troubles, the more afraid they became. I didn’t know the name of Captain Flint, but it was well-known to some people in the village and carried great terror. We only managed to get several men who agreed to go to Dr. Livesey’s house, but nobody wanted to help us to defend the inn. My mother declared that she would not lose the money that belonged to her poor fatherless boy.√
“If none of you dare,” she said, “Jim and I dare. We’ll go back the way we came and small thanks to you, you’re all chicken-hearted men! We’ll have the chest open even if we have to die for it.”
Of course, I said I would go with my mother. My heart was beating fast when we went back in the cold night. A full moon began to rise as we ran along the road. We soon saw the inn.
I locked the door at once and we stood for a moment in the dark, alone in the house with the dead captain’s body. Then my mother got a candle in the bar and, holding each other’s hand, we went into the sitting-room. He lay as we had left him, with this eyes open and with one arm stretched out. I knelt down. On the floor close to his hand there was a little round piece of paper, black on one side. It was the black spot. “You have till ten tonight” was written on the other side of it.
“He had till ten, mother,” I said, and just as I said it our old clock began to strike, but the good news was – it was only six o’clock.
“Now, Jim,” she said, “the key!”
I looked for the key in his pockets, one after the other, but all that they contained were a few coins, a thimble, some thread, some big needles, a pocket compass and a knife.
“Perhaps, it’s round his neck,” suggested my mother.
We found the key on a bit of string which I cut with his own knife. This filled us with hope and we hurried upstairs to the little room where he had slept for so long and where his sea-chest had stood since the day he arrived.
“Give me the key,” said my mother.
She opened the chest easily. A strong smell of tobacco rose from the box. On top we saw nothing except a suit of very good clothes, carefully brushed and folded and under it, some pipe tobacco, four pistols, a bar of silver, an old Spanish watch and some other things. On the very bottom there lay a bag full of gold coins and some papers tied up in a cloth.
“I’ll show them that I’m an honest woman,” said my mother. “I’ll have my money and not a coin more.” And she began to count out the coins. It was a long, difficult business because they were from all different countries and of all different sizes.
Suddenly I heard in the silent, frosty air a sound that brought my heart into my mouth – the tap-tapping of the blind man’s stick upon the frozen road. It came nearer and nearer while we sat holding our breath. The blind beggar knocked loudly on the inn door and pulled the handle. Then there was a long silence. At last, to our great joy, we heard the tapping again. The man was going away.
Notes
No sooner said than done – Сказано – сделано.
The more we told… , the more… - Чем больше мы рассказывали, тем больше…
Examination Card # 9
THE SPANISH PAINTER
(extract)
(W. Taine. The Spanish Painter. Short Stories to Read and Discuss. – Mн.: “Лексис”, 2001. Pp.76-78)
To his surprise, she agreed at once. She had not thought of paying so much, but a thousand pounds meant little to a lady as rich as she was – and her Charlie's political career was in danger!
«You understand,» she said, «you must allow me to be present when you speak to Charlie about his drawings.»
«It is your right,» Mendoza answered. «If you pay so much, you have a right to be sure that I shall tell him what you ask and nothing else. But you must allow me to be careful, too. Today is Wednesday. Tomorrow, Thursday, I receive the money. You will come here the day after tomorrow, Friday, with your son. Friday afternoon at three o'clock.»
He went to the door and opened it. A minute later, he was alone. He threw open the window. «The air in this room has become bad,» he said. Then he went to the telephone and called the number of Crumpton and Company, the well-known lawyers in Bedford Street.
***
√The money came on Thursday, and Mrs. Burtenshaw and her son arrived on Friday. Mendoza asked the lady to sit down, but then paid no attention to her: he was interested only in the son. The boy was about nineteen years old, Mendoza thought. He did not look at all like an artist, with his round head and round, almost colourless eyes. Even his nose was round. He was very frightened, and as he came into the studio, he almost fell over his own feet. Mendoza took the drawings that the boy held in his hands, put them down on the table and began to examine them carefully.
The subject of the first drawing was clear: it was a picture of Gulliver when he opened his eyes the first time in the country of the Little People. The man-mountain lay on the ground, with a hundred little people around him, on his arms and legs and one even on his head, looking into his mouth. Not an easy subject: a subject for an artist, for a real master.√
Charlie had thought much about it; he had tried – how he had tried! But it was too difficult for him. There were mistakes everywhere, he had lost the battle.
But Mendoza saw something else, besides the bad sky, the wrong colour of the ground. He saw that in the whole picture there was the finest and richest imagination. And there was humour in it too, the same humour that he had seen in the picture of the pirate. The little men did not look like each other. Their clothes were not the same, they did not stand the same way and their faces were not the same, as they pulled and pushed Gulliver. All of them were busy, all of them were funny. The sky and the ground were not important: the people in the picture said – no, shouted – that the person who had created them was an artist with the highest and most powerful talent.
Mendoza examined all the paintings and drawings and then returned them to Charlie. «Mr. Burtenshaw,» he said, «I am sorry to say that your work shows very little talent. Of course, you may continue to draw for your own entertainment, art can be a very interesting hobby. But you are hopeless as an artist. The best thing for you is to do as your mother says and go in for politics. I have nothing more to say. Good-bye.» He went to the door and opened it.
Charlie jumped up, his eyes full of tears, and without a word ran out of the studio. His mother followed him more slowly. As she passed Mendoza, she said, «I'd like to know what you really think of the pictures.»
«Madam,» said Mendoza, «I have done what we agreed. I didn't say that I would tell you what I really think.»
She laughed and went out. Mendoza opened the window and raised his hand once, and then again. Then he closed the window and went back to his work.
Notes
Mendoza [mэn'dзυzэ]
Burtenshaw ['bз:tn∫o:]
Gulliver ['gΛlivэ]
Examination Card # 10
MR. AND MRS. VINEGAR
(abridged)
(Mr. and Mrs. Vinegar. English Fairy Tales. – M.: Айрис-пресс, 2002. Pp. 17-20)
Mr. and Mrs. Vinegar lived in a vinegar bottle. The bottle was made of glass but it had a wooden door. One day Mrs. Vinegar was sweeping her house when the broom went right through the roof, and broken glass fell everywhere. She was very upset but Mr. Vinegar tried to comfort her.
«Let's go out into the world and seek our fortune,» said Mr. Vinegar. «I'll take the door and carry it with me on my back. It may be useful.»
√They walked all that day, and at night entered a thick forest. They were both very, very tired. Mrs. Vinegar did not want to sleep on the ground because she was afraid of wild animals.
So Mr. and Mrs. Vinegar climed a tree and set the door between the branches, like a platform. They both lay down on the door and fell asleep. In the middle of the night they were wakened by the loud voices of some men on the ground below. The men were robbers, and they had met to divide their money. Mr. and Mrs. Vinegar were very frightened and they trembled so much that the door fell to the ground. This gave the robbers a fright and they all ran away.
Poor Mr. and Mrs. Vinegar sat in the tree and held on to the branches until morning came. Then they climbed down. They lifted up the door and found forty golden guineas under it. They were very happy, and Mrs. Vinegar jumped for joy.√ Then they began to think what best to do with the money.
«Now, my dear,» said Mrs. Vinegar, «I'll tell you what to do. Take these forty guineas, go to the neighbouring town and buy a cow at the market. I can make butter and cheese, which you will sell, and then we shall make a fine living.»
Mr. Vinegar agreed, took the money and set out for the town. When Mr. Vinegar reached the market, he liked the very first cow he saw, which was a red one.
«I should be the happiest man in the world if I owned that cow,» said Mr. Vinegar. He offered all his forty guineas for the cow and the owner sold his cow gladly, because forty guineas was far more than it was worth.
So Mr. Vinegar went off with the cow. But Mr. Vinegar soon got tired of driving the cow along. He came to a man who was playing the bagpipes. People were listening and children were dancing as he played. Money fell into his cap when he held it out.
«I should be the happiest man in the world if I owned those bagpipes,» said Mr. Vinegar, so he offered his beautiful red cow in exchange for the bagpipes. The owner of the bagpipes agreed to take the cow and gave Mr. Vinegar the bagpipes.
So Mr. Vinegar went off with the bagpipes. But money did not fall into his cap when he held it out. He had no idea how to play the bagpipes and when he blew he only made the most terrible sounds. That frightened everybody away, and the children even threw stones at him.
As Mr. Vinegar walked along with the bagpipes under his arm, he felt very unhappy, and his hands got very cold. Then he passed a man with a fine, thick pair of gloves on his hands. And
Mr. Vinegar offered his bagpipies in exchange for the gloves. The owner of the gloves agreed.
So Mr. Vinegar put the gloves on his cold hands and went on his way. He had walked a long way now and was very tired. So when he met a man who was walking quickly with a good, strong stick in his hand, he offered his warm gloves in exchange for the stick. The owner of the stick agreed and took the gloves.
When at last Mr. Vinegar reached the forest where he had left his wife, a bird flew out of a tree and began to call out, «Ha, ha! Mr. Vinegar, you are a foolish man! You spent your forty guineas on a cow that wasn't worth ten. Then you changed the cow for bagpipes you couldn't play. Then you changed the bagpipes for a cheap pair of gloves. Then you changed the gloves for a poor stick.»
Mr. Vinegar got so angry when he heard the bird that he threw his stick up at it. But the stick stuck in the tree. So he went back to Mrs. Vinegar with nothing at all, and she beat him for it.
Notes
guinea ['gini] – гинея (= 21 шиллинг)
Examination Card # 11
MURDER! THE SOONER, THE BETTER
(extract)
(O. Wilde. Lord Arthur Savil’s Crime. O. Wilde. The Picture of Dorian Gray. Short Stories. – M.: Айрис-пресс, 2005. Pp. 158-160)
When Lord Arthur woke it was twelve o'clock. He got up and looked out of the window. It was a wet and hot day, and the roofs of the houses were like dull silver.
After breakfast, he lay down on a sofa and lit a cigarette. He was looking at a large photograph of Sybil Merton, as he had seen her first at the ball. The small, beautifully shaped head, the thin graceful neck, the parted lips – all the tender purity of girlhood looked out in wonder from the dreaming eyes.
Now as Lord Arthur looked at her, he was filled with the terrible pity that is born of love. He felt that to marry her, with the murder hanging over his head, would be a sin. What happiness could there be for them? The marriage must be put off. Of this he was quite sure. Lord Arthur was fully conscious of the fact that he had no right to marry until he had committed the murder. This done, he could stand before the altar with Sybil Merton, and give his life into her hands. This done, he could take her to his arms, knowing that she would never have to blush for him, never have to hang her head in shame. But it must be done first; and the sooner the better.
√There was more than passion in his love; and Sybil was to him a symbol of all that is good and noble. For a moment he had a strong feeling of dislike against what he was asked to do, but it soon passed away. His heart told him that it was not a sin, but a sacrifice. He knew that there was no other way for him. He had to choose between living for himself and living for others.
The only question that troubled him was whom to make away with. He was not a genius, so he had no enemies. So he made out a list of his friends and relatives, and after careful study, chose Lady Clementina Beauchamp who was his own second cousin by his mother's side. He had always been very fond of Lady Clem. In fact, the more he thought over the matter, the more she seemed to him to be just the right person. She was the oldest one and she lived in the nearest street to him.√
The first thing to be done was, of course, to send a cheque to Mr. Podgers. So he did. Then he looked at Sybil Merton's photograph, and swore that he would never let her know what he was doing for love. He would keep the secret of his self-sacrifice hidden always in his heart.
Then he went out to a flower shop and sent Sybil a beautiful basket of narcissi. He was going to spend some hours in the library studying books on Toxicology. He had fully decided that poison was the best means for this troublesome business. It was safe, sure, and quiet, and did away with any necessity for painful scenes, which, like most Englishmen, he hated.
Of the science of poisons, however, he knew absolutely nothing, and spent four hours studying endless books on that subject. Finally he found a book written in fairly clear English. It seemed to him to be exactly the poison he wanted. It was quick – indeed, almost immediate, in its effect – perfectly painless, and taken in the form of a gelatine capsule. Lord Arthur made a note, put the books back in their place, and went to Pestle and Humbey's, the great chemist's. Mr. Pestle was very much surprised. However, as soon as Lord Arthur explained to him that it was for a large Norwegian mastiff that he had to get rid of, because it was very aggressive, the poison was made immediately.
Lord Arthur put the capsule into a pretty little silver box and went at once to Lady Clementina's.
Notes
Sybil Merton ['sibil 'mз:tn]
This done – когда это будет сделано
Clementina Beauchamp [ֽklemэn'ti:nэ 'bi:t∫эm]
narcissi [nα:'sisai] – the plural of narcissus
Pestle and Humbey's ['pesl эnd 'hΛmbiz]
Examination Card # 12
THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY
(extract)
(O. Wilde. The Picture of Dorian Gray. – M.: Айрис-пресс, 2005. Pp. 66-68)
At last Dorian came home. He wanted to have a short rest in his bedroom and was going through the library towards the door of his bedroom. Suddenly his eye fell upon the portrait Basil Hallward had painted of him. Then he went on into his own room, looking puzzled.
Then he came back, went over to the picture, and examined it. There was something different about it, he thought. The face looked different. One would have said that there was a touch of cruelty in the mouth. It was certainly strange.
√He turned round and, walking to the window, drew up the curtain. The bright sunshine came into the room. But the strange expression that he had noticed in the face of the portrait was there. The sunlight showed him the lines of cruelty round the mouth as clearly as if he had been looking into a mirror after he had done some dreadful thing.
He took from the table an oval mirror and looked at his own face. No line like that on his red lips. What did it mean?
He rubbed his eyes, and came close to the picture, and examined it again. There were no signs of any change when he looked into the painting, and yet there was no doubt that the whole expression had changed.
He sat in the arm-chair and began to think. Suddenly he remembered what he had said in Basil Hallward’s studio the day the picture had been finished. Yes, he remembered it perfectly.√
He had said aloud a mad wish the he himself might remain young, and the portrait grow old; that his own beauty might last forever, and the face on the portrait bear the burden of his passions and his sins.
But such things were impossible. It seemed monstrous even to think of them. And, yet, there was the picture before him, with the touch of cruelty in the mouth. Cruelty! Had he been cruel? It was the girl’s fault, not his.
He had dreamed of her as a great artist, had given his love to her because he had thought her great. Then she disappointed him. And, yet, a feeling of infinite regret came over him, as he thought of her lying at his feet.
Why is he made like that? Why is such a soul given to him? But he suffered too. During the three terrible hours that the play had lasted, he had lived centuries of pain. Why should he trouble about Sibyl Vane? She was nothing to him now.
But the picture? What can he say of that? It held the secret of his life, and told his story. It had taught him to love his own beauty. Would it teach him to hate his own soul?
The portrait was watching him with its beautiful face and its cruel smile. Its blue eyes met his own. A sense of infinite pity, not for himself, but for the painted image of himself, came over him. It had changed already, and would change more. Its gold would turn into grey. Its red and white roses would die. For every sin. But he would not sin.
The picture, changed or unchanged, would be to him the visible emblem of conscience. He would resist temptation. He would not see Lord Henry any more – would not listen to his poisonous theories. He would go back to Sibyl Vane, marry her, try to love her again.
Yes, it was his duty to do so. She suffered more than he did. Poor child! He had been selfish and cruel to her. They would be happy together. His life with her would be beautiful.
He got up from his chair and looked at his portrait again. “How horrible!” he thought and he walked across to the window and opened it.
He thought only of Sibyl. His love came back to him. He repeated her name over and over again. The birds that were singing in the garden seemed to be telling the flowers about her.
Notes
Dorian ['do:riэn]
his eye fell upon – he saw
Basil Hallward ['beizil 'ho:lwэd]
as if he had been looking – как если бы он смотрел
bear the burden of his passions and his sins – нести печать его страстей и пороков
He would resist temptation – Он будет противостоять соблазну
Examination Card # 13
THE HAPPY COUPLES
(extract)
(D. Smith. The Hundred and One Dalmatians. – M.: Айрис-пресс, 2003. Pp. 5-7)
√Not long ago, there lived in London a young married couple of Dalmatian dogs named Pongo and Missis Pongo. They were lucky enough to own a young married couple of humans named Mr. and Mrs. Dearly, who were gentle, obedient, and unusually intelligent. They understood quite a number of barks: the barks for «Out, please!», «In, please!», «Hurry up with my dinner!», and «What about a walk?». And even when they could not undestand, they could often guess.
Mr. Dearly, who had an office in the City, was particularly good at arithmetic. Many people called him a wizard of finance. He had done the Government a great service (something to do with getting rid of the National Debt). Also the Government had lent him a small house on the Outer Circle of Regent's Park – just the right house for a man with a wife and dogs.√
Before their marriages, Mr. Dearly and Pongo had lived in a bachelor flat, where they were looked after by Mr. Dearly's old nurse, Nanny Butler. Mrs. Dearly and Missis had also lived in a bachelor flat where they were looked after by Mrs. Dearly's old nurse, Nanny Cook. The dogs and their pets met at the same time and shared a wonderfully happy double engagement. Neither of the Nannies was capable of running a smart little house in Regent's Park. Nanny Cook and Nanny Butler met and after a few minutes of suspicion, took a great liking to each other. And they had a good laugh about their names: «What a pity we're not a real cook and butler. That's what is needed now.»
And then they both together had a great idea: Nanny Cook would train to be a real cook and Nanny Butler would train to be a real butler.
And so when the Dearlys and the Pongos got back from their joint honeymoon, there were Nanny Cook and Nanny Butler, fully trained, ready to welcome them into the little house facing Regent's Park. And soon after that something even happier happened. Mrs. Dearly took Pongo and Missis across the park to St. John's Wood, where they called on their good friend, the Splendid Veterinary Surgeon. She came back with the wonderful news that the Pongos were shortly to become parents. Puppies were due in a month.
«Let us all go for a walk, to celebrate,» said Mr. Dearly, after hearing the good news; so off they all set along the Outer Circle. The Dearlys led the way. Then came the Pongos, looking noble. They had splendid heads, fine shoulders, strong legs, and striaght tails. The spots on their bodies were jet-black and mostly the size of a two-shilling piece; they had smaller spots on their heads, legs and tails. Their noses and eye-rims were black. They walked side by side with great dignity, only putting the Dearlys on the leash to lead them over crossings. Nanny Cook (plump) in her white overall and Nanny Butler (plumper) in a well-cut tail-coat and trousers completed the procession.
It was a beautiful September evening, windless, very peaceful. There were many sounds but no noises. Birds were singing their last song of the day. «I shall always remember the happy walk,» said Mr. Dearly. At the moment, the peace was broken by a motor-horn. A large car was coming towards them. It stopped at a big house just ahead of them and a tall woman came out on to the front-door steps. She was wearing an emerald satin dress, several ropes of rubies, and absolutely simple white mink cloak which reached to her ruby-red shoes. One part of her hair was black and the other white – rather unusual.
«Why, that's Cruella de Vil,» said Mrs. Dearly. «We were at school together. She was expelled for drinking ink.» The tall woman saw Mrs. Dearly and came down the steps to meet her. So Mrs. Dearly had to introduce Mr. Dearly.
«Come in and meet my husband,» said the tall woman. «I insist on your coming.»
The Nannies said they would get back and take the dogs with them but the tall woman said the dogs must come in, too. «They are so beautiful. I want my husband to see them,» she said.
Notes
Dalmatian [dæl'mei∫n]
understand barks – понимать по-собачьи
the Outer Circle of Regent's Park – внешнее кольцо Риджентс-парка
veterinary surgeon – ветеринарный врач
were due – должны были родиться
Cruella de Vil [krυ'elэ dэ 'vil]
Examination Card # 14
TWELFTH NIGHT
(extract)
(Ch. & M. Lamb. Tales from Shakespeare. – M.: Просвещение, 1984. Pp. 49-51)
√Sebastian and his sister Viola, a young gentleman and lady, were twins, and from their birth were so much like each other, that, but for the difference in their dress, they could not be known apart. They were both born in one hour, and in one hour, many years later they were both in danger of death, for the were shipwrecked on the coast of Illyria as they were making a sea-voyage together. The ship, on board of which they were, split on a rock in a great storm, and a very small number of the ship's company escaped with thier lives. The captain of the vessel, with a few of the sailors that were saved, got to land in a small boat, and with them they brought Viola safe on shore. But she, poor lady, instead of rejoycing at her own safety, began to weep for her brother's loss. The captain comforted her by telling her that he had seen her brother.√ He said that when the ship broke, Sebastian fastened himself to a strong mast. Then as long as he could see anything of him for the distance, he was floating above the waves. Viola was much comforted by the hope that this gave her. So she now decided to live in a strange country so far from home; and she asked the captain if he knew anything of Illyria. «Yes, very well, madame,» replied the captain, «for I was born not far from this place.»
«Who governs here?» said Viola.
The captain told her Illyria was governed by Orsino, a duke noble in nature as well as in state. Viola said she had heard her father speak of Orsino, and that he was unmarried then.
«And he is so now,» said the captain; «or was as very lately. For only a month ago, when I left Illyria it was the general talk that Orsino sought the love of fair Olivia, the daughter of a count who died twelve months ago. He left Olivia to the care of her brother, who shortly after died also. And for the love of this dear brother, they say, she has hidden herself from the sight and company of men.»
Viola, who was herself in great sorrow for her brother's loss, whished she could live with this lady, who so tenderly mourned a brother's death. She asked the captain if he could take her to Olivia, saying she would willingly serve this lady. But he replied this would be a hard thing to do, because the Lady Olivia would let no person enter her house since her brother's death, not even the duke himself. Then Viola formed another plan in her mind, which was, in a man's dress to serve the duke Orsino as a page. It was a strange fancy in a young lady to put on men's garments, and pass for a boy.
She had noticed that the captain showed a friendly care for her welfare; so she told him her plan, and he readily promised to help her. Viola gave him money, and asked him to get her clothes of the same colour and made in the same way as her brother Sebastian used to wear. And when she was dressed in her manly garments, she looked so exactly like her brother that some strange mistakes happened later.
Viola's good friend, the captain, when he had turned this pretty lady into a gentleman, having some friends at court, presented her to Orsino under the name of Cesario. The duke was wonderfully pleased with the appearance and speech of this handsome youth, and made Cesario one of his pages, as Viola wanted, and she so well fulfilled her duties, that she soon became his most favoured servant.
He neglected the company of the wise and learned lords with whom he used to spend his time, and was now all day long talking with young Cesario.
Notes
Sebastian [si'bæstjэn]
Viola ['vaiэlэ]
Illyria [i'liriэ]
escaped with thier lives – спаслись
Orsino [o:'si:nзυ]
in nature as well as in state – душой и кровью (происхождением)
sought the love of – добивается любви
Cesario [si'zα:riзυ]
Examination Card # 15
PETER TWO
(extract)
(I. Shaw. Peter Two. Short Stories to Read and Discuss. – Mн.: “Лексис”, 2001. Pp. 148-149)
It was Saturday night and people were killing each other by the hour on the small screen. Policemen were shot in the line of duty, gangsters were thrown off roofs, and an elderly lady was slowly poisoned for her pearls.
Peter sat in the big chair in front of the screen, his feet up over the arm, eating grapes. His mother wasn’t at home, so he ate the seeds and all as he stared critically at the violence before him. When his mother was around the fear of appendicitis hung in the air and she watched carefully to see that each seed was neatly extracted and placed in an ashtray. Too, if she were at home, there would be irritated little lectures on the quality of television entertainment for the young, and quick-tempered fiddling with the dials to find something that was vaguely defined as educational. Alone, daringly awake at eleven o’clock, Peter ground the seeds between his teeth, enjoying the impolite noise and the solitude and freedom of the empty house. √During the television commercials Peter closed his eyes and imagined himself hurling bottles at large unshaven men with pistols and walking slowly up dark stairways towards the door behind which everyone knew the Boss was waiting.
Peter was thirteen years old. In his class there were three other boys with the same given name, and the history teacher, who thought he was a funny man, called them Peter One, Peter Two (now eating grapes, seeds and all), Peter Three, and Peter the Great. Peter the Great was, of course, the smallest boy in the class. He weighed only sixty-two pounds, and he wore glasses, and in games he was always the last one to be chosen. The class always laughed when the history teacher called out “Peter the Great” and Peter Two laughed with them, but he didn’t think it was so awfully funny.√
He had done something pretty good for Peter the Great two weeks ago, and now they were what you might call friends. All the Peters were what you might call friends, on account of that comedian of a history teacher. They weren’t real friends, but they had something together, something the other boys didn’t have. They didn’t like it, but they had it, and it made them responsible for each other. So two weeks ago, when Charley Blaisdell, who weighed a hundred and twenty, took Peter the Great’s cap at recess and started horsing around with it, and Peter the Great looked as if he was going to cry, he, Peter Two, grabbed the cap and gave it back and faced Blaisdell. Of course, there was a fight, and Peter thought it was going to be the third defeat of the term, but a wonderful thing happened. In the middle of the fight just when Peter was hoping one of the teachers would show up (they sure showed up plenty of times when you didn’t need them), Blaisdell let a hard one go. Peter ducked and Blaisdell hit him on the top of the head and broke his arm. You could tell right off he broke his arm, because he fell to the ground yelling, and his arm just hung like a piece of string. Walters, the gym teacher, finally showed up and carried Blaisdell off, yelling all the time, and Peter the Great came up and said admiringly, “Boy, one thing you sure have to admit, you sure have a hard head.”
Blaisdell was out of class two days, and he still had his arm in the sling and every time he was excused from writing on the blackboard because he had a broken arm, Peter had a nice warm feeling all over. Peter the Great hung around him all the time, doing things for him and buying him sodas, because Peter the Great’s parents were divorced and gave him all the money he wanted, to make up to him. And that was O.K.
But the best thing was the feeling he’d had since the fight. It was like what the people on the television must feel after they’d gone into a room full of enemies and come out with the girl or with the papers, leaving corpses and desolation behind them.
Peter couldn’t phrase it for himself, but for the first time in his life he had a conscious feeling of confidence and pride in himself.
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