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КПВ, Тур 127 (Март 2014)
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| Николай | Дата: Понедельник, 10.02.2014, 09:31 | Сообщение # 1 |
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Собеседник Века
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| Всем большой привет! Зашел я-таки на ентот ваш силквайр. Мартовский отрывок еще не подбирали? Тогда у меня предложение - взять вот этот:
PARKER slid softly from the room. Derek Underhill sat down at the table. He was a strikingly handsome man, with a strong, forceful face, dark, lean, and cleanly shaven. He was one of those men whom a stranger would instinctively pick out of a crowd as worthy of note. His only defect was that his heavy eyebrows gave him at times an expression which was a little forbidding. Women, however, had never been repelled by it. He was very popular with women, not quite so popular with men—always excepting Freddie Rooke, who worshiped him. They had been at school together, though Freddie was the younger by several years.
“Finished, Freddie?” asked Derek.
Freddie smiled wanly. “We are not breakfasting this morning,” he replied. “The spirit was willing, but the jolly old flesh would have none of it. To be perfectly frank, the Last of the Rookes has a bit of a head.”
“Ass!” said Derek.
“A bit of sympathy,” said Freddie, pained, “would not be out of place! We are far from well! Some person unknown has put a threshing machine inside the old bean and substituted a piece of brown paper for our tongue! Things look dark and yellow and wobbly!”
“You shouldn’t have overdone it last night.”
“It was Algy Martyn’s birthday,” pleaded Freddie.
“If I were an ass like Algy Martyn,” said Derek, “I wouldn’t go about advertising the fact that I’d been born. I’d hush it up!”
HE helped himself to a plentiful portion of kedgeree, Freddie watching him with repulsion mingled with envy. When he began to eat, the spectacle became too poignant for the sufferer, and he wandered to the window.
“What a beast of a day!”
It was an appalling day. January, that grim month, was treating London with its usual severity. Early in the morning a bank of fog had rolled up off the river, and was deepening from pearly white to a lurid brown. It pressed on the windowpane like a blanket, leaving dark, damp rivulets on the glass.
“Awful!” said Derek.
“Your mater’s train will be late.”
“Yes. Damned nuisance. It’s bad enough meeting trains in any case, without having to hang about a drafty station for an hour.”
“And it’s sure, I should imagine,” went on Freddie, pursuing his train of thought, “to make the dear old thing pretty tolerably ratty, if she has one of those slow journeys.” He pottered back to the fireplace and rubbed his shoulders reflectively against the mantelpiece. “I take it that you wrote to her about Jill?”
“Of course. That’s why she’s coming over, I suppose. By the way, you got those seats for that theatre to-night?”
“Yes. Three together and one somewhere on the outskirts. If it’s all the same to you, old thing, I’ll have the one on the outskirts.”
Derek, who had finished his kedgeree and was now making himself a blot on Freddie’s horizon with toast and marmalade, laughed.
“What a rabbit you are, Freddie! Why on earth are you so afraid of mother?”
Freddie looked at him as a timid young squire might have gazed upon St. George when the latter set out to do battle with the dragon. He was of the amiable type which makes heroes of its friends. In the old days, when he had fagged for him at Winchester, he had thought Derek the most wonderful person in the world, and this view he still retained. Indeed, subsequent events had strengthened it. Derek had done the most amazing things since leaving school. He had had a brilliant career at Oxford, and now, in the House of Commons, was already looked upon by the leaders of his party as one to be watched and encouraged. He played polo superlatively well, and was a fine shot. But of all his gifts and qualities the one that extorted Freddie’s admiration in its intensest form was his lion-like courage, as exemplified by his behavior in the present crisis. There he sat, placidly eating toast and marmalade, while the boat train containing Lady Underhill already sped on its way from Dover to London. It was like Drake playing bowls with the Spanish Armada in sight.
“I wish I had your nerve!” he said, awed. “What I should be feeling, if I were in your place and had to meet your mater after telling her that I was engaged to marry a girl she had never seen, I don’t know. I’d rather face a wounded tiger!”
“Idiot!” said Derek placidly.
“Not,” pursued Freddie, “that I mean to say anything in the least derogatory and so forth to your jolly old mater, if you understand me, but the fact remains she scares me pallid! Always has, ever since the first time I went to stay at your place when I was a kid. I can still remember catching her eye the morning I happened by pure chance to bung an apple through her bedroom window, meaning to let a cat on the sill below have it in the short ribs. She was at least thirty feet away, but, by Jove, it stopped me like a bullet!”
“Push the bell, old man, will you? I want some more toast.”
Freddie did as he was requested with growing admiration.
“The condemned man made an excellent breakfast,” he murmured. “More toast, Parker,” he said, as that admirable servitor opened the door. “Gallant. That’s what I call it. Gallant!”
Derek tilted his chair back. “Mother is sure to like Jill when she sees her,” he said.
“When she sees her! Ah! But the trouble is, young-feller-me-lad, that she hasn’t seen her! That’s the weak spot in your case, old companion! A month ago she didn’t know of Jill’s existence. Now, you know and I know that Jill is one of the best and brightest. As far as we are concerned, everything in the good old garden is lovely. Why, dash it, Jill and I were children together! Sported side by side on the green, and what not! I remember Jill, when she was twelve, turning the garden hose on me and knocking about 75 per cent off the market value of my best Sunday suit. That sort of thing forms a bond, you know, and I’ve always felt that she was a corker. But your mater’s got to discover it for herself. It’s a dashed pity, by Jove, that Jill hasn’t a father or a mother or something of that species to rally round just now. They would form a gang. There’s nothing like a gang! But she’s only got that old uncle of hers. A rummy bird! Met him?”
“Several times. I like him.”
“Oh, he’s a genial old buck all right. A very bonhomous lad! But you hear some pretty queer stories about him if you get among people who knew him in the old days. Even now I’m not so dashed sure I would care to play cards with him. Young Threepwood was telling me only the other day that the old boy took thirty quid off him at picquet as clean as a whistle. And Jimmy Monroe, who’s on the Stock Exchange, says he’s frightfully busy these times buying margins or whatever it is chappies do down in the city. Margins. That’s the word. Jimmy made me buy some myself on a thing called Amalgamated Dyes. I don’t understand the procedure exactly, but Jimmy says it’s a sound egg and will do me a bit of good. What was I talking about? Oh, yes, old Selby. There’s no doubt he’s quite a sportsman. But till you’ve got Jill well established, you know, I shouldn’t enlarge on him too much with the mater.”
“On the contrary,” said Derek. “I shall mention him at the first opportunity. He knew my father out in India.”
“Did he, by Jove! Oh, well, that makes a difference.”
Вот отсюда:
http://www.madameulalie.org/colliers/Little_Warrior_1.html
Традиционный вопрос - кто "за", кто "против"?
Сообщение отредактировал Николай - Пятница, 28.02.2014, 09:18 |
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| Mrs_HOPe | Дата: Понедельник, 10.02.2014, 12:11 | Сообщение # 2 |
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Птица Говорун
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| +1 :D. Как же здорово, что Вы здесь! Теперь, конкурсу точно быть.
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| Bran | Дата: Понедельник, 10.02.2014, 14:23 | Сообщение # 3 |
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Молчун
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| Привет!  Прекрасный отрывок, damned lot of challenge. Только не великоват ли? Не у всех хватит времени. Может, убрать последнюю часть, начиная с "PARKER entered with the toast"?
силквайр для всех!
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| vera | Дата: Понедельник, 10.02.2014, 15:36 | Сообщение # 4 |
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Собеседник Века
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| Привет, рада, что Вы здесь,сразу стало веселее. Конечно, ЗА.
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| Lizzy | Дата: Понедельник, 10.02.2014, 18:02 | Сообщение # 5 |
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| Николай, очень рада, что у Вас всё получилось 
Дурак учится на своих ошибках, умный — на чужих, а мудрый использует опыт и тех, и других себе на пользу.
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| Николай | Дата: Пятница, 14.02.2014, 09:29 | Сообщение # 6 |
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Собеседник Века
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| Если отрывок принимается, давайте определимся с объемом. Кто за предложение Branа выкинуть последнюю треть?
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| Mrs_HOPe | Дата: Пятница, 14.02.2014, 10:55 | Сообщение # 7 |
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Птица Говорун
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| Цитата Кто за предложение Branа выкинуть последнюю треть?
Я не против длинного, но можно и укоротить, если большинству участников, так будет удобнее.
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| Lizzy | Дата: Пятница, 14.02.2014, 11:49 | Сообщение # 8 |
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Живое Слово
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| И я за уплотнение, так будет лучше.
Дурак учится на своих ошибках, умный — на чужих, а мудрый использует опыт и тех, и других себе на пользу.
Сообщение отредактировал Lizzy - Пятница, 14.02.2014, 13:20 |
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| Fleur_dorange | Дата: Вторник, 25.02.2014, 18:29 | Сообщение # 9 |
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| Николай, здравствуйте! Я за более короткий вариант. Тоже в душе боялась, что если Вы срочно не найдётесь, то будут сложности с выбором следующего отрывка. Ура, теперь отлегло :-)
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| old_barb | Дата: Четверг, 27.02.2014, 00:17 | Сообщение # 10 |
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| Всем привет
Знаете, давно не было чего-нибудь романтического, с девушками и флиртом...
Осмелюсь - если еще не поздно - предложить небольшой кусочек из своей любимой "Приключения Салли" - момент, когда Салли знакомится с Рыжиком:
From the first moment she had set out on her travels, it had been one of Sally's principal amusements to examine the strangers whom chance threw in her way and to try by the light of her intuition to fit them out with characters and occupations: nor had she been discouraged by an almost consistent failure to guess right. Out of the corner of her eye she inspected these two men.
The first of the pair did not attract her. He was a tall, dark man whose tight, precise mouth and rather high cheeks bones gave him an appearance vaguely sinister. He had the dusky look of the clean-shaven man whose life is a perpetual struggle with a determined beard. He certainly shaved twice a day, and just as certainly had the self-control not to swear when he cut himself. She could picture him smiling nastily when this happened.
"Hard," diagnosed Sally. "I shouldn't like him. A lawyer or something, I think."
She turned to the other and found herself looking into his eyes. This was because he had been staring at Sally with the utmost intentness ever since his arrival. His mouth had opened slightly. He had the air of a man who, after many disappointments, has at last found something worth looking at.
"Rather a dear," decided Sally.
He was a sturdy, thick-set young man with an amiable, freckled face and the reddest hair Sally had ever seen. He had a square chin, and at one angle of the chin a slight cut. And Sally was convinced that, however he had behaved on receipt of that wound, it had not been with superior self-control.
"A temper, I should think," she meditated. "Very quick, but soon over. Not very clever, I should say, but nice."
She looked away, finding his fascinated gaze a little embarrassing.
The dark man, who in the objectionably competent fashion which, one felt, characterized all his actions, had just succeeded in lighting a cigarette in the teeth of a strong breeze, threw away the match and resumed the conversation, which had presumably been interrupted by the process of sitting down.
"And how is Scrymgeour?" he inquired.
"Oh, all right," replied the young man with red hair absently. Sally was looking straight in front of her, but she felt that his eyes were still busy.
"I was surprised at his being here. He told me he meant to stay in Paris."
There was a slight pause. Sally gave the attentive poodle a piece of nougat.
"I say," observed the red-haired young man in clear, penetrating tones that vibrated with intense feeling, "that's the prettiest girl I've seen in my life!"
At this frank revelation of the red-haired young man's personal opinions, Sally, though considerably startled, was not displeased. A broad-minded girl, the outburst seemed to her a legitimate comment on a matter of public interest. The young man's companion, on the other hand, was unmixedly shocked.
"My dear fellow!" he ejaculated.
"Oh, it's all right," said the red-haired young man, unmoved. "She can't understand. There isn't a bally soul in this dashed place that can speak a word of English. If I didn't happen to remember a few odd bits of French, I should have starved by this time. That girl," he went on, returning to the subject most imperatively occupying his mind, "is an absolute topper! I give you my solemn word I've never seen anybody to touch her. Look at those hands and feet. You don't get them outside France. Of course, her mouth is a bit wide," he said reluctantly.
Sally's immobility, added to the other's assurance concerning the linguistic deficiencies of the inhabitants of Roville, seemed to reassure the dark man. He breathed again. At no period of his life had he ever behaved with anything but the most scrupulous correctness himself, but he had quailed at the idea of being associated even remotely with incorrectness in another. It had been a black moment for him when the red-haired young man had uttered those few kind words.
"Still you ought to be careful," he said austerely.
He looked at Sally, who was now dividing her attention between the poodle and a raffish-looking mongrel, who had joined the party, and returned to the topic of the mysterious Scrymgeour.
"How is Scrymgeour's dyspepsia?"
The red-haired young man seemed but faintly interested in the vicissitudes of Scrymgeour's interior.
"Do you notice the way her hair sort of curls over her ears?" he said. "Eh? Oh, pretty much the same, I think."
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| Mrs_HOPe | Дата: Четверг, 27.02.2014, 22:58 | Сообщение # 11 |
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Птица Говорун
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| Интересный отрывок. Может на апрель?
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| vera | Дата: Пятница, 28.02.2014, 06:29 | Сообщение # 12 |
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Собеседник Века
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| Хорошее решение. Давайте на март укороченный певый плюс стихотворение,если не забыли,а на апрель-второй. У Вудхауза нет неинтересных отрывков.Может, будет больше участников.
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| Николай | Дата: Пятница, 28.02.2014, 09:19 | Сообщение # 13 |
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Собеседник Века
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| +1
Джилл я подсократил. Переводим нынешний вариант.
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| Lizzy | Дата: Пятница, 28.02.2014, 22:28 | Сообщение # 14 |
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Живое Слово
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| Как хорошо для тех, кто в поэзии не бум-бум 
Дурак учится на своих ошибках, умный — на чужих, а мудрый использует опыт и тех, и других себе на пользу.
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| Лутоня | Дата: Понедельник, 03.03.2014, 10:24 | Сообщение # 15 |
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Молчун
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| Здравствуйте!
Я сам не местный, потому не подскажете ли: куда слать перевод и какой стих переводить?
Зарание спасибо за ответ и простите за тупость 
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