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Dick Whittington and his cat




Tales of cats that bring fortune to their owners can be found in cultures throughout the world. One of the most famous is the English legend of Dick Whittington, a poor orphan in the late 1300s, whose only possession was a cat. Dick worked in a rich traders house, but was ill treated and ran away. A pearl of bells tells him to return and he does so to find that his cat has been sold for a great fortune to a Moorish ruler who is plagued by rats.

The story of Dick Whittington and his cat is a familiar one to most schoolchildren. A poor orphan comes to London and finds work in the kitchens of a rich merchant- trader called Fitzwarren. One day Dick earns a penny by shining a rich man`s shoes and buys a cat to keep the vermin in his room at bay. Fitzwarren allows his employees to put one item on his ship that could be traded abroad. The employee will then get all the profits. Dick had nothing except his cat, and so he reluctantly gives up his pet.

 

STORM AT SEA

One day, Fitzwarren`s ship encounters a fierce storm and is blown into uncharted territory on the African Barbary coast. The Moorish king, dining with the captain, tells him that he will pay a fortune if anyone can rid him of a plague of rats. The captain, who has seen how Dick`s cat has rid the ship of vermin, gives the cat to the king. The cat immediately sets about its work and then goes to sit on the queen`s lap, purring. The king is so happy that he gives the captain gold and jewels worth ten times the value of the entire ship`s cargo. Dick becomes a rich man.

 

Exercise 10.

Interpret the text recording your interpretation, then translate in writing. Compare the translation and interpretation, comment on the differences.

 

The star had made seven enormously popular horror films, five of them talking pictures, and was being compared to the great American actor Lon Chaney. Yet nobody knew anything about Johann Ingersoll. There were no photographs of him except in the grotesque makeup he invented for each picture. His biography listed only his films. He never granted interviews and went to unusual lengths to protect his real identity. Adding further to his mystique was Ingersoll`s eccentric habit of arriving on the set each day in makeup and leaving the same way.

 

Exercise 11.

Read the Russian text and translate it into English. Pay attention to the translation of the Russian cultural idioms. Describe the structural changes and changes in the text content.

 

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, -.

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- , , - , , , , . , , , ; , .

, , ? , . , ? ! ; , ; - . , . , , , - : Il mio tesoro, Il mio tesoro, - , - , , - .

, , , , , . , . , , , , ( ), , , , , . , , ; , .

! , , , - , . - , - . , , !- , .

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- ? ?- , .

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, - .

? ? - . (. . )

 

Exercise 12.

Translate the text from English into Russian

Sigmund Wollman`s Reality Test

By Robert Fulghum

 

Angry? Before doing something really stupid, try

 

It was the summer of 1959. At a resort inn in Sierra Nevada of Northern California, I had a job that combined being the night desk clerk in the lodge and helping with the horse- wrangling at the stables. The owner- manager was Swiss, with European notions about conditions of employment. He and I did not get along. I thought he was a fascist who wanted peasant employees who knew their place. I was 22, just out of college, and pretty free with my opinions.

One week the employees had been served the same thing for lunch every single day. Two wieners, a mound of sauerkraut and stale rolls. To compound insult with injury, the cost of the meals was deducted from our paychecks. I was outraged.

On Friday night of that awful week, I was at my desk job around 11 p.m., and the night auditor had just come on duty. I went into the kitchen and saw a note to the chef to the effect that wieners and sauerkraut were on the employee menu for two more days.

That tore it. For lack of any better audience, I unloaded on the night auditor, Sigmund Wollman.

I declared that I had had it up to here, that I was going to get a plate of wieners and sauerkraut and wake up the owner and throw it at him. Nobody was going to make me eat wieners and sauerkraut for a whole week and make me pay for it and this was un- American and I did not like wieners and sauerkraut enough to eat them one day for God`s sake and the whole hotel stunk and I was packing my bags and heading for Montana where they never even heard of wieners and sauerkraut and wouldn`t feed that stuff to pigs. Something like that.

I raved on in this for 20 minutes. My monologue was delivered at the top of my lungs, punctuated by blows on the front desk with a fly swatter, the kicking of chairs and much profanity.

As I pitched my fit, Sigmund Wollman sat quietly on his stool, watching me with sorrowful eyes. Put a bloodhound in a suit and tie and you have Sigmund Wollman. He had good reason to look sorrowful. Survivor of Auschwitz. Three years. German Jew. Thin, coughed a lot. He liked being alone at the night job. It gave him intellectual space, peace and quiet, and, even more, he could go into the kitchen and have a snack whenever he wanted to all the wieners and sauerkraut he wished. To him, a feast. More than that, there was nobody around to tell him what to do. In Auschwitz he had dreamed of such time. The only person he saw at work was me, the nightly disturber of his dream. Our shifts overlapped an hour. And here I was, a one- man war party at full cry.

Listen, Fulchum. Listen me, listen me. You know what`s wrong with you? It`s not wieners and sauerkraut and it`s not the boss, and it`s not this job.

So what`s wrong with me?

Fulchum, you think you know everything, but you don`t know the difference between an inconvenience and a problem. If you break your neck, if you have nothing to eat, if you house is on fire- then you got a problem. Everything else is inconvenience. Life is inconvenient. Life is lumpy.

Learn to separate the inconveniences from the real problems. You will live longer. And will not annoy people like me so much. Good night.

In a gesture combining dismissal and blessing, he waved me off to bed.

Seldom in my life have I been hit between the eyes so hard with truth. There in that late- night darkness of a Sierra Nevada inn, Sigmund Wollman simultaneously kicked my butt and opened a window in my mind.

For 30 years now, in times of stress and strain, when something has me backed against the wall and I`m ready to do something really stupid with my anger, a sorrowful face appears in my mind and asks, Fulchum, problem or inconvenience?

I think of this as the Wollman`s test of Reality. Life is lumpy. And a lump in the oatmeal, a lump in the throat, and a lump in the breast are not the same lump. One should learn the difference. Good night, Sig.

Reader`s Digest. December 1993.

 

Exercise 13.

Translate the text into English paying special attention to the idioms. Try to find the suitable English equivalents.

 

, - , , , , 4 , 100 . .

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, . , , , .

, , , . . - , .

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, : .

 

Exercise 14.

Translate the sentences into English

1. , .

2. , , , , , , , , , .

3. .

4. , , .

5. , , .

6. , , , .

7. - , , .

8. , - .

9. , - . , .

- : .

 

Exercises 15





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