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- - By deicu Date 2011-02-06 17:40
Если я правильно поняла, нам теперь надо набросать отрывков, чтобы не пропустить ни одного месяца, и плюс один стихотворный на два месяца. Стих, если я правильно поняла, уже предложили: http://www.madameulalie.org/punch/For_One_Night_Only.html, осталось решить: февраль-март, март-апрель или апрель-май. Может быть, имеет смысл дождаться купершмидт и снова попросить рецензировать, соответственно подогнать конкурс.

Теперь о прозаических отрывках. У кого какие идеи? Что-нибудь у нашей бесценной Юлалии? Вообще я предлагаю захватить побольше разных циклов и жанров, устроить что-то вроде обзора творчества ПГВ, а то в последнее время мы немножко увлеклись ранним Вудхаузом. Понятно, непереведенный интереснее, но надо подумать и о стилевом разнообразии наших конкурсов.

Бландингс, J&W, Муллинер вроде все охвачены, но всегда можно подобрать еще отрывочек. Пародии? В "The Globe" был сногсшибательный роман с продолжением, в Rare Plums он есть. LyoSHICK, Вы, как лучший защитник астигматизма, гляньте, а? Что еще может быть? Пьесы были, отрывки из мюзиклов были. Публицистика? В общем, надо всем подумать.

Для затравки брошу отрывочек из "Much Obliged, Jeeves". Не настаиваю, чтобы его принять, но как материал для размышления годится и он - беседуют Дживс и Берти, каждый в своем неповторимом стиле, цитаты льются рекой (все названы, искать практически нечего), жаргонные выражения на любителя...
Parent - - By deicu Date 2011-02-06 17:43
P.G. Wodehouse. "Much Obliged, Jeeves". Chapter 12.

   Her departure - at, I should estimate, some sixty m.p.h. – left behind it the sort of quivering stillness you get during hurricane time in America, when the howling gale, having shaken you  to  the back teeth, passes on to tickle up residents in spots further west. Kind of a dazed feeling it gives you. I turned to Jeeves, and found him, of course, as serene and unmoved as an oyster  on  the  half shell. He might have been watching yowling aunts shoot out of rooms like bullets from early boyhood.
   'What was that she said, Jeeves?'
   'Yoicks, sir, if I am not mistaken. It seemed to me that Madam also added Tally-ho, Gone away and Hark forrard.'
   'I suppose members of the Quorn and the Pytchley are saying that sort of thing all the time.'
   'So I understand, sir. It encourages the hounds to renewed efforts. It must, of course, be trying for the fox.'
   'I'd hate to be a fox, wouldn't you, Jeeves?'
   'Certainly I can imagine more agreeable existences, sir.'
   'Not only being chivvied for miles across difficult country but having to listen to men in top hats uttering those uncouth cries.'
   'Precisely, sir. A very wearing life.'
   I produced my cambric handkerchief and gave the brow a mop. Recent events had caused me to perspire in the manner popularized by the fountains at Versailles.
   'Warm work, Jeeves.'
   'Yes, sir.'
   'Opens the pores a bit.'
   'Yes, sir.'
   'How quiet everything seems now.'
   'Yes, sir. Silence like a poultice comes to heal the blows of sound.'
   'Shakespeare?'
   'No, sir. The American author Oliver Wendell Holmes. His poem, "The Organ Grinders". An aunt of mine used to read it to me as a child.'
   'I didn't know you had any aunts.'
   'Three, sir.'
   'Are they as jumpy as the one who has just left us?'
   'No, sir. Their outlook on life is uniformly placid.'
   I had  begun to feel a bit more placid myself. Calmer, if you know  what  I mean. And with the calm had come more charitable thoughts.
   'Well, I don't blame the aged relative for being jumpy,' I said. 'She's all tied up with an enterprise of pith and something.'
   'Of great pith and moment, sir?'
   'That's right.'
   'Let us hope that its current will not turn awry and lose the name of action.'
   'Yes, let's. Turn what?'
   'Awry, sir.'
   'Don't you mean agley?'
   'No, sir.'
   'Then it isn't the poet Burns?'
   'No, sir. The words occur in Shakespeare's drama Hamlet.'
   'Oh, I know Hamlet. Aunt Agatha once made me take her son Thos to it at the Old Vic. Not a bad show, I thought, though a bit highbrow. You're sure the poet Burns didn't write it?'
   'Yes, sir. The fact, I understand, is well established.'
   'Then that settles that. But we have wandered from the point, which  is that Aunt Dahlia is up to her neck in this enterprise of great pith and moment. It's about Tuppy Glossop.'
   'Indeed, sir?'
   'It ought  to interest you, because I know you've always liked Tuppy.'
   'A very pleasant young gentleman, sir.'
   'When he isn't looping back the last ring over the Drones swimming-pool, yes. Well, it's too long a story to tell you at the moment, but the gist of it is this. L. P. Runkle, taking advantage of a legal quibble ... is it quibble?'
   'Yes, sir.'
   'Did down Tuppy's father over a business deal...  no, not exactly a business deal, Tuppy's father was working for him, and he took advantage of the small print in their contract to rob him of the proceeds of something he had invented.'
   'It is often the way, sir. The financier is apt to prosper at the expense of the inventor.'
   'And Aunt Dahlia is hoping to get him to cough up a bit of cash and slip it to Tuppy.'
   'Actuated by remorse, sir?'
   'Not just by remorse. She's relying more on the fact that for quite a time he has been under the spell of Anatole's cooking, and she feels that this will have made him a softer and kindlier financier, readier to oblige and do the square thing. You look dubious, Jeeves. Don't you think it will work? She's sure it will.'
   'I wish I could share Madam's confidence, but -'
   'But, like  me,  you look on her chance of playing on L. P. Runkle as on a stringed instrument as ... what? A hundred to eight shot?'
   'A somewhat longer price than that, sir. We have to take into consideration the fact that Mr Runkle is ...'
   'Yes? You hesitate, Jeeves, Mr Runkle is what?'
   'The expression I am trying to find eludes me, sir. It is one I have sometimes heard you use to indicate a deficiency of sweetness and light in some gentleman of your acquaintance. You have employed it of Mr Spode or, as I should say, Lord Sidcup and, in the days before your association with him took on its present cordiality, of Mr Glossop's uncle, Sir Roderick. It is on the tip of my tongue.'
   'A stinker?'
   No, he said, it wasn't a stinker.
   'A tough baby?'
   'No.'
   'A twenty-minute egg?'
   'That was it, sir. Mr Runkle is a twenty-minute egg.'
Parent - - By deicu Date 2011-02-06 17:46
Великие умы сходятся - LyoSHICK предлагает на февраль: http://www.madameulalie.org/vfus/Perfectly_Furious.html (сам отрывок в топике "90-е", но он и так разбух).
Parent - By LyoSHICK Date 2011-02-06 18:24
Вот правильно я призываю аккуратнее использовать личные местоимения...
Parent - - By LyoSHICK Date 2011-02-06 18:34
А насчет "Women, Wine and Song"...
"CHAPTER XXXMMMCCCIII"...
AUTHOR OF “THE BLOOD THAT DRIPPED ON THE DOORMAT,” “THE SCREAM IN
BELGRAVE SQUARE,” “THE VAMPIRE OF BODGER’S ALLEY.”

Понимаю, понимаю. Как бы это вот организовать-то...
12 глав - 12 месяцев? )
Parent - By deicu Date 2011-02-14 15:35
Думаю, что все переводить не надо, а вот (если на Ваш взгляд покажется интересным) собрать отрывок на конкурс из 2-3-4 серий... Или ладно уж. Сейчас перечитала - слишком толстый слой шоколада получается...
Parent - - By LyoSHICK Date 2011-02-06 18:22
deicu:

>
> Бландингс, J&W, Муллинер вроде все охвачены, но всегда можно подобрать
> еще отрывочек. Пародии? В "The Globe" был сногсшибательный роман с
> продолжением, в Rare Plums он есть. LyoSHICK, Вы, как лучший защитник
> астигматизма, гляньте, а? Что еще может быть? Пьесы были, отрывки из
> мюзиклов были. Публицистика? В общем, надо всем подумать.


Мюзиклов да, хватит надолго.
Стихи Юлали выкладывает без передышки.
Публицистика? Трудно определить границы (хотя, наверное, и не стоит).*
Маленькие целиковые (относительно ранние - 1915) в американской Vanity Fair - сколько угодно.**
Отрывки из крупных форм - это к специалистам.
Полезу в  "The Globe"...

-----
* и ** Вот это вот - публицистика?

A School for Movie Villains
BY Pelham Grenville
Vanity Fair, October 1915

THE school which I propose to found for the benefit of a small but deserving section of the community will have as its object the education of moving-picture villains in the difficult art of killing moving-picture heroines. The scheme deserves, and will doubtless command, public sympathy and support, for we all want moving-picture heroines killed. Is there one amongst us who would not have screamed with joy if Pauline had perished in the second reel or the Clutching Hand had massacred that princess of bores, Elaine? But these pests carried on a charmed life simply because the villain, with the best intentions, did not know the proper way to go about the job.

You and I, gentle reader, when circumstances or some whim compel us to slay a female acquaintance, just borrow a revolver and a few cartridges and do the thing in some odd five minutes of the day when we are not at the office or watching a ball-game. We don't worry about art and technique and scientific methods; we just go and do it. But the villain suffers from a fatal ingenuity. Somewhere back in the past the old folks at home must have told him that he was clever, and it has absolutely spoiled him for effective work.

Ingenuity is a good thing in its way, but he overdoes it.

He is a human Goldberg cartoon. A hundred times he manoeuvred his victim into a position where one good dig with a knife or a carefully directed revolver shot would eliminate her forever, to the great contentment of all, and then, the chump, he goes and spoils it all by being too ingenious. It never occurs to him to point the pistol at the girl and pull the trigger. The only way he can imagine doing the thing is to tie the girl to a chair, erect a tripod, place a revolver on it, point it at her, tie a string to the trigger, pass the string round the walls of the room till it rests on a hook, attach another string to it, pass this over a hook, tie a brick to the end of the second string, and light a candle under it. He has got the whole thing reasoned out. The candle will burn the string, the brick will fall, the weight will tighten the first string, thus pulling the trigger, and there you are. Of course, somebody comes along and blows the candle out.



THE keynote of the curriculum in my proposed school will be a rigid attention to simplicity and directness. The pupil will start at the beginning by learning how to swat flies. From this he will work up through the animal kingdom in easy stages till he arrives at movie heroines; and by the time he graduates, the Elaines and Paulines will be climbing trees and pulling them up after them to avoid the man, for by then he will be really dangerous.

The great difficulty will be to exorcise that infernal ingenuity of his. His natural impulse, when called upon to kill a fly, would, of course, be to saw away the supports of the floor till a touch would break it down, tie a string across the doorway, and send the fly an anonymous letter urging him to come to the room at once in order to hear of something to his advantage—the idea being that the fly, hurrying to the room, would trip over the string, fall on the floor, and tumble with it into the depths, breaking his neck. That, to the villain's mind, is not merely the simplest—it is the only way of killing flies, and the hardest task facing the instructors at the school will be to persuade him that excellent results may be achieved with a rolled-up newspaper.

Once, however, he had grasped it, his progress ought to be rapid. Should he by chance succeed in slaying Pauline or Elaine or Genevieve or Gladys, he knows the gratitude which will pour out toward him from a million hearts which are aching to have the infernal serial finished and get on to the Charley Chaplin stuff.

But we must not be too optimistic. Success, however desirable, is at present far away, and can only be reached with patience. A villain with those ideas will not learn in a day that the quickest method of killing a heroine is to decoy the girl down a dark alley and lean a couple of feet of gas-pipe against her Irene Castle bang, but he may come to learn it in time, and it is with that hope that I am founding my school.
Parent - - By Nikolai Date 2011-02-06 18:49
Интересно, я этот рассказик в другой версии встречал - если не ошибаюсь 'Do Thrillers Need Heroines?'. В 'Moscow News' он, по-моему, без Чаплина шел.
Parent - - By LyoSHICK Date 2011-02-06 20:27 Edited 2011-02-06 20:54
ОФФ для справки:
Единственный доступный (мне) отрывок из 'Do Thrillers Need Heroines?' выглядит так:

“For, though beautiful, with large grey eyes and hair the colour of ripe corn, the heroine of the thriller is almost never a very intelligent girl.  Indeed, it would scarcely be overstating it to say that her mentality is that of cockroach-and not an ordinary cockroach, at that but one which has been dropped on its head as a baby.  She may have escaped death a dozen times.   She may know perfectly well that notorious Blackbird Gang is after her to secure the papers.  The police may have warned her on no account to stir outside her house.  But when a messenger calls at half-past two in the morning with an unsigned note saying ‘Come at one,’ she just snatches her hat and goes.  The messenger is one-eyed Chinaman with a pock-marred face and evil grin, so she trusts his immediately and, having accompanied him to the closed car with steel shutters over the windows, bowls off in it to the ruined cottage in the swamp.  And when the hero,
At great risk and inconvenience to himself, comes to rescue her, show will have nothing to do with him because she has been told by a mulatto with half a nose that it was he who murdered her brother Jim.”

Еще ОФФ для справки: героини для триллера предлагались лет семь назад:
http://wodehouse.ru/cgi/mwf/topic_show.pl?tid=797
Parent - - By Nikolai Date 2011-02-08 03:24
Еще один ОФФ для справки - кому любопытно, Героинь целиком можно прочесть целиком с комментариями и параллельным русским текстом в газете 'Moscow News' № 24 за 2002.
Parent - By LyoSHICK Date 2011-02-08 12:31
'MN' не нашел, но текст добыл-таки.
Да... В окончательном виде это стало 'Thrillers' из сборника 'Louder and Funnier' (http://wodehouse.ru/46.htm) 1932 года.
И переведено-перепереведено...

Вот что значит пропустить праздничный ужин...
Parent - - By купершмидт Date 2011-02-13 14:23
купершмидт пришёл и рецензировать всегда рад. Можете на меня рассчитывать. я могу взять на себя стихотворные конкурсы, если Вы мне доверяете. Только на стихи действительно надо два месяца.
Parent - - By deicu Date 2011-02-14 15:39
Вот и хорошо, когда есть кому рецензировать, да еще столь подробно и основательно. :) Ну тогда, как LyoSHICK предлагал, стихотворный конкурс завершить к 1 апреля? Не поздновато его объявить на февраль-март? Или пусть март-апрель. В любом случае параллельно вести прозаические конкурсы.
Parent - - By deicu Date 2011-03-01 17:46
Еще один камень. Автобиографический отрывок, как ПГВ начинал журналистом. Он работал в журнальчике "The Globe" (который в данном отрывке слегка замаскирован под название "Orb") и, надо полагать, создал свою версию, как это делается. Это не из автобиографии, которую и без нас перевела Н.Л. Трауберг, а из малоизвестного раннего романа (и очевидной пародии, я лично считаю) "Not George Washington", начало 5 главы. Сами тесты из "The Globe" есть у Юлалии, и можно сравнить.

After the first week "On Your Way," on the _Orb_, offered hardly any difficulty. The source of material was the morning papers, which were placed in a pile on our table at nine o'clock. The halfpenny papers were our principal support. Gresham and I each took one, and picked it clean. We attended first to the Subject of the Day. This was generally good for two or three paragraphs of verbal fooling. There was a sort of tradition that the first half-dozen paragraphs should be topical. The rest might be topical or not, as occasion served.

The column usually opened with a one-line pun--Gresham's invention.

Gresham was a man of unparalleled energy and ingenuity. He had created several of the typical characters who appeared from time to time in "On Your Way," as, for instance, Mrs. Jenkinson, our Mrs. Malaprop, and Jones junior, our "howler" manufacturing schoolboy. He was also a stout apostle of a mode of expression which he called "funny language." Thus, instead of writing boldly: "There is a rumour that----," I was taught to say, "It has got about that----." This sounds funnier in print, so Gresham said. I could never see it myself.

Gresham had a way of seizing on any bizarre incident reported in the morning papers, enfolding it in "funny language," adding a pun, and thus making it his own. He had a cunning mastery of periphrasis, and a telling command of adverbs.

Here is an illustration. An account was given one morning by the Central news of the breaking into of a house at Johnsonville (Mich.) by a negro, who had stolen a quantity of greenbacks. The thief, escaping across some fields, was attacked by a cow, which, after severely injuring the negro, ate the greenbacks.

Gresham's unacknowledged version of the episode ran as follows:

"The sleepy god had got the stranglehold on John Denville when Caesar Bones, a coloured gentleman, entered John's house at Johnsonville (Mich.) about midnight. Did the nocturnal caller disturb his slumbering host? No. Caesar Bones has the finer feelings. But as he was noiselessly retiring, what did he see? Why, a pile of greenbacks which John had thoughtlessly put away in a fire-proof safe."

To prevent the story being cut out by the editor, who revised all the proofs of the column, with the words "too long" scribbled against it, Gresham continued his tale in another paragraph.

"'Dis am berry insecure,' murmured the visitor to himself, transplanting the notes in a neighbourly way into his pocket. Mark the sequel. The noble Caesar met, on his homeward path, an irritable cudster. The encounter was brief. Caesar went weak in the second round, and took the count in the third. Elated by her triumph, and hungry from her exertions, the horned quadruped nosed the wad of paper money and daringly devoured it. Caesar has told the court that if he is convicted of felony, he will arraign the owner of the ostrich-like bovine on a charge of receiving stolen goods. The owner merely ejaculates 'Black male!'"

On his day Gresham could write the column and have a hundred lines over by ten o'clock. I, too, found plenty of copy as a rule, though I continued my practice of doing a few paragraphs overnight. But every now and then fearful days would come, when the papers were empty of material for our purposes, and when two out of every half-dozen paragraphs which we did succeed in hammering out were returned deleted on the editor's proof.

The tension at these times used to be acute. The head printer would send up a relay of small and grubby boys to remind us that "On Your Way" was fifty lines short. At ten o'clock he would come in person, and be plaintive.

Gresham, the old hand, applied to such occasions desperate remedies. He would manufacture out of even the most pointless item of news two paragraphs by adding to his first the words, "This reminds us of Mr. Punch's famous story." He would then go through the bound volumes of _Punch_--we had about a dozen in the room--with lightning speed until he chanced upon a more or less appropriate tag.

Those were mornings when verses would be padded out from three stanzas to five, Gresham turning them out under fifteen minutes. He had a wonderful facility for verse.

As a last expedient one fell back upon a standing column, a moth-eaten collection of alleged jests which had been set up years ago to meet the worst emergencies. It was, however, considered a confession of weakness and a degradation to use this column.

We had also in our drawer a book of American witticisms, published in New York. To cut one out, preface it with "A good American story comes to hand," and pin it on a slip was a pleasing variation of the usual mode of constructing a paragraph. Gresham and I each had our favourite method. Personally, I had always a partiality for dealing with "buffers." "The brakes refused to act, and the train struck the buffers at the end of the platform" invariably suggested that if elderly gentlemen would abstain from loitering on railway platforms, they would not get hurt in this way.

Gresham had a similar liking for "turns." "The performance at the Frivoli Music Hall was in full swing when the scenery was noticed to be on fire. The audience got a turn. An extra turn."

Julian Eversleigh, to whom I told my experiences on the _Orb_, said he admired the spirit with which I entered into my duties. He said, moreover, that I had a future before me, not only as a journalist, but as a writer.
Parent - - By deicu Date 2011-03-30 11:41
Размышляя о возможных отрывках, я тут подумала, что для разнообразия надо бы охватить и мистера Маллинера, рассказчика замечательного и поучительного. Предлагаю на выбор два потенциальных отрывка, из разных рассказов.

Archibald and the Masses

     Few fashionable engagements (said Mr Mulliner) have ever started with fairer prospects of success than that of my nephew Archibald and Aurelia Cammarleigh. Even cynical Mayfair had to admit that for once a really happy and enduring marriage appeared to be indicated. For such a union there is no surer basis than a community of taste, and this the young couple possessed in full measure. Archibald liked imitating hens, and Aurelia liked listening to him. She used to say she could listen to him all day, and she sometimes did.
     It was after one of these sessions – when, hoarse but happy, he was walking back to his rooms to dress for dinner, that he found his progress impeded by a man of seedy aspect who, without any preamble but a short hiccough, said that he had not been able to taste bread for three days.
     It puzzled Archibald a little that a complete stranger should be making him the recipient of confidences which might more reasonably have been bestowed upon his medical adviser: but it so happened that only recently he himself had not been able to taste even Stilton cheese. So he replied as one having knowledge.
     ‘Don’t you worry, old thing,’ he said. ‘That often happens when you get a cold in the head. It passes off.’
     ‘I have not got a cold in the head, sir,’ said the man. 1 have got pains in the back, weak lungs, a sick wife, stiff joints, five children, internal swellings, and no pension after seven years in His Majesty’s army owing to jealousy in high quarters, but not a cold in the head. Why I can’t taste bread is because I have no money to buy it. I wish, sir, you could hear my children crying for bread.’
     ‘I’d love to,’ said Archibald civilly. ‘I must come up and see you some time. But tell me about bread. Does it cost much?’
     ‘Well, sir, it’s this way. If you buy it by the bottle, that’s expensive. What I always say is, best to get in a cask. But then, again, that needs capital.’
     ‘If I slipped you a fiver, could you manage?’
     ‘I’d try, sir.’
     ‘Right ho,’ said Archibald.
     This episode had a singular effect on Archibald Mulliner. I will not say that it made him think deeply, for he was incapable of thinking deeply. But it engendered a curious gravity, an odd sense that life was stern and life was earnest, and he was still in the grip of this new mood when he reached his rooms and Meadowes, his man, brought him a tray with a decanter and syphon upon it.
     ‘Meadowes,’ said Archibald, ‘are you busy for the moment?’
     ‘No, sir.’
     ‘Then let us speak for a while on the subject of bread. Do you realize, Meadowes, that there are blokes who can’t get bread? They want it, their wives want it, their children are all for it, but in spite of this unanimity what is the upshot? No bread. I’ll bet you didn’t know that, Meadowes.’
     ‘Yes, sir. There is a great deal of poverty in London.’
     ‘Not really?’
     ‘Oh, yes, indeed, sir. You should go down to a place like Bottleton East. That is where you hear the Voice of the People.’
      ‘What people?’
      ‘The masses, sir. The martyred proletariat. If you are interested in the martyred proletariat, I could supply you with some well-written pamphlets. I have been a member of the League for the Dawn of Freedom for many years, sir. Our object, as the name implies, is to hasten the coming revolution.’
      ‘Like in Russia, do you mean?’
      ‘Yes, sir.’
      ‘Massacres and all that?’
      ‘Yes, sir.’
      ‘Now, listen, Meadowes,’ said Archibald firmly ‘Fun’s fun, but no rot about stabbing me with a dripping knife. I won’t have it, do you understand?’
      ‘Very good, sir.’
      ‘That being clear, you may bring me those pamphlets. I’d like to have a look at them.’
Parent - - By deicu Date 2011-03-30 11:42
Другой - из "The Code of the Mulliners". Выбираем?

     Bagshot, the butler, filled his employers glass and stepped back into the shadows: and Sir Rackstraw, grunting not unamiably, fixed Archibald with a bulging eye. Had he been a man to take notice of such phenomena, he would have seen that the young man was white and tense and wore a strung-up look. But if there was one thing in this world that did not interest Sir Rackstraw Cammarleigh it was the play of expression on the face of Archibald Mulliner. He was regarding him now purely in the light of a recipient of his story of old George Bates and the rhinoceros.
     ‘What you say about there being a full moon tonight,’ he began, for it was on this subject that Archibald had just hazarded a remark, ‘reminds me of a curious thing that happened to an old friend of mine out in Bongo-Bongo. Old George Bates.’
     He paused to sip at his glass, and Archibald saw that Aurelia’s face had grown tired and hard. Her mother, too, a pale, worn woman, uttered a stifled little sigh. Somewhere in the background he could hear Bagshot stirring uneasily.
     At the time of the full moon,’ resumed Sir Rackstraw, ‘it is the custom in Bongo-Bongo to hunt the rhinoceros, and this friend of mine … George Bates his name was … by the way, stop me if I’ve told you this before …’
     ‘Stop!’ said Archibald.
    There was a tense silence. Sir Rackstraw was quivering as if the word had been a bullet and he the rhinoceros which in his less cordial moods he somewhat resembled.
     ‘What did you say?’ he rasped.
     ‘I said “Stop!”,’ replied Archibald. Though quaking inwardly, he preserved an outward firmness, even a sort of truculence. ‘You told me to stop you if I had heard it before, and I stopped you. I have heard that story six times before. Even if it were good, I wouldn’t like it. But it is not good. It is rotten. And I shall be extremely obliged, Cammarleigh, if you will refrain from inflicting it upon me either now or at any other time when you may feel the urge. I never wish to hear of Bates and his rhinoceros again. And I couple with the name of this rhinoceros the names of any other rhinoceri you or your friends may have encountered in your exceptionally tedious past. You understand me, Cammarleigh? Enough is enough.’
      He stopped and helped himself to port. At the same moment, he pushed his chair back a little, prepared, should events so shape themselves as to render such a course advisable, to slide under the table and there defend himself with tooth and claw. A stoutish ex-Colonial Governor, he reasoned, would find it pretty hard to get at a fellow who had dug himself well in under a table.
     It was as he reached this decision that Lady Cammarleigh spoke.
     ‘Thank you, Archibald,’ she said, and there were tears in her faded voice. ‘It was about time some tough bimbo came along and spoke those brave words. You have said just what I have been wanting to say for years. This would have made the hundred and twenty-seventh time I have heard the story of George Bates and the rhinoceros.’
     Aurelia’s eyes were shining.
     ‘I’ve heard it forty-three times,’ she said.
     There was a decorous cough in the shadows.
     ‘And I,’ said Bagshot, the butler, ‘eighty-six, May I take the liberty of adding my humble tribute of gratitude to Mr Mulliner for the firm stand he has taken. I sometimes think that gentlemen do not realize how distressing it is for a butler to have to listen to their after-dinner stories. His official position, involving, as it does, the necessity of standing with his back against the sideboard, renders escape impossible. It makes a butler’s life very wearing, very wearing. Thank you, Mr Mulliner.’
     ‘Not at all,’ said Archibald.
     ‘Thank you, Archibald,’ said Lady Cammarleigh.
     ‘Don’t mention it,’ said Archibald.
     ‘Thank you, dear,’ said Aurelia.
     ‘Only too pleased,’ said Archibald.
     ‘You see now, Father,’ said Aurelia, turning to Sir Rackstraw, ‘why you are shunned at the club.’
     The proconsul started.
     ‘I am not shunned at the club!’
     ‘You are shunned at the club. It’s all over London.’
     ‘Well, upon my word, do you know, I believe you’re right,’ said Sir Rackstraw thoughtfully. ‘Now you mention it, fellows have shunned me at the club. I see it all now. I was degenerating into a club bore. And, thanks to the fearless candour of this fine young fellow here, my eyes have been opened. I see the fight. Bagshot, charge the glasses. My dear, have you port? Aurelia, you? Then I give you my future son-in-law, Archibald Mulliner, who has rendered me a service this night which I can never sufficiently repay. And now, Aurelia, my dear, as we have finished our simple evening meal, perhaps you and our young friend here would care to take a stroll round the square. As he so justly observed a moment ago,’ chuckled Sir Rackstraw, ‘there is a full moon.’
Parent - By gmk (Учредитель) Date 2011-03-30 12:02
это на май?
(если нас не смущает, что оба они у нас в библиотеке лежат)
Parent - - By LyoSHICK Date 2011-05-29 21:40
deicu:

> Еще один камень. Автобиографический отрывок, как ПГВ начинал
> журналистом. 
> Это не из автобиографии, которую
> и без нас перевела Н.Л. Трауберг, а из малоизвестного раннего романа (и
> очевидной пародии, я лично считаю) "Not George Washington", начало 5
> главы. Сами тесты из "The Globe" есть у Юлалии, и можно сравнить.


У Юлалии я не нашел (или Он писал про Orb не в Globe?..)
Но это не суть. На июнь, мне кажется, это весьма.

ЗЫ. Запасы камней тают.
Parent - By deicu Date 2011-05-30 07:45

> У Юлалии я не нашел (или Он писал про Orb не в Globe?..)


Нет-нет, я вообще не о том. Роман публиковался сам по себе. Имелось в виду, что свою работу в Globe ПГВ там и описывает - а эти публикации у Ю. есть, поэтому можно сравнить, насколько верная (или не очень) дана характеристика Первым Шагам На Его Поприще. :)
Parent - - By gmk (Учредитель) Date 2011-04-28 15:55
так что на май даем?
Parent - By LyoSHICK Date 2011-04-29 19:12
Раз май - давайте, что ли, Арчибальда с массами.
Parent - - By Nikolai Date 2011-10-10 09:16
Поэтический тур, вроде, заканчивается. Не пора ли прозу выбирать?
Parent - - By LyoSHICK Date 2011-10-10 12:06
Да уж, заканикулялись!
А вот, чуть ниже - http://wodehouse.ru/cgi/mwf/topic_show.pl?pid=29115#pid29115 нетронутый (и небольшой - раз октябрь уже в разгаре).
Давайте?
Parent - By Nikolai Date 2011-10-10 14:28
Я - "за". Прелесть! И время действительно поджимает.
- - By LyoSHICK Date 2011-05-21 08:52
Я запутался, не знаю куда написать.
Нашлась Библия Вудхаусиана - http://www.terry-mordue.co.uk/Wodehouse/Biblia%20Wodehousiana/index.html
(Собственно, спасибо Юлали)
Parent - - By deicu Date 2011-06-18 10:21
Июль приближается - собственно, даже 23 июня!!! - а отрывков все нет. Не говорите, что мне предстоит разочарование в моих собратьях-вудхаузианцах! Для затравки или кристаллизации могу бросить еще отрывки. Правда, стихов там нет, но они из непереведенного.

Из рассказа "The Spring Suit". Кусочек привлек меня тем, что ПГВ, хоть и много писал про начинающих авторов, не упустил из виду и редакторскую точку зрения.

     George Mellon, the party of the second part, is also, curiously enough, a door hound, a keeper of the gates and a dweller upon the threshold. But he works by day. He is the presentable young man who sits in the anteroom at the offices of the Ladies' Sphere and keeps people from seeing the editor. Editors, who are human beavers, industrious little creatures who work hard and shrink from the public gaze, generally employ, to insure privacy, a small boy with red hair, a tight suit and an air of having seen all the trickery and wickedness in the world.
     At the Ladies' Sphere, however, where beautiful and refined women are popping in and out all day like rabbits, something with a little more tone is required: and George landed the job against a field of twenty- six competitors. This should enable you to get an adequate angle on George. It is not every young man who can head off without offense lovely creatures in Paris frocks and mink coats, and convince them simultaneously that it is the editor's dearest wish to have a long cozy chat with them, but that he can't see them this morning. Men with less diplomacy than George have held down ambassadorships in foreign capitals.
     It was this manner of his that had first attracted Rosie when she had called one morning to see the editor.
     "Have you an appointment, madam?" George had inquired, bending suavely over the little wooden gate with the air of a plenipotentiary at the Court of St. James exchanging compliments with a princess of the blood.
     Rosie said she had no appointment.
     "Then I fear," said George with manly regret, "that it will scarcely be possible for you to see Mr. Hebblethwaite to-day. Mr. Hebblethwaite is exceedingly busy just now. The magazine goes to press to-day." The magazine was always going to press when people tried to get past George. "If you would care to leave a message-"
     "I only wanted to ask him if he would mind giving me the Ten Delicious Morsels From the Chafing Dish that he had in the March number. I cut them out, but I lost them."
     "Our Circulation Department would attend to that," said George. "If you would care to leave your name and address I will see that they are forwarded to you."
     And in the short space of time it took Rosie to write down her name and address George had handed the raspberry to two artists and a short-story writer. Rosie felt that this was no ordinary man.
     George must have conceived an equally flattering opinion of her; for that same evening he called at her rooming house in person, bearing the March number. And so pleasantly and swiftly did their acquaintance progress that, before he left, Rosie had cooked Delicious Morsel Number Three on her chafing dish, and they ate it together. Rosie was a wonderful cook; and it may be that George, who had suffered much from boarding-house meals since he came to New York, acquired at that moment his first yearning for domesticity.
     All through the summer and fall their intimacy had ripened, and in the middle of November George proposed. They decided that they would get married immediately after his next raise of salary, and George had fixed the beginning of May as the date for negotiating that business deal. Balmy spring, with all its softening influences, would have had a chance by then to work on Mr. Hebblethwaite and render him malleable.
     "But oh, George," said Rosie, "suppose he doesn't give it to you!"
     "He will. He knows I'm a valuable man."
     "Of course you are. But-"
     "There were twenty-six others applied for the job same time as me, and I copped. That shows you."
     "I know you're wonderful!" said Rosie. "But, still-"
     Rosie had once traveled up in the elevator with Mr. Hebblethwaite and the memory lingered. The editor was a little man, with fiery eyes that glowed behind big spectacles, and he had glared at Rosie in the elevator as if the only thing that kept him from eating her was the fact that he had already breakfasted.
     "It isn't everyone," said George, "who could do my job. You wouldn't believe the number of females who come every day to waste Mr. Hebblethwaite's time. I tell you, I wonder I don't lose my voice with telling them he's busy. And it's got to be done right, or you might as well not do it at all. You can't go offending people. But gee, you've no idea what an amount of gall women have! Why, the first week I was at the office a female got past me by saying she was the boss' wife. She looked all right, she spoke all right; so I thought she was all right, and I opened the gate. In about ten minutes out she came, said good morning with a nice smile, and beat it. And two seconds later I'm rung for and there's the boss chewing holes in the carpet and smashing up the furniture with his bare hands. Seems she was a lady book agent; and before he could get rid of her she had landed him with Historic Heartbreakers, highly educational and as interesting as a novel. Since then I've played it safe. No body gets past me without an appointment. The boss knows that, and values me according."
     "But Mr. Hebblethwaite looks so fierce. I'd die of fright if I had to ask him for a raise."
     George felt in his inner pocket and produced, with a certain complacence, a cutting from the advertising pages of the magazine that employed him.
     "I might have felt that way once, but the other day I came across this. I've written for - the book. It looks to me like the goods."
     The cutting showed a picture of a resolute young man with a clean-cut face and a strong mouth pointing a minatory finger at an elderly man with a pointed beard. The elderly man was cowering down in his chair and obviously getting the loser's end of the mix up. Beneath the picture were the words: "Look Him in the Eye and Win! Have courage and the world is your oyster."
Parent - - By deicu Date 2011-06-18 10:24
Но если такой вариант представляется слишком крупным, можно поразмыслить о ехидной безделушке. Например, могу предложить "The Polite Pilferer" из коллекции нашей драгоценной Юлалии, а может, кто-нибудь набредет и на другой подходящий отрывок.

THE POLITE PILFERER

MR. PUNCH, SIR,-

If you have an eye to spare from the other affairs of the world, will you kindly run it over the following extract from the Express :

"A boy who wanted apples and stole them had an interesting theory propounded for him at Brentford. 'Why,' said the magistrate, 'didn't you go to the owner and say, "I have an idea of getting into your orchard during the night. I don't want to do so. I like the look of your apples. Give me two or three!" You would probably have been successful. Now you have to pay 5s.'"

I see an opening here for a work I have long contemplated, "Every Criminal's Guide to Courtesy," with the sub-title, "Tips for Thieves and Deportment for Desperados." The book will be made up of specimen conversations to suit every occasion. The criminal who buys the volume need never fear those awkward pauses which so frequently occur when one is caught in the act of a burglary or murder.

I append a sample. We will suppose, for instance, that a burglar wishes to abstract some plate from a house. He enters the owner's bedroom-window and the following dialogue takes place:-

Burglar. (Coughs.)

Owner. Wha's matter? A' right. Leave it on the mat.

[Burglar coughs again. Owner sits up.]

Burglar (insinuatingly). A thousand apologies, my dear Sir, for having broken in upon that sleep which, as the poet happily remarks, knits up the ravelled sleave of care. But business is business, and in these days of hustle and American competition it behoves a man to be first in the field. Thus, knowing that "BLINKY BILL" SMITH (a professional rival of mine) has his eye on your plate, I hastened to call on you before he could do so.

Owner. Help! Thieves! Murder!

Burglar. I hate to talk shop, but I feel it my duty to tell you that this revolver is loaded. Shall we allow it to remain so? Precisely. To proceed, then. The fame of your plate, my dear Sir, has rung through London. Every burglar in the profession is after it. When I tell you that I have had to bring myself to enter the bedroom of a perfect stranger through the window, I need scarcely add further evidence of my eagerness to possess the treasure I have mentioned. You can spare a little of it? A silver spoon? A fork, perhaps? A salver, maybe? Come, this is niggardly, my dear Sir. I need it far more than you. To you it is a luxury. To me it is a necessity. I have my living to earn. How do you suppose I could keep my wife in the style to which she has been accustomed, if everybody were as unreasonable as you? Now, some people keep their plate-basket under the-- No? In the chest of drawers? Foiled again. Now, my very dear Sir, joking apart, where is it? Did I mention that this revolver was loaded? Thank you. Thank you. Under the dressing-table? A thousand thanks. May I trouble you to make a small selection for me and put it up in a neat parcel? One million thanks. Good-night, Sir, good-night, good-night. [Exit through window.]

This is but one specimen. The rest of the book will be of equal merit, for I shall spare no pains. If after next publishing season there remains one criminal who is not the Perfect Gentleman, it will be because he is too impecunious or too stingy to spend two and sixpence (net) on the work prepared for his benefit by

Yours, HENRY WILLIAM-JONES
Parent - By deicu Date 2011-06-18 10:25
В общем, friends, Romans, countrymen - не сидим! Шевелимся! Ищем. Выбираем...
- - By LyoSHICK Date 2011-06-18 10:26
Еще три камня от Юлали:
How_to_Write_a_Revue (THE IMPORTANCE OF EATING WELL) - аж со стишком внутри.
http://www.madameulalie.org/others/The_Language_of_Flowers.html
http://www.madameulalie.org/dlymail/Deserted_Ghosts.html
Parent - By LyoSHICK Date 2011-06-18 10:27
Опаньки! Как это мы...
Parent - By deicu Date 2011-06-18 10:28
Jinxed!

LyoSHICK, two hearts but with one beat... (c) Бегу смотреть.
Parent - - By deicu Date 2011-06-18 11:02
Цветочки понравились мне меньше всего - но я к ботанике равнодушна. Да и по стилю довольно деловитое перечисление. Привидения вполне милые, но Уайльд закрыл тему. Про ревю (тем более есть стишок внутри) можно попробовать - тем более рецензировать будет kdm (надеюсь, все-таки с премодераторами), от меня с моими бесконечными диетами справедливости ждать не стоит, одной лишь злости.

Давайте проведем народное блиц-голосование и выберем подходящее. А может, и еще попалось кому что на глаза?
Parent - - By LyoSHICK Date 2011-06-18 11:11
Вообще-то, я полностью согласен. И про цветочки (там только что с названиями иногда поиграть), и про - да, и Уайльдом, и Джеромом обласканные - привидения.
Просто взял у Юлали свежие поступления.

У нее же смотрел что-нибудь из 1911 года (для круглости).
Получается только "Стрэнд". Например, http://www.madameulalie.org/strand/The_Best_Sauce.html, в июле опубликованный.
Parent - By LyoSHICK Date 2011-06-18 11:19
Уточню: про "The Best Sauce" это я только для примера сказал - уж больно там все знакомо...
Parent - - By Lassielle Date 2011-06-18 17:33
А выше висит про героинь триллеров и про movie villains. Не пойдет?

А из этих мне больше всего про pilferer понравился.
Parent - By LyoSHICK Date 2011-06-18 19:27
Lassielle:

> А выше висит про героинь триллеров и про movie villains. Не пойдет?


Выяснилось, что этот текст переводился неоднократно...
- - By gmk (Учредитель) Date 2011-06-23 17:40
итак, что ставим-то? пятница 24-е - последний день, когда я смогу разместить отрывок
Parent - - By deicu Date 2011-06-23 20:16
Ну, если будем блиц-голосовать, то я за отрывок из "The Spring Suit", как и говорила, по вышеуказанным причинам. На срок больше месяца, кажется, не очень крупный. Можно и со стишком про ревю (первый из предложенных LyoSHICK'ом), пусть даже он и продовольственный. :)
Parent - - By gmk (Учредитель) Date 2011-06-24 18:32
ок, сейчас ставлю The Spring Suit с текстом отсюда (исходник что-то не нашел) и отчаливаю
Parent - By LyoSHICK Date 2011-06-24 20:52
Правильное решение!
Удачи. Ждем с нетерпением.
- - By gmk (Учредитель) Date 2011-08-01 11:44
скажите мне, пока я обрабатываю переводы, будем в августе тур делать, или каникулы устроим?
Parent - - By LyoSHICK Date 2011-08-01 12:40
У меня такая мысль была: если делать, то, может, стих?
А можно и каникулы.
Parent - - By deicu Date 2011-08-01 14:12
А может быть, тот гибрид прозы со стихом, что Вы предложили? Про ревю и питательность. С другой стороны, стих ведь будет, традиционно, на два месяца? Объединим конкурс с каникулами, тоже вариант. :)
Parent - By LyoSHICK Date 2011-08-01 14:18
Ну, или так...
Parent - - By купершмидт Date 2011-08-01 21:51
а что за гибрид? я заработалась вдрызг, выпала совсем. ещё и комп ломался. Свистните, пожалуйста, ежели решите ставить стих  - я приду :)
Parent - By deicu Date 2011-08-02 09:43
Это LyoSHICK нашел у Юлалии: "How_to_Write_a_Revue (THE IMPORTANCE OF EATING WELL) - аж со стишком внутри". (См. его предложения выше.)

Там стишок, конечно, пародийный. Если выбирать настоящий стих, то отдельно.
Parent - By Lassielle Date 2011-08-02 11:21
Я тоже за стих. Пора бы уже :-) Давненько не брал я в руки шашек! (С)
Parent - By LaraMayne Date 2011-08-02 20:42
У меня предложение: а давайте переведём до конца "The Spring Suit"? ;) Ну до того заразительно! И ещё стих, пожалуйста, до кучи...:)
- - By LaraMayne Date 2011-08-01 13:43
НЕ НАДО КАНИКУЛЫ!!! Ведь это же не в напряг... а позитивных эмоций сколько!!! Я так рада, что на просторах интернета набрела на этот сайт! С удовольствием занялась бы "стихоплётством"...:)
Parent - - By Nikolai Date 2011-08-05 10:55
Давайте, уж, товарищи, придем к какому-нибудь консенсусу, чтобы процесс у нас пошел :)
Up Topic Конкурс переводов / Конкурс переводов / Давайте собирать камни
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