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10-11 класс

Is he living or is he dead by M. Twain "A long time ago I was a young artist and came to France where I was travelling from place to place making sketches. One day I met two French artists who were also moving from place to place making sketches and I joined them. We were as happy as we were poor, or as poor as we were happy, as you like it. "Claude and Carl – these are the names of those boys – were always in good spirits and laughed at poverty. We were very poor. We lived on the money which we got from time to time for our sketches. When nobody wanted to buy our sketches we had to go hungry. "Once, in the north of France, we stopped at a village. For some time things had been very difficult for us. A young artist, as poor as ourselves, lived in that village. He took us into his house, and saved us from starvation. The artist's name was Francois Millet. "He wasn't greater than we were, then. He wasn't famous even in his own village; and he was so poor that very often he hadn't anything for dinner but cabbage, and sometimes he could not even get cabbage. We lived and worked together for over two years. One day Claude said: “Boys, we've come to the end. Do you understand that? Everybody is against us. I've been all around the village and they do not want to sell food until we pay all the money”. There was a long silence. At last Millet said, “What shall we do? I can't think of anything. Can you, boys?” "We made no answer. Then Carl began to walk up and down the room. Suddenly he stopped in front of a picture and said: 'It's a shame! Look at these pictures! They are good, as good as the pictures of any well-known artist. Many people had said so too. "'But they don't buy our pictures,' said Millet. “Carl sat down and said, 'I know now how we can become rich”. “'Rich! You have lost your mind”. “No, I haven't.” “Yes, you have – you've lost your mind. What do you call rich?” “A hundred thousand francs for a picture”. “He has lost his mind. I knew it”. “Yes, he has. Carl, these troubles have been too much for you, and…” “Carl, you must take some medicine and go to bed”. “Stop it!” said Millet seriously, “and let the boy say what he wants to. Now, then – go on with hour plan, Carl. What is it?” "'Well, then, to begin with, I will ask you to note this fact in human history: many great artists die of starvation. And only after their death people begin to buy their pictures and pay large sums of money for them. So the thing is quite clear”, he added, “one of us must die. Let us draw lots”. We laughed and gave Carl some medical advice, but he waited quietly, then went on again with his plan. "'Yes, one of us must die, to save the others – and himself. We will draw lots. He will become famous and all of us will become rich. Here is the idea. During the next three months the man who must die will paint as many pictures as he can, sketches, parts of pictures, fragments of pictures with his name on them, and each must have some particulars of his, that could be easily seen. Such things are sold too and collected at high prices for the world's museums, after the great man is dead. At the same time the others of us will inform the public that a great artist is dying, that he won't live over three months. “But what if he doesn't die?” we asked Carl. “Oh, he won't really die, of course; he will only change his name and disappear, we bury a dummy and cry over it and all the world will help us. And –‘ But he wasn't allowed to finish. Everybody applauded him, we ran about the room, and fell on each others' necks, and were happy. For hours we talked over the great plan and quite forgot that we were hungry. "At last we drew lots and Millet was elected to die. We collected the few things we had left and pawned them. So we got a little money for travel and for Millet to live on for a few days. The next morning Claude, Carl and I left the village. Each had some of Millet's small pictures and sketches with him. We took different roads. Carl went to Paris, where he would begin the work of building Millet's fame. Claude and I were going abroad. "On the second day I began to sketch a villa near a big town because I saw the owner standing on the veranda. He came down to look on. I showed him my sketch and he liked it. Then I took out a picture by Millet and pointed to the name in the corner. “Do you know the name?” I said proudly. “Well, he taught me!” I finished. "The man looked confused. “Don't you know the name of Francois Millet?” I asked him. “Of course it is Millet. I recognise it now”, said the man, who had never heard of Millet before, but now pretended to know the name. Then he said that he wanted to buy the picture. At first I refused to sell it, but in the end I let him have it for eight hundred francs. I made a very nice picture of that man's house and wanted to offer it to him for ten francs, but remembered that I was the pupil of such a master, so I sold it to him for a hundred. I sent the eight hundred francs straight back to Millet from that town and was on the road again next day. "Nom that I had some money in my pocket, I did not walk from place to place. I rode. I continued my journey and sold a picture a day. I always said to the man who bought it, “I'm a fool to sell a picture by Ftancois Millet. The man won't live three months. When he dies, his pictures will be sold at a very high price”. "The plan of selling pictures was successful with all of us. I walked only two days. Claude walked two – both of us afraid to make Millet famous too near the village where he lived – but Carl walked only half a day and after that he travelled like a king. In every town that we visited, we met the editor of the newspaper and asked him to publish a few words about the master's health. We never called Millet a genius. The readers understood that everybody knew Millet. Sometimes the words were hopeful, sometimes tearful. We always marked these articles and sent the papers to all the people who had bought pictures of us. "Carl was soon in Paris. He made friends with the journalists and Millet's condition was reported to England and all over the continent, and America, and everywhere. "At the end of six weeks from the start, me three met in Paris and decided to stop asking for more pictures from Millet. We saw that is was time to strike. So we wrote Millet to go to bed and begin to prepare for his death. We wanted him to die in ten days, if he could get ready. Then we counted the money and found that we had sold eighty-five small pictures and sketches and had sixty-nine thousand francs. How happy we were! "Claude and I packed up and went back to the village to look after Millet in his last days and keep people out of the house. We sent daily bulletins to Carl in Paris for the papers of several continents with the information for a waiting world. The sad end came at last, and Carl came to the village to help us. Large crowds of people from far and near attended the funeral. We four carried the coffin. There was only a wax figure in it. Millet was disguised as a relative and helped to carry his own coffin. "After the funeral we continued selling Millet's pictures. We got so much money that we did not know what to do with it. There is a man in Paris today who has seventy Millet's pictures. He paid us two million francs for them."

сара 11 сент. 2017 г., 17:12:34 (2 месяца назад)
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Переведите, пожалуйста, на английский язык. В комнату вошёл красивый, высокий, элегантный мужчина. Глаза у него голубые, волосы тёмные,

нос прямой. Он выглядел лет на 30. На его лице была добрая улыбка. Он был в приподнятом настроении.

Задали написать рассказ на английском,оканчивающийся фразой "What a miracolus escape!". В общем,с написанием рассказов проблем никогда не было,а вот с

переводом все очень туго. Переведите,сколько сможете,пожалуйста. Заранее спасибо.

"Strange friend"
Мысль составляет реальность. Весьма точная формулировка,в истинности которой мне пришлось убедиться при довольно загадочных обстоятельствах. Впрочем, действительность принимает непредсказуемые формы.
После долгого упрашивания,я,наконец-то,смог поехать к Энди в загородный домик на выходные. Мой друг все намекал на волшебное воздействие тех мест,и я уже вырисовывал в своей голове необычайные пейзажи с небом,окрашенным в золотистые цвета и солнцем,отводящим свое всевидящее око от скромного домика моего друга,медленно погружая во тьму причудливые формы уютного сада,подстриженную траву и сверкающую речку. Наверно,я никогда сильно еще так не ошибался.
Поужинав сочными мясными стейками,которые оставила его бабушка,уходя ночевать к своей давней знакомой и вдоволь наговорившись о красотах здешних мест,я отправился спать в небольшую комнату,где стоял диван небольших размеров,на котором мне и пришлось расположиться. К счастью,я был непривередлив. Энди ночевал в гдругой комнате. Перед уходом,вместо банальной фразы "Спокойной ночи", он пожелал мне "Чудесного избавления" и,улыбнувшись,шаркнул в гостиную,закрыв за собой дверь. Наверно,во многом я не мог его понять.
Сон пришел быстро. Сказывались свежий воздух и аппетитная еда. Даже сейчас,когда я пишу этот рассказ,я отчетливо помню ту ночь. Я шел по шелковистой дороге,тянувшейся сквозь бесконечность в беспечную даль. Меня окружал густой туман,его капли отпечатывались на моем теле,врезаясь в память странными ощущениями. Я не осознавал,что это был сон,но все,что меня окружало,было настолько реальным,что я просто не мог засомневаться. Мне хотелось идти,и я просто шел вперед на слабо мерцающий серым светом огонек впереди. Через некоторое время,шагая вперед,сквозь меня начали парить тела,одетые в оборванные ткани,бредущие сквозь туман.На их лицах были повязки,они что-то шептали. Напрягая всеми силами свой слух,я пытался расслышать хоть что-нибудь,но подойти к одному из них боялся. Любопытство всегда пересиливает страх. То же случилось и со мной. Сойдя со своего пути,я почувствовал,что меня засасывает трясина - земля становилась подобной густому желе,и чем больше я сопротивлялся,тем сильнее меня тянуло внутрь. Призраки,не замечавшие меня до этого момента,начали медленно парить ко мне. Страх овладел мной полностью,и все,что мне оставалось - это кричать. И я кричал. Громко кричал,пока,наконец,не очнулся на полу в темной комнате. Окаменев от ужаса,я преодолел кратковременный паралич и рванул к окну,раздвигая занавески. Свет полной луны озарил морщинистые лица витавших по комнате тайных жителей. Сначала я не мог овладеть собой,я перестал понимать,где кончается граница сна и начинается реальность. Я вырвался из комнаты и принялся искать Энди. Все окна в доме исчезли - на их месте оставалась каменная стена. Свет был лишь в его комнате. Не помня себя от испуга,я,несколько раз упав,добрался до него. Мой друг стоял ко мне спиной,я сильно тряс его,звал к себе. Он медленно повернул ко мне лицо. На месте глаз вместо бирюзовых,полных жизни глаз - две темные бездны,две черные дыры с узкими зрачками в виде полной луны. Его рот застыл в немом ужасе,кажется,он что-то пытался мне прокричать,но не мог - я осознавал,что его уже нет. Сдавливая сильнее его плечи,я чувствовал,как он начинал сыпаться. Кожа потрескалась и с тихим шорохом песком упала вниз. Шепот в моей голове усилился,я забился в темный угол и,полный слез, увидел всю свою короткую жизнь перед глазами со всеми её яркими моментами,и мне казалось,что закат черными солнцем неминуемо двигался ко мне. Я рыдал и кричал,все переплелось в эту ночь.
Меня разбудил Энди. Описывая эту историю,я не могу передать свои чувства. Как минимум,я был напуган. Энди проговорил что-то невнятно,какую-то неизвестную мне философию,поздравил меня с избавлением и ушел,по-видимому,за кофе. Выпив второпях крепкий напиток,я быстро собрался,и,под предлогом того,что я совсем забыл о дне рождения своей любимой прабабушки (которой,к слову,у меня не было), постарался неспешно выйти на улицу и побежал к ближайшей автобусной остановке.
С тех пор я не видел Энди. Ни в школе,ни на улице,ни в городе. И как-то незаметно,как-то вскользь тихим ветром пролетела фраза в моей голове: "What a miracolus escape".
Я вздрогнул,и,как не пытался,не мог забыть своего странного друга, скромный загородный домик и зловещее воскресенье.Наверно,именно поэтому я временами вижу своих мимолетных соседей. Впрочем,я уже привык.

Пересмотрел объем.Стало неловко ._.
Сколько сможете,пожалуйста.

НУЖЕН ПЕРЕВОД НА АНГЛИИСКИЙ БЕЗ ПЕРЕВОДЧИКА1. Это гостиница, где мы остановимся? 2. Я пойду позабочусь о номерах. 3. Мне нужны два одноместных номера

. 4. Мы почти не имеем свободных номеров. 5. Мы пробудем здесь около недели. 6. Вы можете получить один но¬мэр на два лица. 7. Все правильно? 8. Мальчик проведет Вас в Вашу комнату i занесет Ваш багаж.

I reached Boston late that night and got out at the South Station. I knew no one in Boston except Miss Bennet. She lived in Somerville, and I immediately

started out for Somerville. Miss Bennet and her family did all they could to make me comfortable and help me to get myself established' in some way. I had only six dollars and their hospitality was of utmost importance to me.
My first application for a job in Boston was made in accordance with an idea of my own. Every boy in the Western states knew the Pope Manufacturing Company, which produced bicycles. When I published my first work "History of Western College Journalism" the Pope Company had given me an advertisement, and that seemed to be a "connection" of some kind. So I decided to go to the offices of the Pope Manufacturing Company to ask for a job. I walked into the general office and said that I wanted the president of the company.
"Colonel Pope?" asked the clerk.
I answered, "Yes, Colonel Pope."
I was taken to Colonel Pope, who was then an alert energetic man of thirty-nine. I told Colonel Pope, by way of introduction, that he had once given me an advertisement for a little book I had published, that I had been a College editor and out of a job. What I wanted was work and I wanted it badly.
He said he was sorry, but they were laying of hands. I still hung on4. It seemed to me that everything would be all up with me', if I had to go out of that room without a job. I asked him if there wasn't anything at all that I could do. My earnestness made him look at me sharply.
"Willing to wash windows and scrub floors?" he asked.
I told him that I was, and he turned to one of his clerks.
"Has Wilmot got anybody yet to help him in the downtown' rink?" he asked.
The clerk said he thought not.
"Very well", said Colonel Pope. "You can go to the rink and help Wilmot out for tomorrow."
The next day I went to the bicycle rink and found that what Wilmot wanted was a man to teach beginners to ride. I had never been on a bicycle in my life nor even very c}ose to one, but in a couple of hours I had learnt to ride a bicycle myself and was teaching other people.
Next day Mr. Wilmot paid me a dollar. He didn't say anything about my coming back the next morning, but I came and went to work, very much afraid that I vrould be told I wasn't needed. After that Mr. Wilmot did not exactly engage me, but he forgot to discharge me, and I came back every day and went to work. At the end of the week Colonel Pope sent for me and placed me in charge of the uptown' rink.
Colonel Pope was a man who watched his workmen. I hadn't been mistaken when I felt that a young man would have a chance with him. He often used to say that "water would find its level", and he kept an eye on us. One day he called me into his office and asked me if I could edit a magazine.
"Yes, sir," I replied quickly. I remember it flashed through my mind that I could do anything I was put at '96 that if I were required to run an ocean steamer I could somehow manage to do it. I could learn to do it as I went along'. I answered as quickly as I could get the words out of my mouth, afraid that Colonel Pope would change his mind before I could get them out.
This is how I got my first job. And I have never doubted ever since that one of the reasons why I got it was that I had been "willing to wash windows and scrub floors". I had been ready for anything.
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