Scene: A well-decorated but otherwise ordinary house in the West End. All things on the scene have been arranged with some finesse, but the room rather lacks lustre. Enter: Alice Cunningham A, Sir Albert Mornington B. Alice, a woman who will only admit to forty and looks likewise, is immaculately dressed and seems overly constrained, while Sir Albert is in a disarray. His hair is fiery red and like many red people he is heavily freckled, but this only serves to underline the unusual grimness of the facial expression he is wearing. Alice proceeds to take a cup of tea from the table in the corner where tea has been served and retreats North to a pile of Chinese cushions, picks one and makes herself comfortable on the sofa West. Sir Albert remains motionless C.
Alice: Albert dear, you do not seem quite yourself today. Even your freckles are somehow dun.
Sir Albert, in a monotonous voice: My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun... Coral is far more red than her lips' red... If snow be white why then her breasts are dun...
Alice: Speaking of which, breasts I mean, recall that Jack Woolworthy has invited both of us to visit tomorrow. The dinner will be a splendour as it always is at Jack's, and they say a tremendous turkey breast will be served, a la RusseвЂ”with cranberries and honey.
Sir Albert (absently): I don't believe Russians eat turkeys, they are far too poor for that. You are probably confusing them with Americans. Those have so enshrined turkey eating that to me it seems most unbearable... To hear them talk about turkeys ever so often, disparaging at the very least.
Alice: Are you positive, my dear, that it is I who confused Russians with Americans and not you who confused Turkeys with Turks?
Sir Albert (turning his back to Alice, angrily): Is this a pun evening? I am absolutely not in the mood for meaningless chatter.
Alice (laughing): And still your input was most enlightening. Do take a cup of tea, it will make you warmer.
Sir Albert (with stress): Extremely tribal of you to say that.
Alice (raising her eyebrows): What, freund Albie?
Sir Albert (dreamily): That anything at all can keep you warm in absence of...
Alice (evenly): Oh do feed me some of your perpetual grief. Verily, I am getting used to it.
Sir Albert: Alice, do you know that you sometimes run a very considerable risk of being slaughtered? Yes, some of your friends are often tempted.
Alice (laughing so that one is forced to think she is hysterical): By some of my friends you mean yourself, of course.
Alice advances on to Sir Albert and fights him. He tries to beat her with his walking stick but she is slick and fast as an eel. Finally she wrests the stick from him and bangs him on the head, tenderly. Both laugh.
Scene: library in Lord Alexander John's house in Leicester Square; obviously a baccalaurean dwelling, though dressed with taste.
Because it is very late in the night, the house is only dimly illuminated and the moon shines through the windows. Enter Lord John. He is wearing an exquisite dressing-gown embroidered with silver flowers; the top of gown is undone, revealing a hairless white chest. His face is weary and pale; he's holding a half-burned candle which casts uncanny shadows on his face, making him look like a grotesque owl. After some time it becomes evident to the audience that the man is of a somewhat troubled nature: he is not entirely sane.
Lord John (in a loud whisper): Ralegh, Ralegh, poor devil—whither went thou?
Enter Bacon, the butler. He is hardly any younger than his master. As he is used to the night stands of Lord John, he is very collected and calm.
Ralegh didn't come here to-day, my lord.
Lord John: Bacon! What are you doing here? My nightly vigil is my own. Off, my lad, off to sleep. Remember we're giving a soire tomorrow.
Bacon: May I remind you, my lord, that you decided to cancel the dinner because you didn't feel too well.
Lord John, smiling eerily: But now I feel all right, Bacon. Quite all right. In fact I think it would be wise to summon the guests this very instance.
Bacon, with a bow: I am afraid, sir, that this suggestion is a shade too unexpected. I had no time to alert the cook and, considering that it is four-thirty in the morning...
Lord John, elevating his eyebrows: Why Bacon, dear boy! I thought I was the master here. Do you allow yourself to be taken aback by so trifling an obstacle as the angle between the hour and the minute hands? Very well then.
He dashes off to the wall and lights all the chandeliers, then
adjusts the time on every clock within his reach to eleven a.m. Triumphant, he then proceeds to take a seat, cross-legged, on a sofa, rather far from Bacon.
Very well, sir, as you wish. I see it is eleven o'clock now. No doubt you will recall that you had an appointment scheduled with the Duke of Westminster at eleven-thirty.
Lord John: All right, Bacon, you win. I forgot all about that appointment. I want to sleep.
Bacon, slowly blowing out the chandeliers one by one: And a very wise decision, my lord, it is. A six-and-a-half-hour lag does no good to one's inner timer.
Lord John, dreamily: Still I wonder where Ralegh is?
All lights go out at once, so that only moon remains.
Ralegh has been dead for eight years now, my lord. Now let me show you off to your bedroom.
A Study in Translation | Переводческие этюды
Give me this can of tuna Дай мне это умение тунца
That’s a clever plot Это умный плот
He used to be a spy Он использовал пирог двух пчел
I am going to stay alive Я хожу, чтобы стать листком
Give me a break Дай мне перелом
He is ill Здесь ил
Be careful, this is a con Будь осторожен, это конь
Are you afraid? Ты что, Фрейд?
Take a look at my t-shirt Возьми лук на моей чайной рубашке
Sun is so red today Сын такой красный два дня
Let’s go to the sea Давай пойдем на просмотр
Open the drawer Открой рисовальщика
He likes to train Ему нравятся два поезда
Let’s call a meeting Давай позвоним на митинг
Die, die, die Дай, дай, дай
Right, what do you think? Пиши, что делает твою вещь