LS-Sb87101

МИНОБРНАУКИ РОССИИ

–––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

Санкт-Петербургский государственный электротехнический университет «ЛЭТИ»

––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

Т. С. ГУРЬЕВА Г. В. КОЗЛОВА М. М. ТОНКОВА

СБОРНИК ТЕКСТОВ ДЛЯ ПЕРЕВОДА

Учебное пособие

Санкт-Петербург Издательство СПбГЭТУ «ЛЭТИ»

2011

УДК 81' 25(075) ББК Ш 143.21 я 7

Г95

Гурьева Т. С., Козлова Г. В., Тонкова М. М.

Г95 Сборник текстов для перевода: Учеб. пособие. СПб.: Изд-во СПбГЭТУ

«ЛЭТИ», 2011. 32 с.

ISBN 978-5-7629-1135-1

Содержит тексты на английском и русском языках по современной проблематике. Затрагиваются вопросы истории, географии, межкультурной коммуникации и научных технологий. Цель пособия – совершенствование навыков перевода текстов различной тематики.

Предназначено для студентов специальности 031203; может использоваться студентами гуманитарного факультета.

УДК 81' 25(075) ББК Ш 143.21 я 7

Рецензенты: кафедра английского языка № 2 СПбГУЭФ; канд. филол. наук, доц. Е. Г. Андреева (СПбГУ).

Утверждено редакционно-издательским советом университета

в качестве учебного пособия

2

Who are the English?

Who are the English? They are the descendants of Celts, Romans, Saxons, Jutes, Angles, Vikings, Normans; that being more or less the sequence of invaders who left their indelible mark upon the roads, fields, buildings, dialects, and placenames of England. Why were these hybrid people called English? The answer to that question is complex because the word England is a corruption of Engleland, the land of the Engle or Angles. Why then did these Engle give their name to their new home? Nobody knows. The Engle themselves came from Slesvig in Germany. They were neither more numerous nor more gifted than any other of the permanent settlers. And yet, for reasons unknown to us, the land was named after them. As early as the year 897 the word English was used both of the people and of their language. Mourning the decay of scholarship in a country harried by warfare, King Alfred reported that few men south of Lincolnshire could translate a Latin letter into English.

Even today an Englishman is surprised – and overseas visitors bewildered – by the variety of English dialects: but in Chaucer's time a Kentish man would have sounded almost unintelligible to a Cumbrian, and each would have failed to understand a Devonian. Nor was this Babel based on difference in pronunciation; many of the commonest words varied with the regions. Cornwall, indeed, spoke its own Celtic language, and continued to speak it until the eighteenth century.

Both Scotland and Wales had their regionalism, but it was simple and clearcut, being between the north and the south of those two countries. Moreover, the regionalism was curbed by the need to unite against England. The English, by contrast, had no such permanent stimulus, at any rate after the Norman Conquest.

Versailles peace treaty

The Versailles peace treaty prohibited a German air force, and it was officially dissolved in May, 1920. In his farewell order Seeckt, Chief of the German General Staff, said he hoped that it would again rise and meanwhile its spirit would still live. He gave it every encouragement to do so. His first step had been to create within the Reichswehr Ministry a special group of experienced ex-air force officers. This was gradually expanded until within the Ministry there were «air cells» in the various offices, and air personnel were gradually introduced throughout the cadres of the Army.

The Civil Aviation Department was headed by an experienced wartime officer, a nominee of Seeckt's, who made sure that the control and development of civil aviation took place in harmony with military needs. This department was to a great extent staffed by ex-flying officers without knowledge of commercial aviation.

3

Even before 1924, the beginning of a system of airfields and civil aircraft factories and the training of pilots and instruction in passive air defence had come into existence throughout Germany. There was already much reasonable show of commercial flying, and very large numbers of Germans, both men and women, were encouraged to become «air-minded» by the institution of a network of gliding clubs.

Severe limitations were observed, on paper, about the number of service personnel permitted to fly. But these rules, with so many others, were circumvented by Seeckt, who, with the connivance of the German Transport Ministry, succeeded in building up a sure foundation for an efficient industry and a future air arm.

In the naval sphere similar evasions were practiced. The Versailles Treaty allowed only a small naval force with a maximum strength of fifteen thousand men. Subterfuges were used to increase this total. Naval organizations were covertly incorporated into civil ministries. The Army coastal defences were not destroyed as prescribed by the Treaty, and soon they were taken over by German naval artillerymen. U-boats were illicitly built and their officers and men trained in other countries.

Important progress was also made in another decisive direction. Herr Rathenau had, during his tenure of the Ministry of Reconstruction in 1919, set on foot in the broadest lines the reconstruction of German war industry. «They have destroyed your weapons», he had told the generals, in effect. «But these weapons would in any case have become obsolete before the next war. That war will be fought with brand-new ones».

Raging inferno engulfs south of Tasmania

Raging bush fires have turned Southern Tasmania into an inferno which killed an estimated 50 people, destroyed whole townships, and is threatening Hobart itself, the state capital (population 120,000).

The State Governor had declared a state of emergency on the island, as thousands of fire-fighters battle to block the advance of the solid wall of flame.

At least 450 houses have been destroyed, including 60 in the suburb of Hobart. Crops have been devastated, and hundreds of dead cattle and bush animals lie scattered across the countryside. Men driving their families out of the danger area found they were engaged in a race against death, with frames reaching out at them from all sides, and a blanket of smoke blotting out sun and sky. Most got through, but some did not.

City workers jammed public transport services in a frantic rush to get home, as news of the fire danger in the suburb reached them. Tonight the sight of stunned

4

families squatting in the street with a few meager possessions around them is a frequent one in many suburbs. The authorities fear that the final death toll may be much higher than 50 estimated by police so far.

In the mountain suburb of Ferntree, 44 houses and a hotel were destroyed and all communications were cut off. There were fears for the safety of the 150 residents, but later it was learned they had been safely evacuated. Four fire-fighters were burned to death as they tried to hold back the flames at Lenah Valley, another Hobart suburb.

An appeal was launched tonight for relief for the hundreds of refugees who have poured into relief centers here seeking accommodation, food and clothing. Tonight the flames, fanned by treacherously changing winds of up to 70 miles an hour, were still rolling down Mount Wellington, which towers over Hobart.

Japan: You can go home again

Seven hundred miles north of smog-choked Tokyo, an emerald green island rises from the sea. At this time of the year, the air is fresh with the scent of honeysuckle and pine. The waters that wash the island's volcanic benches are unpolluted, and the deep pools that form among the rocks offshore are rich in abalone.

The Japanese families who live in small fishing villages nestled at the foot of the island's craggy basalt cliffs make a good living from the sea. Most own comfortable homes, and many even have colour television sets. But for all its beauty and economic vigour, a dark cloud hangs over the isle today. For like many of Japan's rural areas, the island of Rebun seems to be dying.

The last ten years of economic boom have produced a severe labour shortage in Japan, leading millions of young people to forsake the villages of their ancestors and flock to the bright lights and fat salaries of the big cities. More than 500 Japanese villages have dropped off the map completely. Others have lost almost all their young people. More than 10,000 persons lived on Rebun in 1956; about 6,000 remain today. This year, 148 of the island's 166 15-year-olds moved away.

Rebun has now launched a vigorous new program to stem the tide. The island is investing $380,000 in a new sports centre to help young people while away the long harsh winters. And Mayor Kanzaburo Mukose is talking of opening up the island's lush interior to beef-and dairy-cattle ranching. What the leaders of Rebun really want, though, is for more of the island's young men to recognize the traditional values of the fishing life. As an incentive, the local government this year is Riving a free fishing boat to any boy who opts for the sea. So far there have been fourteen

5

takers. One who decided to remain on Rebun is Shinichi Sasaki, 15. «We have been here for three generations», his father, also a fisherman, proudly told our correspondent.

In addition to tempting teenagers like Shinichi to stay, Rebun is trying to persuade those who have left to come back.

This year, teams of fishermen visited Tokyo, Osaka and Sapporo to seek out the island's youngsters. «First of all», said the Mayor, «we wanted to make sure they were leading good clean lives. Cities tend to corrupt simple island people. And then we began asking them to come home». The teams persuaded a dozen to return. Other small Japanese towns report up to 40 per cent of their high-school graduates returning disillusioned after two or three years of employment in urban industry.

But Rebun has another, potentially even more important weapon in the battle for survival. This summer hundreds of teenagers from Japan's cities have flocked to the island. They have come clutching their guitars and wearing their backpacks, lured by the outdoor life and the people's gentle ways. Most have left, but some 30 youngsters have preferred to stay. A few have even shown an interest in learning the fishing trade and staying on.

New York

New York defies description. You can say anything about it and always be right; if you listen to different people talking about it, they could each be describing a different town. For some, it's a centre of art, music and theatre; for others, a city of finance and politics. For manufacturers it's a bottomless market, for safecrackers, Ali Baba's cave.

At the beginning of the nineteenth century Manhattan was mostly swamp – so unhealthy that there was an epidemic of yellow fever, a disease more often associated with tropical regions. While the fine residential streets of London and the grand boulevards of Paris were being built, chickens were scratching around the muddy streets of New York. Rickety shacks housed people – and pigs; it wasn't until 1867 that a municipal decree was passed, forbidding people to let their pigs run freely through the streets. Although rich ship-owners and financiers were building luxurious hotels and mansions, the newly arrived immigrants lived in disgusting slums. Buildings were divided and subdivided to accommodate as many people as possible; some even collapsed under the weight of extra storeys hastily added on. People lived in tenements which were nothing more that rows of dark cages: no lighting, running water or windows. According to police reports of the time, children died simply from lack of fresh air. Fires and diseases were a part of normal life.

6

In 1875 the population of New York was one million; twenty five years later it was over three and a half million. New inventions were developed to deal with the population expansion. At breakneck speed New York covered itself with trains, suspension bridges, elevated railways, steamboats, and then skyscrapers. The first skyscraper was put up in 1888. It had only thirteen storeys, but the next had twenty two, the Empire State Building had 102, and now the World Trade Centre has reached 110. Manhattan solved the space problem by building up. But although the population of New York has stabilized, the city continues to construct itself.

Statistics are impressive. New York City has five boroughs and shelters roughly eight million people – sixteen million if you include the suburbs. But each day the city fills up with another four million who work here but live somewhere else. The subway uses 7,000 cars to transport five million people each day. New Yorkers produce 3 kg of garbage per day – that represents 200,000 tons to collect every day from 9,000 km of streets and avenues. The police force employs 25,000 officers – the equivalent of the population of Monaco. It's not surprising that being a mayor of New York is supposed to be the most difficult job in the world.

New York is not a city; it is a world of many cities which crowd together. There are business cities which die each day at five o'clock, neon pleasure cities where bars and cinemas shelter noisy crowds, middle-class cities with elegant street lighting and sad cities where no trees grow. New York is all of these and more.

Leonardo da Vinci (1452–1519)

One of the ideas of perfection in mankind is that of perfect balance. A man whose brain is versatile and can grasp the details and see the inner laws of art and sciences and yet have creative faculties as well as analytic; whose body is healthy and beautiful and vigorous, a worthy temple for the brain; whose personality is pleasant and kind, and whose whole being is animated by a spirit of lofty enterprise; such a man has the gifts of life in just balance, he approaches completeness. Such a man was Leonardo da Vinci, the greatest light of the Italian Renaissance whose many-sided genius is unique in the history of the world.

This man, one of the most dynamic forces of the Italian Renaissance, was born in 1452.

Vasari, the famous biographer of painters, tells us of Leonardo's early education: «In arithmetic he made such a progress that he often puzzled the master who was teaching him by the perpetual doubts he started, and by the difficulty of the questions he proposed. He also commenced the study of music and resolved to ac-

7

quire the art of playing the lute. Being by nature of an exalted imagination and full of graceful vivacity, he sang to that instrument most beautifully, improvising at the same time both the verses and the music. But drawing and modelling were the favourite tasks of his childhood… He rapidly became a proficient painter and soon began to make his mark as an architect and sculptor.

Most of us think of him as an artist, particularly as the painter of the “Mona Lisa”, but he was much more than that. He had an insatiable thirst for knowledge. He not only saw, but attempted to reproduce the beauties of light and shade: he wanted to know the laws that governed them. He studied optics and the physiology of the eye. He gained some knowledge of the laws which govern the movements of waves, and applied them to light and sound. And this was in the 15th century!

His painting and sculpture opened up other fields of enquiry. He studied the structure of the muscles and bones of the human body, dissecting some thirty dead bodies. (This brought on him some difficulties with authorities in Rome.) He also studied the structure and working of the heart and speculated on the circulation of blood.

Unfortunately he kept his ideas to himself, writing them in code in voluminous notebooks so that his contemporaries knew nothing of his ideas and remained uninfluenced by them. It is only we, moderns, who have learned of them».

Rudolf Nureyev

The ovation at the Theatre des Champs-Elysees in Paris began even before the curtain went up. Simply the announcement of his name threw the audience into a frenzy. When he stepped onstage he was greeted with a burst of applause that went on for half a minute; after he danced he took 30 curtain calls. It was 1961, and Rudolf Nureyev was giving his first performance in the West after his defection.

Nureyev was born in 1938 on a train, speeding along the banks of Lake Baikal near Mongolia – a fitting start to a life that would be forever on the move. His mother was on her way to join his father, a soldier. Eventually the family settled in Ufa, a remote provincial capital. «My chief memory is of hunger – consistent hunger», he wrote in an autobiographical account. His first glimpse of ballet came during a New Year's Eve performance by the local ballet troupe, an event that turned his heart and mind irrevocably toward dancing. He studied with local teachers, but he couldn't begin serious training until he was 17, when he finally managed to gel himself to the Kirov Ballet School in Leningrad.

Nureyev bolted for freedom in June 1961, as the Kirov waiting at Le Bourget airport outside Paris to board a flight for London. His French performances had been

8

received with great enthusiasm, so when the company director told him he was not flying to London after all – he was being summoned home to dance at the Kremlin – he knew the authorities feared he would defect. Two French police inspectors were standing nearby. He rushed into their arms and gasped, «I want to stay!»

For the next three decades, he danced – virtually nonstop, as if his childhood deprivations had made him ravenous for movement. He toured with ballet companies and pickup troupes, he devoured the classics and then went on to such contemporary masters as Martha Graham, Paul Taylor and George Balanchine. He turned to choreography and restaged such classics as «Swan Lake» and «Sleeping Beauty» to give greater glory to the male roles.

He never made a permanent home with any company, although after an electrifying appearance with the staid and gracious Royal Ballet in «Giselle» he became a long-time guest artist with the troupe. For six years he directed the Paris Opera Ballet; even then, he continued dancing. His history-making partnership with Margot Fonteyn, crown jewel of Britain's Royal Ballet and 18 years his senior, exemplified the new order at its most exalted. [In October 1992], after the premiere of a new production of «La Bayadere» he had choreographed For the Paris Opera Ballet, he stepped onstage for the last time. Rumours that he was sick with AIDS had been circulating for years; now he was so frail he had to be supported by two dancers. But the moment he appeared the stage was bombarded with flowers, and the theatre rang with cheers and applause that didn't let up for a full 10 minutes. The substance of Nureyev's career ended long before his death a few months later, in January 1993, when he was 54 in Paris; his death didn't change the dance world. But his life certainly did.

The search for purity

Before we look at language change itself, it may be useful to consider why people currently so often disapprove of alterations. On examination, much of the dislike turns out to be based on social-class prejudice which needs to be stripped away.

Let us begin by asking why the conviction that our language is decaying is so much more widespread than the belief that it is progressing. In an intellectual climate where the notion of the survival of the fittest is at least as strong as the belief in inevitable decay, it is strange that so many people are convinced of the decline of the quality of English, a language which is now spoken by an estimated half billion people – a possible hundredfold increase in the number of speakers during the past millennium.

9

One's first reaction is to wonder whether the members of the antislovenliness brigade, as we may call them, are subconsciously reacting to the fast-moving world we live in, and consequently resenting change in any area of life. To some extent this is likely to be true. A feeling that «fings ain't wot they used to be» and an attempt to preserve life unchanged seem to be natural reactions to insecurity, symptoms of growing old. Every generation inevitably believes that the clothes, manners and speech of the following one have deteriorated. We would therefore expect to find a respect for conservative language in every century and every culture and, in literate societies, a reverence for the language of the «best authors» of the past we would predict a mild nostalgia, typified perhaps by a native speaker of Kru, one of the Niger-Congo group of languages. When asked if it would be acceptable to place the verb at the end of a particular sentence, instead of in the middle where it was usually placed, he replied that this was the «real Kru» which his father spoke.

In Europe, however, the feeling that language is on the decline seems more widely spread and stronger than the predictable mood of mild regret. On examination, we find that today's laments take their place in a long tradition of complaints about the corruption of language. Similar expressions of horror were common in the nineteenth century. In 1858 we discover a certain Reverend A. Mursell fulminating against the use of phrases such as «hard up», «make oneself scarce», «shut up». At around the same time in Germany, Jacob Grimm, one of the Brothers Grimm of folk-tale fame, stated nostalgically that «six hundred years ago every rustic knew, that is to say practiced daily, perfections and niceties in the German language of which the best grammarians nowadays do not even dream».

Moving back into the eighteenth century, we find the puristic movement at its height. Utterances of dismay and disgust at the state of the language followed one another thick and fast, expressed with far greater urgency than we normally find today. Famous outbursts included one in 1710 by Dean Swift. Writing in «The Tattler», he launched an attack on the condition of English. He followed this up two years later with a letter to the Lord Treasurer urging the formation of an academy to regulate language usage, since even the best authors of the age, in his opinion, committed «many gross improprieties which … ought to be discarded». In 1755, Samuel Johnson's famous dictionary of the English language was published. He stated in the preface that «Tongues, like governments, have a natural tendency to degeneration», urging that «we retard what we cannot repel, that we palliate what we cannot cure».

10