Лексико-грамматические трудности перевода с английского языка на русский. Учебно-методическое пособие
.pdfBut as the decade wore on, grumblings against the drawn-out contest grew louder. The struggle for power ended with the public execution of Charles I at Whitehall in 1649 and the establishment of a Commonwealth by the Puritan Oliver Cromwell.
Up in smoke
«The only plagues of London...are the immoderate drinking of fools and the frequency of fires.» William Fitz Stephen, the chronicler of St Thomas Becket (archbishop of Canterbury) had penned these words around 1173, but Londoners living here in 1666 would have found them particularly apt. Having barely recovered from yet another round of plague, some 100,000 were rendered homeless by the Great Fire. Embers from the king’s baker’s oven sparked off the four-day burning, reducing St Paul's and over 13,000 houses and churches to ashes. Incredibly, only nine deaths were recorded.
• Sir Thomas Bludworth, Lord Mayor of London, did not take the Great Fire seriously when it first started, claiming that «a woman might piss it out».
London was rebuilt with astonishing speed, this time with stone and brick houses and slightly wider streets. At the behest of Charles II, religious reconstruction fell to Christopher Wren, a gifted Oxford astronomy professor who had turned his talents to architecture. Wren designed 52 new parish churches and the fifth and final version of St Paul’s. The Great Fire also resulted in an insurance boom: by 1710, more than 25,000 Londoners owned fire insurance.
Rich and poor
Insurance against misfortunes at sea proved another gold mine. Lloyd’s Bank had its beginnings in 1688 when Edward Lloyd opened a coffee-shop on Tower Street. This evolved into a formal insurance service for the shipping industry. Charter companies grew up in the area—the Hudson Bay Company was incorporated in 1670. The Bank of England was founded in 1694, initially to aid the King's effort against the French in the War of the Grand Alliance. The London Stock Exchange also arose from coffee-shop origins, officially opening in 1773 just behind the Royal Exchange.
Manufacturing reached its zenith in the 18th and 19th centuries, with consumer goods (especially clothing and furniture) produced in workshops in the City. Publishing was another rising business. Long a centre for print-
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ing houses, Fleet Street got its first newspaper offices in the early 18th century, when England’s first daily, the one-page Daily Courant, rolled its presses in 1702. (The paper lasted only until 1735).
London society, now flush with people who had made fortunes from stocks and insurance, quickly gentrified. Fashionable shops in the West End fed the new taste for Venetian lace, stockings and perfume. This was the London referred to by Samuel Johnson in his famous remark: «A man who is tired of London is tired of life». Johnson formed a literary club, in which leading intellectuals of the age met over a weekly dinner: Edmund Burke, Oliver Goldsmith, Sir Joshua Reynolds and Adam Smith were among the regulars.
• According to Oliver Goldsmith, author of «The Vicar of Wakefield», Londoner’s new breed of journalists left much to be desired. «You must not imagine that they who compile these papers have any actual knowledge of the politics or government of the State», he reportedly complained. «They only collect their materials from the oracle of some coffee-houses, which oracle has himself gathered them the night before from a beau at a gaming table, who has pillaged his knowledge from a great man’s porter, who has had his information from the great man’s gentleman, who has invented the whole story for his own amusement the night preceding.»
Across town in the East End, however, poverty grew desperate with the dawning of the Industrial Revolution and an influx of immigrants from the countryside. Charles Dickens recorded the predicament of the 19th-century poor. Describing Smithfield in East London, young Oliver Twist observes that «the shameful place, being all asmear with filth and fat and blood and foam, seemed to stick to me.»
Traffic congestion and petty crime were also worsening. The construction of a handful of docks and the creation of a police force, the Marine Police in 1798, went some way to alleviating these problems. But the real coup came in 1863, when the world’s first underground railway system opened. The first line was the Metropolitan, which ran from Paddington to Farringdon. Its unanticipated success (12m passengers in the first year) assured the opening of other lines in rapid succession.
Architectural landmarks sprouted in the 19th century. The Houses of Parliament were completed in 1835; Big Ben in 1858; Royal Albert Hall in 1871; and Tower Bridge in 1894. The Economist was founded in 1843, and in 1853 Harrods was transformed from a grocery shop to a luxury department store. University College, London’s answer to Oxford and Cambridge (though it was open to non-Anglicans) was founded in 1826.
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• Rampant gin consumption, particularly among the working classes, prompted authorities to eliminate the beer tax in 1830. Soon beer-only public houses («pubs») had eclipsed the «gin palaces».
The First World War and recovery
London lost some 124,000 young men on the battlefields of the first world war. Despite the tragic loss of life, the regular air raids and the food shortages, the city's infrastructure emerged unscathed.
With peace came population growth. From 1921, London's population swelled by 17 % to reach 8.6 million in 1938. This in turn led to housing shortages and soaring unemployment, particularly in the East End.
In 1926, a nine-day General Strike brought London to a complete standstill. To address the twin crises of housing and poverty, the London City Council set about clearing slums, building housing estates and encouraging migration out to the suburbs by extending public transport and constructing homes outside London.
Given that the inter-war years were almost universally turbulent, London fared reasonably well. A trade-oriented British Empire exhibition, held in 1924 in Wembley stadium, attracted 27m visitors. London weathered the Great Depression better than other English cities, thanks partly to heavy employment in the service sector, which tends to persevere through economic crises better than manufacturing and industry.
The 1930s were the heyday of the Bloomsbury group, with writers such as John Maynard Keynes, Virginia Woolf and Bertrand Russell adding new dimensions to London’s rich intellectual life. Politically, times were tense. Influenced by events in Italy and Germany, Sir Oswald Mosley’s British Union of Fascists held rallies in central London. Anti-Fascist legislation, spearheaded by Herbert Morrison, proved effective, and by 1940 the movement had temporarily dissolved.
Текст 4
Beyond Englishness
Monday March 14, 2005
Guardian
Our national identity has always been taken for granted, but now it is being sidelined by new local bonds, says Madeleine Bunting. Six hundred
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kids in schools in four English towns were asked about their identity in a Joseph Rowntree Foundation study to be published on Wednesday. Those from ethnic minorities didn't hesitate with their answers — black, Pakistani Muslim, Muslim, Asian — while the white majority were left stumbling. «I'm sort of tanned,» said one. «I've aquamarine eyes,» said another. Some of the white kids could describe their heritage — «I'm a quarter Scottish» or «I'm an eighth Japanese» — but they couldn't label the identity it gave them. Being «English» meant nothing to them.
Does it matter that Englishness has so little pull on these children? Ask yourself, when was the last time you described yourself as English? One school of thought argues that the whole discussion of identity is so much navel fluff — vague and pointless. That position usually reflects a secure, unchallenged sense of identity, and it is the fate that has afflicted Englishness. Because England has dominated Britain, it has never had to explain itself in the way that Scottish or Welsh identity has had to, or that black people and Muslims are continually being asked to do. The hard graft of developing and interrogating a collective identity is something the English have historically shrugged off, imperiously assuming recognition without ever believing it required explanation.
But there is a growing school which argues that questions of identity are critical, and the «doughnut» problem — the absence of a strong, meaningful sense of Englishness — is a real handicap. This is the starting point for David Blunkett's attempts, in a major speech today, to formulate a progressive definition of Englishness. He argues that the left's historic ambivalence about nationalism is in danger of leaving open a territory that can be captured by rightwing opinion, which can mould it to fit a narrowly defined, introverted, racialised agenda with dangerous consequences for communal harmony and foreign policy. Questions of identity are not just abstract concepts, but act as organising principles for a gamut of domestic and foreign policies, from levels of taxation to community cohesion and Europe.
Blunkett is right in his analysis, and the political danger this issue presents for the left is evident. Anxieties about identity get swiftly projected on to issues such as immigration and asylum seekers. Neal Lawson in the recent Compass pamphlet, Dare More Democracy, quotes focus-group participants who again and again insisted on returning to the subject of immigration and asylum and complained about «foreigners» benefiting from health, welfare and education resources that «should be going to the people who paid into the system». They said that Blair is «anti-English and sup-
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ports any country and religion except the English... and is ruining our country — England». Lawson concluded that this issue animated the focus groups more than any other.
What is driving this defensive sense of Englishness? One of many projects funded by a big Economic and Social Research Council programme on identities, to be launched next month, is looking at Englishness in predominantly white housing estates in Plymouth and Bristol. The sociologist Steve Garner has found in both cities, in these relatively well-off middle England neighbourhoods, a profound sense of insecurity and loss. The latter was described as the loss of a sense of village-scale community where people knew and helped each other. The causes could be the kind of economic change that kills off small independent shops and closes local post offices, but there are rarely faces and names on which to pin the blame. It's easy to see how that loss of Englishness could use a visible minority as a scapegoat.
This insecurity is the elephant in the room in the identity debate. It is driven at the macro level by an intensely competitive globalisation that has put most of the country's economic life beyond the power of the nation state, and at a micro level by individual economic welfare built on debt and a precarious jobs lottery. The insecurity gives politicians an opportunity — express it effectively and you can connect with your voters — and a heavy responsibility — what kind of reassurance can be offered? The urge to assuage this insecurity often makes Englishness so nostalgic — cricket on the village green stuff — and racialised that it becomes conflated with white.
Blunkett tries to counter both by defining Englishness in predominantly cultural terms — as landscapes, the sea, cities, poetry, music and humour. Interestingly, the political traditions come lower down his list. His definition reflects how the debate about identity is shifting from the unfertile ground of political citizenship (he hasn't given up on that, but at a time of falling political participation it's hard to see how it could be strong enough to pull people together), to a cultural territory usually summed up as «our way of life».
But would these characteristics meet the test he set himself when he told me: «We have to hold something in common, there has to be a glue for people to want to contribute to the wellbeing of others. That 'something' has to be an entity which is understood.»
I would argue not. A definition in cultural terms excludes as many as it includes. Commenting on his Joseph Rowntree Foundation study, The
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Search for Tolerance, Gerard Lemos warns that the markers of difference among the schoolchildren he was interviewing are increasingly around culture, not race. An earlier generation defined difference by skin colour; now it is the way people dress or their behaviour around socialising and intermarriage that mark them out as different, and are likely to arouse hostility. Muslims, in particular, suffer. If «our way of life» is defined as having a pint or clubbing, in what sense can most Muslims be English?
So Englishness, despite Blunkett's honourable efforts, remains elusive. Perhaps all attempts to construct a strong sense of English identity now — that kind of nationalism was a 19th-century European invention — are doomed to failure. Collective identities are unravelling, from political party to class and religion. Their hold is loosening or becoming redundant. Complex, hybrid identities are facilitated by patterns of migration never experienced before — easy air travel and communications ensure that few have to cut the ties. National citizenship can be decoupled from a sense of belonging. Home can be in more than one country.
As all kinds of identity fragment with no commonly agreed definitions, individuals are left to piece together their own combinations — which is what Blunkett has done, but it offers no compelling collective identity. The best we can hope for is several, possibly even conflicting, accounts of English identity around our ways of life. The sense of solidarity and belonging at a national level can only occur intermittently — football matches, the Olympics, royal funerals — although it is never fully inclusive. For the rest of the time, local identities around cities and regions are a more powerful connection point, more vivid in people's everyday lives. They have more impact on that elephant in the room — their deep sense of insecurity.
Guardian Unlimited © Guardian Newspapers Limited 2005
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How do American parents punish their naughty children?
John Sutherland
Monday September 20, 2004
A poll last week revealed that 47 % of British 18-to-30-year-olds favour the return of the cane (for those under 18). In America over the past month there has been headline-making controversy over «hotsaucing» —
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dabbing the naughty child's tongue with stinging Tabasco. «Tongue spanking» is recommended to parents and teachers in the current bestseller Creative Correction: Extraordinary Ideas for Everyday Discipline. The book's author, Lisa Whelchel, is two-times famous: she played teenager Blair in the 1980s TV sitcom Facts of Life. She's now the mother of three teens herself and an enthusiastic «saucer». Her kids all got a dab of the hot stuff when they cussed, talked back, or lied.
Whelchel's title is carefully chosen. Its «Creative» because «Correction» is sanctioned by the Creator. «For those whom the Lord loves He punishes.» Hotsaucing is nothing compared to what Job undergoes, simply because God has made an idle bet with Satan about how much punishment one of his true believers can take (what a bastard He is, sometimes).
A poll by the TV network ABC discovered that 35 % of those sampled approved of hotsaucing; 65 % didn't. Broken down, the figures were less reassuring. Tongue spanking is much more prevalent in the south (which also laps up most of the country's hot sauce) and in rural America.
Many playcentres, kindergartens and junior schools specifically ban it, along with the dunce's cap, standing in the corner, kneeling on gravel, washing the mouth with soap, the coal hole, and all forms of chastisement. In Virginia, hotsaucing is legally actionable and defined as «bizarre behaviour». The president of the Tabasco company, Paul McIlhenny, calls it «strange and scary» — an abuse both of children and of his product.
None the less, hotsaucing is becoming respectable, especially among conservative Christians. Whelchel, before she wrote her national bestseller, regularly advocated it in the magazine Today's Christian Woman, of which she is a superb example. It is parental affection, not cruelty, which makes her reach for the punitive bottle. As she says, «I prefer my child receive a small amount of pain from my hand of love than to encounter a lot more pain in life.» For those with less stern hands of love she allows that vinegar or lemon juice may be substituted. And remember to give milk and crackers afterwards. God loves you.
Stripped of its religious baggage, hotsaucing may seem an unobjectionable punishment for juvenile sins of the mouth. It's only mildly painful, quickly over, and memorably symbolic. Symbolic punishment is preferable to corporal. What adulterer would not rather wear the scarlet letter than face what the Turkish legislature has in mind. I daresay that poor sod at the end of Lynndie England's dog lead would prefer being womanhandled that way to being hung on a meat hook, like the luckless captives of Jack Idema, the American bounty-hunter jailed this week for torturing Afghan prisoners.
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If it becomes universally acceptable, hotsaucing might even reduce, rather than increase, violence against children. According to one 1998 poll, 55 % of American parents agreed with the statement, «A good hard spanking is sometimes necessary.» Even domestic pacifists will think the Tabasco bottle preferable to battery.
Hotsaucing, saucers will argue, is no worse than putting bitter aloe on fingernails to stop children biting them. Opponents will retort that hotsaucing, like all ritualised punishment, infringes George Bernard Shaw's golden rule: «If you strike a child, take care that you strike it in anger.» Hotsaucing is cold, calculated punishment. For Europeans, it has odious associations with Mussolini's thuggish squadristi forcing castor oil down their opponents' throats — then waiting gleefully for the involuntary defecation. Punishing crimes of the mouth by pain and humiliation has an ignoble history in this country, from the scold's bridle to nose-slitting for obstreperous journalists. There is more than one kind of symbolism invoked.
McIlhenny is right. Tabasco belongs on the tacos and the refried beans, not the child's tongue.
Guardian Unlimited © Guardian Newspapers Limited 2005
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King Tut's New Face: Behind the Forensic Reconstruction
Brian Handwerk
for National Geographic News
The world's most famous pharaoh has a brand-new look, thanks to forensic techniques that wouldn't be out of place on a CSI TV crime drama. Scientists have created the first ever bust of the ancient Egyptian King Tutankhamun based on 3-D CT scans of his 3,300-year-old mummy.
Zahi Hawass, secretary general of Egypt's Supreme Council of Antiquities, led the effort, joined by forensic artists and physical anthropologists from Egypt, France, and the United States. Three independent teams created busts of Tut.
«In my opinion, the shape of the face and skull are remarkably similar to a famous image of Tutankhamun as a child, where he is shown as the sun god at dawn rising from a lotus blossom,» Hawass said. The study will be featured in the June issue of National Geographic magazine.
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Police Techniques
Researchers CT-scanned Tutankhamun's mummy Egypt's Valley of the Kings in January, moving the remains to a nearby mobile CT scanner. Some 1,700 digital cross-sectional images captured the mummy from head to toe.
The National Geographic Society then chose and sponsored a French team to use the scans to create the first and most lifelike likeness. First a CT-scan-based skull model was made for forensic anthropologist JeanNoël Vignal of the Centre Technique de la Gendarmerie Nationale.
Vignal typically works with police to reconstruct victims of violent crime. He identified the skull as that of a male, 18 to 20 years old, with Caucasoid features. «Caucasoid» describes a major group of peoples of Europe, North Africa, the Middle East, and India.
The scan data allowed Vignal and colleagues to determine the basic measurements and features of Tut's face. Vignal positioned and shaped the king's mouth and receding chin. Nasal openings in Tut's skull indicated a specific size range for his nose. The team was even able to infer the thickness of the skin that covered the living pharaoh's face.
Vignal created a rough plastic skull, which was then passed along to a leading forensic sculptor, Paris-based Elisabeth Daynès. She applied an artistic touch and created a lifelike clay face meant to depict Tut on the day of his death.
«The bony skull is a very strong indicator of what the outer face is going to look like,» said forensic artist Michael Anderson of Yale's Peabody Museum, who did a second bust of the king. «In fact, after you look at so many skulls over a long time period, you can begin to almost picture the face.»
In addition to Vignal's scientific survey, Daynès referred to two wooden sculptures of Tutankhamun, which had been created during his lifetime. The combined sources allowed her to flesh out details such as eyebrow thickness, nose and lip shape, and the approximate shape of Tut's ears. From the finished clay model, Daynès created a plaster mold with a silicone «skin.» She then added a flesh color, based on an average shade for modern Egyptians. Glass eyes, hair, and even historically accurate makeup completed the most lifelike portrayal ever of the long dead ruler.
Recreating an Unknown Pharaoh
To test the process's accuracy, National Geographic commissioned a second, U.S.-based group of experts to conduct a similar exercise. In this case, however, the experts weren't told the identity of their famous subject.
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Working «blind,» Susan Antón, an associate professor of anthropology at New York University, studied the CT scan data with Bradley Adams of New York City's Chief Medical Examiner's office.
At first glance Antón noted that the unusual-looking skull could have been that of a female—an observation also later made by Yale University's Anderson. Tut's skull exhibited several characteristics more commonly found on females: a cranium that is elongated toward the back, a receding chin, and an almost nonexistant browridge (the bony ridge under the eyebrows).
But with further analysis, Antón and her team determined that their subject was an 18to 19-year-old-male most likely of North African origin.
Dental clues, particularly Tut's wisdom teeth, allowed her to deduce the age. The uncannily accurate geographical classification involved a bit of luck.
«There are different features in the cranium you can use to get an idea of the ancestral origin of an individual, features of the face and skull vault [the dome covering the top of the brain],» Antón said.
Using the CT scans and Antón's data, Yale's Anderson created and cast his own reconstruction of the mystery subject's head.
The plastic skull model provided to Anderson depicted a skull that was in better condition than the fossil skulls he typically studies. «With [an intact] nasal spine, which is typically broken off in a [fossil] skull, you can get very close to the shape of the nose,» he said. «That is preserved in this mummified skull, so it was very useful.»
Finally, Egypt's Supreme Council of Antiquities selected an Egyptian team to make a third recreation. Like the French team, and unlike the U.S. team, the Egyptians knew the identity of their famous subject.
The Egyptian team used the same CT scan data to construct a plastic skull model, and later overlaid it with clay features inspired in part by ancient portraits of Tut.
To the excitement of all involved, the researchers say, the three likenesses closely resembled one another and largely validated the scientific processes used in their construction.
«There are some [ancient] Egyptian renderings of Tut that I thought were fairly accurate,» when compared to the reconstructions, Anderson said.
Tutankhamun's gold burial mask is an international icon, but we may never have more accurate portraits of the pharaoh than the new reconstructions.
Some aspects of the king's appearance, however, are destined to remain mysterious. The shape of the top of his nose and of his ears, as well as the color of his eyes and skin, cannot be determined by CT scan skull data. These features are likely to remain forever unknown.
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