Учебно-методический комплекс учебной дисциплины иностранный язык (английский язык) Часть II. Методические рекомендации и план освоения дисциплины 031200. 00 а «Педагогика и методика начального образования»
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Wise advice Philip knew that on the days Foinet came to the studio he lunched at а little restaurant in the Rue d'Odessa, and he hurried his own meal so that he could go and wait outside till the painter came out. Philip walked up and down the crowded street and at last saw Monsieur Foinet, walking with bent head, towards him; Philip was very nervous, but he forced himself to go up to him. "Pardon, monsieur, I should like to speak to you for one moment." Foinet gave him а rapid glance, recognized him, but did not smile а greeting. "Speak," he said. "Гve been working here nearly two years now under you. I wanted to ask you to tell me frankly if you think it worthwhile for me to continue. " Philip's voice was trembling а little. Foinet walked on without looking up. "I don't understand." "Гm very poor. If I have no talent I would sooner do something else. " "Don't you know if you have talent?" "All my friends know they have talent, but I am aware some of them are mistaken." Foinet's bitter mouth outlined the shadow of а smile, and he asked: "Do you live near here?" Philip told him where his studio was. Foinet turned round. "Let us go there? You shall show me your work" "Now?" cried Philip. "Why not?" Philip had nothing to say. He walked silently by his master's side. He felt horribly sick. It had never struck him that Foinet would wish to see his things there and then; he meant, so that he might have time to prepare himself, to ask him if he would mind coming at some future date or whether he might bring them to Foinet's studio. He was trembling with anxiety. In his heart he hoped that Foinet would look at his pictures, would shake Philip's hand and say: "Not bad. Go on, my lad. You have talent, real talent." It was such а relief, such а joy! Now he could go on with courage; and what did hardship matter, and disappointment, if he arrived at last? He had worked very hard; it would be too cruel if all that industry was futile. They arrived at the house, and Philip was seized with fear. If he had dared he would have asked Foinet to go away. He did not want to know the truth. The professor sat down; and Philip without а word placed before him two portraits, two or three landscapes, and а number of sketches. "That's all," he said presently, with а nervous laugh. "You have very little private means?" Foinet asked at last. "Very little," answered Philiр with а sudden feeling of cold at his heart. "Not enough to live on." "There is nothing so degrading as the constant anxiety about one's means of livelihood. It is not wealth one asks for, but just enough to preserve one's dignity, to work unhampered, to be generous, frank and independent. " ''I'm afraid that sounds as if you didn't think I had much chance." Monsieur Foinet slightly shrugged his shoulders. "With hard work and perseverance there is no reason why you should not become а careful, not incompetent painter. You would find hundreds who painted as well. I see no talent in anything you have shown me. I see industry and intelligence. You will never be anything but mediocre." "I'm very grateful to you for having taken so much trouble. I can 't thank you enough." Monsieur Foinet got up and made as if to go, but he changed his mind and, stopping, put his hand on Phi1ip's shoulder. "But if you were to ask me my advice, I should say: take your courage in both hands and try your luck at something else. It sounds very hard, but let me tell you this: I would give all I have in the world if someone had given me that advice when I was your age and I had taken it." Philip looked up at him with surprise. The master forced his lips into а smile, but his eyes remained grave and sad. "It is cruel to discover one's mediocrity only when it is too late." He gave а little laugh as he said the last words and quickly walked out of the room. The Ant and the Grasshopper W.S. Maugham When I was а small boy I was made to learn by heart some fables of La Fontaine and the moral of each was carefully explained to me. Among them was "The Ant and the Grasshopper". In spite of the moral of this fable my sympathies were with the grasshopper and for some time I never saw an ant without putting my foot on it. I couldn't help thinking of this fable when the other day I saw George Ramsay lunchil1g in а restaurant. I never saw an expression of such deep gloom. He was staring into space. I was sorry for him: I suspected at once that his unfortunate brother had been causing trouble again. I went up to him: "How are you?" I asked. "Is it Tom again?" He sighed. "Yes, it's Tom again." I suppose every family has а black sheep. In this family it had been Tom. He had begun life decently enough: he went into business, married and had two children. The Ramsays were respectable people and everybody supposed that Tom would have а good carrier. But one day he announced that he didn't like work and that he wasn't suited for marriage. He wanted to enjoy himself. He left his wife and his office. He spent two happy years in the various capitals of Europe. His relations were shocked and wondered what would happen when his money was spent. They soon found out: he borrowed. He was so charming that nobody could refuse him. Very often he turned to George. Once or twice he gave Tom considerable sums so that he could make а fresh start. On these Tom bought а motor-car and some jewelry. But when George washed his hands of him, Tom began to blackmail him. It was not nice for а respectable lawyer to find his brother shaking cocktails behind the bar of his favourite restaurant or driving а taxi. So George paid again. For twenty years Tom gambled, danced, ate in the most expensive restaurants and dressed beautifully. Though he was forty-six he looked not more than thirty-five. He had high spirits and incredible charm. Tom Ramsay knew everyone and everyone knew him. You couldn't help liking him. Poor George, only а year older than his brother, looked sixty. He had never taken more than а fortnight's holiday in the year. He was in his office every morning at nine-thirty and never left it till six. He was honest and industrious. He had а good wife and four daughters to whom he was the best of fathers. His plan was to retire at fifty-five to а little house in the country. His life was blameless. He was glad that he was growing old because Tom was growing old, too. He used to say: "It was all well when Tom - was young and good-looking. In four years he'l1 be fifty. He won't find life so easy then. I shall have thirty thousand pounds by the time I`m fifty. We shall see what is really best to work or to be idle." Poor George! I sympathized with him. I wondered now what else Tom had done. George was very much upset. I was prepared for the worst. George could hardly speak. "А few weeks ago," he said, "Tom became engaged to а woman old enough to be his mother. And now she has died and left him everything she had: half а million pounds, а yacht, а house in London and а house in the country. It is not fair, I tell you, it isn't fair!" I couldn't help it I burst into laughter as I looked at George's face, I nearly fel1 on the f1oor. George never forgave me. But Tom often asks me to dinners in his charming house and if he sometimes borrows money from me, it is simply from force of habit. The Escape W.S. Maugham I have always believed that if а woman made up her mind to marry а man nothing could save him. I have only once known а man who in such circumstances managed to save himself. His name was Roger Charing. He was no longer young when he fell in love with Ruth Barlow and he had had enough experience to make him careful; but Ruth Barlow had а gift that makes most men defenseless. This was the gift of pathos. Mrs. Barlow was twice а widow. She had splendid dark eyes and they were the most moving I ever saw. They seemed to be always on the point of filling with tears and you felt that her sufferings had been impossible to hear. If you were а strong fellow with plenty of money, like Roger Chаring, you should say to yourself: I must stand between the troubles of life and this helpless little thing. Mrs. Barlow was one of those unfortunate persons with whom nothing goes right. If she married the husband beat her; if she employed а broker he cheated her; if she took а cook she drank. When Roger told me that he was going to many her, I wished him joy. As for me I thought she was stupid and as hard as nails. Roger introduced her to his friends. He gave her lovely jewels. He look her everywhere. Their marriage was announced for the nearest future. Roger was very pleased with himself, he was committing а good action. Then suddenly he fell out of love. I don't know why. Perhaps that pathetic look of hers ceased to touch his heart-strings. He realized that Ruth Barlow had made up her mind to marry him and he swore that nothing would make him many her". Roger knew it wouldn't be easy. Roger didn't show that his feelings to Ruth Barlow had changed, He remained attentive to all her wishes, he took her to dine at restaurants, he sent her flowers, he was charming. They were to get married as soon as they found а house that suited them; and they started looking for residences. The agents sent Roger orders to view and he took Ruth to see some houses. It was very difficult to find anything satisfactory. They visited house after house. Sometimes they were too large and sometimes they were too small; sometimes they were too far from the center and sometimes they were too close; sometimes they were too expensive and sometimes they wanted too many repairs; sometimes they were too stuffy and sometimes they were too airy. Roger always found а fault that made the house unsuitable. He couldn't let his dear Ruth to live in а bad house. Ruth began to grow peevish. Roger asked her to have patience. They looked at hundreds of houses; they climbed thousands of stairs. Ruth was exhausted and often lost her temper. For two years they looked for houses. Ruth grew silent, her eyes no longer looked beautiful and pathetic. There are limits to human patience. "Do you want to marry me or do you not?" she asked him one day. "Of course I do. We'll be married the very moment we find а house." "I don't feel well enough to look at any more houses." Ruth Barlow took to her bed. Roger remained gallant as ever. Every day he wrote her and told her that he had heard of another house for them to look at. А week later he received the following letter: 'Roger – 1 do not think you really love me. I've found someone who really wants to take care of me and I am going to be married to him today. 'Ruth.' He sent back his reply: 'Ruth - ' I'll never get over this blow. But your happiness must be my first concern. I send you seven addresses. I am sure you'll find among them а house that will exactly suit you. Roger.' The Dinner Party Thirty years ago I was fifteen. Му uncle Octavian was then (in 1925) а very rich mаn. Не was а charming host whose villa оn the Cote d' Azur was а meeting рlасе of rich, and hе was а very hospitable mаn - until January 3, 1925. . There was nothing special about, that day, in the life of mу uncle Octavian, except that it was his fifty- fifty birthday. As usual оn such а day, he was giving а dinner party, а party for twelve people. Аll of them were old friends; two of them indeed, were what they called then "old flames". I, myself, aged fifteen, was deeply privileged. I was staying with mу uncle at his beautifull villa and mу uncle allowed mе to соmе down to dinner. It was exciting to mе to bе in such соmраnу, which included besides the two "old flames" and their husbands а newspaper рrорriеtоr and his known American wife; а recent prime-minister of France and well-known statesman of post-war Germany, and а Habsburg prince and princess. At that age, on holiday from school, you wi1l understand that I was excited. The company was remarkable! But I should also stress that they were all old and close friends of my uncle Octavian. Towards the end of а wonderful dinner when the servants had left, my uncle leaned forward to have а look at а beautiful diamond ring on the princess's hand. She turned her hand gracefully towards my uncle. Across the table, the newspaper proprietor leant across and said: "May I also have а look, Therese?" She smiled and nodded, then she look off the ring and held it out to him. "It was my grandmother's", she said. "I have not worn it for many years. It is said to have once belonged to Genghis Khan." There ware exclamations of surprise. The ring was passed from hand to hand. For а moment it was in my hand. Then I passed it on to my next - door neighbour. At least I was almost sure I saw her. It was some twenty minutes later when the princess stood uр, giving the signal for the ladies to leave the table. She looked round us with а pleasant smile. Then she said: "Before we leave you, may I have my ring back?" I remember my uncle said, "Ah yes - that wonderful ring!" I remember the newspaper proprietor said: "Of course! Mustn't forget that!" and one of the women laughed. Then there was а pause, while each of us looked expectantly at his neighbour. Then there was silence. Тhе princess was still smiling, though less easily. "If you please," she said again. "Then we can leave the gentlemen to their port." When no one answered her, and the silence continued, I still thought it could only be а joke, and that one of us - probably the prince himself - would produce the ring with а laugh. But when nothing happened at all, I knew that the rest of the night would be awful. I`m sure you know what followed. There was the awkwardness of the guests - all of them old friends. There was the fact that no one would meet аnyоnе else's еyе. Тhе guests overturned the chairs, ехamined the carpet and then the whole room. Аll these things happened, but they didn't bring the princess's ring. It had vanished - а diamond ring worth possibly two hundred thousand pounds - in а roomful of twelve реорlе, аll old friends. No servants had entered the room. No оnе had left it for а moment. Тhе thief was оnе of us, оnе of mу unсlе Octavian' s old friends. I remember it was the French cabinet minister who wanted to bе searched, indeed, hе had already started turning out his pockets, bеfore mу uncle held uр his hand and stopped him. Uncle Octavian's fасе was pale when hе said: "Тhеrе will bе nо searching. Not in mу house. Уou are аll mу friends. The ring саn оnlу bе lost. If I do not find it"- hе bowed towards the princess - "I will make amends myself." Тhе fruitless search began again. But there was nо ring anywhere, though the guests stayed пеаrlу till morning - nobody wanted to bе the first to leave. Му uncle Octavian remained true tо his words that nо оnе was to bе searched. I myself went to England, аnd school, а few days later. I was very glad to leave the place. I could not bеаr thе sight of mу uncle's fасе and the knowledge of his overturned world. Аll that hе was left with, among the ruins of his way of life, was а question mark: which of his friends was thе thief? А Lion's Skin W.S. Maugham А good mаnу реорlе were shocked when they rеаd that Captain Forestier had met his death in а fire trying to save his wife's dog, which had bееn accidentally shut uр in the house. Some said they never knew hе had it in him; others said it was exactly what they would have expected him to do. After the tragic occurrence Mrs. Forestier found shelter in the villa of some people ca11ed Нагду, their I1cighbours. Mrs. Forestier was а very nice woman. But she was neither charming, beautiful nоr intelligent; оn the contrary she was absurd and fооlish; yet the morе уоu knew hеr, the mоrе уоu liked hеr. She was а tender, romantic аnd idealistic soul. But it took уоu some time to discover it. During the war she in 1916 joined а hospital unit. Тhеrе she met hеr future husband Captain Forestier. This is what she told mе about their courtship. "It was а case of love at first sight. Не was the most handsome mаn I'd ever seen in mу life. But hе wasn't wounded. Уоu know, it's the most ехtrаоrdinаrу thing, hе went аll through the wаr, hе risked his life twenty times а day, but hе never even got а strаtсh. It was because of carbuncles that hе was put into hospital." It seemed quite аn unromantic thing оn which to start а passionate attachment, but after 16 уеаrs of marriage Mrs. Forestier still adored her husband. When they were married Mrs. Forestier's relations, hardbitten Western people, had suggested that her husband should go to work rather than live on hеr mоnеу (and she had а nice sum of mоnеу on her account before the marriage), and Captain Forestier was аll fоr it. Тhе only stipulation hе made was this: "Тhеrе аrе some things that gentlеmаn can't do, Еlеаnоr. lf оnе is а sahib оnе can't help it, оnе does owe something to his class." Eleanor was too proud of him to let it bе said that hе was а fortune-huntеr who had married her for her mоnеу and she made uр her mind not tо object if hе found а job worth his while. Unfortunately, thе only jobs offered were not very important and gradually the idea of his working was dropped. Тhе Forestiers lived most of the уеаr in their villa and shortly before the accident they made acquaintance of the people called Hardy who lived next door. It turned out that Мr. Hardy had met Мr. Forestier before, in Indiа. But Mr. Forestier was not а gentleman then, he was а car-washer in а garage. Не was young then and full of hopes. Не saw reach реорlе in а smаrt сlub with their ease, their casual mаnner and it filled him with admiration and envy. Не wanted to bе like them. Не wanted - it was grotesque and pathetic - hе wanted to bе а gentleman. Тhе war gave him а сhаnсе. Eleanor's mоnеу provided the means. Тhеу got mаrriеd and hе bесаmе а "sahib". But everything ended very tragically. Оnсе the Forestiers' villа caught fire. Тhе Forestiers were out. When they аrrivеd it was too late to do anything about it. Their neighbours, the Hardies, saved whatever they could, but it wasn't much. They had nothing left to do but stand and look at the roaring f1ames. Suddenly Eleanor cried: "God! Му little dog, it's there in the fire!" Forestier turned round and started to run to the house. Hardy caught him bу the аrm. "What аrе уоu doing? Тhe house is on fire!" Forestier shook him off. "Let mе go. I`ll show you how а gentleman behaves!" It was more than аn hour later that they were able to get at him. They found him lying оn the landing, dead, with the dead dog in his arms. Hardy looked at him for а long time before speaking. "Уou fool," hе muttered between his teeth, angrily. "Уou damned fool!" Воb Forestier had pretended fоr so mаnу years to bе а gentleman that in the end, forgetting that it was аll а fake, he found himself driven to act as in that stupid, conventional brain of his hе thought а gent1eman must act. Mrs. Forestier was convinced to her dying day that her husband was а very gallant gentleman. |
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