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Оси и плоскости тела человека - Тело человека состоит из определенных топографических частей и участков, в которых расположены органы, мышцы, сосуды, нервы и т.д.

Отёска стен и прирубка косяков - Когда на доме не достаёт окон и дверей, красивое высокое крыльцо ещё только в воображении, приходится подниматься с улицы в дом по трапу.

Дифференциальные уравнения второго порядка (модель рынка с прогнозируемыми ценами) - В простых моделях рынка спрос и предложение обычно полагают зависящими только от текущей цены на товар.

The Oval Portrait (after E.A.Poe)

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I was badly wounded and my servant couldn't let me pass a night in the open air. We came across a gloomy and grand castle among the Apennines. To all appearance it had been temporarily and very lately abandoned, so we broke into it.

We established ourselves in one of the smallest and least furnished apartments lying in a remote small tower of the building. Its decorations were rich and antique. Its walls were hung with an unusually great number of paintings in rich golden frames. In these paintings my fever caused me to take a deep interest; so that I bade the servant to light the candles of a tall chandelier which stood by the head of my bed. I wished, all this done, to go to bed and reflect on these pictures and read a small volume which had been found upon the pillow, and which criticized and described them.

Long, long I read and attentively, attentively I gazed. Rapidly the hours flew by and the deep midnight came. The position of the chandelier displeased me, and with difficulty, rather than disturb my dreaming servant, I placed it so as to throw its rays more fully upon the book.

But the action produced an effect altogether unexpected. The rays of the numerous candles now fell within a niche of the room which had been in deep shade. I thus saw in vivid light a picture all unnoticed before. It was the portrait of a young girl just entering womanhood. I glanced at the painting hurriedly, and then closed my eyes to make sure that my vision had not deceived me.

The portrait was a mere head and shoulders. The arms, the bosom, and even the ends of the radiant hair melted into the vague yet deep shadow which formed the background. The frame was oval, richly gilded. As a thing of art nothing could be more admirable than the painting itself. But it wasn't the execution of the work, nor the beauty of the girl, which had so suddenly and so strongly moved me. I remained, for an hour perhaps, half sitting and half lying, with my eyes upon the portrait. At length, I found the cause of my deep agitation in an absolute life-likeliness of

expression. I replaced the chandelier in its former position. Turning to the number in the volume which dealt with the oval portrait, I read these quaint words:

"She was a maiden of rarest beauty, full of joy, all light and smiles. And evil was the hour when she saw, and loved, and married the painter. He was passionate, grave, stern, and had already a bride in his Art. She, loving and cherishing all things, hated only the Art which was her rival; dreading only the paints and brushes and other instruments which deprived her of her lover. It was thus a terrible thing for this lady to hear the painter speak of his desire to portray her. But she was humble and obedient, and sat meekly for many weeks in the dark, high tower-chamber where the light dripped upon the pale canvas only from overhead. But the painter took glory in his work, which went on from hour to hour, and from day to day. And being a passionate, and wild, and moody man, he did not see that the light which fell so frightening in that lone tower took the health and the spirits of his bride, who grew feeble visibly to all but him. Yet she smiled on, uncomplainingly, because she saw that the painter took a burning pleasure in his task, and worked day and night to depict her who so loved him. And those who saw the portrait spoke of its resemblance in low words, as of a wonder and a proof of the power of the painter and of his deep love for her whom he depicted so astonishingly well. But at length, as the labour drew nearer to its conclusion, no one was admitted into the tower; for the painter had grown so devoted to his work that hardly turned his eyes from the canvas, even to look at the face of his wife. And he did not see that the colours which he spread upon the canvas were drawn from the cheeks of her who sat beside him. Many weeks had passed, and little remained to do, except one brushstroke upon the mouth and one brushstroke upon the eye. And then the brushstrokes were given,; and, for one moment, the painter stood fascinated before the work which he had done; but the next moment he trembled and grew very pale, and crying with a loud voice, "This is indeed Life itself!" turned to look at his beloved. She was dead!

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The Poet (After W.S.Maugham)

I am not much interested in the celebrated and I have never had passion to shake hands with the great ones of the earth. When it is proposed to me to meet some distinguished person, I seek for a civil excuse that might let me avoid the honour, and when my friend suggested giving me an introduction to Santa Ana, I declined. But the excuse I made this time was sincere. Santa Ana was not only a great poet but also a romantic figure whose adventures (in Spain at least) were legendary; but I knew that he was old and ill and I could not believe that it would be anything but a nuisance to him to meet a stranger and a foreigner. Calisto de Santa Ana was the last of byronists and had narrated his life in the poems that had brought him a fame unknown to his contemporaries. They had a passion and a heroic arrogance that swept me off my feet. I couldn't read them without a beating heart. His verses used to be on the lips of all young men and my friends would talk endlessly of his wild ways, his wit and his love affairs, for above all he was a lover. We knew all about his passion for this great actress or that singer; we read till we knew them by heart the burning sonnets in which he described his love. The infant of Spain became a nun when he stopped loving her. We applauded to the lady's romantic gesture.

But all this took place many years ago and now Don Calisto lived in isolation in his native town. I was spending there a week or so. Suddenly I received a note from the great man himself. He said it would give him great pleasure if I called on him. That's why I did decide to visit him.

"What does he look like now?" I asked my friend. – "Magnificent." – "Have you a photograph of him?" – "I wish I had. He refused to face the camera since he was thirty-five. He says he does not wish posterity to know him other than young."

I confess that I found this suggestion of vanity not a little touching. I know that in early manhood he was of extraordinary beauty and that moving sonnet of his written when he grew conscious that youth had for ever left him shows with what a bitter

and sardonic pang he must have watched the passing of those looks that had been so fantastically admired.

The massive gateway to his house suited my impression of the flamboyant poet. Though I heard the bell ring through the house, no one answered it and I rang a second and than a third time. At last an old woman with a heavy moustache came to the gate. "What do you want?" she said.

She had fine black eyes but a sullen look and I supposed that it was she who took care of the old man. I gave her my card. "I have an appointment with your master."

She opened the gateway and bade me enter. Asking me to wait she left me and went upstairs. There was about everything an air of poverty. I knew that Don Calisto was poor. Money had come to him easily at times but he had never attached any importance to it and had spent it profusely. In the middle of the room there was a table with a rocking chair on each side of it, and on the table newspapers a fortnight old. I wondered what dreams occupied his fancy as he sat there on the warm summer nights smoking cigarettes. On the walls there were Spanish pictures dark and bad. By the side of a door hung a pair of pistols and I had a pleasant fancy that they were the weapons he had used, when in the most celebrated of his many duels – for the sake of a most charming dancer (now, I suppose, a toothless hag) – he killed the famous Duke.

I had arrived rather cool and even somewhat bored, but now I got a trifle nervous. I lit a cigarette. The silence was strangely disturbing.

I heard a sound and my heart beat quickly. I was excited now and when at last I saw him coming slowly down the stairs I caught my breath. He held my card in one hand and a broad-trimmed hat in the other and was dressed in black. He was a tall old man and exceedingly thin, with a skin the colour of old ivory; his hair was abundant and white, but his bushy eyebrows were dark still: they made his great eyes flash with a sombre fire. It was wonderful that at his age these black eyes still preserved their brilliance. His nose was aquiline, his mouth close-set. His unsmiling eyes rested on me as he approached. There was in his bearing assurance and dignity. As I watched him, I understood how he had touched men's hearts. He was very inch a poet.

I was embarrassed. It was fortunate for me that I had prepared beforehand the phrase with which I meant to greet him. "It is a wonderful honour, maestro, for a foreigner such as I to make acquaintance of so great a poet."

A flicker of amusement passed through those eyes and a smile for an instant curved the lines of that stern mouth. "I am not a poet, Senor, but a merchant. You have made a mistake. Don Calisto lives next door."

I had come to the wrong house.

SECTION 4

Fairy Tales for Rendering

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Lazy Jack

Onceupon a time there was a boy whose name was Jack, and he lived with his mother. They were very poor, and the old woman got her living by spinning, but Jack was so lazy that he would do nothing but bask in the sun in the hot weather, and sit by the corner of the hearth in the winter-time. So they called him Lazy Jack. His mother could not get him to do anything for her, and at last told him, one Monday, that if he did not begin to work for his porridge she would turn him out to get his living as he could.

This roused Jack, and he went out and hired himself for the next day to a neighbouring farmer for a penny; but as he was coming home, never having had any money before, he lost it in passing over a brook. "You stupid boy," said his mother, "Why didn't you put it in your pocket?" "I'll do so another time," replied Jack.

On Wednesday, Jack went out again and hired himself to a cow-keeper, who gave him a jar of milk for his day's work. Jack took the jar and put it into the large pocket of his jacket, spilling it all, long before he got home. "Dear me!" said the old woman; "Why didn't you carry it on your head?" "I'll do so another time," said Jack.

So on Thursday, Jack hired himself again to a farmer, who agreed to give him a cream cheese for his services. In the evening Jack took the cheese, and went home with it on his head. By the time he got home the cheese was all spoilt, as part of it was lost, and part matted with his hair. "You stupid idiot," said his mother, "Why didn't you carry it very carefully in your hands?" "I'll do so another time," replied Jack.

On Friday, Lazy Jack again went out, and hired himself to a baker, who would give him nothing for his work but a large tom-cat. Jack took the cat, and began carrying it very carefully in his hands, but in a short time the pussy scratched him so much that he had to let it go. When he got home, his mother said to him, "You silly fellow, why didn't you tie it with a string, and drag it along after you?" "I'll do so another time," said Jack.

So on Saturday, Jack hired himself to a butcher, who rewarded him by the handsome present of a shoulder of mutton. Jack took the mutton, tied it to a string, and trailed it along after him in the dirt, so that by the time he had got home the meat was completely spoilt. His mother was this time quite out of patience with him, for the next day was Sunday, and they were obliged to do with only cabbage for their dinner. "You fool," said she to her son; "Why didn't you carry it on your shoulder." "I'll do so another time," replied Jack.

On the next Monday, Lazy Jack went once more, and hired himself to a cattle-keeper, who gave him a donkey for his trouble. Jack found it hard to lift the donkey on his shoulders, but at last he did it, and began walking slowly home with his prize. Now it happened that in the course of his journey there lived a rich man with his only daughter, a beautiful girl, but deaf and dumb. Now she had never laughed in her life, and the doctors said she would never speak till somebody made her laugh. This young lady happened to be looking out of the window when Jack was passing with the donkey on his shoulders, with the legs sticking up in the air, and the sight was so comical and strange that she burst out into a great fit of laughter, and immediately recovered her speech and hearing. Her father was overjoyed, and fulfilled his promise by marrying her to Lazy Jack, who was thus made a rich gentleman. They

lived in a large house, and Jack's mother lived with them in great happiness until she died.

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St. George and the Dragon

Saint George is one of the most adored saints in Christianity. He is the patron saint of Canada, Catalonia, England, Ethiopia, Georgia, Greece, Serbia, the cities of Ljubljana and Moscow. He is immortalized in the tale of George and the Dragon.

The King of Selene, a city in Libya, had one daughter, named Cleodolinda. She was as sweet as a summer morning, and as brave as a winter sun. The King loved his daughter and she was dearer to him than anything else in the world.

One day, a huge dragon settled in the marshes in the neighbourhood. It crawled on four twisted feet, it pushed itself with its black wings; and its eyes shone like red flames, and from its nostrils came out a black flame which contained most poisonous deadly fumes. Its body was covered with strong thick scales. The King gave orders that none should go outside the city walls till the dragon had gone back whence it came.

But the dragon crawled to the gates of the city and from its nostrils it poured terrible fumes, so that the people were about to die. The dragon demanded, by signs and hoarse noises, that it would only stop troubling the people of Selene, if it was granted two sheep a day. The King ordered to obey him and the dragon devoured two sheep a day and crawled to the marshes to rest.

But when soon the sheep became few in number, the bravest knights of Selene dared to go out and to battle with the dragon. And the dragon breathed out its terrible poison on them, and beat them with its wings. And, since the knights couldn't pierce the scales with which its body was covered, they were speedily overcome by the fumes and perished, one and all.

When there were no longer any sheep left to offer to the dragon, it demanded by signs and noises: "Let me be granted one child a day for my meal, and I will not trouble the people of Selene." Bitterly

wept the people of Selene. Nevertheless, because the poison from the dragon was reaching everywhere, so that none could escape, they subdued, hoping that the dragon would return to its home before all the children were devoured. And any child who was not yet fifteen years of age, on whom fell the lot, was sacrificed.

Princess Cleodolinda was aged fourteen. A day came when the lot fell upon her. The King and the people of the city mourned Cleodolinda, for she was well beloved. But the Princess did not weep and said: "I am ashamed to weep for myself, I who am a King's daughter; and I'll die gladly for the people of Selene." Women clad the Princess in white clothes, and she was placed outside the city wall to await the coming of the dragon.

Shortly after that she heard upon the ground the noise of a horse's hoofs, and her heart was filled with fear, for she saw a knight of a fairer face and grace than any she had seen. This knight was an honorable soldier of the Roman Emperor, who was passing through Libya to join his men. He stopped and asked the trembling, pale Princess what her distress was. She cried out for him: "Press on your way before the fearful dragon, which has been the death of many noble knights, rises from those marshes!" But the knight replied: "I cannot leave you unprotected against the dragon."

And at that moment the dragon crawled from its hiding-place and the knight thrust him with his spear. The dragon looped the knight and his horse by its body and tail, and threw out the poison deadlier than before, and cast lightning upon him from its eyes. But the soldier managed to stand and fight back. Through the deadly fumes that issued from the dragon the Princess could see his pale face lighted up by some radiance that shone from within. As he fought the dragon, this radiance grew greater, so that at last it was like the light of the sun.

The fight lasted a long time. Then the knight noticed that the dragon tried always to protect one place in its body beneath its left wing. And with a great blow, the knight thrust his spear with a turn into that place. Then he felt the dragon's clasp upon him loosen and the smoke ceased to rise from its nostrils, and the great beast fell to the ground. Now that the dragon was helpless, though not dead, the knight

asked Cleodonia to give him her belt. He bound it about the neck of the dragon and gave the ends into the hand of the Princess that she might lead the dragon toward the city. When they had reached the city gates they were met with great joy by the people of Selene, who had watched from the city this great fight.

With his sword the knight killed the dragon. The King said:

"What shall be given to this brave knight, who has saved us from our enemy?" And the people cried of honours, and wealth, that should be given to the knight. But he thus replied: "I desire only that you believe in the God who strengthened my hand to gain this victory, and be baptised." And when he had turned the city into the Christian faith, he went on his way.

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