Лучшие британские короткие рассказы 1922 года. The Best British Short Stories of 1922

Ю.А. Евграфова 

ЛУЧШИЕ БРИТАНСКИЕ  
КОРОТКИЕ РАССКАЗЫ 1922 ГОДА 

The Best British  
Short Stories of 1922 

Учебное пособие

2-е издание, стереотипное 

Москва 
Издательство «ФЛИНТА» 
2017 

УДК 811.111(075.8) 
ББК  81.432.1я73 
 Е14 

П о д  о б щ е й  р е д а к ц и е й :
проф. Г.И. Туголуковой 

Евграфова Ю.А.

Лучшие британские короткие рассказы 1922 года. The Best 
British Short Stories of 1922 [Электронный  ресурс] : учеб. пособие / 
Ю.А. Евграфова. — 2-е изд., стер. — М. : ФЛИНТА, 2017. — 92 с. 

ISBN 978-5-9765-3496-4 

Настоящая книга предназначена для студентов 3 курса факультетов и 
отделений английского языка и представляет собой учебное пособие по 
домашнему чтению. 
УДК 811.111(075.8) 
ББК  81.432.1я73 

ISBN 978-5-9765-3496-4  
 © Евграфова Ю.А., 2017 
 © Издательство «ФЛИНТА», 2017 

 Е14 

Contents 

Предисловие ...................................................................................... 4 

The lie ................................................................................................. 5 

The backstairs of the mind ............................................................... 10 

The pensioner ................................................................................... 19 

Broadsheet ballad ............................................................................. 27 

The Christmas present ...................................................................... 38 

Empry arms ...................................................................................... 46 

A hedonist ......................................................................................... 60 

Where was Wych street? .................................................................. 69 

Second best ....................................................................................... 83 

References ........................................................................................ 89 

ПРЕДИСЛОВИЕ 

Настоящая книга предназначена для студентов 

домашнему 
чтению. 
Данное 
пособие 
включает 
девять 
рассказов 

англоязычных авторов, взятых из одноименной книги “The best British 

short stories of 1922”1. После каждого рассказа приводятся разнообразные 

упражнения, разделенные на две части. Part A представляет собой задания 

на проверку содержания и понимания текста, Part B – задания на лексику 

из только что прочитанного рассказа. 

ческий запас. 

1 The best British short stories of 1922 / ed. by Ed. J. O‟Brien, J. Cournos. Boston: Small, Maynard 
& Company, Inc. 1922 

THE LIE 
By Holloway Horn 
(From The Blue Magazine and  Harper's Bazаar) 
1922 

The hours had passed with the miraculous rapidity which tinctures time when one 
is on the river, and now overhead the moon was a gorgeous yellow lantern in a 
greyish purple sky.   

The punt was moored at the lower end of Glover's Island2  on the Middlesex side, 
and rose and fell gently on the ebbing tide.   

A girl was lying back amidst the cushions, her hands behind her head, looking up 
through the vague tracery of leaves to the soft moonlight. Even in the garish day she 
was pretty, but in that enchanting dimness she was wildly beautiful. The hint of 
strength around her mouth was not quite so evident perhaps. Her hair was the colour 
of oaten straw in autumn and her deep blue eyes were dark in the gathering night.   
But despite her beauty, the man's face was averted from her. He was gazing out 
across the smoothly-flowing water, troubled and thoughtful. A good-looking face, but 
not so strong as the girl's in spite of her prettiness, and enormously less vital.  Ten 
minutes before he had proposed to her and had been rejected.   
It was not the first time, but he had been very much more hopeful than on the 
other occasions.   
The air was softly, embracingly warm that evening. Together they had watched 
the lengthening shadows creep out across the old river. And it was spring still, which 
makes a difference. There is something in the year's youth--the sap is rising in the 
plants--something there is, anyway, beyond the sentimentality of the poets. And 
overhead was the great yellow lantern gleaming at them through the branches with 
ironic approval.   
But, in spite of everything, she had shaken her head and all he received was the 
maddening assurance that she "liked" him.   
"I shall never marry," she had concluded. "Never. You know why."   
"Yes, I know," the man said miserably. "Carruthers."   
And so he was looking out moodily, almost savagely, across the water when the 
temptation came to him. 
He would not have minded quite so much if Carruthers had been alive, but he was 
dead and slept in the now silent Salient where a little cross marked his bed. Alive one 
could have striven against him, striven desperately, although Carruthers had always 
been rather a proposition. But now it seemed hopeless--a man cannot strive with a 
memory. It was not fair--so the man's thoughts were running. He had shared 
Carruthers' risks, although he had come back. This persistent and exclusive devotion 
to a man who would never return to her was morbid. Suddenly, his mind was made 
up.   

2 Glover's Island: Originally called Petersham Ait, Glover's Island is situated in Horse Reach on the River 
Thames, between Richmond Lock and Teddington Lock in the Borough of Richmond upon Thames, 
London, England. 

"Olive," he said.  
"Yes," she replied quietly.  
"What I am going to tell you I do for both our sakes. You will probably think I'm 

a cad, but I'm taking the risk." He was sitting up but did not meet her eyes.  

"What on earth are you talking about?" she demanded.  
"You know that--apart from you--Carruthers and I were pals?"  
"Yes," she said wondering. And suddenly she burst out petulantly. "What is it you 

want to say?"  

"He was no better than other men," he replied bluntly. "It is wrong that you 

should sacrifice your life to a memory, wrong that you should worship an idol with 
feet of clay."  

"I loath parables," she said coldly. "Will you tell me exactly what you mean about 

feet of clay?" The note in her voice was not lost on the man by her side.  

"I don't like telling you--under other conditions I wouldn't. But I do it for both our 

sakes."  

"Then, for goodness sake, do it!"  
"I came across it accidentally at the Gordon Hotel at Brighton. He stayed there, 

whilst he was engaged to you, with a lady whom he described as Mrs. Carruthers. It 
was on his last leave."  

"Why do you tell me this?" she asked after a silence; her voice was low and a 

little husky.  

"Surely, my dear, you must see. He was no better than other men. The ideal you 

have conjured up is no ideal. He was a brave soldier, a darned brave soldier, and-until we both fell in love with you--my pal. But it is not fair that his memory should 
absorb you. It's--it's unnatural."  

"I suppose you think I should be indignant?" There was no emotion of any kind in 

her voice.  

"I simply want you to see that your idol has feet of clay," he said, with the 

stubbornness of a man who feels he is losing.  

"What has that to do with it? You know I loved him."  
"Other girls have loved----" he said bitterly.  
"And forgotten? Yes, I know," she interrupted him. "But I do not forget, that is 

all."  

"But after what I have told you. Surely----"  
"You see I knew," she said, even more quietly than before.  
"You--knew?"  
"Yes. It was I who was with him. It was his last leave," she added thoughtfully.  
And only the faint noise of the water and the wistful wind in the trees overhead 

broke the silence.     

PART A – Contents

1) Find the situations where the following words and expressions were used. Explain 
their meaning: 

a cad
to conjure up

darned
an enchanting dimness

garish
to gaze out across

husky.
indignant

miraculous rapidity
oaten

pals
a punt

a sap
to take the risk.

to tincture
to be  averted from

2) Answer the questions:

1. Where is the opening scene set? Describe it.

2. What are the girl and the man doing? Was the man looking at the girl? Why not?

3. Who was Carruthers?

4. What was the man trying to explain to Olive? Was he telling the truth?

5. What was Olives reaction to the man‟s story?

3) True, false or not stated.

1. Olive and the man were punting on the river Crouch.

2. The girl had fair hair.

3. The man couldn‟t help looking at her.

4. Olive accepted the man‟s proposal.

5. The water was warm that evening.

6. Olive was married.

7. Olive was still loving her fiancée. 

PART B – Lexis

1) Provide the opposites from this text to the following words and expressions (A.1): 

an intelligent person
play safe

a gentleman
to forget

blessed
brightness

enemies
don’t look

tardiness
to stare

tasteful
calm

to take off
tranquil (voice)

2) Translate from Russian into English, using words from A.1

Мы имеем право рисковать своей жизнью. Рисковать чужой ― порядочным
людям не дано… [Сергей Довлатов. Наши (1983)]

― О, я глупец! ― бормотал он, раскачиваясь на камне в душевной боли и
ногтями царапая смуглую грудь, ― глупец, неразумная женщина, трус! [М. А. 
Булгаков. Мастер и Маргарита, часть 1 (1929–1940)]

А если ехать к друзьям, то споют друзья…, за то, что ты их друг, а это уже не
то. [Евгений Гришковец. ОдноврЕмЕнно (2004)]

В "демократической" картине ведущее место занимал Его Величество Запад, у
которого русский хам должен был смиренно учиться и не сметь возражать. 
[Александр Храмчихин. Комплекс полноценности // «Отечественные записки», 2003]

В аэропорту из самолета выскакивает крашеная иностранная блондинка, ее
вместе с обслуживающей бандой аккомпаниаторов и парикмахеров везут куданибудь в безвкусный загородный дворец нового богача, еще вчера бывшего
или секретарем парткома, или заместителем министра. [Сергей Есин. Маркиз 
Астольф де Кюстин. Почта духов, или Россия в 2007 году. Переложение на отечественный 
Сергея Есина (2008)]

В Ваших высказываниях чувствуется и любовь к поэзии, и умение пристально
вглядываться в стихи. [Самуил Маршак. Избранные письма (1950-1964)]

Вокруг
поэзии
была
тогда некая особая
приглушенность, и
никакого

столпотворения и конной милиции не было. [Евгений Евтушенко. «Волчий паспорт» 
(1999)]

Но тут что-то заставило Воланда отвернуться от города и обратить своѐ
внимание на круглую башню, которая была у него за спиною на крыше. [М. А. 
Булгаков. Мастер и Маргарита, часть 2 (1929-1940)]

Нужно
не
только
потреблять
и
слушать
чужое; не
только
играть
в

компьютерные игры и смотреть гребаный телевизор. [Лидия Ланч: Делайте свою 
музыку, или Все мужики - сво... (2004) // «Хулиган», 2004.07.15]

Он засмеялся. Меня даже испугал его сиплый смех. [И. Грекова. В вагоне (1983)]

При выращивании на солнечных местах обретает розоватый оттенок. [Сергей 
Кляцов. Ниже травы (2003) // «Сад своими руками», 2003.07.15]

Сведения же заключаются в том, что кто-то из тайных друзей Га-Ноцри, 
возмущѐнный чудовищным предательством этого менялы, сговаривается со
своими сообщниками убить его сегодня ночью, а деньги, полученные за
предательство, 
подбросить
первосвященнику
с
запиской: 
"Возвращаю

проклятые деньги!" [М. А. Булгаков. Мастер и Маргарита, часть 2 (1929-1940)]

Удивительна
была
необыкновенная
быстрота, с
которой
совершилась

мобилизация в окраинных губерниях; но еще более поразила старых знатоков
военного дела и молодых генштабистов прямо чудесная скорость в переброске
окраинной армии через пространство во всю длину России. [А. И. Куприн. 
Последние рыцари (1934)]

Эта поездка ― как нельзя более кстати, если обречен я воскрешать в памяти
былое… [О. Д. Форш. Одеты камнем (1924-1925)]

THE BACKSTAIRS OF THE MIND

By Rosamond Langbridge

(From The Manchester Guardian)  

1922

Patrick Deasey described himself as a "philosopher, psychologist, and humorist." 

It was partly because Patrick delighted in long words, and partly to excuse himself 
for being full of the sour cream of an inhuman curiosity. His curiosity, however, did 
not extend itself to science and belles lettres; it concerned itself wholly with the 
affairs of other people. At first, when Deasey retired from the police force with a 
pension and an heiress with three hundred pounds, and time hung heavy on his hands, 
he would try to satisfy this craving through the medium of a host of small flirtations 
with everybody's maid. In this way he could inform himself exactly how many loaves 
were taken by the Sweeneys for a week's consumption, as compared with those which 
were devoured by all the Cassidys; for whom the bottles at the Presbytery went in by 
the back door; and what was the real cause of the quarrel between the twin Miss 
McInerneys.  

But these were but blackbird-scratchings, as it were, upon the deep soil of the 

human heart. What Deasey cared about was what he called "the secrets of the soul."  

"Never met a man," he was wont to say, "with no backstairs to his mind! And the 

quieter, decenter, respectabler, innocenter a man looked--like enough!--the darker 
those backstairs!"  It was up these stairs he craved to go. To ring at the front door of 
ordinary intercourse was not enough for him. When Deasey invested his wife's 
money in a public-house he developed a better plan. It was the plan which made him 
ultimately describe himself as a humorist. He would wait until the bar was deserted 
by all but the one lingering victim whom his trained eye had picked out. Then, rolling 
that same eye about him, as though to make quite sure no other living creature was in 
sight, he would gently close the door of the bar-parlour, pick up a tumbler, breathe on 
it, polish the breath, lean one elbow on the bar, look round him once again, and, 
setting the whisky-bottle betwixt his customer and himself, with a nod which said 
"Help yourself," he would lean forward, with the soft indulgent grin of the human 
man-of-the-world, and begin:  

"Now, don't distress yourself, me dear man, but as between frien's, certain 

delicate little--facts--in your past life have come inadvertently to me hearing."  
Sometimes he would allude to a "certain document," or "incriminating facts," or 
"certain letters"--he would ring the changes on these three, according to the sex and 
temperament with which he had to deal. But always, whatever the words, whatever 
the nature or sex, the shot would tell. First came the little start, the straightened 
figure, the pallor or flush, the shamed and suddenly-lit eyes, and then-
"Who told you, Mr. Deasey, sir?" Or "Where did you get the letter?"  
"Ah, now, that would be telling!" Deasey would make reply. "But 'twas from a 

certain person whom, perhaps, we need not name!" Then the whiskey-bottle would 
move forward, like a pawn in chess, and the next soothing words would be, "Help 
yourself now--don't be shy, me dear man! And--your secret is safe with me!"  

Forthwith the little skeleton in that man's cupboard would lean forward and press 

upon the door, until at last the door flew open and a bone or two, and sometimes the 
whole skeleton, would rattle out upon the floor.  

He had played this game so often, that, almost at first sight he could classify his 

dupes under the three heads into which he had divided them: Those who demanded 
with violent threats--(which melted like snow before the sunshine of John Jamieson) 
the letter, or the name of the informant; those who asked, after a gentle sip or two 
how the letter had come into his hands, and those who asked immediately if the letter 
hadn't been destroyed. As a rule, from the type that demanded the letter back, he only 
caught sight of the tip of the secret's ears. From those--they were nearly always the 
women--who swiftly asked if he hadn't destroyed the letters, he caught shame-faced 
gleams of the truth.  

But those who asked between pensive sips, how the facts or the letter had come 

his way, these were the ones who yielded Deasey the richest harvest of rattling 
skeleton bones.  

Indeed, it was curiously instructive how John Jamieson laid down a causeway of 

gleaming stepping-stones, so that Deasey might cross lightly over the turgid waters of 
his victims' souls. At the words, accompanied by John Jamieson--"A certain dark 
page of your past history--help yourself, me boy!--has been inadvertently revealed to 
me, but is for ever sacred in me breast!"--it was strange to see how, from the 
underworld of the man's mind, there would trip out the company of misshapen 
hobgoblins and gnomes which had been locked away in darkness, maybe, this many a 
year.  

"Well--how would I get the time to clane the childer and to wash their heads, and 

I working all the day at curing stinkin' hides! 'Twas Herself should have got it, and 
Herself alone!"...

Or-- "No, I never done it, for all me own mother sworn I did. I only give the 

man a little push--that way!--and he fell over on the side, and busted all his veins!"  

Or-- "Well, an' wouldn't you draw two pinsions yourself, Mr. Deasey, if you'd a 

wife with two han's like a sieve for yellow gold!"  

But there were some confessions, haltingly patchy and inadequate, but hauntingly 

suggestive, which Deasey could neither piece out on the spot, nor yet unravel in the 
small hours of the night. There was one of this nature which troubled his rest long:  

"Well, the way of it was, you see, he put it up the chimbley, but when the 

chimbley-sweepers come he transferred it in his weskit to my place, and I dropped it 
down the well. They found it when they let the bucket down, but I wasn't his 
accomplice at all, 'twas only connivance with me!" 

When he had spoken of the chimney and the well Deasey concluded at once it 

was a foully murdered corpse. But then, again, you could not well conceal a corpse in 
someone's waistcoat; and gold coins would melt or be mislaid amongst the loose 
bricks of a sooty chimney. Deasey had craved for corpses, but nothing so grim as that 
had risen to his whisky-bait until he tried the same old game on Mrs. Geraghty. What 
subtle instinct was it that had prompted him to add to the first unvarying words: "But 
all that is now past and over, and safe beneath the mouldering clay!"