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Many people say that the
British read millions of books, newspapers and magazines each day.
Most of us read at least one newspaper a day and often pick up a copy
of a book that is being read by hundreds of people, per­haps at
the same time in the same language. I wonder how many people stop and
think back to that day in the not-so-distant past when the first
sheet of printed paper came off the first printing press used in
England. That was in the year 1477 when William Caxton brought his
printing press from Flanders, set it up at Westminster in the shadow
of the old Abbey and set to work to pro­duce the first books in
English.

Canterbury Tales by Chaucer,
who lived from 1340 to 1400, was among the books he printed, together
with many translations from Latin and French.

Canterbury Tales was very
popular among the people who could read at that time. These educated
people who lived mainly in London could easily understand the
lan­guage of Canterbury Tales because it was written in the
dialect of London. But people from other parts of Eng­land
couldn’t understand very much because at that time each county had
its own dialect. So the people of Kent, the West Country, the
Midlands, London, the North and other parts of England could not
easily understand each other.

Because Caxton printed his
book in one dialect, the educated English had a common dialect, and
as educa­tion spread, this dialect became the language of
England.

Of course, if you read one of
Caxton’s original books you won’t understand it very well because of
the great changes in English grammar and spelling since Caxton lived.
Caxton himself wrote in one of his books about the many changes in
his lifetime.

«And certainly our language
now vsed varyeth ferre from that whiche was vsed and spoken when I
was bourne».

As you can see it varies very
much in spelling and structure from the English you are reading, but
you cer­tainly recognize it as English of Caxton to whom we owe
so much.

The skylight room

(after
О
Henry)

First Mrs.Parker would show
you the double parlours. She would describe the gentleman who had
lived here for eight years. Then you would stammer that you were
nei­ther a doctor nor a dentist, and Mrs. Parker would give you a
cold look.

Next you went up one flight of
stairs’ and looked at t the second floor room. Again you stammered
that you wanted something cheaper.

At last Mrs. Parker would take
you to look at Mr. Skid-der’s large room on the third floor. Mr.
Skidder’s room was not vacant. He wrote plays and smoked cigarettes
in it all day long. But every person who was looking for a room was
made to visit his room to have a look at his cur­tains. After
each visit Mr. Skidder, afraid of being turned out, would pay a small
part of his rent.

Then — oh, then — if you
still stood there, with only three dollars in your pocket, Mrs.-
Parker would cry loud­ly the word «Clara!», show you her back
and walk down­stairs. Then Clara, the coloured maid, would take
you up and show you the Skylight Room.

The room was very small. In it
was an iron bed, a wash-stand and a chair. A shelf was the cupboard.
Its four bare walls seemed to close jn upon you like the sides of a
cof­fin. For a moment you felt you could not breathe. Then

you looked up as from a well —
and breathed once more. Through the glass of the little skylight you
could see the blue sky. «Two dollars, sir», Clara would say. One
day Miss Leeson came to look for a room, She carried a type­writer
which was made for a much larger lady. She was a very little girl,
with eyes and hair that kept on growing after she had stopped.

Mrs. Parker showed her the
double parlours. «In this closet you could keep a skeleton or
anaesthetic or coal». « But I am neither a doctor nor a dentist»,
said Miss Lee­son. Mrs. Parker gave her the cold look she kept
for those who were neither doctors nor dentists, and moved to the
second floor back room.

«Eight dollars?» said Miss
Leeson. «Dear me! I’m just a poor little working girl. Show me
something higher and lower».

Mr. Skidder jumped up and
dropped his cigarettes when he heard the knock on the door.

«Excuse me, Mr. Skidder»,
said Mrs. Parker, with her demon’s smile. «I didn’t know you were
in». «I asked the lady to have a look at your curtains». — «They
are beau­tiful», said Miss Leeson with a sweet smile.

After they had gone, Mr.
Skidder began to replace his tall, black-haired heroine from his
latest play by a small, fair, long-haired girl with big eyes.

Soon the call «Clara» was
heard. The coloured maid took Miss Leeson up the ladder to the
Skylight Room and said: «Two dollars!»

«I’ll take it», sighed Miss
Leeson, sinking down upon the iron bed.

Every
day Miss Leeson went out to work. At night she brought some papers
with handwriting on them and made copies with her typewriter.
Sometimes she had no workin the evening, and she would sit on the
steps of the p_Orch
with the other lodgers. Miss Leeson was a sweet, gay Crea­ture.
She was kind to everybody. Once she let Mr. Skid­der read to her
three acts of his great (unpublished) Com­edy.

The
gentlemen lodgers were always pleased when Vq_ss
Leeson
had time to sit on the steps for an hour or two. But Miss Longnecker,
the tall blonde who taugbt at school and said, «Well, really!» to
everything you s_aid,
sat on the top step and sniffed. And Miss Dorn, who worked in a
department store, sat on the bottom step _an(j
sniffed. Miss Leeson sat on the middle step and the n_Gxi
would
quickly group around her.

Especially
Mr. Skidder. And especially Mr. Hooker, who was forty-five, fat,
red-faced and foolish. And es­pecially young Mr. Evans. The men
said she was the jf_un.
niest and jolliest girl they had ever seen, but the laflies on the
top step and the lower-step kept on sniffing».

* * *

One summer evening Mrs.
Parker’s lodgers were ga­ting on the porch when Miss Leeson
looked up into the sky and cried gaily:

«Oh,
there is Billy Jackson! I can see him from h&_re>
too».

All looked up, thinking there
was a plane guided by some pilot Jackson. But there was no plane in
the sky.

«It’s that star», explained
Miss Leeson, pointing-w^h a thin finger. I can see it every night
through my sty-light. I named it Bill Jackson».

«Well,
really I» said Miss Longnecker. «I didn’t kn_Ow
you were an astronomer, Miss Leeson». «Yes, I am», Miss Leeson.

«Well, really!» said Miss
Longnecker. «The star you are pointing to is Gamma, of the
constellation Cassio­peia».

« Oh », said Mr. Evans, «I
think Billy Jackson is a much better name for it».

«You can’t see him very well
from down here», said Miss Leeson. «You must see him from my room.
You know you can see stars even in the day-time from the bot­tom
of a well. At night my room is like a well, and it makes Billy
Jackson look like the big diamond pin that Night fastens her gown
with ».

* * *

There came a time after that
when Miss Leeson brought no papers home to copy. And when she left
home in the morning, instead of working, she went from of­fice to
office and got cold refusals from office boys. This went on for many
days.

One evening she wearily
climbed Mrs. Parker’s porch at the hour when she always returned from
her dinner at the restaurant. But she had had no dinner.

As she entered the hall, Mr.
Hoover came up to her. He was pleased there was nobody in the hall.
He asked her to marry him. She moved away from him, and caught the
balustrade. He tried to take her by the hand and she raised it and
struck him weakly on the face. Step by step she went up. She passed
Mr. Skidder’s door. At last she crawled up the ladder and opened the
door of the skylight room. She was too weak to light the lamp or to
undress. She fell upon the iron bed, slowly raised her heavy eyelids,
and smiled. For Billy Jackson was shining down on her, calm and
bright, through the sky­light.

As she lay on her back she
tried twice to raise her arm. The third time she touched her lips
with two thin fingers and blew a kiss out of the black well. Then her
arm fell back.

«Good-bye,
Billy», she murmured faintly. «You are millions of miles away. But
you kept where I could *pe
you
most of the time, when there wasn’t anything else but darkness around
me. Millions of miles… Good-bye, Billy Jackson».

Clara, the coloured maid,
found the door locked at ten next morning, and they forced it open.
The girl was un­conscious and someone ran to phone for an
ambulance». Soon it arrived, and a young doctor, in his white linen
coat, quick and active, climbed the steps. «Ambulance call to 49»,
he said. «What’s the trouble?». «Oh, yes, doctor», sniffed Mrs.
Parker. She was not pleased that there was trouble in the house. «I
can’t understand what can be the matter with her. She is unconscious
and we can’t bring her to. It’s a young woman, Miss Elsie Lee­son.
Never before in my house—»

«What room?» cried the
doctor in a terrible voice. Mrs. Parker had never heard such a voice
before. «The skylight room. It —»

Evidently the ambulance doctor
knew the way to sky­light rooms. He.ran up the stairs, four at a
time». Mrs. Parker followed slowly; she was not used to hurrying. On
the first landing she met the doctor who was coming back. He was
carrying the astronomer in his arms. He stopped for a moment and said
something to Mrs. Park­er that was evidently not very pleasant to
hear.

The ambulance doctor walked
with his burden through the crowd of curious gapers that had gathered
in the street. His face was pale and grave.

They noticed that he did not
lay down the girl upon the bed in the ambulance, and that all he said
to the driv­er was: «Drive like hell!»

That is all. In the next
morning’s newspaper I saw a little item, and the last sentence of it
may help you (as it helped me) to understand the story better.

«A young woman has been
brought to Bellevue Hospi­tal from No. 49… Street. She is
suffering from debility caused by starvation. The ambulance doctor
William Jackson who attended the case, says the patient will
re­cover» .

Now (start spreading the word)

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Дата добавления: 2014-10-24 | Просмотров: 1433

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O. HENRY <== предыдущая страница | Следующая страница ==> THE SKYLIGHT ROOM

Many people say that the British read millions of books, newspapers and magazines each day. Most of us read at least one newspaper a day and often pick up a copy of a book that is being read by hundreds of people, per­haps at the same time in the same language. I wonder how many people stop and think back to that day in the not-so-distant past when the first sheet of printed paper came off the first printing press used in England. That was in the year 1477 when William Caxton brought his printing press from Flanders, set it up at Westminster in the shadow of the old Abbey and set to work to pro­duce the first books in English.

Canterbury Tales by Chaucer, who lived from 1340 to 1400, was among the books he printed, together with many translations from Latin and French.

Canterbury Tales was very popular among the people who could read at that time. These educated people who lived mainly in London could easily understand the lan­guage of Canterbury Tales because it was written in the dialect of London. But people from other parts of Eng­land couldn’t understand very much because at that time each county had its own dialect. So the people of Kent, the West Country, the Midlands, London, the North and other parts of England could not easily understand each other.

Because Caxton printed his book in one dialect, the educated English had a common dialect, and as educa­tion spread, this dialect became the language of England.

Of course, if you read one of Caxton’s original books you won’t understand it very well because of the great changes in English grammar and spelling since Caxton lived. Caxton himself wrote in one of his books about the many changes in his lifetime.

«And certainly our language now vsed varyeth ferre from that whiche was vsed and spoken when I was bourne».

As you can see it varies very much in spelling and structure from the English you are reading, but you cer­tainly recognize it as English of Caxton to whom we owe so much.

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