The work of Tom Sawyer. "The Adventures of Tom Sawyer" in Russian cinema

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America's Golden Pen

On November 30, 1835, in the USA, in the village of Florida in Missouri, a child was born, who was named Samuel Langhorne Clemens. This year will be remembered by the inhabitants of the Earth for a majestic cosmic spectacle - the appearance in the sky of Comet Halley, approaching our planet once every 75 years. Soon, Sam Clemens' family moved to the town of Hannibal in Missouri in search of a better life.

The head of the family died when his youngest son was not even twelve years old, leaving nothing but debts, and Sam had to earn his living in the newspaper that his older brother began publishing. The teenager worked tirelessly - first as a typesetter and printer, and soon as an author of funny and caustic notes.

But it was not the glory of the “golden pen” that attracted young Clemens during these years. Growing up on the Mississippi, he, like his heroes later, constantly felt the call of the mighty and magical river. He dreamed of becoming a ship pilot and a few years later he actually became one. He later admitted that he considered this time the happiest in his life and, if not for the Civil War between the northern and southern states of the United States, he would have remained a pilot until the end of his days.

During the voyages along the Mississippi, the pseudonym with which Sam Clemens signed all his works—twenty-five weighty volumes—was also born. “Mark Twain” in the jargon of American rivermen means the minimum depth at which a steamer does not risk running aground - something about three and a half meters. This phrase became his new name, the name of the most famous person of the second half of the 19th century in America - a writer who created real American literature, a satirist, publicist, publisher and traveler.

With the outbreak of hostilities, shipping along the Mississippi ceased and Sam Clemens joined one of the volunteer detachments, but quickly became disillusioned with the senselessly cruel war, where compatriots exterminated each other, and together with his brother he went to the west coast in search of work. The journey in the van lasted two weeks, and when the brothers reached Nevada, Sam stayed to work in a mine in the village of Virginia, where silver was mined.

He turned out to be an unimportant miner, and soon he had to get a job at the local newspaper Territorial Enterprises, where he first began to sign “Mark Twain.” And in 1864, the young journalist moved to San Francisco, where he began writing for several newspapers at once, and soon his first literary success came to him: his story “The Famous Jumping Frog from Calaveras” was recognized as the best work of humorous literature created in America.

During these years, as a correspondent, Mark Twain traveled all over California and visited the Hawaiian Islands, and his travel notes enjoyed unprecedented popularity among readers.

But other travels brought Mark Twain real fame - to Europe and the Middle East. Letters written by him along the way made up the book “Simplices Abroad,” which was published in 1869. The writer could not sit still - during these years he managed to visit not only Europe, but also Asia, Africa and even Australia. He also visited Ukraine – Odessa, but not for long.

A chance meeting with a childhood friend in 1874 and shared memories of boyhood adventures in the town of Hannibal gave Twain the idea to write about it. The book did not come to him right away. At first he conceived it in the form of a diary, but finally found the right form, and in 1875 The Adventures of Tom Sawyer was created. The novel was published a year later and in a matter of months transformed Mark Twain from a famous humorist into a great American writer. He gained a reputation as a master of a fascinating plot, intrigue, and a creator of lively and unique characters.

By this time, the writer, his wife and children, settled in the town of Hartford in Connecticut, where he lived for the next twenty years, filled with literary work and caring for his family. Almost immediately after finishing Tom Sawyer, Mark Twain conceived the idea of The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, but work on the book took a long time - the novel was published only in 1884. Half a century later, William Faulkner wrote: “Mark Twain was the first truly American writer, and we have all been his heirs ever since.”

After Huckleberry, Twain wrote several novels that still captivate readers today. Among them are “A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court”, “Personal Memoirs of Joan of Arc”, “Simp Wilson” and others. He published collections of stories and essays, satirical and journalistic works, which enjoyed constant success among readers. A decade later, he returned to his first masterpiece and created the stories “Tom Sawyer Abroad” and “Tom Sawyer - Detective”.

Mark Twain's life was complex and full of the most unexpected events. He knew success and failure, was rich and poor, invested his fees in crazy enterprises and projects and often made mistakes in financial matters. So, in 1896, the manager of the publishing house founded by the writer brought it to collapse and left Twain without a livelihood and with gigantic debts. To get out of this situation, Mark Twain moved his family to Europe, and at the age of 65 he went on a round-the-world lecture tour. The tour lasted more than a year, Twain earned enough to get rid of debts, but during this time his wife, who for many years had been his literary editor and invaluable adviser, died.

The end of Mark Twain's life was sad - misfortunes literally haunted him. In addition to the death of his wife, he had to endure the death of one of his daughters and the incurable illness of another. An economic crisis broke out in America, the causes of which Twain believed were the greed of the rich and the immorality of the poor. The writer, whose best works are filled with wisdom and light humor, became disillusioned with humanity and no longer believed in progress and democracy, these main American values. Such thoughts are heard in his last works, many of which remained unfinished, and in “Memoirs”, published only in 1924.

A year before his death, Mark Twain told a friend that he could only wait for the comet and leave with it the Earth, which had disappointed him so much. He died on April 21, 1910. Halley's Comet appeared in the sky the next day.

Chapter 1

Not a sound.

Silence.

- It’s amazing, where did this boy go? Where are you, Tom?

No answer.

Aunt Polly pushed her glasses to the tip of her nose and looked around the room. Then she lifted her glasses onto her forehead and looked around the room from underneath them. She almost never looked at such nonsense as a boy through her glasses; These were ceremonial glasses, and they were purchased solely for beauty, and not for use. Therefore, it was as difficult to see anything through them as through a stove door. For a moment she froze in thought, and then said - not particularly loudly, but so that the furniture in the room could hear her:

- Well, wait, just let me get to you, and I’ll...

Cutting herself off mid-sentence, she bent down and began to rummage under the bed with a broom, catching her breath after each attempt. However, she was unable to extract anything from there except a frightened cat.

“What a punishment, I’ve never seen such a child in my life!”

Approaching the door that was wide open, she stopped on the threshold and looked around the garden - beds of tomatoes, thoroughly overgrown with weeds. Tom wasn't here either. Then, raising her voice so that she could be heard beyond the fence, Aunt Polly shouted:

- Sooo, where have you gone?

A subtle rustle was heard behind her, and she instantly looked back - so that she could grab the boy’s hand before he rushed through the door.

- This is true! I lost sight of the closet again. What did you need there?

- Nothing.

- How is it nothing? What's in your hands? By the way, so does the physiognomy. What is this?

- How should I know, auntie?

- But I know. This is jam - that's what it is! I told you a hundred times: don’t you dare touch the jam! Give me the rod here.

The rod whistled threateningly in the air - trouble could not be avoided.

- Oh, auntie, what’s that moving there in the corner?!

The old lady quickly turned around, catching her skirts to protect herself from danger. The boy instantly jumped over the garden fence - and was gone.

At first Aunt Polly was taken aback, but then she laughed:

- What a scoundrel! Am I really not going to learn anything? Haven’t I seen enough of his tricks? It's time for me to wise up. But it’s not without reason that it’s been said: there’s no worse fool than an old fool, and you can’t teach an old dog new tricks. But, my God, he comes up with something new every day - how can you guess? And most importantly, he knows where the limit of my patience is, and if he makes me laugh or confuses me even for a minute, I can’t even spank him properly. Oh, I’m not doing my duty, even though it’s a great sin! It is truly said in the Bible: whoever spares his offspring destroys him... And what can you do: Tom is a real imp, but he, poor thing, is the son of my late sister - and who would raise his hand to punish an orphan? Your conscience doesn’t tell you to indulge him, but if you take the rod, your heart breaks. No wonder the Bible says: the human age is short and full of sorrows. The real truth! Here you go: today he’s shirking school, which means I’ll have to punish him tomorrow - let him work hard. It’s a pity to force a boy to work when all the children have a holiday, but I know that work is twice as bad for him as a rod, and I must do my duty, otherwise I will completely destroy the child’s soul.

Tom didn't really go to school, so he had a great time. He barely had time to return home so that before dinner he could help Negro Jim cut wood and chop kindling for kindling. And to be honest - in order to tell Jim about his adventures while he was managing his work. Meanwhile, Tom's younger brother Sid was picking up and carrying logs for kindling. Sid was an exemplary boy, unlike all the tomboys and mischief-makers, however, he was not Tom’s brother, but his stepbrother. It is not surprising that these were two completely different characters.

While Tom was eating dinner, every now and then putting his paw into the sugar bowl, Aunt Polly asked him questions that she herself seemed very insidious - she wanted to take Tom at his word. Like many very simple-minded people, she considered herself a great diplomat, capable of the most sophisticated tricks, and believed that her innocent tricks were the height of insight and cunning.

– What, Tom, wasn’t it too hot at school today?

- No, auntie.

- Or maybe it’s still a little hot?

- Yes, auntie.

“Didn’t you really want to take a bath, Thomas?”

Tom's spine went cold - he instantly sensed a catch.

Looking incredulously into Aunt Polly’s face, he didn’t see anything special there, so he said:

Aunt Polly put out her hand and, feeling Tom's shirt, said:

“And in fact, you didn’t sweat at all.” “It gave her pleasure to think that she was able to check whether Tom’s shirt was dry without anyone guessing why she needed it.”

Tom, however, had already sensed which way the wind was blowing and was two moves ahead of her:

“At school, the boys watered their heads with water from the well. I still have it wet, look at it!

Aunt Polly was upset: what evidence was missed! But then she took up her task again:

“But you didn’t have to rip your collar to get your head wet, did you?” Come on, unbutton your jacket!

Grinning, Tom opened his jacket - the collar was tightly sewn.

- Oh, come on, you scoundrel! Get out of my sight! I must admit, I really thought that you had run away from class to go swimming. But you are not as bad as you sometimes seem.

The aunt was both upset that her insight had failed her this time, and she was glad - even if it was an accident, Tom behaved decently today.

“It seems to me that in the morning you sewed up his collar with white thread, and now, look, it’s black.”

- Well, yes, of course white! Thomas!

It has become dangerous to wait for the investigation to continue. Running out the door, Tom shouted:

- I’ll remember this for you, Siddy!

Once safe, Tom examined two thick needles stuck into the inside of the lapel of his jacket and wrapped with thread: one white, the other black.

- What the hell! She wouldn't have noticed anything if it weren't for this Sid. And what kind of manner is this: sometimes she sews it up with white thread, sometimes with black thread. Even if it’s just one thing, you can’t keep track of everything. Oh, and I’ll give this Sid a shot on the first day!

Even with a very big stretch, Tom could not be called the most exemplary boy in the city, but he knew this most exemplary boy well - and could not stand him.

However, after a couple of minutes, and perhaps faster, he forgot about his misadventures. Not because these misadventures were not as painful and bitter as the misfortunes of adults, but because new, stronger impressions crowded them out of his soul - in exactly the same way as adults forget an old grief when starting some new one. case. Now such a novelty was a special style of whistling, which he had just learned from a black man, and now was the time to practice this art without interference.

This whistle was a bird's trill - something like a deep twitter; and in order for it to come out as it should, it was necessary to touch the palate with the tip of the tongue every now and then. The reader probably knows how this is done if he was ever a boy. It took a fair amount of effort and patience, but soon Tom began to succeed, and he walked down the street even faster - birds chirping from his lips, and his soul was full of delight. He felt like an astronomer who had discovered a new comet - and, if we talk about pure, deep, unadulterated joy, all the advantages were on the side of Tom Sawyer, and not the astronomer.

There was a long summer evening ahead. Suddenly Tom stopped whistling and froze. Standing in front of him was a completely unfamiliar boy, a little older than himself. Any newcomer, regardless of age and gender, was a great rarity in the run-down town of St. Petersburg. And this boy was also dressed like a dandy. Just imagine: dressed festively on a weekday! Incredible! He was wearing a completely new hat without a single stain, a smart cloth jacket fastened with all the buttons, and the same new trousers. And, good God, he was wearing shoes - it was Friday! He even had a tie made of some kind of colorful ribbon, tied at the collar. The dandy had an arrogant look, which Tom could not stand. And the longer he looked at this dazzling splendor, the higher his nose turned up in front of the dandy stranger and the more wretched his own outfit seemed to him. Both were silent. If one of the boys started to move, the other one moved too, but sideways, keeping a distance; They stood face to face, without taking their eyes off each other, and finally Tom said:

- Do you want me to beat you?

- Just try! Brat!

“I said I’ll beat you off, and I’ll beat you off!”

- It won’t work!

- It will come out!

- It won’t work!

- It will come out!

- It won’t work!

There was a painful pause, after which Tom began again:

- What is your name?

- None of your damn business!

– If I want it, it will be mine!

- Why don’t you fight?

“Talk again and you’ll get it in full.”

– And I’ll talk and talk – what, weak?

- Just think, a peacock! Yes, I’ll put you down with one left!

- Well, why don’t you put it to bed? Everyone knows how to chat.

-What are you dressed up for? Big deal! I also put on a hat!

- Take it and knock it down if you don’t like it. Just touch it and you will find out! Where should you fight?

- Go to hell!

- Talk to me again! I'll break your head in with a brick!

- And I’ll break it through!

- You, I see, are a master of chatter. Why aren't you fighting? Got scared?

- No, I didn’t chicken out!

And again a menacing silence. Then both began to sidestep each other until the shoulder of one rested on the shoulder of the other. Tom said:

- Come on, get out of here!

- Take it yourself!

Both continued to stand, pressing against their opponent with all their might and staring at him with hatred. However, neither one nor the other could prevail. Finally, heated by the skirmish, they cautiously retreated from each other and Tom said:

– You are a lousy coward and a slobbering puppy. I’ll tell my older brother to give you a hard time!

“I don’t give a damn about your older brother!” I also have a brother, even older than yours. He'll take it and throw you over the fence!

Here it should be remembered that both of them had no trace of older brothers. Then Tom drew a line in the dust with his big toe and, frowning, said:

“If you cross this line, I’ll beat you so hard that you won’t recognize your own people!” Try it - you won't be happy!

The dandy quickly stepped over the line and said cockily:

- Come on! Just touch it! Why aren't you fighting?

- Give me two cents and you'll get it.

After rummaging in his pocket, the dandy took out two coppers and handed them to Tom with a grin. Tom instantly hit him on the hand, and the coppers flew into the dust. The next moment they both rolled along the pavement in a ball. They pulled each other's hair, tore each other's clothes, gave each other heavy blows - and covered themselves with dust and "battle glory." When the dust settled a little, through the smoke of the battle it became clear that Tom had saddled the newcomer and was hammering him with his fists.

- Beg for mercy! – he finally said, taking a breath.

The dandy fumbled silently, trying to free himself. Tears of anger streamed down his face.

- Beg for mercy! – The fists started working again.

- There will be science for you. Next time, watch who you mess with.

The dandy wandered away, shaking dust from his jacket, limping, sobbing, sniffling and vowing to give it to Tom if he “caught him again.”

Having laughed a lot, Tom headed home in the best mood, but had barely turned his back on the stranger when he grabbed a stone and threw it at Tom, hitting him between the shoulder blades, and he took off running, jumping like a water antelope. Tom followed him all the way to the house and at the same time found out where this dandy lived. For half an hour he stood guard at the gate, luring the enemy out into the street, but he only made faces from the window. In the end, the dandy's mother appeared, scolded Tom, calling him a nasty, rude and ill-mannered boy, and told him to get out. Which is what he did, warning the lady so that her overdressed son would not come across him on the road again.

Tom returned home in the dark and, carefully climbing through the window, came across an ambush in the person of Aunt Polly. When she discovered the state of his clothes and face, her determination to replace his Saturday rest with hard labor became harder than granite.

Chapter 2

It was a glorious Saturday morning. Everything around breathed freshness, shone and was full of life. Every face shone with joy, and cheerfulness was felt in everyone’s gait. The white acacia was in full bloom and its sweet scent was spreading everywhere.

Cardiff Mountain - its peak visible from anywhere in the city - was completely green and seemed from afar to be a wonderful, serene country.

It was at that moment that Tom appeared on the sidewalk with a bucket of diluted lime and a long brush in his hands. However, at the first glance at the fence, all joy left him, and his soul plunged into the deepest sorrow. Thirty yards of solid plank fence, nine feet high! Life seemed meaningless and painful to him. With a heavy sigh, Tom dipped his brush into the bucket, brushed it across the top board of the fence, repeated this operation twice, compared the insignificant bleached patch with the vast continent of what remained to be painted, and sat down under the tree in despair.

Meanwhile, Negro Jim jumped out of the gate with a bucket in his hand, singing “Buffalo Girls.” Until that day, it seemed to Tom that there was nothing more boring than carrying water from the city well, but now he looked at it differently. The well is always full of people. White and black boys and girls always hang around there, waiting for their turn, chatting, exchanging toys, quarreling, playing pranks, and sometimes fighting. And even though the well was only a hundred and fifty steps from their house, Jim never returned home before an hour later, and it also happened that someone had to be sent for him. So Tom said:

- Listen, Jim! Let me run for water, while you whitewash a little here.

- How can you, Mister Tom! The old housewife told me to immediately bring water and, God forbid, not to get stuck anywhere along the way. She also said that Mr. Tom would probably call me to paint the fence, so that I would do my job and not stick my nose where they weren’t asked, and she would take care of the fence herself.

– Why are you listening to her, Jim! You never know what she'll say! Give me a bucket, one leg here and the other there, that's all. Aunt Polly won't even guess.

- Oh, I'm scared, Mister Tom. The old mistress will rip my head off. By God, it will tear you off!

- Is that her? Yes, she doesn’t fight at all. Unless he snaps a thimble on the top of his head, that’s all there is to it – just think, the importance! She says all sorts of things, but her words do nothing, except that sometimes she herself bursts into tears. Jim, would you like me to give you a balloon? White, with marble veins!

Jim hesitated.

– White and marble to boot, Jim! This is not a bullshit for you!

- Oh, how it shines! But I’m really afraid of the old mistress, Mr. Tom...

- Well, do you want me to show you my sore finger?

Mark Twain

The Adventures of Tom Sawyer

Preface

Most of the adventures described in this book are taken from life: one or two were experienced by myself, the rest by boys who studied with me at school. Huck Finn is copied from life, Tom Sawyer too, but not from one original - he is a combination of features taken from three boys I knew, and therefore belongs to a mixed architectural order.

The wild superstitions described below were common among the children and Negroes of the West at that time, that is, thirty or forty years ago.

Although my book is intended primarily for the amusement of boys and girls, I hope that grown men and women will not disdain it either, for it was my design to remind them of what they themselves were once like, how they felt, how they thought, how they spoke, and how they what strange adventures they sometimes got involved in.

There is no answer.

“It’s amazing where this boy could have gone!” Tom, where are you?

There is no answer.

Aunt Polly pulled her glasses down her nose and looked around the room over the top of her glasses, then raised them onto her forehead and looked around the room from under her glasses. She very rarely, almost never, looked through her glasses at such a trifle as a boy; These were ceremonial glasses, her pride, purchased for beauty, not for use, and it was as difficult for her to see anything through them as through a pair of stove dampers. She was confused for a minute, then she said - not very loudly, but so that the furniture in the room could hear her:

- Well, wait, just let me get to you...

Without finishing, she bent down and began poking under the bed with a brush, catching her breath after each poke. She didn't get anything out of it except the cat.

- What a child, I’ve never seen anything like this in my life!

Approaching the wide open door, she stopped on the threshold and looked around her garden - beds of tomatoes overgrown with dope. Tom wasn't here either. Then, raising her voice so that she could be heard as far as possible, she shouted:

- Sooo, where are you?

There was a slight rustle behind her, and she looked back - just in time to grab the boy's arm before he slipped through the door.

- Well, it is! I forgot about the closet. What were you doing there?

- Nothing.

- Nothing? Look what you have in your hands. And the mouth too. What is this?

- I don’t know, aunt.

- I know. This jam is what it is! Forty times I told you: don’t you dare touch the jam - I’ll tear it out! Give me the rod here.

The rod whistled in the air - it seemed that trouble was imminent.

- Oh, auntie, what’s that behind your back?!

The old woman turned around, picking up her skirts to protect herself from danger. The boy jumped over the high fence in an instant and was gone.

Aunt Polly was taken aback at first, and then laughed good-naturedly:

- So go with him! Am I really not going to learn anything? Does he play tricks on me a lot? It's time for me to wise up, I think. But there is no worse fool than an old fool. No wonder they say: “You can’t teach an old dog new tricks.” But, my God, every day he comes up with something, where can he guess? And it’s as if he knows how long he can torment me; he knows that as soon as he makes me laugh or confuses me even for a minute, I give up and I can’t even spank him. I’m not fulfilling my duty, to be honest! After all, the Scripture says: whoever spares a child destroys him. Nothing good will come of this, it’s just a sin. He is a real devil, I know, but he, poor thing, is the son of my late sister, I somehow don’t have the heart to punish him. If you indulge him, your conscience will torture you, but if you punish him, your heart will break. It is not for nothing that the Scripture says: the human age is short and full of sorrows; I think this is true. These days he's shirking school; I'll have to punish him tomorrow - I'll put him to work. It’s a pity to force a boy to work when all the children have a holiday, but it’s hardest for him to work, and I need to do my duty - otherwise I’ll ruin the child.

Tom didn't go to school and had a great time. He barely had time to return home in order to help Negro Jim cut wood for tomorrow and chop kindling for kindling before dinner. In any case, he managed to tell Jim about his adventures while he was three-quarters of the way through the work. Tom's younger (or rather half-brother), Sid, had already done everything he was supposed to (he picked up and carried wood chips): he was an obedient boy, not prone to pranks and pranks.

While Tom was having dinner, taking lumps of sugar from the sugar bowl at every opportunity, Aunt Polly asked him various tricky questions, very cunning and tricky - she wanted to catch Tom by surprise so that he would let it slip. Like many simple-minded people, she considered herself a great diplomat, capable of the most subtle and mysterious tricks, and believed that all her innocent tricks were a miracle of resourcefulness and cunning. She asked:

– Tom, wasn’t it very hot at school?

- No, aunt.

- Or maybe it’s very hot?

- Yes, aunt.

“Well, didn’t you really want to take a bath, Tom?”

Tom's soul sank to his feet - he sensed danger.

He looked incredulously into Aunt Polly’s face, but didn’t see anything special and so said:

- No, aunt, not really.

She reached out and felt Tom's shirt and said:

- Yes, perhaps you didn’t sweat at all. “She liked to think that she was able to check whether Tom’s shirt was dry without anyone understanding what she was getting at.

However, Tom immediately sensed which way the wind was blowing and warned the next move:

“At our school, boys poured water over their heads from the well. I still have it wet, look!

Aunt Polly was very upset that she had lost sight of such an important piece of evidence. But then I was inspired again.

“Tom, you didn’t have to rip your collar to get your head wet, right?” Unzip your jacket!

Tom's face lit up. He opened his jacket - the collar was tightly sewn.

- Come on! Get out! I must admit, I thought that you would run away from class to go swimming. So be it, this time I forgive you. You're not as bad as you seem.

She was both upset that her insight had deceived her this time, and she was glad that Tom had at least accidentally behaved well.

Sid intervened:

“It seemed to me as if you sewed up his collar with white thread, and now he has black thread.”

- Well, yes, I sewed it up with white! Volume!

But Tom did not wait for the continuation. Running out the door, he shouted:

“I’ll remember this for you, Siddy!”

In a secluded place, Tom examined two thick needles stuck into the lapels of his jacket and wrapped with thread: one needle had a white thread threaded into it, the other a black one.

“She wouldn’t have noticed anything if it weren’t for Sid.” Damn it! Sometimes she sews it up with white thread, sometimes with black thread. At least one thing, otherwise you won’t be able to keep track of it. Well, I’ll beat Sid. Will remember!

Mark Twain

The Adventures of Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn

Big collection

The Adventures of Tom Sawyer

Chapter I

TOM PLAYS, FIGHTS, HIDES

No answer.

Where did he go, this boy?.. Tom!

No answer.

The old woman lowered her glasses to the tip of her nose and looked around the room over her glasses; then she pulled her glasses up onto her forehead and looked out from under them: she rarely looked through her glasses if she had to look for such a trifle as a boy, because these were her ceremonial glasses, the pride of her heart: she wore them only “for importance”; in fact, she didn’t need them at all; she might as well have been looking through the stove dampers. At first she seemed confused and said, not very angrily, but still loud enough for the furniture to hear her:

Well, just get caught! I...

Without finishing her thought, the old woman bent down and began poking under the bed with a brush, stopping each time because she was short of breath. From under the bed she did not take anything out except the cat.

I have never seen such a boy in my life!

She walked to the open door and, standing on the threshold, peered vigilantly into her garden - tomatoes overgrown with weeds. Tom wasn't there either. Then she raised her voice so that it could be heard further and shouted:

A slight rustling sound was heard behind me. She looked around and at the same second grabbed the edge of the boy’s jacket, who was about to sneak away.

Well, of course! And how could I forget about the closet! What were you doing there?

Nothing! Look at your hands. And look at your mouth. What did you stain your lips with?

I don't know, aunt!

And I know. It's jam, that's what it is. Forty times I told you: don’t you dare touch the jam, otherwise I’ll skin you! Give me this rod here.

The rod flew into the air - the danger was imminent.

Ay! Aunt! What's that behind your back?

The old woman turned on her heel in fear and hurried to pick up her skirts in order to protect herself from a terrible disaster, and the boy at that very second started running, climbed onto a high plank fence - and was gone!

Aunt Polly was dumbfounded for a moment, and then began to laugh good-naturedly.

What a boy! It seemed like it was time for me to get used to his tricks. Or did he not play enough tricks with me? Could have been smarter this time. But, apparently, there is no worse fool than an old fool. It’s not without reason that they say that you can’t teach an old dog new tricks. However, my God, this boy’s things are all different: every day, then another - can you guess what’s on his mind? It’s as if he knows how long he can torment me until I lose patience. He knows that if he confuses me for a minute or makes me laugh, then my hands give up, and I am unable to whip him with the rod. I am not fulfilling my duty, what is true is true, may God forgive me. “Whoever does without a rod destroys a child,” says the Holy Scripture. I, a sinner, spoil him, and for this we will get it in the next world - both me and him. I know that he is a real devil, but what should I do? After all, he is the son of my late sister, a poor fellow, and I don’t have the heart to flog an orphan. Every time I let him evade beatings, my conscience torments me so much that I don’t even know how to give it, but if I whip him, my old heart is literally torn to pieces. It is true, it is true in scripture: the human age is short and full of sorrows. That's how it is! Today he did not go to school: he will be idle until the evening, and it is my duty to punish him, and I will fulfill my duty - I will make him work tomorrow. This, of course, is cruel, since tomorrow is a holiday for all the boys, but nothing can be done, more than anything in the world he hates working. I have no right to let him down this time, otherwise I will completely ruin the baby.

Tom really didn't go to school today and had a lot of fun. He barely had time to return home so that before dinner he could help Negro Jim cut wood and chop wood for tomorrow, or, more precisely, tell him about his adventures while he was doing three-quarters of the work. Tom's younger brother, Sid (not a brother, but a half-brother), by this time had already done everything that he was ordered (collected and carried all the chips), because he was an obedient quiet one: he did not play pranks and did not cause trouble for his elders.

While Tom was eating his dinner, taking every opportunity to steal a piece of sugar, Aunt Polly asked him various questions, full of deep slyness, hoping that he would fall into the traps she had set and spill the beans. Like all simple-minded people, she, not without pride, considered herself a subtle diplomat and saw in her most naive plans miracles of malicious cunning.

“Tom,” she said, “it must have been hot at school today?”

It's very hot, isn't it?

And wouldn’t you, Tom, want to swim in the river?

It seemed to him that something evil was happening - a shadow of suspicion and fear touched his soul. He looked inquisitively into Aunt Polly's face, but it told him nothing. And he answered:

No, “um... not particularly.

Aunt Polly reached out and touched Tom's shirt.

“I didn’t even break a sweat,” she said.

And she thought smugly how cleverly she had managed to discover that Tom’s shirt was dry; It never occurred to anyone what kind of trick she had in mind. Tom, however, had already managed to figure out which way the wind was blowing, and warned further questions:

We put our heads under the pump to freshen up. My hair is still wet. Do you see?

Aunt Polly felt offended: how could she miss such important indirect evidence! But immediately a new thought struck her.

Tom, in order to put your head under the pump, you didn’t have to rip your shirt collar where I sewed it up? Come on, unbutton your jacket!

The anxiety disappeared from Tom's face. He opened his jacket. The collar of the shirt was sewn tightly.

Okay, okay. You will never understand. I was sure that you didn’t go to school and went swimming. Okay, I’m not angry with you: although you are a decent rogue, you still turned out to be better than you might think.

She was a little annoyed that her cunning had led to nothing, and at the same time pleased that Tom at least this time turned out to be a good boy.

But then Sid intervened.

“I remember something,” he said, “as if you were sewing up his collar with white thread, and here, look, it’s black!”

Yes, of course, I sewed it up in white!.. Tom!..

But Tom did not wait for the conversation to continue. Running out of the room, he said quietly:

Well, I’ll blow you up, Siddy!

Having taken refuge in a safe place, he examined two large needles, tucked into the lapel of his jacket and wrapped in thread. One had a white thread and the other had a black thread.

She wouldn't have noticed if it weren't for Sid. Damn it! Sometimes she sewed it up with white thread, sometimes with black thread. I’d better sew by myself, otherwise you’ll inevitably get confused... But I’m still going to blow Sid up - it’ll be a good lesson for him!

Tom was not a Model Boy that the whole town could be proud of. But he knew very well who was an exemplary boy, and he hated him.

However, after two minutes - and even sooner - he forgot all the troubles. Not because they were less difficult and bitter for him than the adversities that usually torment adults, but because at that moment a new powerful passion took possession of him and drove all worries out of his head. In the same way, adults are capable of forgetting their sorrows as soon as they are captivated by some new activity. Tom was currently fascinated by one precious novelty: he had adopted a special style of whistling from a negro friend, and he had long wanted to practice this art in the wild, so that no one would interfere. The black man whistled like a bird. He produced a melodious trill, interrupted by short pauses, for which he had to touch the roof of his mouth with his tongue often, often. The reader probably remembers how this is done - if he was ever a boy. Perseverance and diligence helped Tom quickly master all the techniques of this matter. He walked merrily down the street, his mouth full of sweet music and his soul full of gratitude. He felt like an astronomer who had discovered a new planet in the sky, only his joy was more immediate, fuller and deeper.

Mark Twain

THE ADVENTURES OF TOM SAWYER

translation by Korney Chukovsky

Chapter I

TOM PLAYS, FIGHTS, HIDES

No answer.

Where did he go, this boy?.. Tom!

No answer.

The old woman lowered her glasses to the tip of her nose and looked around the room over her glasses; then she lifted her glasses onto her forehead and looked out from under them: she rarely looked through her glasses if she had to look for such a trifle as a boy, because these were her dress glasses, the pride of her heart: she wore them only “for importance”; in fact, she didn’t need them at all; she might as well have been looking through the stove dampers. At first, she seemed confused and said, not very angrily, but still loud enough for the furniture to hear her:

Well, just get caught! I...

I have never seen such a boy in my life!

A slight rustling sound was heard from behind. She looked around and at the same second grabbed the edge of the boy’s jacket, who was about to sneak away.

Well, of course! And how could I forget about the closet! What were you doing there?

Nothing! Look at your hands. And look at your mouth. What did you stain your lips with?

I don't know, aunt!

And I know. It's jam, that's what it is. Forty times I told you: don’t you dare touch the jam, otherwise I’ll skin you! Give me this rod here.

The rod flew into the air - the danger was imminent.

Ay! Aunt! What's that behind your back?

Aunt Polly was dumbfounded for a moment, and then began to laugh good-naturedly.

What a boy! It seemed like it was time for me to get used to his tricks. Or did he not play enough tricks with me? Could have been smarter this time. But, apparently, there is no worse fool than an old fool. It’s not without reason that they say that you can’t teach an old dog new tricks. However, my God, this boy’s things are all different: every day, then another - can you guess what’s on his mind? It’s as if he knows how long he can torment me until I lose patience. He knows that if he confuses me for a minute or makes me laugh, then my hands give up, and I am unable to whip him with the rod. I am not fulfilling my duty, what is true is true, may God forgive me. “Whoever does without a rod destroys a child,” says the Holy Scripture. I, a sinner, spoil him, and for this we will get it in the next world - both me and him. I know that he is a real imp, but what should I do? After all, he is the son of my late sister, a poor fellow, and I don’t have the heart to flog an orphan. Every time I let him evade beatings, my conscience torments me so much that I don’t even know how to say, but if I whip him, my old heart is literally torn to pieces. It is truly, truly said in scripture: the human age is short and full of sorrows. That's how it is! Today he did not go to school: he will be idle until the evening, and it is my duty to punish him, and I will fulfill my duty - I will make him work tomorrow. This, of course, is cruel, since tomorrow is a holiday for all the boys, but nothing can be done, more than anything in the world he hates working. I have no right to let him down this time, otherwise I will completely ruin the baby.

Tom really didn't go to school today and had a lot of fun. He barely had time to return home so that before dinner he could help Negro Jim cut wood and chop wood for tomorrow, or, more precisely, tell him about his adventures while he was doing three-quarters of the work. Tom's younger brother, Sid (not a brother, but a half-brother), by this time had already done everything that he was ordered (collected and carried all the wood chips), because he was an obedient quiet person: he did not play pranks and did not cause trouble for his elders.

“Tom,” she said, “it must have been hot at school today?”

It's very hot, isn't it?

And wouldn’t you, Tom, want to swim in the river?

It seemed to him that something evil was happening - a shadow of suspicion and fear touched his soul. He looked inquisitively into Aunt Polly's face, but it told him nothing. And he answered:

No, “um... not particularly.

Aunt Polly reached out and touched Tom's shirt.

“I didn’t even break a sweat,” she said.

We put our heads under the pump to freshen up. My hair is still wet. Do you see?

Aunt Polly felt offended: how could she miss such important indirect evidence! But immediately a new thought struck her.

Tom, in order to put your head under the pump, you didn’t have to rip your shirt collar where I sewed it up? Come on, unbutton your jacket!

The anxiety disappeared from Tom's face. He opened his jacket. The collar of the shirt was sewn tightly.

Okay, okay. I'll never understand you. I was sure that you didn’t go to school and went swimming. Okay, I’m not angry with you: although you are a decent rogue, you still turned out to be better than you might think.

She was a little annoyed that her cunning had led to nothing, and at the same time pleased that Tom at least this time turned out to be a good boy.

But then Sid intervened.

“I remember something,” he said, “as if you were sewing up his collar with white thread, and here, look, it’s black!”

Yes, of course, I sewed it up in white!.. Tom!..

But Tom did not wait for the conversation to continue. Running out of the room, he said quietly:

Well, I’ll blow you up, Siddy!

Having taken refuge in a safe place, he examined two large needles, tucked into the lapel of his jacket and wrapped in thread. One had a white thread and the other had a black thread.

She wouldn't have noticed if it weren't for Sid. Damn it! Sometimes she sewed it up with white thread, sometimes with black thread. I’d better sew by myself, otherwise you’ll inevitably get lost... But I’ll still piss Sid off - it’ll be a good lesson for him!

Tom was not a Model Boy that the whole town could be proud of. But he knew very well who was an exemplary boy, and he hated him.

However, after two minutes - and even sooner - he forgot all the troubles. Not because they were less difficult and bitter for him than the adversities that usually torment adults, but because at that moment a new powerful passion took possession of him and drove all worries out of his head. In the same way, adults are capable of forgetting their sorrows as soon as they are captivated by some new activity. Tom was currently fascinated by one precious novelty: he had learned a special way of whistling from a negro friend, and he had long wanted to practice this art in the wild, so that no one would interfere. The black man whistled like a bird. He produced a melodious trill, interrupted by short pauses, for which it was necessary to frequently touch the palate with his tongue. The reader probably remembers how this is done - if he was ever a boy. Perseverance and diligence helped Tom quickly master all the techniques of this matter. He walked merrily down the street, his mouth full of sweet music and his soul full of gratitude. He felt like an astronomer who had discovered a new planet in the sky, only his joy was more immediate, fuller and deeper.

Mark Twain

THE ADVENTURES OF TOM SAWYER

translation by Korney Chukovsky

Chapter I

TOM PLAYS, FIGHTS, HIDES

No answer.

Where did he go, this boy?.. Tom!

No answer.

Well, just get caught! I...

I have never seen such a boy in my life!

A slight rustling sound was heard from behind. She looked around and at the same second grabbed the edge of the boy’s jacket, who was about to sneak away.

Well, of course! And how could I forget about the closet! What were you doing there?

Nothing! Look at your hands. And look at your mouth. What did you stain your lips with?

I don't know, aunt!

And I know. It's jam, that's what it is. Forty times I told you: don’t you dare touch the jam, otherwise I’ll skin you! Give me this rod here.

The rod flew into the air - the danger was imminent.

Ay! Aunt! What's that behind your back?

Aunt Polly was dumbfounded for a moment, and then began to laugh good-naturedly.

What a boy! It seemed like it was time for me to get used to his tricks. Or did he not play enough tricks with me? Could have been smarter this time. But, apparently, there is no worse fool than an old fool. It’s not without reason that they say that you can’t teach an old dog new tricks. However, my God, this boy’s things are all different: every day, then another - can you guess what’s on his mind? It’s as if he knows how long he can torment me until I lose patience. He knows that if he confuses me for a minute or makes me laugh, then my hands give up, and I am unable to whip him with the rod. I am not fulfilling my duty, what is true is true, may God forgive me. “Whoever does without a rod destroys a child,” says the Holy Scripture. I, a sinner, spoil him, and for this we will get it in the next world - both me and him. I know that he is a real imp, but what should I do? After all, he is the son of my late sister, a poor fellow, and I don’t have the heart to flog an orphan. Every time I let him evade beatings, my conscience torments me so much that I don’t even know how to give it, but if I whip him, my old heart is literally torn to pieces. It is true, it is true in scripture: the human age is short and full of sorrows. That's how it is! Today he did not go to school: he will be idle until the evening, and it is my duty to punish him, and I will fulfill my duty - I will make him work tomorrow. This, of course, is cruel, since tomorrow is a holiday for all the boys, but nothing can be done, more than anything in the world he hates working. I have no right to let him down this time, otherwise I will completely ruin the baby.

Tom really didn't go to school today and had a lot of fun. He barely had time to return home so that before dinner he could help Negro Jim cut wood and chop wood for tomorrow, or, more precisely, tell him about his adventures while he was doing three-quarters of the work. Tom's younger brother, Sid (not a brother, but a half-brother), by this time had already done everything that he was ordered (collected and carried all the wood chips), because he was an obedient quiet person: he did not play pranks and did not cause trouble for his elders.

“Tom,” she said, “it must have been hot at school today?”

It's very hot, isn't it?

And wouldn’t you, Tom, want to swim in the river?

It seemed to him that something evil was happening - a shadow of suspicion and fear touched his soul. He looked inquisitively into Aunt Polly's face, but it told him nothing. And he answered:

No, “um... not particularly.

Aunt Polly reached out and touched Tom's shirt.

“I didn’t even break a sweat,” she said.

We put our heads under the pump to freshen up. My hair is still wet. Do you see?

Aunt Polly felt offended: how could she miss such important indirect evidence! But immediately a new thought struck her.

Tom, in order to put your head under the pump, you didn’t have to rip your shirt collar where I sewed it up? Come on, unbutton your jacket!

The anxiety disappeared from Tom's face. He opened his jacket. The collar of the shirt was sewn tightly.

She was a little annoyed that her cunning had led to nothing, and at the same time pleased that Tom at least this time turned out to be a good boy.

But then Sid intervened.

“I remember something,” he said, “as if you were sewing up his collar with white thread, and here, look, it’s black!”

Yes, of course, I sewed it up in white!.. Tom!..

But Tom did not wait for the conversation to continue. Running out of the room, he said quietly:

Well, I’ll blow you up, Siddy!

Having taken refuge in a safe place, he examined two large needles, tucked into the lapel of his jacket and wrapped in thread. One had a white thread and the other had a black thread.

She wouldn't have noticed if it weren't for Sid. Damn it! Sometimes she sewed it up with white thread, sometimes with black thread. I’d better sew by myself, otherwise you’ll inevitably get lost... But I’ll still piss Sid off - it’ll be a good lesson for him!

Tom was not a Model Boy that the whole town could be proud of. But he knew very well who was an exemplary boy, and he hated him.

However, after two minutes - and even sooner - he forgot all the troubles. Not because they were less difficult and bitter for him than the adversities that usually torment adults, but because at that moment a new powerful passion took possession of him and drove all worries out of his head. In the same way, adults are capable of forgetting their sorrows as soon as they are captivated by some new activity. Tom was currently fascinated by one precious novelty: he had learned a special way of whistling from a negro friend, and he had long wanted to practice this art in the wild, so that no one would interfere. The black man whistled like a bird. He produced a melodious trill, interrupted by short pauses, for which it was necessary to frequently touch the palate with his tongue. The reader probably remembers how this is done - if he was ever a boy. Perseverance and diligence helped Tom quickly master all the techniques of this matter. He walked merrily down the street, his mouth full of sweet music and his soul full of gratitude. He felt like an astronomer who had discovered a new planet in the sky, only his joy was more immediate, fuller and deeper.