Расписание тренинга 23–30 июля

Хотите выучить английский быстро, весело, и с ощутимым практическим результатом? - Приезжайте на 8-дневный интенсивный тренинг-курс английского языка «VICTORY» в пансионате Подмосковья!
Ни для кого не секрет, если Вы переедете за границу, то уже через пару месяцев начнете говорить на английском. Это объясняется тем, что Вы «погружаетесь» в среду, где все вокруг говорят только на незнакомом языке, и чтобы «выжить», Вы волей-неволей начнете понимать и говорить. На 8-дневном интенсивном тренинг-курсе английского языка «VICTORY» в пансионате Подмосковья Вы «погружаетесь» в английский язык, не выезжая из страны!
8-дневный тренинг английского языка «с погружением» - это 8 дней (128 академических часов), которые Вы проведете в насыщенной языковой среде, учась не просто говорить на английском, а жить в нем.
Переговоры, презентация, прогулка или поход в ресторан, серьезный разговор с боссом, или беседа с другом - мы снабдим Вас всем необходимым: от грамматики до умения применять конкретные фразы в конкретной ситуации. Игровой тренинговый формат научит Вас любить язык и хвататься за любую возможность поговорить на нем, и поможет почувствовать себя настоящим «англичанином»!

Результаты тренинга английского языка:
- Поднятие общего уровня знания языка до ступени вверх
- Восстановление разговорного навыка после длительного перерыва
- Прохождение «языкового барьера» (отсутствие страха перед общением)
- Наращивание большого словарного запаса (до 500 новых выражений на общие и деловые темы)
- Увеличение беглости речи
- Структуризация грамматических знаний
- Аудио-практика
- Сэкономленное время и деньги на изучение английского языка
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between the devil and the deep blue sea - между двух огней

if you are between the devil and the deep blue sea, you must choose between two equally unpleasant situations
The boy was between the devil and the deep blue sea. He had to go home and be whipped or stay in town all night and be picked up by the police. - Мальчик был между двух огней. Он должен был идти домой и быть выпо¬ротым или на всю ночь оставаться в городе и оказаться в полиции.
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Расписание тренинга 16–20 июля

Интенсивный тренинг бизнес английского языка даст за 5 дней запас знаний, который позволит уверенно общаться в сфере бизнеса на деловом английском, не задумываясь о том, что делать, если Вам необходимо на английском языке:
- презентовать себя партнерам и коллегам на английском языке, завязать полезные бизнес-контакты, обсудить перспективы сотрудничества,
- разобраться в гласных и негласных правилах и нормах поведения в рамках корпоративной культуры компании,
- завязать и поддержать светскую беседу на деловом английском во время званого ужина или приема,
- провести встречу с новыми бизнес партнерами на деловом английском языке и обсудить перспективы сотрудничества,
- выполнить исследование своими силами (например, SWOT-анализ) и представить отчет о его результатах на бизнес английском языке,
- поддержать переписку на деловом английском языке, как в официальном, так и в неформальном стиле, легко переходя от одного стиля изложения к другому,
- провести глобальную презентацию компании и товара на деловом английском языке, на равных участвовать в переговорах с зарубежными коллегами,
- убедить в собственной правоте собеседника в ходе дискуссии на бизнес-английском языке,
- провести или продуктивно участвовать в мозговом штурме на бизнес-английском,
- провести совещание и составить по нему продуктивный отчет на деловом английском языке,
- провести переговоры (в том числе и телефонные) на деловом английском языке с пользой для своей компании так, чтобы обе стороны остались довольны взаимовыгодным сотрудничеством,
- грамотно изложить на деловом английском свою позицию по мотивации и обеспечить себе прибавку к зарплате,
- ответить на сложные вопросы и возражения проблемного клиента и превратить его в лояльного,
- разобраться с нюансами британского и американского делового этикета,
- заключить выгодную сделку и отпраздновать свой успех с англоязычными коллегами,
- сменить работу на более выгодную и перспективную, том числе и с помощью освоения бизнес-английского.
Благодаря авторской методике интенсивного обучения английскому языку за время тренинга Вы структурируете основную грамматику делового английского языка и разовьете устойчивую мотивацию для дальнейшего совершенствования своего бизнес-английского.
Занятия бизнес-английским языком ведутся в интенсивном режиме с 09.30 до 18.00 часов в течение 5 дней. Место проведения тренинга бизнес-английского в Москве – учебные классы Языкового тренингового центра «Свобода Слова» (5 минут пешком от метро Киевская).
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IN WHICH WE ARE INTRODUCED TO
WINNIE-THE-POOH AND SOME BEES, AND THE STORIES BEGIN

HERE is Edward Bear, coming downstairs now, bump, bump, bump, on the back of his head, behind Christopher Robin. It is, as far as he knows, the only way of coming downstairs, but sometimes he feels that there really is another way, if only he could stop bumping for a moment and think of it.
And then he feels that perhaps there isn't. Anyhow, here he is at the bottom, and ready to be introduced to you. Winnie-the-Pooh.

When I first heard his name, I said, just as you are going to say, “But I thought he was a boy?”
“So did I,” said Christopher Robin.
“Then you can't call him Winnie?”
“I don't.”
“But you said — ”
“He's Winnie-ther-Pooh. Don't you know what 'ther' means?”
“Ah, yes, now I do,” I said quickly; and I hope you do too, because it is all the explanation you are going to get.
Sometimes Winnie-the-Pooh likes a game of some sort when he comes downstairs, and sometimes he likes to sit quietly in front of the fire and listen to a story. This evening —
“What about a story?” said Christopher Robin.
“What about a story?” I said.
“Could you very sweetly tell Winnie-the-Pooh one?”
“I suppose I could,” I said. “What sort of stories does he like?”
“About himself. Because he's that sort of Bear.”
“Oh, I see.”
“So could you very sweetly?”
“I'll try,” I said.
So I tried.
Once upon a time, a very long time ago now, about last Friday, Winnie-the-Pooh lived in a forest all by himself under the name of Sanders.
(“What does 'under the name' mean?” asked Christopher Robin. “It means he had the name over the door in gold letters, and lived under it.”
“Winnie-the-Pooh wasn't quite sure,” said Christopher Robin.
“Now I am,” said a growly voice.
“Then I will go on,” said I.)
One day when he was out walking, he came to an open place in the middle of the forest, and in the middle of this place was a large oak-tree, and, from the top of the tree, there came a loud buzzing-noise.
Winnie-the-Pooh sat down at the foot of the tree, put his head between his paws and began to think.
First of all he said to himself: “That buzzing-noise means something. You don't get a buzzing-noise like that, just buzzing and buzzing, without its meaning something. If there's a buzzing-noise, somebody's making a buzzing-noise, and the only reason for making a buzzing-noise that I know of is because you're a bee.”
Then he thought another long time, and said: “And the only reason for being a bee that I know of is making honey.”
And then he got up, and said: “And the only reason for making honey is so as I can eat it.” So he began to climb the tree
He climbed and he climbed and he climbed and as he climbed he sang a little song to himself. It went like this:

Isn't it funny
How a bear likes honey?
Buzz! Buzz! Buzz!
I wonder why he does?

Then he climbed a little further.. . and a little further... and then just a little further. By that time he had thought of another song.

It's a very funny thought that, if Bears were Bees,
They'd build their nests at the bottom of trees.
And that being so (if the Bees were Bears),
We shouldn't have to climb up all these stairs.

He was getting rather tired by this time, so that is why he sang a Complaining Song. He was nearly there now, and if he just s t o o d o n t h a t branch...
Crack !
“Oh, help!” said Pooh, as he dropped ten feet on the branch below him.
“If only I hadn't — “ he said, as he bounced twenty feet on to the next branch.
“You see, what I meant to do,” he explained, as he turned head-over-heels, and crashed on to another branch thirty feet below, “what I meant to do — ”
“Of course, it was rather — “ he admitted, as he slithered very quickly through the next six branches.
“It all comes, I suppose,” he decided, as he said good-bye to the last branch, spun round three times, and flew gracefully into a gorse-bush, “it all comes of liking honey so much. Oh, help!”
He crawled out of the gorse-bush, brushed the prickles from his nose, and began to think again. And the first person he thought of was Christopher Robin.
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To her
Hand in hand we come
Christopher Robin and I
To lay this book in your lap.
Say you're surprised?
Say it's just what you wanted?
Because it's yours —
because we love you.

INTRODUCTION

If you happen to have read another book about Christopher Robin, you may remember that he once had a swan (or the swan had Christopher Robin, I don't know which) and that he used to call this swan Pooh. That was a long time ago, and when we said good-bye, we took the name with us, as we didn't think the swan would want it any more. Well, when Edward Bear said that he would like an exciting name all to himself, Christopher Robin said at once, without stopping to think, that he was Winnie-the-Pooh. And he was. So, as I have explained the Pooh part, I will now explain the rest of it.

You can't be in London for long without going to the Zoo. There are some people who begin the Zoo at the beginning, called WAYIN, and walk as quickly as they can past every cage until they get to the one called WAYOUT, but the nicest people go straight to the animal they love the most, and stay there. So when Christopher Robin goes to the Zoo, he goes to where the Polar Bears are, and he whispers something to the third keeper from the left, and doors are unlocked, and we wander through dark passages and up steep stairs, until at last we come to the special cage, and the cage is opened, and out trots something brown and furry, and with a happy cry of “Oh, Bear!” Christopher Robin rushes into its arms. Now this bear's name is Winnie, which shows what a good name for bears it is, but the funny thing is that we can't remember whether Winnie is called after Pooh, or Pooh after Winnie. We did know once, but we have forgotten...
I had written as far as this when Piglet looked up and said in his squeaky voice, “What about Me?” “My dear Piglet,” I said, “the whole book is about you.” “So it is about Pooh,” he squeaked. You see what it is. He is jealous because he thinks Pooh is having a Grand Introduction all to himself. Pooh is the favourite, of course, there's no denying it, but Piglet comes in for a good many things which Pooh misses; because you can't take Pooh to school without everybody knowing it, but Piglet is so small that he slips into a pocket, where it is very comforting to feel him when you are not quite sure whether twice seven is twelve or twenty-two. Sometimes he slips out and has a good look in the ink-pot, and in this way he has got more education than Pooh, but Pooh doesn't mind. Some have brains, and some haven't, he says, and there it is.
And now all the others are saying, “What about Us?” So perhaps the best thing to do is to stop writing Introductions and get on with the book.
A. A. M.
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Long, long ago there lived a man who had no family.
He had no wife and children. He had only a cat. The man liked his cat very much and the cat liked the man, too. Every day when the man had dinner the cat sat on a chair at the table. The cat had its plate and the man always put some meat or fish into the cat's plate. Sometimes he gave the cat some soup or milk with some bread in it.
One day the cat came into the room and put a large rat into the man's plate. You see, the cat wanted to thank the man for the food that the man had given it every day for a number of years.
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Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, of number four, Privet Drive, were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much. They were the last people you'd expect to be involved in anything strange or mysterious, because they just didn't hold with such nonsense.
Mr. Dursley was the director of a firm called Grunnings, which made drills. He was a big, beefy man with hardly any neck, although he did have a very large mustache. Mrs. Dursley was thin and blonde and had nearly twice the usual amount of neck, which came in very useful as she spent so much of her time craning over garden fences, spying on the neighbors. The Dursleys had a small son called Dudley and in their opinion there was no finer boy anywhere.

The Dursleys had everything they wanted, but they also had a secret, and their greatest fear was that somebody would discover it. They didn't think they could bear it if anyone found out about the Potters. Mrs. Potter was Mrs. Dursley's sister, but they hadn't met for several years; in fact, Mrs. Dursley pretended she didn't have a sister, because her sister and her good-for-nothing husband were as unDursleyish as it was possible to be. The Dursleys shuddered to think what the neighbors would say if the Potters arrived in the street. The Dursleys knew that the Potters had a small son, too, but they had never even seen him. This boy was another good reason for keeping the Potters away; they didn't want Dudley mixing with a child like that.
When Mr. and Mrs. Dursley woke up on the dull, gray Tuesday our story starts, there was nothing about the cloudy sky outside to suggest that strange and mysterious things would soon be happening all over the country. Mr. Dursley hummed as he picked out his most boring tie for work, and Mrs. Dursley gossiped away happily as she wrestled a screaming Dudley into his high chair.
None of them noticed a large, tawny owl flutter past the window.
At half past eight, Mr. Dursley picked up his briefcase, pecked Mrs. Dursley on the cheek, and tried to kiss Dudley good-bye but missed, because Dudley was now having a tantrum and throwing his cereal at the walls. "Little tyke," chortled Mr. Dursley as he left the house. He got into his car and backed out of number four's drive.
It was on the corner of the street that he noticed the first sign of something peculiar — a cat reading a map. For a second, Mr. Dursley didn't realize what he had seen — then he jerked his head around to look again. There was a tabby cat standing on the corner of Privet Drive, but there wasn't a map in sight. What could he have been thinking of? It must have been a trick of the light. Mr. Dursley blinked and stared at the cat. It stared back. As Mr. Dursley drove around the corner and up the road, he watched the cat in his mirror. It was now reading the sign that said Privet Drive — no, looking at the sign; cats couldn't read maps or signs. Mr. Dursley gave himself a little shake and put the cat out of his mind. As he drove toward town he thought of nothing except a large order of drills he was hoping to get that day.
But on the edge of town, drills were driven out of his mind by something else. As he sat in the usual morning traffic jam, he couldn't help noticing that there seemed to be a lot of strangely dressed people about. People in cloaks. Mr. Dursley couldn't bear people who dressed in funny clothes — the getups you saw on young people! He supposed this was some stupid new fashion.
He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel and his eyes fell on a huddle of these weirdos standing quite close by. They were whispering excitedly together. Mr. Dursley was enraged to see that a couple of them weren't young at all; why, that man had to be older than he was, and wearing an emerald-green cloak! The nerve of him! But then it struck Mr. Dursley that this was probably some silly stunt — these people were obviously collecting for something... yes, that would be it. The traffic moved on and a few minutes later, Mr. Dursley arrived in the Grunnings parking lot, his mind back on drills.

Mr. Dursley always sat with his back to the window in his office on the ninth floor. If he hadn't, he might have found it harder to concentrate on drills that morning. He didn't see the owls swoop ing past in broad daylight, though people down in the street did; they pointed and gazed open- mouthed as owl after owl sped overhead. Most of them had never seen an owl even at nighttime. Mr. Dursley, however, had a perfectly normal, owl-free morning. He yelled at five different people. He made several important telephone calls and shouted a bit more. He was in a very good mood until lunchtime, when he thought he'd stretch his legs and walk across the road to buy himself a bun from the bakery.
He'd forgotten all about the people in cloaks until he passed a group of them next to the baker's. He eyed them angrily as he passed. He didn't know why, but they made him uneasy. This bunch were whispering excitedly, too, and he couldn't see a single collecting tin. It was on his way back past them, clutching a large doughnut in a bag, that he caught a few words of what they were saying.
"The Potters, that's right, that's what I heard yes, their son, Harry"
Mr. Dursley stopped dead. Fear flooded him. He looked back at the whisperers as if he wanted to say something to them, but thought better of it.
He dashed back across the road, hurried up to his office, snapped at his secretary not to disturb him, seized his telephone, and had almost finished dialing his home number when he changed his mind. He put the receiver back down and stroked his mustache, thinking... no, he was being stupid. Potter wasn't such an unusual name. He was sure there were lots of people called Potter who had a son called Harry. Come to think of it, he wasn't even sure his nephew was called Harry. He'd never even seen the boy. It might have been Harvey. Or Harold. There was no point in worrying Mrs. Dursley; she always got so upset at any mention of her sister. He didn't blame her — if he'd had a sister like that... but all the same, those people in cloaks...
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An Unexpected Party

In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit. Not a nasty, dirty, wet hole, filled with the ends of worms and an oozy smell, nor yet a dry, bare, sandy hole with nothing in it to sit down on or to eat: it was a hobbit-hole, and that means comfort.
It had a perfectly round door like a porthole, painted green, with a shiny yellow brass knob in the exact middle. The door opened on to a tube-shaped hall like a tunnel: a very comfortable tunnel without smoke, with paneled walls, and floors tiled and carpeted, provided with polished chairs, and lots and lots of pegs for hats and coats - the hobbit was fond of visitors. The tunnel wound on and on, going fairly but not quite straight into the side of the hill - The Hill, as all the people for many miles round called it - and many little round doors opened out of it, first on one side and then on another. No going upstairs for the hobbit: bedrooms, bathrooms, cellars, pantries (lots of these), wardrobes (he had whole rooms devoted to clothes), kitchens, dining-rooms, all were on the same floor, and indeed on the same passage. The best rooms were all on the left-hand side (going in), for these were the only ones to have windows, deep-set round windows looking over his garden and meadows beyond, sloping down to the river.
This hobbit was a very well-to-do hobbit, and his name was Baggins. The Bagginses had lived in the neighborhood of The Hill for time out of mind, and people considered them very respectable, not only because most of them were rich, but also because they never had any adventures or did anything unexpected: you could tell what a Baggins would say on any question without the bother of asking him. This is a story of how a Baggins had an adventure, found himself doing and saying things altogether unexpected. He may have lost the neighbours’ respect, but he gained-well, you will see whether he gained anything in the end.
The mother of our particular hobbit ... what is a hobbit? I suppose hobbits need some description nowadays, since they have become rare and shy of the Big People, as they call us. They are (or were) a little people, about half our height, and smaller than the bearded Dwarves. Hobbits have no beards. There is little or no magic about them, except the ordinary everyday sort which helps them to disappear quietly and quickly when large stupid folk like you and me come blundering along, making a noise like elephants which they can hear a mile off. They are inclined to be at in the stomach; they dress in bright colours (chiefly green and yellow); wear no shoes, because their feet grow natural leathery soles and thick warm brown hair like the stuff on their heads (which is curly); have long clever brown fingers, good-natured faces, and laugh deep fruity laughs (especially after dinner, which they have twice a day when they can get it). Now you know enough to go on with. As I was saying, the mother of this hobbit - of Bilbo Baggins, that is - was the fabulous Belladonna Took, one of the three remarkable daughters of the Old Took, head of the hobbits who lived across The Water, the small river that ran at the foot of The Hill. It was often said (in other families) that long ago one of the Took ancestors must have taken a fairy wife. That was, of course, absurd, but certainly there was still something not entirely hobbit-like about them, - and once in a while members of the Took-clan would go and have adventures.
They discreetly disappeared, and the family hushed it up; but the fact remained that the Tooks were not as respectable as the Bagginses, though they were undoubtedly richer. Not that Belladonna Took ever had any adventures after she became Mrs. Bungo Baggins. Bungo, that was Bilbo’s father, built the most luxurious hobbit-hole for her (and partly with her money) that was to be found either under The Hill or over The Hill or across The Water, and there they remained to the end of their days. Still it is probable that Bilbo, her only son, although he looked and behaved exactly like a second edition of his solid and comfortable father, got something a bit queer in his makeup from the Took side, something that only waited for a chance to come out. The chance never arrived, until Bilbo Baggins was grown up, being about fifty years old or so, and living in the beautiful hobbit-hole built by his father, which I have just described for you, until he had in fact apparently settled down immovably.
By some curious chance one morning long ago in the quiet of the world, when there was less noise and more green, and the hobbits were still numerous and prosperous, and Bilbo Baggins was standing at his door after breakfast smoking an enormous long wooden pipe that reached nearly down to his woolly toes (neatly brushed) - Gandalf came by. Gandalf! If you had heard only a quarter of what I have heard about him, and I have only heard very little of all there is to hear, you would be prepared for any sort I of remarkable tale. Tales and adventures sprouted up all over the place wherever he went, in the most extraordinary fashion. He had not been down that way under The Hill for ages and ages, not since his friend the Old Took died, in fact, and the hobbits had almost forgotten what he looked like. He had been away over The Hill and across The Water on business of his own since they were all small hobbit-boys and hobbit-girls.
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While poor Geppetto was being taken to prison for no fault of his, that imp Pinocchio, finding himself free from the clutches of the soldier, ran off as fast as his legs could carry him. That he might reach home the quicker he rushed across the fields, and in his mad hurry he jumped high banks, thorn hedges and ditches full of water.
Arriving at the house he found the street door ajar. He pushed it open, went in, and having fastened the latch, threw himself on the floor and gave a great sigh of satisfaction.
But soon he heard some one in the room who was saying:
"Cri-cri-cri!"
"Who calls me?" said Pinocchio in a fright.
"It is I!"
Pinocchio turned round and saw a big cricket crawling slowly up the wall.
"Tell me, Cricket, who may you be?"
"I am the Talking-Cricket, and I have lived in this room a hundred years or more."
"Now, however, this room is mine," said the puppet, "and if you would do me a pleasure go away at once, without even turning round."
"I will not go," answered the Cricket, "until I have told you a great truth."
"Tell it me, then, and be quick about it."
"Woe to those boys who rebel against their parents and run away from home. They will never come to any good in the world, and sooner or later they will repent bitterly."
"Sing away, Cricket, as you please, and as long as you please. For me, I have made up my mind to run away tomorrow at daybreak, because if I remain I shall not escape the fate of all other boys; I shall be sent to school and shall be made to study either by love or by force.
To tell you in confidence, I have no wish to learn; it is much more amusing to run after butterflies, or to climb trees and to take the young birds out of their nests."
"Poor little goose! But do you not know that in that way you will grow up a perfect donkey, and that every one will make fun of you?"
"Hold your tongue, you wicked, ill-omened croaker!" shouted Pinocchio.
But the Cricket, who was patient and philosophical, instead of becoming angry at this impertinence, continued in the same tone:
"But if you do not wish to go to school why not at least learn a trade, if only to enable you to earn honestly a piece of bread!"
"Do you want me to tell you?" replied Pinocchio, who was beginning to lose patience. "Amongst all the trades in the world there is only one that really takes my fancy."
"And that trade — what is it?"
"It is to eat, drink, sleep and amuse myself, and to lead a vagabond life from morning to night."
"As a rule," said the Talking-Cricket, "all those who follow that trade end almost always either in a hospital or in prison."
"Take care, you wicked, ill-omened croaker! Woe to you if I fly into a passion!"
"Poor Pinocchio! I really pity you!"
"Why do you pity me?"
"Because you are a puppet and, what is worse, because you have a wooden head."
At these last words Pinocchio jumped up in a rage and, snatching a wooden hammer from the bench, he threw it at the Talking-Cricket.
Perhaps he never meant to hit him, but unfortunately it struck him exactly on the head, so that the poor Cricket had scarcely breath to cry "Cri-cri-cri!" and then he remained dried up and flattened against the wall.
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April, 30th - Walpurgis Night - is the main coven, as well as one of the most important pagan holidays devoted to fertility. It is a festival where every self-respecting witch must be.
To the Celts the night before 1 May was marked the beginning of summer time - the "great sun ". Like most people, the holiday in honor of the summer was devoted to the sun and fertility, so - and male power. The memorial has come down to our days- a phallic symbol - the May pole. The tradition of dancing around a pole on May, 1, decorated with flowers and ribbons, has been kept by the people of Britain and Ireland. On this day, they choose the May Queen - the only girl, who is allowed to wear green during this day, the favorite colour of the elves, according to the legend. The Queen becomes like an intermediary in communication between ordinary people and Peoples of the hills.
The current name of an ancient event was given by the Germans - in honor of the saint Valpurgii. The first official mention of the Walpurgis night appeared in the records of the Inquisition in the Middle Ages. Holy Walburga (Valtpurde, Valpurgis, Vabur, Falbur, Bugge, Godurzh) - a real historical figure. This noble Briton was born in Devon in 710. She was the daughter of Richard, one of the kings of West Saxony, and Vinny, the sisters of St. Boniface, the apostle of Germany. Both of her brothers, Willibald and Vinibald were also canonized.
Went on pilgrimage to the Holy Land with his sons, Richard left his 11-year-old daughter with the abbess in Uinborn monastery, known for its strict rules. She spent there 26 years. Walburga was so good at languages,that she described in Latin her brother’s trip to Palestine, and she wrote the story about the life of another brother in her native language-English. Therefore St. Walburga is often called the first writer in England and Germany.
In 748, Walburga’s uncle, Boniface, decides to create a system of monasteries in Germany. At his request, Winborne Abbess sends missionaries, including Walburga. The ship sailed from Britain in clear weather. But soon a terrible storm began. Nun fell on her knees right on the deck - and the sea calmed down immediately. Sailors told about this miracle on the shore, and in Germany Walburga was greeted with awe. Since then,she is considered to be the patroness of sailors (also helps with hydrophobia during storm).
Subsequently, Walburga became abbess of the monastery in Heidenheim, a town in Bavaria close to the Ayshtadta, and after her brother's death even led the monastery. Her virtues and the many miracles made her fame. Walburga died on 25 February 777.
More than 100 years passed, and the wonders of the nuns were forgotten. But here's a new bishop Ayshtadta decides to restore the monastery and church. Workers desecrated the grave of the Abbess, and one night a terrible shadow came to the Bishop ... Soon - 1 May - the remains of the nuns moved to Ayshtadt, laying into the void of one of the rocks. And from the top of the rocks the healing oil started to flow helping against many diseases. Walburga was canonized. Later, her remains were taken to different cities in Germany, and the days when it happened, dedicated to her (February 25, October 12, September 24). But the main day of the holy Walburga - May 1. So once again the pagan and Christian patterns were woven into one fabric, and the feast of filth was named the righteous. Turn the embroidery: on the reverse side there is a bonfire and a dancing laughing witch.
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Geppetto lived in a small ground-floor room that was only lighted from the staircase. The furniture could not have been simpler — a rickety chair, a poor bed, and a broken-down table.
At the end of the room there was a fireplace with a lighted fire; but the fire was painted, and by the fire was a painted saucepan that was boiling cheerfully and sending out a cloud of smoke that looked exactly like real smoke.
As soon as he reached home Geppetto took his tools and set to work to cut out and model his puppet.
"What name shall I give him?" he said to himself; "I think I will call him Pinocchio. It is a name that will bring him luck. I once knew a whole family so called. There was Pinocchio the father, Pinocchia the mother, and Pinocchi the children, and all of them did well. The richest of them was a beggar."
Having found a name for his puppet he began to work in good earnest, and he first made his hair, then his forehead, and then his eyes.
The eyes being finished, imagine his astonishment when he perceived that they moved and looked fixedly at him.
Geppetto, seeing himself stared at by those two wooden eyes, said in an angry voice:
"Wicked wooden eyes, why do you look at me?"
No one answered.
He then proceeded to carve the nose, but no sooner had he made it than it began to grow. And it grew, and grew, and grew, until in a few minutes it had become an immense nose that seemed as if it would never end.
Poor Geppetto tired himself out with cutting it off, but the more he cut and shortened it, the longer did that impertinent nose become!
The mouth was not even completed when it began to laugh and deride him.
"Stop laughing!" said Geppetto, provoked; but he might as well have spoken to the wall.
"Stop laughing, I say!" he roared in a threatening tone.
The mouth then ceased laughing, but put out its tongue as far as it would go.
Geppetto, not to spoil his handiwork, pretended not to see and continued his labors. After the mouth he fashioned the chin, then the throat, then the shoulders, the stomach, the arms and the hands.
The hands were scarcely finished when Geppetto felt his wig snatched from his head. He turned round, and what did he see? He saw his yellow wig in the puppet's hand.
"Pinocchio! Give me back my wig instantly!"
But Pinocchio, instead of returning it, put it on his own head and was in consequence nearly smothered.
Geppetto at this insolent and derisive behavior felt sadder and more melancholy than he had ever been in his life be-fore; and, turning to Pinocchio, he said to him:
"You young rascal! You are not yet completed and you are already beginning to show want of respect to your father!
That is bad, my boy, very bad!"
And he dried a tear.
The legs and the feet remained to be done.
When Geppetto had finished the feet he received a kick on the point of his nose.
"I deserve it!" he said to himself; "I should have thought of it sooner! Now it is too late!"
He then took the puppet under the arms and placed him on the floor to teach him to walk.
Pinocchio's legs were stiff and he could not move, but Geppetto led him by the hand and showed him how to put one foot before the other.
When his legs became limber Pinocchio began to walk by himself and to run about the room, until, having gone out of the house door, he jumped into the street and escaped.
Poor Geppetto rushed after him but was not able to overtake him, for that rascal Pinocchio leaped in front of him like a hare and knocking his wooden feet together against the pavement made as much clatter as twenty pairs of peasants' clogs.
"Stop him! stop him!" shouted Geppetto; but the people in the street, seeing a wooden puppet running like a race-horse, stood still in astonishment to look at it, and laughed and laughed.
At last, as good luck would have it, a soldier arrived who, hearing the uproar, imagined that a colt had escaped from his master. Planting himself courageously with his legs apart in the middle of the road, he waited with the determined purpose of stopping him and thus preventing the chance of worse disasters.
When Pinocchio, still at some distance, saw the soldier barricading the whole street, he endeavored to take him by surprise and to pass between his legs. But he failed entirely.
The soldier without disturbing himself in the least caught him cleverly by the nose and gave him to Geppetto. Wishing to punish him, Geppetto intended to pull his ears at once. But imagine his feelings when he could not succeed in find-ing them. And do you know the reason? In his hurry to model him he had forgotten to make any ears.
He then took him by the collar and as he was leading him away he said to him, shaking his head threateningly:
"We will go home at once, and as soon as we arrive we will settle our accounts, never doubt it."
At this information Pinocchio threw himself on the ground and would not take another step. In the meanwhile a crowd of idlers and inquisitive people began to assemble and to make a ring around them.
Some of them said one thing, some another.
"Poor puppet!" said several, "he is right not to wish to return home! Who knows how Geppetto, that bad old man, will beat him!"
And the others added maliciously:
"Geppetto seems a good man! but with boys he is a regular tyrant! If that poor puppet is left in his hands he is quite capable of tearing him in pieces!"
It ended in so much being said and done that the soldier at last set Pinocchio at liberty and led Geppetto to prison. The poor man, not being ready with words to defend himself, cried like a calf and as he was being led away to prison sobbed out:
"Wretched boy! And to think how I labored to make him a well-conducted puppet! But it serves me right! I should have thought of it sooner!"
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