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Krasnaya Gorka holiday arrived. The old woman decided to please her old man and bake him a rich, sweet Plumpcake.
She thought about it for just a wee bit, but
Google was already offering her recipes—wheat, buckwheat, and PP (healthy eating), meaning yeast-free... She scraped the cupboards, took some milk from a nursing goat, grabbed a pinch of salt, and set the sourdough overnight.In the morning, the old man was just about to step out into the yard—and lo and behold, the dough was already spilling out of the tub, eager to greet the morning sun.The old man woke his wife: "Wake up, the dough is about to run away!"While the old man chopped firewood, split kindling, and carried water, the old woman climbed down from the stove, combed her messy hair with a rake, got her wrinkles smoothed out with an iron, and tied a colorful shawl.
And the old man had already gone and fired up the oven, its fiery tongue licking the logs with a low hum... The old woman went to the hens, took five eggs from a brooding hen, cracked them into the dough, and kneaded the Plumpcake. But with her poor eyes, she didn't notice a teeny-tiny chick inside one of the eggs.Once the firewood burned down, the old man swept the embers into the zagnetka (hearth pit) and sent the Plumpcake into the good, deep heat. The sun was already high in the sky when the Plumpcake was fully baked. The old woman took him out of the oven, dipped a goose feather into melted butter, and brushed the handsome fellow’s sides to soften his character.
"Look, what a grandson I’ve whipped up for you!"
The old folks rejoiced—oh, how grand the Plumpcake was. It felt like a sin to eat such a beauty, so they placed him in the red corner, right under the holy icons. At night, the old woman would read fairy tales to her grandson and sing him lullabies. One day passed as they admired him, then a second, and on the third day, the old man said: "We ought to eat him, or else he’ll go stale.
"There was nothing to be done. The old woman set the samovar on the table, brought out the cups and bowls, wiped away a tear with the corner of her shawl, and waited...The old man took the biggest knife—the one used for cutting pumpkins—took aim, but suddenly saw the Plumpcake looking at him. So carefully... The old man dropped the knife. The Plumpcake jumped up, rolled across the table, and just like that... bolted!The old folks realized what happened only when he had already rolled over the threshold, and they ran after him!
"Hold on, Plumpcake, don’t run so fast! There’s a thick forest ahead! Beasts are roaming the paths there, looking to satisfy their spring hunger with you! First, you’ll meet a hare, then the Nasal Wolf—because he’s got a wolfish maw—and then Mikhal Potapych the Bear. They won’t defeat you, they lack the wits... but beware of Fox Patrikeyevna..."They lagged behind. How could the frail old folks catch up with a rolling Plumpcake?And the Plumpcake rolled down the path, singing his song! Well, you know the one. He rolled away from the runaway hare, from the Nasal Wolf, and from the teddy bear. And there, a silver fox was waiting for him. She sniffed out that the Plumpcake wasn't vegetarian, but stuffed with meat.
"Hold on a moment, Plumpcake!" she said. "What a wonderful little voice you have. Let me listen to your song."
"And by any chance, would you happen to be Patrikeyevna? What is your profession?"
"I am a vocal coach. And my name is Flora."
What an unusual, unfamiliar name! What could it mean?
"Oh, Plumpcake, in my old age, my hearing has gone bad. Climb onto my snout, right here. And buzz a bit louder into my left ear!"
The Plumpcake obediently climbed onto her snout and buzzed with all his might! But the fox opened her maw wide and swallowed the Plumpcake whole. That was the end of him.
Это помогает при изучении языка.
« the old woman climbed down from the stove,» - я бы stove таки поменяла на английскую транскрипцию pechi со ссылкой, тк у слова нет английского аналога традиционной русской печи и баба слезает с кухонной плиты.
Честно не вижу уникальности ни в сказке, ни в переводе. А тогда - зачем?
Сомневаюсь, что перевод совпадёт. Приведите совпадающие куски в качестве примера. Там ещё духовка у меня есть.
Знаю, что надо ещё вычитать. Спасибо за печи. Подумаю.
А почему только ко мне претензии?
Перевод и произведение - разные для меня вещи. Я их и не объединяла. Я пишу в месенджере на экране телефона, когда копирую для переноса, помещается определённое количество знаков. Поэтому бывает, всё не влезает. Делаю, как умею.
Заметила сегодня двух авторов, один особенно изощрился. Штук семь комментариев в стиле Шикарно! Восхитительно! Это великолепно!
Левашова за это в бан отправили.
Вот файл на англ. Вапче рядом не похож. Ни в фас, ни в профиль. Даже название другое.
Про претензии использования комментариев для текста произведения - ну, потому что только вы это сейчас делаете. Вот еще (и там нет перевода, а просто продолжение): https://litset.ru/publ/70-1-0-84548#ent827956
Вы используете переводчик ИИ, а я читаю свободно на английском и на русском. Для меня это одна и та же старая сказка в минимальной обработке.
Дискутировать дальше - создавать рекламу неоригинальному произведению. Поэтому, отвечать дальше не буду.
Если отвлечённо взять произведения на дуэльном конкурсе, почти все они содержат вольный пересказ исторических событий или сценария фильма.
У меня из четырёх сюжетов - только Колобок как-то пишется в пересказ.