Хижина дяди Тома

УДК 372.8
ББК 81.2 Англ-93
Б67

ISBN 5-89815-735-2
 © КАРО, 2006

Бичер-Стоу Г.
Б67
Хижина дяди Тома: Книга для чтения на
английском языке — СПб.: КАРО, 2006. — 768 с.

ISBN 5-89815-735-2

Гарриет Бичер-Стоу (1811–1896) — известная американская писательница.
Роман «Хижина дяди Тома» (1851) завоевал широкую
популярность, уже в первые десять лет после первого издания он был переведен на 22 языка и занял второе место (после Библии) в списке самых продаваемых книг в мире.
В романе рассказывается о нелегкой судьбе чернокожих
в Америке середины XIX века. Реалистичное описание ужасов рабства обличает его бесчеловечность и доказывает необходимость его отмены.
Неадаптированный текст на языке оригинала снабжен
комментариями и словарем.

УДК 372.8
ББК 81.2 Англ-93

Подготовка текста, комментарии и словарь
Ю.В. Гадаевой

UNCLE TOM’S CABIN

The scenes of this story, as its title indicates, lie among
a race hitherto ignored by the associations of polite and
refined society; an exotic race, whose ancestors, born beneath a tropic sun, brought with them, and perpetuated
to their descendants, a character so essentially unlike the
hard and dominant Anglo-Saxon race, as for many years
to have won from it only misunderstanding and contempt.
But, another and better day is dawning; every influence of literature, of poetry and of art, in our times, is
becoming more and more in unison with the great master
chord of Christianity, ‘good will to man.’
The poet, the painter, and the artist, now seek out and
embellish the common and gentler humanities of life, and,
under the allurements of fiction, breathe a humanizing and
subduing influence, favorable to the development of the
great principles of Christian brotherhood.
The hand of benevolence is everywhere stretched out,
searching into abuses, righting wrongs, alleviating distresses, and bringing to the knowledge and sympathies of the
world the lowly, the oppressed, and the forgotten.
In this general movement, unhappy Africa at last is
remembered; Africa, who began the race of civilization

HARRIET BEECHER STOWE

and human progress in the dim, gray dawn of early time,
but who, for centuries, has lain bound and bleeding at the
foot of civilized and Christianized humanity, imploring
compassion in vain.
But the heart of the dominant race, who have been
her conquerors, her hard masters, has at length been turned
towards her in mercy; and it has been seen how far nobler
it is in nations to protect the feeble than to oppress them.
Thanks be to God, the world has at last outlived the slavetrade!
The object of these sketches is to awaken sympathy
and feeling for the African race, as they exist among us; to
show their wrongs and sorrows, under a system so necessarily cruel and unjust as to defeat and do away the good
effects of all that can be attempted for them, by their best
friends, under it.
In doing this, the author can sincerely disclaim any
invidious feeling towards those individuals who, often
without any fault of their own, are involved in the trials
and embarrassments of the legal relations of slavery.
Experience has shown her that some of the noblest of
minds and hearts are often thus involved; and no one
knows better than they do, that what may be gathered of
the evils of slavery from sketches like these, is not the half
that could be told, of the unspeakable whole.
In the northern states, these representations may, perhaps, be thought caricatures; in the southern states are witnesses who know their fidelity. What personal knowledge
the author has had, of the truth of incidents such as here
are related, will appear in its time.

It is a comfort to hope, as so many of the world’s
sorrows and wrongs have, from age to age, been lived
down, so a time shall come when sketches similar to these
shall be valuable only as memorials of what has long
ceased to be.
When an enlightened and Christianized community
shall have, on the shores of Africa, laws, language and literature, drawn from among us, may then the scenes of the
house of bondage be to them like the remembrance of
Egypt to the Israelite, — a motive of thankfulness to Him
who hath1 redeemed them!
For, while politicians contend, and men are swerved
this way and that by conflicting tides of interest and passion, the great cause of human liberty is in the hands of
one, of whom it is said:

“He shall not fail nor be discouraged
Till He have set judgment in the earth.”
“He shall deliver the needy when he crieth,
The poor, and him that hath no helper.”
“He shall redeem their soul from deceit and violence,
And precious shall their blood be in His sight.”

1 hath — óñò. has.  àíãëèéñêîì ÿçûêå XIX âåêà óïîòðåáëÿëèñü ôîðìû ãëàãîëîâ ñ îêîí÷àíèÿìè th (3 ë., åä. ÷.) è st (2 ë.,
åä. ÷.) — ñì. çäåñü è äàëåå.

HARRIET BEECHER STOWE

In Which the Reader Is Introduced
to a Man of Humanity

Late in the afternoon of a chilly day in February, two
gentlemen were sitting alone over their wine, in a wellfurnished dining parlor, in the town of P—, in Kentucky.
There were no servants present, and the gentlemen, with
chairs closely approaching, seemed to be discussing some
subject with great earnestness.
For convenience sake, we have said, hitherto, two
gentlemen. One of the parties, however, when critically
examined, did not seem, strictly speaking, to come under
the species. He was a short, thick-set man, with coarse,
commonplace features, and that swaggering air of pretension which marks a low man who is trying to elbow his
way upward in the world. He was much over-dressed, in a
gaudy vest of many colors, a blue neckerchief, bedropped
gayly with yellow spots, and arranged with a flaunting tie,
quite in keeping with the general air of the man. His hands,
large and coarse, were plentifully bedecked with rings; and
he wore a heavy gold watch-chain, with a bundle of seals
of portentous size, and a great variety of colors, attached

UNCLE TOM’S CABIN

to it, — which, in the ardor of conversation, he was in the
habit of flourishing and jingling with evident satisfaction.
His conversation was in free and easy defiance of Murray’s Grammar, and was garnished at convenient intervals with various profane expressions, which not even
the desire to be graphic in our account shall induce us to
transcribe.
His companion, Mr. Shelby, had the appearance of a
gentleman; and the arrangements of the house, and the
general air of the housekeeping, indicated easy, and even
opulent circumstances. As we before stated, the two were
in the midst of an earnest conversation.
“That is the way I should arrange the matter,” said
Mr. Shelby.
“I can’t make trade that way — I positively can’t,
Mr. Shelby,” said the other, holding up a glass of wine
between his eye and the light.
“Why, the fact is, Haley, Tom is an uncommon fellow; he is certainly worth that sum anywhere, — steady,
honest, capable, manages my whole farm like a clock.”
“You mean honest, as niggers go,” said Haley, helping
himself to a glass of brandy.
“No; I mean, really, Tom is a good, steady, sensible,
pious fellow. He got religion at a camp-meeting, four years
ago; and I believe he really did get it. I’ve trusted him, since
then, with everything I have, — money, house, horses, —
and let him come and go round the country; and I always
found him true and square in everything.”
“Some folks don’t believe there is pious niggers, Shelby,” said Haley, with a candid flourish of his hand, “but

HARRIET BEECHER STOWE

I do. I had a fellow, now, in this yer last lot I took to
Orleans — ’t was as good as a meetin, now, really; to hear
that critter pray; and he was quite gentle and quiet like.
He fetched me a good sum, too, for I bought him cheap
of a man that was ’bliged to sell out; so I realized six hundred on him. Yes, I consider religion a valeyable thing in a
nigger, when it’s the genuine article, and no mistake.”
“Well, Tom’s got the real article, if ever a fellow had,”
rejoined the other. “Why, last fall, I let him go to Cincinnati alone, to do business for me, and bring home five
hundred dollars. ‘Tom,’ says I to him, ‘I trust you, because I think you’re a Christian — I know you would n’t
cheat.’ Tom comes back, sure enough; I knew he would.
Some low fellows, they say, said to him — ‘Tom, why
don’t you make tracks for Canada?’ ‘Ah, master trusted
me, and I could n’t,’ — they told me about it. I am sorry
to part with Tom, I must say. You ought to let him cover
the whole balance of the debt; and you would, Haley, if
you had any conscience.”
“Well, I’ve got just as much conscience as any man in
business can afford to keep, — just a little, you know, to
swear by, as’t were,” said the trader, jocularly; “and, then,
I’m ready to do anything in reason to ’blige friends; but
this yer, you see, is a leetle too hard on a fellow — a leetle
too hard.” The trader sighed contemplatively, and poured
out some more brandy.

1 yer — ïðîñòîðå÷í. year. Ïðîñòîðå÷íûé ÿçûê õàðàêòåðåí
ïðîïóñêîì çâóêîâ â ñëîâàõ, íàðóøåíèåì ãðàììàòè÷åñêèõ
ïðàâèë è ïðî÷èìè èñêàæåíèÿìè (ñì. çäåñü è äàëåå).

UNCLE TOM’S CABIN

“Well, then, Haley, how will you trade?” said Mr. Shelby, after an uneasy interval of silence.
“Well, have n’t you a boy or gal that you could throw
in with Tom?”
“Hum! — none that I could well spare; to tell the
truth, it’s only hard necessity makes me willing to sell at
all. I don’t like parting with any of my hands, that’s a fact.”
Here the door opened, and a small quadroon boy, between four and five years of age, entered the room. There
was something in his appearance remarkably beautiful and
engaging. His black hair, fine as floss silk, hung in glossy
curls about his round, dimpled face, while a pair of large
dark eyes, full of fire and softness, looked out from beneath the rich, long lashes, as he peered curiously into
the apartment. A gay robe of scarlet and yellow plaid,
carefully made and neatly fitted, set off to advantage the
dark and rich style of his beauty; and a certain comic air
of assurance, blended with bashfulness, showed that he
had been not unused to being petted and noticed by his
master.
“Hulloa, Jim Crow!” said Mr. Shelby, whistling, and
snapping a bunch of raisins towards him, “pick that up,
now!”
The child scampered, with all his little strength, after
the prize, while his master laughed.
“Come here, Jim Crow,” said he. The child came up,
and the master patted the curly head, and chucked him
under the chin.
“Now, Jim, show this gentleman how you can dance
and sing.” The boy commenced one of those wild, grotesque

HARRIET BEECHER STOWE

songs common among the negroes, in a rich, clear voice,
accompanying his singing with many comic evolutions of
the hands, feet, and whole body, all in perfect time to the
music.
“Bravo!” said Haley, throwing him a quarter of an
orange.
“Now, Jim, walk like old Uncle Cudjoe, when he has
the rheumatism,” said his master.
Instantly the flexible limbs of the child assumed the
appearance of deformity and distortion, as, with his back
humped up, and his master’s stick in his hand, he hobbled
about the room, his childish face drawn into a doleful pucker,
and spitting from right to left, in imitation of an old man.
Both gentlemen laughed uproariously.
“Now, Jim,” said his master, “show us how old Elder
Robbins leads the psalm.” The boy drew his chubby face
down to a formidable length, and commenced toning a
psalm tune through his nose, with imperturbable gravity.
“Hurrah! bravo! what a young ’un!” said Haley; “that
chap’s a case, I’ll promise. Tell you what,” said he, suddenly clapping his hand on Mr. Shelby’s shoulder, “fling in
that chap, and I’ll settle the business — I will. Come, now,
if that ain’t doing the thing up about the rightest!”
At this moment, the door was pushed gently open,
and a young quadroon woman, apparently about twentyfive, entered the room.
There needed only a glance from the child to her, to
identify her as its mother. There was the same rich, full,
dark eye, with its long lashes; the same ripples of silky
black hair. The brown of her complexion gave way on the