Darmowe konto pozwoli wrócić do niego później.

When Newland Archer opened the door at the back of the club box, the curtain had just gone up on the garden scene. There was no reason why the young man should not have come earlier, for he had dined at seven, alone with his mother and sister, and had lingered afterward over a cigar in the Gothic library with glazed black-walnut bookcases and ornately carved chairs. But New York was a metropolis, and he was perfectly aware that in metropolises it was "not the thing" for a man of his standing to arrive early at the opera; and what was or was not "the thing" played a part as important in Newland Archer's New York as the inscrutable totem terrors that had ruled the destinies of his forefathers thousands of years ago.

Newland was one of those people for whom thinking about a pleasure to come provided a subtler satisfaction than its realisation. This was especially the case when the pleasure was a delicate one, and on this occasion, the moment he looked forward to was particularly rare and exquisite in quality. If he had timed his arrival in accord with the prima donna's stage manager he could not have entered the Academy at a more significant moment than just as she was singing: "He loves me--he loves me not--HE LOVES ME!--" and sprinkling the falling daisy petals with notes as clear as dew.

She sang, of course, "M'ama!" and not "he loves me," since an unalterable and unquestioned law of the musical world required that the German text of French operas sung by Swedish artists should be translated into Italian for the clearer understanding of English-speaking audiences. This seemed as natural to Newland Archer as all the other conventions on which his life was moulded: such as the duty of using two silver-backed brushes with his monogram in blue enamel to part his hair, and of never appearing in society without a flower (preferably a gardenia) in his buttonhole.

Text 2

WATCHING THE ENGLISH

I am sitting in a café near Paddington station, drinking a delicious espresso. The coffee is a real reward because I have just spent the whole morning accidentally-on-purpose bumping into people and counting the number of those who said "Sorry". This time I gave up my usual method of getting an inconspicuous research assistant to break sacred social rules while I watch the result from a safe distance. I have bravely decided that I must be my own guinea pig. I don't feel brave. I feel scared and exhausted. I want to abandon the whole "Englishness" project here and now, go home and lead a normal life. Why am I doing this? Good question. Perhaps I'd better explain. I am an anthropologist.

We are constantly being told that the English have lost their national identity – that there is no longer such thing as "Englishness". There has been a spate of books bemoaning this alleged identity crisis, with titles ranging from the plaintive Anyone for England? to the inconsolable England: An Elegy. However, having spent much of the past twelve years doing research on various aspects of English culture and social behaviour – in pubs, at racecourses, on trains and street corners – I am convinced that "Englishness" is not obsolete. In my book I examine the hidden, unspoken codes of conduct governing English behaviour which cut across class, age, sex, region, sub-cultures and other social boundaries.

The aim of my book is to describe a "grammar" of English behaviour. Native speakers can rarely explain the grammatical rules of their own language. In the same way, those who are most "fluent" in the rituals, customs and traditions of a particular culture generally lack the detachment necessary to explain the "grammar" of these practices. This is why we have anthropologists who can do this in an objective and coherent way.

Most people obey the unwritten rules of their society instinctively, without being conscious of doing so. For example, you automatically get dressed in the morning without consciously reminding yourself that there is an unspoken rule of etiquette that prohibits going to work in one's pyjamas. But if you had an anthropologist staying with you and studying your behaviour, you would be asked: "Why are you changing your clothes?" "What would happen if you went to work in pyjamas?" "What else can't you wear to work?" And on, and on, until you were heartily sick of it. Then other people from different groups of society would be watched and interrogated, and hundreds of nosy questions and observations later, the "grammar" of clothing and dress in your culture would eventually be deciphered.

The human species is addicted to rule-making. Every human activity, without exception, including natural biological functions, is hedged about with complex sets of rules and regulations, dictating precisely when, where, with whom, and in what manner the activity may be performed. Animals just do things; they eat, mate, or play; humans make an almighty song and dance about it. This is known as "civilisation". The rules may vary from culture to culture, but they are there. Different foods may be prohibited in different societies, but every society has food taboos. We have rules about everything. My focus on rules is therefore not some strange personal whim, but the recognition of the importance of rule-making in the human psyche.

4.1. Which of the following sentences is NOT true?

A. There was a general consensus that opera needed a more prestigious venue than the Academy.

B. Regular operagoers still delighted in the familiar atmosphere of the Academy.

C. The Academy concert hall was appreciated by some for its acoustics.

D. Conservatives had ambivalent feelings about the "new people".

4.2. Why did Newland Archer arrive late at the opera house?

A. A family dinner he had attended coincided with the beginning of the performance.

B. He wanted to manifest his lack of regard for Madame Nilsson.

C. Engrossed in a book, he had lost track of time in the library.

D. In his social circle it was considered appropriate.

4.3. She sang, of course, "M'ama!" and not "he loves me," since an unalterable and unquestioned law of the musical world required that the German text of French operas sung by Swedish artists should be translated into Italian for the clearer understanding of English-speaking audiences.

The above sentence is an example of the narrator's

A. prejudice.

B. sense of humour.

C. anxiety.

D. lack of knowledge.

4.4. In the first paragraph, the author

A. comments on her assistant's reluctance to collect data in this project.

B. explains why a café makes a perfect place for observation.

C. reflects on her personal involvement in a research experiment.

D. questions the reliability of her research assistant's work.

4.5. In the second paragraph, the author suggests that she wrote the book

A. to analyse the reasons for the loss of national identity.

B. to debunk the social rules that govern English society.

C. to contradict a belief voiced in other publications.

D. to argue that unified codes of conduct no longer exist in England.

4.6. The fourth paragraph predominantly focuses on

A. the technique used by anthropologists in their work.

B. the cultural implications of anthropologists' work.

C. people's attitudes to anthropologists' inquisitiveness.

D. different tricks anthropologists resort to when interviewing people.

4.7. In the context of the last paragraph, the author uses the expression humans make an almighty song and dance about it to imply that people

A. apply rules from the animal world to their own behaviour.

B. attach exaggerated importance to the rules they have created.

C. appeal to supernatural powers as justification for certain rules.

D. take for granted the superiority of their civilisation over the animal world.