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- Джек Лондон
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- Мартин Иден
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- Стр. 113/241
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The
hours
he
spent
with
Ruth
were
the
only
happy
ones
he
had
,
and
they
were
not
all
happy
.
He
was
afflicted
always
with
a
gnawing
restlessness
,
more
tantalizing
than
in
the
old
days
before
he
possessed
her
love
;
for
now
that
he
did
possess
her
love
,
the
possession
of
her
was
far
away
as
ever
.
He
had
asked
for
two
years
;
time
was
flying
,
and
he
was
achieving
nothing
.
Again
,
he
was
always
conscious
of
the
fact
that
she
did
not
approve
what
he
was
doing
.
She
did
not
say
so
directly
.
Yet
indirectly
she
let
him
understand
it
as
clearly
and
definitely
as
she
could
have
spoken
it
.
It
was
not
resentment
with
her
,
but
disapproval
;
though
less
sweet
-
natured
women
might
have
resented
where
she
was
no
more
than
disappointed
.
Her
disappointment
lay
in
that
this
man
she
had
taken
to
mould
,
refused
to
be
moulded
.
To
a
certain
extent
she
had
found
his
clay
plastic
,
then
it
had
developed
stubbornness
,
declining
to
be
shaped
in
the
image
of
her
father
or
of
Mr
.
Butler
.
What
was
great
and
strong
in
him
,
she
missed
,
or
,
worse
yet
,
misunderstood
.
This
man
,
whose
clay
was
so
plastic
that
he
could
live
in
any
number
of
pigeonholes
of
human
existence
,
she
thought
wilful
and
most
obstinate
because
she
could
not
shape
him
to
live
in
her
pigeonhole
,
which
was
the
only
one
she
knew
.
She
could
not
follow
the
flights
of
his
mind
,
and
when
his
brain
got
beyond
her
,
she
deemed
him
erratic
.
Nobody
else
’
s
brain
ever
got
beyond
her
.
She
could
always
follow
her
father
and
mother
,
her
brothers
and
Olney
;
wherefore
,
when
she
could
not
follow
Martin
,
she
believed
the
fault
lay
with
him
.
It
was
the
old
tragedy
of
insularity
trying
to
serve
as
mentor
to
the
universal
.
"
You
worship
at
the
shrine
of
the
established
,
"
he
told
her
once
,
in
a
discussion
they
had
over
Praps
and
Vanderwater
.
"
I
grant
that
as
authorities
to
quote
they
are
most
excellent
—
the
two
foremost
literary
critics
in
the
United
States
.
Every
school
teacher
in
the
land
looks
up
to
Vanderwater
as
the
Dean
of
American
criticism
.
Yet
I
read
his
stuff
,
and
it
seems
to
me
the
perfection
of
the
felicitous
expression
of
the
inane
.
Why
,
he
is
no
more
than
a
ponderous
bromide
,
thanks
to
Gelett
Burgess
.
And
Praps
is
no
better
.
His
‘
Hemlock
Mosses
,
’
for
instance
is
beautifully
written
.
Not
a
comma
is
out
of
place
;
and
the
tone
—
ah
!
—
is
lofty
,
so
lofty
.
He
is
the
best
-
paid
critic
in
the
United
States
.
Though
,
Heaven
forbid
!
he
’
s
not
a
critic
at
all
.
They
do
criticism
better
in
England
.
"
But
the
point
is
,
they
sound
the
popular
note
,
and
they
sound
it
so
beautifully
and
morally
and
contentedly
.
Their
reviews
remind
me
of
a
British
Sunday
.
They
are
the
popular
mouthpieces
.
They
back
up
your
professors
of
English
,
and
your
professors
of
English
back
them
up
.
And
there
isn
’
t
an
original
idea
in
any
of
their
skulls
.
They
know
only
the
established
,
—
in
fact
,
they
are
the
established
.
They
are
weak
minded
,
and
the
established
impresses
itself
upon
them
as
easily
as
the
name
of
the
brewery
is
impressed
on
a
beer
bottle
.
And
their
function
is
to
catch
all
the
young
fellows
attending
the
university
,
to
drive
out
of
their
minds
any
glimmering
originality
that
may
chance
to
be
there
,
and
to
put
upon
them
the
stamp
of
the
established
.
"
"
I
think
I
am
nearer
the
truth
,
"
she
replied
,
"
when
I
stand
by
the
established
,
than
you
are
,
raging
around
like
an
iconoclastic
South
Sea
Islander
.
"
"
It
was
the
missionary
who
did
the
image
breaking
,
"
he
laughed
.
"
And
unfortunately
,
all
the
missionaries
are
off
among
the
heathen
,
so
there
are
none
left
at
home
to
break
those
old
images
,
Mr
.
Vanderwater
and
Mr
.
Praps
.
"
"
And
the
college
professors
,
as
well
,
"
she
added
.
He
shook
his
head
emphatically
.
"
No
;
the
science
professors
should
live
.
They
’
re
really
great
.
But
it
would
be
a
good
deed
to
break
the
heads
of
nine
-
tenths
of
the
English
professors
—
little
,
microscopic
-
minded
parrots
!
"
Which
was
rather
severe
on
the
professors
,
but
which
to
Ruth
was
blasphemy
.
She
could
not
help
but
measure
the
professors
,
neat
,
scholarly
,
in
fitting
clothes
,
speaking
in
well
-
modulated
voices
,
breathing
of
culture
and
refinement
,
with
this
almost
indescribable
young
fellow
whom
somehow
she
loved
,
whose
clothes
never
would
fit
him
,
whose
heavy
muscles
told
of
damning
toil
,
who
grew
excited
when
he
talked
,
substituting
abuse
for
calm
statement
and
passionate
utterance
for
cool
self
-
possession
.
They
at
least
earned
good
salaries
and
were
—
yes
,
she
compelled
herself
to
face
it
—
were
gentlemen
;
while
he
could
not
earn
a
penny
,
and
he
was
not
as
they
.
She
did
not
weigh
Martin
’
s
words
nor
judge
his
argument
by
them
.
Her
conclusion
that
his
argument
was
wrong
was
reached
—
unconsciously
,
it
is
true
—
by
a
comparison
of
externals
.
They
,
the
professors
,
were
right
in
their
literary
judgments
because
they
were
successes
.
Martin
’
s
literary
judgments
were
wrong
because
he
could
not
sell
his
wares
.
To
use
his
own
phrase
,
they
made
good
,
and
he
did
not
make
good
.
And
besides
,
it
did
not
seem
reasonable
that
he
should
be
right
—
he
who
had
stood
,
so
short
a
time
before
,
in
that
same
living
room
,
blushing
and
awkward
,
acknowledging
his
introduction
,
looking
fearfully
about
him
at
the
bric
-
a
-
brac
his
swinging
shoulders
threatened
to
break
,
asking
how
long
since
Swinburne
died
,
and
boastfully
announcing
that
he
had
read
"
Excelsior
"
and
the
"
Psalm
of
Life
.
"
