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- Джек Лондон
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- Мартин Иден
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The
book
was
closed
on
his
forefinger
,
and
before
he
turned
he
was
thrilling
to
the
first
new
impression
,
which
was
not
of
the
girl
,
but
of
her
brother
’
s
words
.
Under
that
muscled
body
of
his
he
was
a
mass
of
quivering
sensibilities
.
At
the
slightest
impact
of
the
outside
world
upon
his
consciousness
,
his
thoughts
,
sympathies
,
and
emotions
leapt
and
played
like
lambent
flame
.
He
was
extraordinarily
receptive
and
responsive
,
while
his
imagination
,
pitched
high
,
was
ever
at
work
establishing
relations
of
likeness
and
difference
.
"
Mr
.
Eden
,
"
was
what
he
had
thrilled
to
—
he
who
had
been
called
"
Eden
,
"
or
"
Martin
Eden
,
"
or
just
"
Martin
,
"
all
his
life
.
And
"
Mister
!
"
It
was
certainly
going
some
,
was
his
internal
comment
.
His
mind
seemed
to
turn
,
on
the
instant
,
into
a
vast
camera
obscura
,
and
he
saw
arrayed
around
his
consciousness
endless
pictures
from
his
life
,
of
stoke
-
holes
and
forecastles
,
camps
and
beaches
,
jails
and
boozing
-
kens
,
fever
-
hospitals
and
slum
streets
,
wherein
the
thread
of
association
was
the
fashion
in
which
he
had
been
addressed
in
those
various
situations
.
And
then
he
turned
and
saw
the
girl
.
The
phantasmagoria
of
his
brain
vanished
at
sight
of
her
.
She
was
a
pale
,
ethereal
creature
,
with
wide
,
spiritual
blue
eyes
and
a
wealth
of
golden
hair
.
He
did
not
know
how
she
was
dressed
,
except
that
the
dress
was
as
wonderful
as
she
.
He
likened
her
to
a
pale
gold
flower
upon
a
slender
stem
.
No
,
she
was
a
spirit
,
a
divinity
,
a
goddess
;
such
sublimated
beauty
was
not
of
the
earth
.
Or
perhaps
the
books
were
right
,
and
there
were
many
such
as
she
in
the
upper
walks
of
life
.
She
might
well
be
sung
by
that
chap
,
Swinburne
.
Perhaps
he
had
had
somebody
like
her
in
mind
when
he
painted
that
girl
,
Iseult
,
in
the
book
there
on
the
table
.
All
this
plethora
of
sight
,
and
feeling
,
and
thought
occurred
on
the
instant
.
There
was
no
pause
of
the
realities
wherein
he
moved
.
He
saw
her
hand
coming
out
to
his
,
and
she
looked
him
straight
in
the
eyes
as
she
shook
hands
,
frankly
,
like
a
man
.
The
women
he
had
known
did
not
shake
hands
that
way
.
For
that
matter
,
most
of
them
did
not
shake
hands
at
all
.
A
flood
of
associations
,
visions
of
various
ways
he
had
made
the
acquaintance
of
women
,
rushed
into
his
mind
and
threatened
to
swamp
it
.
But
he
shook
them
aside
and
looked
at
her
.
Never
had
he
seen
such
a
woman
.
The
women
he
had
known
!
Immediately
,
beside
her
,
on
either
hand
,
ranged
the
women
he
had
known
.
For
an
eternal
second
he
stood
in
the
midst
of
a
portrait
gallery
,
wherein
she
occupied
the
central
place
,
while
about
her
were
limned
many
women
,
all
to
be
weighed
and
measured
by
a
fleeting
glance
,
herself
the
unit
of
weight
and
measure
.
He
saw
the
weak
and
sickly
faces
of
the
girls
of
the
factories
,
and
the
simpering
,
boisterous
girls
from
the
south
of
Market
.
There
were
women
of
the
cattle
camps
,
and
swarthy
cigarette
-
smoking
women
of
Old
Mexico
.
These
,
in
turn
,
were
crowded
out
by
Japanese
women
,
doll
-
like
,
stepping
mincingly
on
wooden
clogs
;
by
Eurasians
,
delicate
featured
,
stamped
with
degeneracy
;
by
full
-
bodied
South
-
Sea
-
Island
women
,
flower
-
crowned
and
brown
-
skinned
.
All
these
were
blotted
out
by
a
grotesque
and
terrible
nightmare
brood
—
frowsy
,
shuffling
creatures
from
the
pavements
of
Whitechapel
,
gin
-
bloated
hags
of
the
stews
,
and
all
the
vast
hell
’
s
following
of
harpies
,
vile
-
mouthed
and
filthy
,
that
under
the
guise
of
monstrous
female
form
prey
upon
sailors
,
the
scrapings
of
the
ports
,
the
scum
and
slime
of
the
human
pit
.
"
Won
’
t
you
sit
down
,
Mr
.
Eden
?
"
the
girl
was
saying
.
"
I
have
been
looking
forward
to
meeting
you
ever
since
Arthur
told
us
.
It
was
brave
of
you
—
"
He
waved
his
hand
deprecatingly
and
muttered
that
it
was
nothing
at
all
,
what
he
had
done
,
and
that
any
fellow
would
have
done
it
.
She
noticed
that
the
hand
he
waved
was
covered
with
fresh
abrasions
,
in
the
process
of
healing
,
and
a
glance
at
the
other
loose
-
hanging
hand
showed
it
to
be
in
the
same
condition
.
Also
,
with
quick
,
critical
eye
,
she
noted
a
scar
on
his
cheek
,
another
that
peeped
out
from
under
the
hair
of
the
forehead
,
and
a
third
that
ran
down
and
disappeared
under
the
starched
collar
.
She
repressed
a
smile
at
sight
of
the
red
line
that
marked
the
chafe
of
the
collar
against
the
bronzed
neck
.
He
was
evidently
unused
to
stiff
collars
.
Likewise
her
feminine
eye
took
in
the
clothes
he
wore
,
the
cheap
and
unaesthetic
cut
,
the
wrinkling
of
the
coat
across
the
shoulders
,
and
the
series
of
wrinkles
in
the
sleeves
that
advertised
bulging
biceps
muscles
.
While
he
waved
his
hand
and
muttered
that
he
had
done
nothing
at
all
,
he
was
obeying
her
behest
by
trying
to
get
into
a
chair
.
He
found
time
to
admire
the
ease
with
which
she
sat
down
,
then
lurched
toward
a
chair
facing
her
,
overwhelmed
with
consciousness
of
the
awkward
figure
he
was
cutting
.
This
was
a
new
experience
for
him
.
All
his
life
,
up
to
then
,
he
had
been
unaware
of
being
either
graceful
or
awkward
.
Such
thoughts
of
self
had
never
entered
his
mind
.
He
sat
down
gingerly
on
the
edge
of
the
chair
,
greatly
worried
by
his
hands
.
They
were
in
the
way
wherever
he
put
them
.
Arthur
was
leaving
the
room
,
and
Martin
Eden
followed
his
exit
with
longing
eyes
.
He
felt
lost
,
alone
there
in
the
room
with
that
pale
spirit
of
a
woman
.
There
was
no
bar
-
keeper
upon
whom
to
call
for
drinks
,
no
small
boy
to
send
around
the
corner
for
a
can
of
beer
and
by
means
of
that
social
fluid
start
the
amenities
of
friendship
flowing
.
"
You
have
such
a
scar
on
your
neck
,
Mr
.
Eden
,
"
the
girl
was
saying
.
"
How
did
it
happen
?
I
am
sure
it
must
have
been
some
adventure
.
"
"
A
Mexican
with
a
knife
,
miss
,
"
he
answered
,
moistening
his
parched
lips
and
clearing
hip
throat
.
"
It
was
just
a
fight
.
After
I
got
the
knife
away
,
he
tried
to
bite
off
my
nose
.
"
