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- Джек Лондон
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- Мартин Иден
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She
read
to
him
much
from
"
The
Princess
,
"
and
often
he
saw
her
eyes
swimming
with
tears
,
so
finely
was
her
aesthetic
nature
strung
.
At
such
moments
her
own
emotions
elevated
him
till
he
was
as
a
god
,
and
,
as
he
gazed
at
her
and
listened
,
he
seemed
gazing
on
the
face
of
life
and
reading
its
deepest
secrets
.
And
then
,
becoming
aware
of
the
heights
of
exquisite
sensibility
he
attained
,
he
decided
that
this
was
love
and
that
love
was
the
greatest
thing
in
the
world
.
And
in
review
would
pass
along
the
corridors
of
memory
all
previous
thrills
and
burnings
he
had
known
,
—
the
drunkenness
of
wine
,
the
caresses
of
women
,
the
rough
play
and
give
and
take
of
physical
contests
,
—
and
they
seemed
trivial
and
mean
compared
with
this
sublime
ardor
he
now
enjoyed
.
The
situation
was
obscured
to
Ruth
.
She
had
never
had
any
experiences
of
the
heart
.
Her
only
experiences
in
such
matters
were
of
the
books
,
where
the
facts
of
ordinary
day
were
translated
by
fancy
into
a
fairy
realm
of
unreality
;
and
she
little
knew
that
this
rough
sailor
was
creeping
into
her
heart
and
storing
there
pent
forces
that
would
some
day
burst
forth
and
surge
through
her
in
waves
of
fire
.
She
did
not
know
the
actual
fire
of
love
.
Her
knowledge
of
love
was
purely
theoretical
,
and
she
conceived
of
it
as
lambent
flame
,
gentle
as
the
fall
of
dew
or
the
ripple
of
quiet
water
,
and
cool
as
the
velvet
-
dark
of
summer
nights
.
Her
idea
of
love
was
more
that
of
placid
affection
,
serving
the
loved
one
softly
in
an
atmosphere
,
flower
-
scented
and
dim
-
lighted
,
of
ethereal
calm
.
She
did
not
dream
of
the
volcanic
convulsions
of
love
,
its
scorching
heat
and
sterile
wastes
of
parched
ashes
.
She
knew
neither
her
own
potencies
,
nor
the
potencies
of
the
world
;
and
the
deeps
of
life
were
to
her
seas
of
illusion
.
The
conjugal
affection
of
her
father
and
mother
constituted
her
ideal
of
love
-
affinity
,
and
she
looked
forward
some
day
to
emerging
,
without
shock
or
friction
,
into
that
same
quiet
sweetness
of
existence
with
a
loved
one
.
So
it
was
that
she
looked
upon
Martin
Eden
as
a
novelty
,
a
strange
individual
,
and
she
identified
with
novelty
and
strangeness
the
effects
he
produced
upon
her
.
It
was
only
natural
.
In
similar
ways
she
had
experienced
unusual
feelings
when
she
looked
at
wild
animals
in
the
menagerie
,
or
when
she
witnessed
a
storm
of
wind
,
or
shuddered
at
the
bright
-
ribbed
lightning
.
There
was
something
cosmic
in
such
things
,
and
there
was
something
cosmic
in
him
.
He
came
to
her
breathing
of
large
airs
and
great
spaces
.
The
blaze
of
tropic
suns
was
in
his
face
,
and
in
his
swelling
,
resilient
muscles
was
the
primordial
vigor
of
life
.
He
was
marred
and
scarred
by
that
mysterious
world
of
rough
men
and
rougher
deeds
,
the
outposts
of
which
began
beyond
her
horizon
.
He
was
untamed
,
wild
,
and
in
secret
ways
her
vanity
was
touched
by
the
fact
that
he
came
so
mildly
to
her
hand
.
Likewise
she
was
stirred
by
the
common
impulse
to
tame
the
wild
thing
.
It
was
an
unconscious
impulse
,
and
farthest
from
her
thoughts
that
her
desire
was
to
re
-
thumb
the
clay
of
him
into
a
likeness
of
her
father
’
s
image
,
which
image
she
believed
to
be
the
finest
in
the
world
.
Nor
was
there
any
way
,
out
of
her
inexperience
,
for
her
to
know
that
the
cosmic
feel
she
caught
of
him
was
that
most
cosmic
of
things
,
love
,
which
with
equal
power
drew
men
and
women
together
across
the
world
,
compelled
stags
to
kill
each
other
in
the
rutting
season
,
and
drove
even
the
elements
irresistibly
to
unite
.
His
swift
development
was
a
source
of
surprise
and
interest
.
She
detected
unguessed
finenesses
in
him
that
seemed
to
bud
,
day
by
day
,
like
flowers
in
congenial
soil
.
She
read
Browning
aloud
to
him
,
and
was
often
puzzled
by
the
strange
interpretations
he
gave
to
mooted
passages
.
It
was
beyond
her
to
realize
that
,
out
of
his
experience
of
men
and
women
and
life
,
his
interpretations
were
far
more
frequently
correct
than
hers
.
His
conceptions
seemed
naive
to
her
,
though
she
was
often
fired
by
his
daring
flights
of
comprehension
,
whose
orbit
-
path
was
so
wide
among
the
stars
that
she
could
not
follow
and
could
only
sit
and
thrill
to
the
impact
of
unguessed
power
.
Then
she
played
to
him
—
no
longer
at
him
—
and
probed
him
with
music
that
sank
to
depths
beyond
her
plumb
-
line
.
His
nature
opened
to
music
as
a
flower
to
the
sun
,
and
the
transition
was
quick
from
his
working
-
class
rag
-
time
and
jingles
to
her
classical
display
pieces
that
she
knew
nearly
by
heart
.
Yet
he
betrayed
a
democratic
fondness
for
Wagner
,
and
the
"
Tannhäuser
"
overture
,
when
she
had
given
him
the
clew
to
it
,
claimed
him
as
nothing
else
she
played
.
In
an
immediate
way
it
personified
his
life
.
All
his
past
was
the
Venusburg
motif
,
while
her
he
identified
somehow
with
the
Pilgrim
’
s
Chorus
motif
;
and
from
the
exalted
state
this
elevated
him
to
,
he
swept
onward
and
upward
into
that
vast
shadow
-
realm
of
spirit
-
groping
,
where
good
and
evil
war
eternally
.
Sometimes
he
questioned
,
and
induced
in
her
mind
temporary
doubts
as
to
the
correctness
of
her
own
definitions
and
conceptions
of
music
.
But
her
singing
he
did
not
question
.
It
was
too
wholly
her
,
and
he
sat
always
amazed
at
the
divine
melody
of
her
pure
soprano
voice
.
And
he
could
not
help
but
contrast
it
with
the
weak
pipings
and
shrill
quaverings
of
factory
girls
,
ill
-
nourished
and
untrained
,
and
with
the
raucous
shriekings
from
gin
-
cracked
throats
of
the
women
of
the
seaport
towns
.
She
enjoyed
singing
and
playing
to
him
.
In
truth
,
it
was
the
first
time
she
had
ever
had
a
human
soul
to
play
with
,
and
the
plastic
clay
of
him
was
a
delight
to
mould
;
for
she
thought
she
was
moulding
it
,
and
her
intentions
were
good
.
Besides
,
it
was
pleasant
to
be
with
him
.
He
did
not
repel
her
.
That
first
repulsion
had
been
really
a
fear
of
her
undiscovered
self
,
and
the
fear
had
gone
to
sleep
.
Though
she
did
not
know
it
,
she
had
a
feeling
in
him
of
proprietary
right
.
Also
,
he
had
a
tonic
effect
upon
her
.
She
was
studying
hard
at
the
university
,
and
it
seemed
to
strengthen
her
to
emerge
from
the
dusty
books
and
have
the
fresh
sea
-
breeze
of
his
personality
blow
upon
her
.
Strength
!
Strength
was
what
she
needed
,
and
he
gave
it
to
her
in
generous
measure
.
To
come
into
the
same
room
with
him
,
or
to
meet
him
at
the
door
,
was
to
take
heart
of
life
.
And
when
he
had
gone
,
she
would
return
to
her
books
with
a
keener
zest
and
fresh
store
of
energy
.
She
knew
her
Browning
,
but
it
had
never
sunk
into
her
that
it
was
an
awkward
thing
to
play
with
souls
.
As
her
interest
in
Martin
increased
,
the
remodelling
of
his
life
became
a
passion
with
her
.
"
There
is
Mr
.
Butler
,
"
she
said
one
afternoon
,
when
grammar
and
arithmetic
and
poetry
had
been
put
aside
.
