Мартин Иден

Chapter 1

           ButwhowasSwinburne? Washedeadahundredyearsorso,likemostofthepoets? Orwashealivestill,andwriting? Heturnedtothetitle-page... yes,hehadwrittenotherbooks; well,hewouldgotothefreelibrarythefirstthinginthemorning andtrytogetholdofsomeofSwinburne’sstuff. Hewentbacktothetextandlosthimself. Hedidnotnoticethatayoungwomanhadenteredtheroom. ThefirstheknewwaswhenheheardArthur’svoicesaying: 

           -"Ruth,thisisMr.Eden." 

           Thebookwasclosedonhisforefinger, andbeforeheturnedhewasthrillingtothefirstnewimpression, whichwasnotofthegirl, butofherbrother’swords. Underthatmuscledbodyofhishewasamassofquiveringsensibilities. Attheslightestimpactoftheoutsideworlduponhisconsciousness, histhoughts,sympathies,andemotionsleaptandplayedlikelambentflame. Hewasextraordinarilyreceptiveandresponsive, whilehisimagination,pitchedhigh,waseveratworkestablishingrelationsoflikenessanddifference. "Mr.Eden,"waswhathehadthrilledtohewhohadbeencalled"Eden," or"MartinEden,"orjust"Martin,"allhislife. And"Mister!" Itwascertainlygoingsome,washisinternalcomment. Hismindseemedtoturn,ontheinstant,intoavastcameraobscura, andhesawarrayedaroundhisconsciousnessendlesspicturesfromhislife, ofstoke-holesandforecastles,campsandbeaches,jailsandboozing-kens,fever-hospitalsandslumstreets, whereinthethreadofassociationwasthefashioninwhichhehadbeenaddressedinthosevarioussituations. 

           Andthenheturnedandsawthegirl. Thephantasmagoriaofhisbrainvanishedatsightofher. Shewasapale,etherealcreature,withwide,spiritualblueeyesandawealthofgoldenhair. 

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