Мартин Иден / Martin Eden (+ аудиоприложение LECTA)

Мартин Иден / Martin Eden (+ аудиоприложение LECTA)

Джек Лондон

Bilingua (АСТ)

Перед вами самый известный роман Джека Лондона «Мартин Иден», рассказывающий о человеке из низов, добившемся признания, но разочаровавшемся в этой насквозь фальшивой жизни. Текст произведения адаптирован и снабжен параллельным переводом на русский язык. Для проверки понимания прочитанного в книге даны упражнения с ответами и англо-русский словарь. Английский текст полностью озвучен носителями языка и бесплатно доступен для прослушивания на сайте российской цифровой образовательной платформы LECTA (lecta.

rosuchebnik.ru). Пособие адресовано всем, кто изучает английский язык и хочет читать литературу на языке оригинала.

Джек Лондон / Jack London

Мартин Иден / Martin Eden

© ООО «Издательство АСТ», 2019

Martin Eden

Chapter 1

He opened the door with a key and went in, followed by a young fellow who awkwardly removed his cap. He wore rough clothes of a sailor. He did not know what to do with his cap.

The wide rooms seemed too narrow for him. His heavy arms hung at his sides. He did not know what to do with those arms and hands. He watched the easy walk of the other in front of him, and for the first time realized that his walk was different from that of other men. The sweat burst through the skin of his forehead in tiny beads, and he paused and mopped his bronzed face with his handkerchief.

“Hold on, Arthur, my boy,” he said, attempting to mask his anxiety with facetious utterance.

“This is too much for me now. You know I didn’t want to come, and I guess your family doesn’t want to see me at all.”

“That’s all right,” was the reassuring answer. “You mustn’t be frightened at us. We’re just homely people – Hello, there’s a letter for me.”

He stepped back to the table, opened the envelope, and began to read, giving the stranger an opportunity to recover himself. And the stranger understood and appreciated.

An oil painting drew his attention. There was beauty, and it drew him irresistibly.

He forgot his awkward walk and came closer to the painting, very close. He did not know painting. He had seen oil paintings, it was true, in the show windows of shops, but the glass of the windows did not allow him to come closer.

Then he saw the books on the table. He glanced at the titles and the authors’ names, read fragments of text, caressing the volumes with his eyes and hands, and, once, recognized a book he had read.