Мартин Иден. Роман (в сокр.)

 
 Лондон Дж.
Л 76  
Мартин Иден. Роман (в сокр.): Книга для чтения 
на английском языке / Дж. Лондон; Упражнения 
В. М. Павлоцкого — СПб.: КАРО, 2014. — 192 с.: ил. — 
(Серия «Чтение с упражнениями»). 

 
 ISBN 978-5-9925-0962-5.

Один из самых известных романов Джека Лондона «Мартин 
Иден» — это повествование о трагичной, полной быстрых и неожиданных перемен в судьбе молодого талантливого писателя. Этот 
роман о поиске собственного пути в  жизни, о стремлении быть понятым, признанными, о творчестве писателя в условиях нужды и 
лишений, о конфликте личности и толпы и, конечно, о любви. 
В данном издании читатель найдет адаптированный и снабженный словарем текст романа, а также упражнения, составленные 
В. М. Павлоцким. Упражнения направлены на проверку понимания 
учащимися текста, на развитие навыков устной и письменной речи 
и на закреп ление нового лексического материала.
Задания на аудирование могут быть выполнены с помощью записи текста на компакт-диске. Кроме того, прослушивание записи 
позво лит  улучшить навыки восприятия устной английской речи, 
освоить правильное произношение и интонацию.
Книга адресована учащимся старших классов школ с углубленным изучением английского языка, а также всем, кто изучает английский язык самостоятельно.
УДК 373.167.1:820.0
ББК 81.2 Англ-922 

Художник
О. В. Воронова

УДК 373.167.1:820.0
ББК 81.2 Англ-922
 
Л 76

© В. М. Павлоцкий, 
 упражнения, 2014
© КАРО, 2014
Все права защищены
ISBN 978-5-9925-0962-5

В дополнение к книге можно приобрести
тематический аудиоматериал на диске в формате МР3,
подготовленный издательством

Chapter I

The young man opened the door with a latch-key and went 
in, followed by another young fellow who awkwardly took 
off his cap. He did not know what to do with it and was 
stuffing it into his coat-pocket, when the other took it from 
him. The act was done quietly and naturally, and the awkward 
young fellow appreciated it. “He understands,” was his 
thought.
He walked at his companion’s heels. The wide rooms 
seemed too narrow for his rolling gait, and he was in terror 
lest his broad shoulders should collide with the doorways. 
He watched the easy walk of the young man in front of him, 
and for the first time realized that his walk was different 
from that of other men. He experienced a momentary pang 
of shame that he should walk so uncouthly. The sweat burst 
through the skin of his forehead in tiny beads, and he paused 
and mopped his bronzed face with his handkerchief.
His companion tried to reassure him. “You mustn’t be 
frightened at us,” he said. “We’re just homely people. Hello, 
there’s a letter for me!”
He stepped back to a table piled with books and began to 
read his letter giving the stranger an opportunity to recover 
himself. And the stranger understood and appreciated. He 
glanced about him with a controlled face, though in the 
eyes there was an expression such as wild animals betray 
when they fear the trap. He was surrounded by the unknown, 
ignorant of what he should do, aware that he walked and 
bore himself awkwardly. He cursed himself for having 
come, and at the same time resolved that, happen what 
would, having come, he would carry it through. He looked 

•   Martin Eden

about more unconcernedly, every detail of the pretty interior 
registering itself on his brain. He was responsive to beauty, 
and here was cause to respond.
An oil-painting caught and held him. There was beauty, 
it drew him irresistibly. He forgot his awkward walk and 
came closer to the painting — very close. The beauty faded 
out of the canvas. His face expressed his astonishment. He 
stared at what seemed a careless daub of paint, then stepped 
away. Immediately all the beauty flashed back into the 
canvas. “A trick picture,” was his thought. He did not know 
painting. He had been brought up on chromos and lithographs 
that were always definite and sharp, near or far. He had 
seen oil-paintings, it was true, in the show-windows of 
shops, but the glass of the windows had prevented his eager 
eyes from approaching too near.
He glanced around at his friend reading the letter, and 
saw the books on the table. He looked at them as a starving 
man would look at food. Approaching the table he glanced 
at the titles of the books and the authors’ names, read 
fragments of text, caressing the volumes with his eyes and 
hands. He took up a volume of poetry and began reading 
steadily, forgetful of where he was, his face glowing. He 
did not notice that a young woman had entered the room. 
The first he knew was when he heard Arthur’s voice 
saying:
“Ruth, this is Mr. Eden.”
The book was closed on his forefinger, and before he turned 
he was thrilling to the new impression, which was not of the 
girl, but of her brother’s words. “Mister Eden” was what he 
had thrilled to — he who had been called “Eden,” or “Martin 
Eden,” or just “Martin,” all his life.
And then he turned and saw the girl. She was a pale, 
ethereal creature, with wide, spiritual blue eyes, and golden 
hair. He did not know how she was dressed, except that the 

•   Martin Eden

dress was as wonderful as she. He compared her to a pale 
gold flower upon a slender stem. No, she was a spirit, 
a divinity, a goddess; such 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.
“Won’t you sit down, Mr. Eden?” the girl said. “I have 
been looking forward to meeting you ever since Arthur told 
us. It was brave of you —”
He muttered that it was nothing at all what he had done, 
and that any fellow would have done it. She noticed that 
his hands were covered with fresh abrasions in the process 
of healing. Also, with quick, critical eyes, she noticed a scar 
on his cheek and another on his neck. Likewise her feminine 
eye took in the cheap clothes he wore. 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 felt lost, alone there in the room 
with that pale girl.
“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 his throat. “It was just a fight. 
After I got the knife away, he tried to bite off my nose.”
“Oh!” the girl said in a faint far voice, and he noticed the 
shock in her sensitive face.
He felt a shock himself, and a blush of embarrassment 
shone faintly on his sunburned cheeks. People in the books, 
in her walks of life, did not talk about such things — perhaps 
they did not know about them either.
There was a brief pause in the conversation they were 
trying to get started, then she asked about the scar on his 
cheek.

Chapter I   •   7

“It was just an accident,” he said, putting his hand to 
his cheek.
“Oh!” she said, this time with an accent of comprehen sion.
Then noticing the book he had been reading she began to 
talk quickly and easily upon the subject of poetry. He felt 
better, and settled back slightly from the edge of the chair, 
holding tightly to its arms with his hands. He listened to 
her thinking: here was intellectual life and here was beauty, 
warm and wonderful, as he had never dreamed it could be. 
He forgot himself and stared at her with hungry eyes. Here 
was something to live for, to win, to fight for and die for. 
The books were true. There were such women in the world. 
She was one of them. But he could not express what he felt. 
Well, he decided, it was up to him to get acquainted in 
this new world. It was time for him to want to learn to talk 
the things that were inside of him, so that she could 
understand.
“Now, Longfellow…” she was saying.
“Yes, I’ve read ’m,” he interrupted, wishing to show her 
that he was not wholly a stupid clod. “The Psalm of Life, 
Excelsior, an’... I guess that’s all.”
She nodded and smiled, and he felt somehow that her 
smile was tolerant — pitifully tolerant.
“Excuse me, miss, I guess the real fact is that I don’t 
know nothin’ much about such things. How did you learn 
all this you’ve ben talkin’?”
“By going to school, I fancy, and by studying,” she 
answered.
“I went to school when I was a kid,” he began.
“Yes; but I mean high school, and lectures, and the 
University.”
“You’ve gone to the University?” he demanded, in frank 
amazement. He felt that she had become remoter from him 
by at least a million miles.

•   Martin Eden

“I’m going there now. I’m taking special courses in 
English.”
“How long would I have to study before I could go to the 
University?” he asked.
“That depends upon how much studying you have already 
done,” she answered. “You have never attended high school? 
Of course not. But did you finish grammar-school?”
“I had two years to run when I left,” he answered. “But 
I was always honourably promoted at school.”
The next moment he felt angry with himself for the boast. 
At the same moment he became aware that a woman was 
entering the room. He saw the girl leave her chair and trip 
swiftly across the floor to the new-comer. That must be her 
mother, he thought. She was a tall, blonde woman, slender, 
and stately, and beautiful. He knew that he must stand up 
to be introduced, and he struggled painfully to his feet, his 
face set hard for the impending ordeal.

_______

In the dining-room he was seated alongside of Her.
He glanced around the table. Opposite him was Arthur, 
and Arthur’s brother, Norman. They were her brothers, he 
reminded himself and his heart warmed toward them. How 
they loved each other, the members of this family! He had 
starved for love all his life. His nature craved love. It was 
an organic demand of his being.
He was glad that Mr. Morse was not there. It was 
difficult enough getting acquainted with her and her 
mother, and her brother Norman. Arthur he already knew 
somewhat. The father would have been too much for him, 
he felt sure. It seemed to him that he had never worked 
so hard in his life. He had to eat as he had never eaten 
before, to glance about and learn just what knife or fork 
was to be used in any particular occasion. Then he had to 

Chapter I   •   9

talk, to hear what was said to him, to answer, when it 
was necessary.
During the first part of the dinner he was very quiet. He 
kept himself in the background, listening, observing, 
replying in reticent monosyllables, saying, “Yes, miss,” 
and “No, miss,” to her; and “Yes, ma’am,” and “No, ma’am,” 
to her mother. He curbed the impulse to say, “Yes, sir,” 
and “No, sir,” to her brother. He felt that it would be a 
confession of inferiority on his part.
“By God!” he cried to himself once, “I’m just as good as 
they are, and if they do know many things that I don’t, I 
could teach them a few myself, all the same!” And the next 
moment, when she or her mother addressed him as “Mr. Eden,” 
his aggressive pride was forgotten. He was a civilized man, 
shoulder to shoulder, at dinner, with people he had read 
about in books.
“It was brave of you to help Arthur the way you did — 
and you a stranger,” Ruth said tactfully, aware of his 
discomfiture.
“It wasn’t nothin’ at all,” he said. “Any guy ’ud do it for 
another.” He paused, and Arthur took up the tale, for the 
twentieth time, of his adventure with the drunken hoodlums 
on the ferry-boat, and of how Martin Eden had rushed in 
and rescued him.
Later, at the piano, Ruth played for him. He did not 
understand the music she played. It was different from the 
dance-hall pianobanging bands he had heard, but he was 
remarkably susceptible to music.
Glancing at him across her shoulder Ruth saw that his face 
was a transfigured face, with great shining eyes that gazed 
beyond the veil of sound. She was startled. The raw, stumbling 
lout was gone. The ill-fitting clothes, battered hands, and 
sunburned face remained; but these seemed to be prison bars 
through which she saw a great soul looking forth.

•   Martin Eden

_______

Later he was saying good-bye to her.
“The greatest time of my life. You see, I ain’t used to 
things...” He looked about him helplessly. “To people and 
houses like this. It’s all new to me, and I like it.”
“I hope you’ll call again,” she said, as he was saying good 
night to her brothers.
He pulled on his cap, pushed clumsily through the doorway, 
and was gone.

Exercises

1. Listen to the chapter with books closed and mark the sentences T(true), F (false), NI (no information).

 1. Martin felt rather embarrassed.
 2. Martin was very surprised when he saw piles of books on 
the table.
 3. Martin was not thrilled having heard his name Mr. Eden.
 4. The girl looked very common.
 5. Ruth was looking forward to meeting Eden.
 6. Martin felt lost alone with Ruth.
 7. Martin did not comprehend Ruth’s ideas about poetry.
 8. Martin understood poetry very well.
 9. Martin was upset that Mr. Morse had not come.
10. Martin liked the music Ruth played for him.

2. Learn the words from the text:

awkward, appreciate, momentary, reassure, glance, betray, 
irresistible, astonishment, stare, forgetful, mutter, faint, 
embarrassment, comprehension, tolerant, fancy, promote, 
ordeal, confession, rescue.

3. Complete the sentences using the words from the text. 
Make the changes where necessary.

 1. I nearly died of .......... when he said that.
 2. He was offered money to .......... his colleagues.