Margaret Munnerlyn Mitchell

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Margaret Munnerlyn Mitchell

1900-1949.Margaret Mitchell was born Nov. 8, 1900 in Atlanta to afamily with ancestry not unlike the O’Hara’s in Gone With the Wind .Her mother, Mary Isabelle “Maybelle” Stephens was of Irish-Catholicancestry. Her father, Eugene Muse Mitchell, an Atlanta attorney,

descended from Scotch-Irish and French Huguenots. The familyincluded many soldiers - members of the family had fought in theAmerican Revolution, Irish uprisings and rebellions and the Civil War.

The imaginative child was fascinated with stories of the Civil War thatshe heard first from her parents and great aunts, who lived at thefamily’s Jonesboro rural home, and later, from grizzled (andsometimes profane) Confederate veterans who regaled the girl with battlefield stories asMargaret, astride her pony, rode through the countryside around Atlanta with the men.

The family lived in a series of homes, including a stately home on Peachtree Streetbeginning in 1912. Young Margaret attended private school, but was not an exceptional

student. When, on one memorable day, she announced to her mother that she could notunderstand mathematics and would not return to school, Maybelle dragged her daughterto a rural road where plantation houses had fallen into ruin.

Chastened, Margaret Mitchell returned to school, eventually entering Smith College in thefall of 1918, not long after the United States entered World War I. Her fiancé, CliffordHenry, was killed in action in France. In January 1919, Maybelle Mitchell died during a fluepidemic and Margaret Mitchell left college to take charge of the Atlanta household of herfather and her older brother, Stephens.

Although she made her society debut in 1920, Margaret was far too free-spirited andintellectual to be content with the life of a debutante. She quarreled with her fellow debs

over the proper distribution of the money they had raised for charity, and she scandalizedAtlanta society with a provocative dance that she performed at the debutante ball with amale student from Georgia Tech.

By 1922, Margaret Mitchell was a headstrong flapper pursued by two men, an ex-footballplayer and bootlegger, Berrien “Red” Upshaw, and a lanky newspaperman, John R. Marsh.She chose Upshaw, and the two were married in September. Upshaw’s irregular incomeled her to seek a job, at a salary of $25 per week, as a writer for The Atlanta Journal Sunday Magazine where Marsh was an editor and her mentor.

The Upshaw marriage was stormy and short lived. They divorced in October 1924, andless than a year later, she married Marsh. The two held their wedding reception at their

new ground-floor apartment at 17 Crescent Avenue – a house which Margaretaffectionately nicknamed “The Dump.”Only months after their marriage, Margaret left her

job at the Journal to convalesce from a series of injuries. It was during this period that shebegan writing the book that would make her world famous.

Gone With The Wind was published in June 1936. Margaret Mitchell was awarded thePulitzer Prize for her sweeping novel in May 1937. The novel was made into an equallyfamous motion picture starring Vivien Leigh and Clark Gable. The movie had its worldpremiere at the Loew’s Grand Theater in Atlanta Dec. 15, 1939 with Margaret Mitchell andall of the stars in attendance.

On Aug. 11, 1949, while crossing the intersection of Peachtree and 13th – only three

blocks from “The Dump”, Margaret Mitchell was struck by an off-duty cab driver. She diedfive days later and is buried in Atlanta’s Oakland Cemetery with other members of herfamily.



GONE WITH THE WIND

Margaret Mitchell (1900-1949)

PART ONE.CHAPTER I.

Scarlett O'Hara was not beautiful, but men seldom realized it when

caught by her charm as the Tarleton twins were. In her face were

too sharply blended the delicate features of her mother, a Coast

aristocrat of French descent, and the heavy ones of her florid

Irish father. But it was an arresting face, pointed of chin,

square of jaw. Her eyes were pale green without a touch of hazel,

starred with bristly black lashes and slightly tilted at the ends.

Above them, her thick black brows slanted upward, cutting a

startling oblique line in her magnolia-white skin--that skin so

prized by Southern women and so carefully guarded with bonnets,

veils and mittens against hot Georgia suns.

Seated with Stuart and Brent Tarleton in the cool shade of the

porch of Tara, her father's plantation, that bright April

afternoon of 1861, she made a pretty picture. Her new green

flowered-muslin dress spread its twelve yards of billowing

material over her hoops and exactly matched the flat-heeled green

morocco slippers her father had recently brought her from Atlanta.

The dress set off to perfection the seventeen-inch waist, the

smallest in three counties, and the tightly fitting basque showed

breasts well matured for her sixteen years. But for all the

modesty of her spreading skirts, the demureness of hair netted

smoothly into a chignon and the quietness of small white hands

folded in her lap, her true self was poorly concealed. The green

eyes in the carefully sweet face were turbulent, willful, lusty

with life, distinctly at variance with her decorous demeanor.

Her manners had been imposed upon her by her mother's gentle

admonitions and the sterner discipline of her mammy; her eyes wereher own.

On either side of her, the twins lounged easily in their chairs,

squinting at the sunlight through tall mint-garnished glasses as

they laughed and talked, their long legs, booted to the knee and

thick with saddle muscles, crossed negligently. Nineteen years

old, six feet two inches tall, long of bone and hard of muscle,

with sunburned faces and deep auburn hair, their eyes merry and

arrogant, their bodies clothed in identical blue coats and

mustard-colored breeches, they were as much alike as two bolls of

cotton.



“Унесенные Ветром»

ЧАСТЬ 1

ГЛАВА I

Скарлетт О'Хара не была красавицей, но мужчины вряд ли отдавали себе в этомотчет, если они, подобно близнецам Тарлтонам, становились жертвами ее чар. Оченьуж причудливо сочетались в ее лице утонченные черты матери — местной аристократкифранцузского происхождения — и крупные, выразительные черты отца — пышущегоздоровьем ирландца. Широкоскулое, с точеным подбородком лицо Скарлетт невольноприковывало к себе взгляд. Особенно глаза — чуть раскосые, светло-зеленые,

прозрачные, в оправе темных ресниц. На белом, как лепесток магнолии, лбу — ах, этабелая кожа, которой так гордятся женщины американского Юга, бережно охраняя еешляпками, вуалетками и митенками от жаркого солнца Джорджии! — двебезукоризненно четкие линии бровей стремительно взлетали косо вверх — отпереносицы к вискам.

Словом, она являла взору очаровательное зрелище, сидя в обществе Стюарта иБрента Тарлтонов в прохладной тени за колоннами просторного крыльца Тары —обширного поместья своего отца. Шел 1861 год, ясный апрельский день клонился квечеру. Новое зеленое в цветочек платье Скарлетт, на которое пошло двенадцатьярдов муслина, воздушными волнами лежало на обручах кринолина, находясь в полнойгармонии с зелеными сафьяновыми туфельками без каблуков, только что

привезенными ей отцом из Атланты. Лиф платья как нельзя более выгодно обтягивалбезупречную талию, бесспорно самую тонкую в трех графствах штата, и отличносформировавшийся для шестнадцати лет бюст. Но ни чинно расправленные юбки, нискромность прически — стянутых тугим узлом и запрятанных в сетку волос, — нистепенно сложенные на коленях маленькие белые ручки не могли ввести в обман:зеленые глаза — беспокойные, яркие (о, сколько в них было своенравия и огня!) —вступали в спор с учтивой светской сдержанностью манер, выдавая подлиннуюсущность этой натуры. Манеры были результатом неясных наставлений матери и болеесуровых нахлобучек Мамушки. Глаза дала ей природа.

По обе стороны от нее, небрежно развалившись в креслах, вытянув скрещенныев лодыжках, длинные, в сапогах до колен, мускулистые ноги первоклассныхнаездников, близнецы смеялись и болтали, солнце било им в лицо сквозь высокие,украшенные лепным орнаментом стекла, заставляя жмуриться. Высокие, крепкотелые?и узкобедрые, загорелые, рыжеволосые, девятнадцатилетние, в одинаковых синихкуртках и горчичного цвета; бриджах, они были неотличимы друг от друга, как двекоробочки хлопка.



William Faulkner

Biography

William Faulkner (1897-1962), who came from an old southern family, grew up in Oxford,Mississippi. He joined the Canadian, and later the British, Royal Air Force during the FirstWorld War, studied for a while at the University of Mississippi, and temporarily worked for aNew York bookstore and a New Orleans newspaper. Except for some trips to Europe andAsia, and a few brief stays in Hollywood as a scriptwriter, he worked on his novels and shortstories on a farm in Oxford.

In an attempt to create a saga of his own, Faulkner has invented a host of characterstypical of the historical growth and subsequent decadence of the South. The human dramain Faulkner's novels is then built on the model of the actual, historical drama extending overalmost a century and a half Each story and each novel contributes to the construction of awhole, which is the imaginary Yoknapatawpha County and its inhabitants. Their theme is

the decay of the old South, as represented by the Sartoris and Compson families, and theemergence of ruthless and brash newcomers, the Snopeses. Theme and technique - thedistortion of time through the use of the inner monologue are fused particularly successfullyin The Sound and the Fury (1929), the downfall of the Compson family seen through theminds of several characters. The novel Sanctuary (1931) is about the degeneration of Temple Drake, a young girl from a distinguished southern family. Its sequel, Requiem For ANun (1951), written partly as a drama, centered on the courtroom trial of a Negro womanwho had once been a party to Temple Drake's debauchery. In Light in August (1932),prejudice is shown to be most destructive when it is internalized, as in Joe Christmas, whobelieves, though there is no proof of it, that one of his parents was a Negro. The theme of racial prejudice is brought up again in Absalom, Absalom! (1936), in which a young man isrejected by his father and brother because of his mixed blood. Faulkner's most outspoken

moral evaluation of the relationship and the problems between Negroes and whites is to befound in Intruder In the Dust (1948).

In 1940, Faulkner published the first volume of the Snopes trilogy, The Hamlet , to befollowed by two volumes, The Town (1957) and The Mansion (1959), all of them tracing therise of the insidious Snopes family to positions of power and wealth in the community. Thereivers, his last - and most humorous - work, with great many similarities to Mark Twain'sHuckleberry Finn, appeared in 1962, the year of Faulkner's death.

From Nobel Lectures , Literature 1901-1967 , Editor Horst Frenz, Elsevier Publishing

Company, Amsterdam, 1969

This autobiography/biography was first published in the book series Les Prix Nobel . It was

later edited and republished in Nobel Lectures. To cite this document, always state thesource as shown above.

http://nobelprize.org/nobelfoundation/publications/lectures/index.html

http://nobelprize.org/nobelfoundation/publications/lesprix.html







The Sound and the Fury

April 7, 1928

Through the fence, between the curling flower spaces, I could see them hitting.

They were coming toward where the flag was and I went along the fence. Luster

was hunting in the grass by the flower tree. They took the flag out, and they were

hitting. Then they put the flag back and they went to the table, and he hit and the

other hit. Then they went on, and I went along the fence. Luster came away from

the flower tree and we went along the fence and they stopped and we stopped and

I looked through the fence while Luster was hunting in the grass.

"Here, caddie." He hit. They went away across the pasture. I held to the fence and

watched them going away.

"Listen at you, now." Luster said. "Aint you something, thirty three years old, going

on that way. After I done went all the way to town to buy you that cake. Hush upthat moaning. Aint you going to help me find that quarter so I can go to the show

tonight."

They were hitting little, across the pasture. I went back along the fence to where

the flag was. It flapped on the bright grass and the trees.

"Come on." Luster said. "We done looked there. They aint no more coming right

now. Les go down to the branch and find that quarter before them niggers finds it."

It was red, flapping on the pasture. Then there was a bird slanting and tilting on it.

Luster threw. The flag flapped on the bright grass and the trees. I held to the fence.

"Shut up that moaning." Luster said. "I cant make them come if they aint coming,

can I. If you dont hush up, mammy aint going to have no birthday for you. If you

dont hush, you know what I going to do. I going to eat that cake all up. Eat them

candles, too. Eat all them thirty three candles. Come on, les go down to the branch.

I got to find my quarter. Maybe we can find one of they balls. Here. Here they is.

Way over yonder. See." He came to the fence and pointed his arm. "See them.

They aint coming back here no more. Come on.

We went along the fence and came to the garden fence, where our shadows were.

My shadow was higher than Luster's on the fence. We came to the hroken place

and went through it.

"Wait a minute." Luster said. "You snagged on that nail again. Cant you never crawl

through here without snagging on that nail."

Caddy uncaught me and we crawled through. Uncle Maury said to not let anybody

see us, so we better stoop over, Caddy said. Stoop over, Benjy. Like this, see. We

stooped over and crossed the garden, where the flowers rasped and rattled against

us. The ground was hard. We climbed the fence, where the pigs were grunting and

snuffing. I expect they're sorry because one of them got killed today, Caddy said.

The ground was hard, churned and knotted. Keep your hands in your pockets,

Caddy said. Or they'll get froze. You dont want your hands froze on Christmas, do

you.



Уильям Фолкнер. Шум и ярость.

7 апреля 1928 года

Через забор, в просветы густых завитков, мне было видно, как они бьют.Идут к флажку, и я пошел забором. Ластер ищет в траве под деревом в цвету.Вытащили флажок, бьют. Вставили назад флажок, пошли на гладкое, одинударил,и другой ударил. Пошли дальше, и я пошел. Ластер подошел от дерева, и мыидем вдоль забора, они стали, и мы тоже, и я смотрю через забор, а Ластер втраве ищет.

-- Подай клюшки, кэдди! -- Ударил. Пошли от нас лугом. Я держусь зазабор и смотрю, как уходят.

-- Опять занюнил, -- говорит Ластер. -- Хорош младенец, тридцать три

годочка. А я еще в город таскался для тебя за тортом. Кончай вытье. Лучшепомоги искать монету, а то как я на артистов пойду вечером.Они идут по лугу, бьют нечасто. Я иду забором туда, где флажок. Его

треплет среди яркой травы и деревьев.-- Пошли, -- говорит Ластер. -- Мы там уже искали. Они сейчас не придут

больше. Идем у ручья поищем, пока прачки не подняли.Он красный, его треплет среди луга. Подлетела птица косо, села на него.

Ластер швырнул. Флажок треплет на яркой траве, на деревьях. Я держусь зазабор.

-- Кончай шуметь, -- говорит Ластер. -- Не могу же я вернуть игроков,раз ушли. Замолчи, а то мэмми не устроит тебе именин. Замолчи, а то знаешь

что сделаю? Съем весь торт. И свечки съем. Все тридцать три свечки. Пошлиспустимся к ручью. Надо найти эту монету. Может, из мячиков какихкаких-нибудь подберем. Смотри, где они. Вон там, далеко-далеко. -- Подошел кзабору, показал рукой: -- Видишь? Сюда не придут больше. Идем.

Мы идем забором и подходим к огороду. На заборе огородном наши тени.Моя выше, чем у Ластера. Мы лезем в пролом.

-- Стой, -- говорит Ластер. -- Опять ты за этот гвоздь зацепился. Никакне можешь, чтоб не зацепиться.

Кэдди отцепила меня, мы пролезли. "Дядя Мори велел идти так, чтобыникто нас не видел. Давай при" гнемся, -- сказала Кэдди. -- Пригнись,Бенджи. Вот так, понял?" Мы пригнулись, пошли через огород, цветами. Онишелестят, шуршат об нас. Земля твердая. Мы перелезли через забор, гдехрюкали и дышали свиньи. "Наверно, свиньям жалко ту, что утром закололи",--сказала Кэдди. Земля твердая, в комках и ямках.

"Спрячь-ка руки в карманы, -- сказала Кэдди. -- Еще пальцы, отморозишь.Бенджи умный, он не хочет обморозиться на рождество".

John Galsworthy



Biography

John Galsworthy (1867-1933) was educated at Harrow and studied

law at New College, Oxford. He travelled widely and at the age of twenty-eight began to

write, at first for his own amusement. His first stories were published under the pseudonym

John Sinjohn and later were withdrawn. He considered The Island Pharisees (1904) his first

important work. As a novelist Galsworthy is chiefly known for his roman fleuve, The Forsyte

Saga. The first novel of this vast work appeared in 1906. The Man of Property was a harsh

criticism of the upper middle classes, Galsworthy's own background. Galsworthy did not

immediately continue it; fifteen years and with them the First World War intervened until he

resumed work on the history of the Forsytes with In Chancery (1920) and To Let (1921).

Meanwhile he had written a considerable number of novels, short stories, and plays. The

Forsyte Saga was continued y the three volumes of A Modern Comedy , The White Monkey

(1924), The Silver Spoon (1926), Swan Song (1928), and its two interludes A Silent Wooing

and Passersby (1927). To these should be added On Forsyte Change (1930), a collection of

short stories. With growing age Galsworthy came more and more to identify himself with

the world of his novels, which at first he had judged very harshly. This development is

nowhere more evident than in the author's changing attitude toward Soames Forsyte, the

«man of property», who dominates the first part of the work.

Galsworthy was a dramatist of considerable technical skill. His plays often took up specific

social grievances such as the double standard of justice as applied to the upper and lower

classes in The Silver Box (1906) and the confrontation of capital and labour in Strife (1909).

Justice (1910), his most famous play, led to a prison reform in England. Galsworthy's

reaction o the First World War found its expression in The Mob (1914), in which the voice of

a statesman is drowned in the madness of the war-hungry masses; and in enmity of the

two families of The Skin Game (1920).

From Nobel Lectures , Literature 1901-1967 , Editor Horst Frenz, Elsevier Publishing

Company, Amsterdam, 1969

This autobiography/biography was first published in the book series Les Prix Nobel . It was

later edited and republished in Nobel Lectures. To cite this document, always state the

source as shown above.

John Galsworthy died on January 31, 1933.

THE MAN OF PROPERTY









By JOHN GALSWORTHY

PART I

CHAPTER I

'AT HOME' AT OLD JOLYON'S

Those privileged to be present at a family festival of the

Forsytes have seen that charming and instructive sight--an upper

middle-class family in full plumage. But whosoever of these

favoured persons has possessed the gift of psychological analysis

(a talent without monetary value and properly ignored by the

Forsytes), has witnessed a spectacle, not only delightful in

itself, but illustrative of an obscure human problem. In plainer

words, he has gleaned from a gathering of this family--no branch

of which had a liking for the other, between no three members of

whom existed anything worthy of the name of sympathy--evidence of

that mysterious concrete tenacity which renders a family so

formidable a unit of society, so clear a reproduction of societyin miniature. He has been admitted to a vision of the dim roads

of social progress, has understood something of patriarchal life,

of the swarmings of savage hordes, of the rise and fall of

nations. He is like one who, having watched a tree grow from its

planting--a paragon of tenacity, insulation, and success, amidst

the deaths of a hundred other plants less fibrous, sappy, and

persistent--one day will see it flourishing with bland, full

foliage, in an almost repugnant prosperity, at the summit of its

efflorescence.

On June 15, eighteen eighty-six, about four of the afternoon, the

observer who chanced to be present at the house of old Jolyon

Forsyte in Stanhope Gate, might have seen the highest

efflorescence of the Forsytes.

This was the occasion of an 'at home' to celebrate the engagement

of Miss June Forsyte, old Jolyon's granddaughter, to Mr. Philip

Bosinney. In the bravery of light gloves, buff waistcoats,

feathers and frocks, the family were present, even Aunt Ann, who

now but seldom left the comer of her brother Timothy's green

drawing-room, where, under the aegis of a plume of dyed pampas

grass in a light blue vase, she sat all day reading and knitting,

surrounded by the effigies of three generations of Forsytes.

Even Aunt Ann was there; her inflexible back, and the dignity of

her calm old face personifying the rigid possessiveness of the

family idea.



Джон Голсуорси. Сага о Форсайтах: Собственник

ЧАСТЬ ПЕРВАЯ

I. ПРИЕМ У СТАРОГО ДЖОЛИОНА

Тем, кто удостаивался приглашения на семейные торжества Форсайтов,являлось очаровательное и поучительное зрелище: представленная во всемблеске семья, принадлежащая к верхушке английской буржуазии. Если жекто-нибудь из этих счастливцев обладал даром психологического анализа(талантом, который не имеет денежной ценности и поэтому не пользуетсявниманием со стороны Форсайтов), глазам его открывалась картина, не тольковосхитительная сама по себе, но и разъясняющая одну из темных проблем

человечества. Иными словами, сборище этой семьи, - ни одна ветвь которой нечувствовала расположения к другой, между любыми тремя членами которойнебыло ничего заслуживающего названия симпатии, - помогаловнимательномунаблюдателю уловить признаки той загадочной, несокрушимой живучести,котораяпревращает семью в такое мощное звено общественной жизни, в такоеточноевоспроизведение целого общества в миниатюре. Этому наблюдателюпредставлялась возможность прозреть туманные пути развития общества,

уяснитьсебе кое-что о патриархальном быте, о передвижениях первобытных орд, овеличии и падении народов. Он уподоблялся тому, кто, следя за ростоммолодого деревца, живучесть и обособленное положение которого помоглиемууцелеть там, где погибли сотни других растений, менее стойких, менее сильныхи выносливых, в один прекрасный день видит его в самый разгар цветения,покрытым густой, сочной листвой и почти отталкивающим в своей пышности.

Пятнадцатого июня 1886 года случайный наблюдатель, попавший околочетырех часов дня в дом старого Джолиона Форсайта на Стэнхоп-Гейт, могувидеть лучшую пору цветения Форсайтов.

Прием был устроен в честь помолвки мисс Джун Форсайт - внучки старогоДжолиона - с мистером Филипом Боснии. Вся семья собралась здесь, блистаябелыми перчатками, светло-желтыми жилетами, перьями и платьями;приехаладаже тетя Энн, которая редко оставляла теперь уголок зеленой гостиной своегобрата Тимоти, где она проводила целые дни за книгой и вязаньем, под сеньюкрашеного ковыля в голубой вазе, окруженная портретами трех поколенийФорсайтов. Даже тетя Энн была здесь: негнущийся стан и спокойноедостоинствоее старческого лица воплощали в себе непоколебимый духсобственничества,свойственный всей семье.



Biography of Thomas Hardy

Thomas Hardy was born June 2, 1840, in the village of Upper

Bockhampton, located in Southwestern England. His father was a stone

mason and a violinist. His mother enjoyed reading and relating all the

folk songs and legends of the region. Between his parents, Hardy

gained all the interests that would appear in his novels and his own

life: his love for architecture and music, his interest in the lifestyles of

the country folk, and his passion for all sorts of literature.

At the age of eight, Hardy began to attend Julia Martin's school in

Bockhampton. However, most of his education came from the books he found in

Dorchester, the nearby town. He learned French, German, and Latin by teaching himself

through these books. At sixteen, Hardy's father apprenticed his son to a local architect,

John Hicks. Under Hicks' tutelage, Hardy learned much about architectural drawing and

restoring old houses and churches.

From 1867, Hardy wrote poetry and novels, though the first part of his career was devotedto the novel. At first he published anonymously, but when people became interested in his

works, he began to use his own name. Like Dickens, Hardy's novels were published in serial

forms in magazines that were popular in both England and America. His first popular novel

was Under the Greenwood Tree, published in 1872. The next great novel, Far from the

Madding Crowd (1874) was so popular that with the profits, Hardy was able to give up

architecture and marry Emma Gifford. Other popular novels followed in quick succession:

The Return of the Native (1878), The Mayor of Casterbridge (1886), The Woodlanders

(1887), Tess of the D'Urbervilles (1891), and Jude the Obscure (1895). In addition to these

larger works, Hardy published three collections of short stories and five smaller novels, all

moderately successful. However, despite the praise Hardy's fiction received, many critics

also found his works to be too shocking, especially Tess of the D'Urbervilles and Jude theObscure. The outcry against Jude was so great that Hardy decided to stop writing novels

and return to his first great love, poetry.

Over the years, Hardy had divided his time between his home, Max Gate, in Dorchester and

his lodgings in London. In his later years, he remained in Dorchester to focus completely on

his poetry. In 1898, he saw his dream of becoming a poet realized with the publication of

Wessex Poems. He then turned his attentions to an epic drama in verse, The Dynasts; it

was finally completed in 1908. Before his death, he had written over 800 poems, many of

them published while he was in his eighties.

By the last two decades of Hardy's life, he had achieved fame as great as Dickens' fame. In

1910, he was awarded the Order of Merit. New readers had also discovered his novels by

the publication of the Wessex Editions, the definitive versions of all Hardy's early works. As

a result, Max Gate became a literary shrine.

Hardy also found happiness in his personal life. His first wife, Emma, died in 1912. Although

their marriage had not been happy, Hardy grieved at her sudden death. In 1914, he

married Florence Dugale, and she was extremely devoted to him. After his death, Florence

published Hardy's autobiography in two parts under her own name.

After a long and highly successful life, Thomas Hardy died on January 11, 1928, at the ageof 87. His ashes were buried in Poets' Corner at Westminster Abbey. ..



FAR FROM THE MADDING CROWD

CHAPTER I

Description of Farmer Oak—An Incident

When Farmer Oak smiled, the corners of his mouth spread till they were within an

unimportant distance of his ears, his eyes were reduced to chinks, and diverging

wrinkles appeared round them, extending upon his countenance like the rays in a

rudimentary sketch of the rising sun.

His Christian name was Gabriel, and on working days he was a young man of

sound judgment, easy motions, proper dress, and general good character. On

Sundays he was a man of misty views, rather given to postponing, and hampered

by his best clothes and umbrella: upon the whole, one who felt himself to occupy

morally that vast middle space of Laodicean neutrality which lay between the

Communion people of the parish and the drunken section,—that is, he went to

church, but yawned privately by the time the congregation reached the Nicene

creed, and thought of what there would be for dinner when he meant to be

listening to the sermon. Or, to state his character as it stood in the scale of public

opinion, when his friends and critics were in tantrums, he was considered rather a

bad man; when they were pleased, he was rather a good man; when they were

neither, he was a man whose moral colour was a kind of pepper-and-salt mixture.

Since he lived six times as many working-days as Sundays, Oak's appearance in

his old clothes was most peculiarly his own—the mental picture formed by his

neighbours in imagining him being always dressed in that way. He wore a low-

crowned felt hat, spread out at the base by tight jamming upon the head for

security in high winds, and a coat like Dr. Johnson's; his lower extremities being

encased in ordinary leather leggings and boots emphatically large, affording to

each foot a roomy apartment so constructed that any wearer might stand in a

river all day long and know nothing of damp—their maker being a conscientious

man who endeavoured to compensate for any weakness in his cut by unstinted

dimension and solidity.



ГЛАВА I

ПОРТРЕТ ФЕРМЕРА ОУКА. ПРОИСШЕСТВИЕ

Когда фермер Оук улыбался, губы у него так расплывались, что углы рта

оказывались где-то возле ушей, а глаза становились узенькими щелками и

вокруг них проступали морщинки, которые разбегались во все стороны,

словно лучи на детском рисунке, изображающем восход солнца.

Звали его Габриэль, и в будние дни это был рассудительный молодой

человек, одетый как полагается, державшийся спокойно и просто, словом, во

всех отношениях вполне положительная личность. По воскресеньям это был

человек несколько неопределенных взглядов, склонный к медлительности и

скованный в движениях своей праздничной одеждой и зонтом, словом,человек, сознающий себя частью того обширного срединного слоя ни во что

не вмешивающихся лаодикеян, который отделяет благочестивых прихожан от

пьянствующих низов прихода; скажем так, он ходил в церковь, но посреди

службы задолго до "Символа веры" уже начинал позевывать, а когда дело

доходило до проповеди, он, вместо того чтобы внимать ей, раздумывал о том,

что у него нынче будет на обед. Ну, а если характеризовать его, исходя из

общественного мнения, то можно сказать так: когда его друзья и судители

бывали не в духе, они говорили, что он никудышный человек; когда они

бывали навеселе, он становился "славным парнем", а в тех случаях, когда они

были ни то, ни другое, он слыл у них ни черным, ни белым, а чем-то средним,

или, как говорится, - серединка на половинке.

Так как будничных дней в жизни фермера Оука было в шесть раз больше,

чем воскресных, то все, кто видел его изо дня в день в обычной рабочей

одежде, не представляли его себе иначе, как в этом естественном для него,

затрапезном виде. Он всегда ходил в войлочной шляпе с низкой тульей,

примятой и раздавшейся книзу, потому что в сильный ветер он нахлобучивал

ее на самый лоб, и в теплой куртке, наподобие душегрейки доктора

Джонсона. Его нижние конечности были облачены в толстые кожаные гетры и

исполинских размеров башмаки, в которых каждой ноге предоставлялось

просторное помещение такого добротного устройства, что обутый подобным

образом мог целый день простоять в воде и не почувствовать этого; создатель

этих башмаков, человек совестливый, все погрешности кроя старался

возместить беспредельностью размера и прочностью.

http://kurilka.citforum.ru/data/classic/gardi_tolpa.html#0%230

http://kurilka.citforum.ru/data/classic/gardi_tolpa.html#0%230



Jack London.Biography.

ack London was a man of adventure, a man of action and only he couldhave truly conceived such a dynamic and challenging credo as this. Andonly he, with his great physical strength, his intense intellect, and histurbulent spirit, could have successfully lived up to it. He died when he

was only forty, but he accomplished more in this short lifetime than mostmen could in several lifetimes. London fought his way up out of the factories and waterfront dives of WestOakland to become the highest paid, most popular novelist and short storywriter of his day. He wrote passionately and prolifically about the greatquestions of life and death, the struggle to survive with dignity and integrity,and he wove these elemental ideas into stories of high adventure based onhis own firsthand experiences at sea, or in Alaska, or in the fields andfactories of California. As a result, his writing appealed not to the few, but tomillions of people all around the world.

Along with his books and stories, however, Jack London was widely knownfor his personal exploits. He was a celebrity, a colorful and controversial

personality who was often in the news. Generally fun-loving and playful, hecould also be combative, and was quick to side with the underdog againstinjustice or oppression of any kind. He was a fiery and eloquent public speaker, and muchsought after as a lecturer on socialism and other economic and political topics. Despite hisavowed socialism, most people considered him a living symbol of rugged individualism, aman whose fabulous success was due not to special favor of any kind, but to a combinationof unusual mental ability and immense vitality.

Strikingly handsome, full of laughter, restless and courageous to a fault, always eager foradventure on land or sea, he was one of the most attractive and romantic figures of histime.

London ascribed his literary success largely to hard work - to "dig," as he put it. He triednever to miss his early morning 1,000-word writing stint, and between 1900 and 1916 hecompleted over fifty books, including both fiction and non-fiction, hundreds of short stories,

and numerous articles on a wide range of topics. Several of the books and many of theshort stories are classics of their kind, well thought of in critical terms and still populararound the world. Today, almost countless editions of London's writings are available andsome of them have been translated into as many as seventy different languages. Somehow, he managed to do all these things and still find time to go swimming,horseback riding, or sailing on San Francisco Bay. He also spent 27 months cruising theSouth Pacific in the Snark, put in two tours of duty as an overseas war correspondent,traveled widely for pleasure, entertained a continual stream of guests whenever he was athome in Glen Ellen, and did his fair share of barroom socializing and debating. In order to fitall this living into the narrow confines of one lifetime, he often tried to make do with nomore than four or five hours of sleep at night. London was first attracted to the Sonoma Valley by its magnificent natural landscape, a

unique combination of high hills, fields and streams, and a beautiful mixed forest of oaks,madrones, California buckeyes, Douglas Fir, and redwood trees. He didn't care that the farmwas badly run-down. Instead, he reveled in its deep canyons and forests, its year-roundsprings and streams. "All I wanted," he said later, "was a quiet place in the country to writeand loaf in and get out of Nature that something which we all need, only the most of usdon't know it." Soon, however, he was busy buying farm equipment and livestock for his"mountain ranch." He also began work on a new barn and started planning a fine newhouse.

Born January 12, 1876, he was only 29, but he was already internationally famous for Call of the Wild (1903), The Sea Wolf (1904), and other literary and journalisticaccomplishments. He was divorced from Bessie (Maddern), his first wife and the mother of

his two daughters, Joan and Little Bess, and he had married Charmian (Kittredge).

http://members.tripod.com/~yukonjack/surfing.html


http://members.tripod.com/~yukonjack/call.html


http://members.tripod.com/~yukonjack/seawolf.html

http://members.tripod.com/~yukonjack/firstfamily.html

http://members.tripod.com/~yukonjack/charmianpage.html





http://members.tripod.com/~yukonjack/seawolf.html

http://members.tripod.com/~yukonjack/firstfamily.html

http://members.tripod.com/~yukonjack/charmianpage.html



Martin Eden.

By Jack London

CHAPTER I

The one opened the door with a latch-key and went in, followed by a young fellow

who awkwardly removed his cap. He wore rough clothes that smacked of the sea,

and he was manifestly out of place in the spacious hall in which he found himself.

He did not know what to do with his cap, 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'll

see me through all right."

He walked at the other's heels with a swing to his shoulders, and his legs spread

unwittingly, as if the level floors were tilting up and sinking down to the heave and

lunge of the sea. The wide rooms seemed too narrow for his rolling gait, and to

himself he was in terror lest his broad shoulders should collide with the doorways or

sweep the bric-a-brac from the low mantel. He recoiled from side to side between

the various objects and multiplied the hazards that in reality lodged only in his

mind. Between a grand piano and a centre-table piled high with books was spacefor a half a dozen to walk abreast, yet he essayed it with trepidation. His heavy

arms hung loosely at his sides. He did not know what to do with those arms and

hands, and when, to his excited vision, one arm seemed liable to brush against the

books on the table, he lurched away like a frightened horse, barely missing the

piano stool. 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. 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.

"Hold on, Arthur, my boy," he said, attempting to mask his anxiety with facetious

utterance. "This is too much all at once for yours truly. Give me a chance to get

my nerve. You know I didn't want to come, an' I guess your fam'ly ain't hankerin'

to see me neither."

"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."



Джек Лондон.

Мартин Иден

Глава 1

Он отпер дверь своим ключом и вошел, а следом, в смущении сдернув кепку,

шагнул молодой парень. Что-то в его грубой одежде сразу же выдавало моряка,

и в просторном холле, где они оказались, он был явно не к месту. Он не знал,

куда девать кепку, стал было засовывать ее в карман пиджака, но тот, другой,

отобрал ее. Отобрал спокойно, естественно, и парень, которому тут, видно,

было не по себе, в душе поблагодарил его. "Понимает, — подумал он. —

Поможет, все обойдется".

Парень враскачку шел за тем, другим, невольно расставляя ноги, словно этот

ровный пол то, кренясь, взмывал на волне, то ухал вниз. Шел вперевалку, и

большие комнаты становились тесными, и страх его брал, как бы не задеть

широкими плечами дверной косяк, не скинуть какую-нибудь дорогую вещицу с

низкой каминной полки. Он шарахался то вправо, то влево и лишь умножал

опасности, что мерещились ему на каждом шагу. Между роялем и столом

посреди комнаты, на котором громоздились книги, могли бы пройти шестеро в

ряд, он же пробирался с опаской. Могучие ручищи болтались по бокам. Он незнал, куда их девать, вдруг в страхе отпрянул, точно испуганная лошадь, —

вообразил, будто сейчас свалит груду книг на столе, и едва не наскочил на

вращающийся табурет перед роялем. Он приметил, какая непринужденная

походка у того, впереди, и впервые осознал, что сам ходит совсем не как все

прочие люди. И на миг устыдился своей неуклюжести. На лбу выступили

капельки пота, он остановился, отер загорелое лицо платком.

— Обождите, Артур, дружище, — сказал он, пытаясь прикрыть тревогу

шутливым тоном. — У меня аж голова кругом пошла. Надо ж мне набраться

храбрости. Сами знаете, не желал я идти, да и вашему семейству, смекаю, не

больно я нужен.

— Ничего-ничего, — ободряюще сказал Артур. — Незачем нас бояться. Мы

самые обыкновенные люди. Э, да мне письмо!



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Margaret Munnerlyn Mitchell