"Jack London. The Sea Wolf (англ., с подстрочником) " - читать интересную книгу автора

Wolf Larsen did not laugh, though his grey eyes lighted with a slight
glint of amusement; and in that moment, having stepped forward quite close
to him, I received my first impression of the man himself, of the man as
apart from his body, and from the torrent of blasphemy I had heard him spew
forth. The face, with large features and strong lines, of the square order,
yet well filled out, was apparently massive at first sight; but again, as
with the body, the massiveness seemed to vanish, and a conviction to grow of
a tremendous and excessive mental or spiritual strength that lay behind,
sleeping in the deeps of his being. The jaw, the chin, the brow rising to a
goodly height and swelling heavily above the eyes, - these, while strong in
themselves, unusually strong, seemed to speak an immense vigour or virility
of spirit that lay behind and beyond and out of sight. There was no sounding
such a spirit, no measuring, no determining of metes and bounds, nor neatly
classifying in some pigeon-hole with others of similar type.

Волк Ларсен не смеялся, хотя в его серых глазах Мелькали искорки
удовольствия, и только тут, подойдя к нему ближе, я получил более полное
впечатление от этого человека, - до сих пор я воспринимал его скорее Жак
шагающую по палубе фигуру, изрыгающую поток ругательств. У него было
несколько угловатое лицо с крупными и резкими, но правильными чертами,
казавшиеся на первый взгляд массивным. Но это первое впечатление от его
лица, так же как и от его фигуры, быстро отступало на задний план, и
оставалось только ощущение скрытой в этом человеке внутренней силы,
дремлющей где-то в недрах его существа. Скулы, подбородок, высокий лоб с
выпуклыми надбровными дугами, могучие, даже необычайно могучие сами по себе,
казалось, говорили об огромной, скрытой от глаз жизненной энергии или мощи
духа, - эту мощь было трудно измерить или определить ее границы, и
невозможно было отнести ее ни под какую установленную рубрику.


The eyes - and it was my destiny to know them well - were large and
handsome, wide apart as the true artist's are wide, sheltering under a heavy
brow and arched over by thick black eyebrows. The eyes themselves were of
that baffling protean grey which is never twice the same; which runs through
many shades and colourings like intershot silk in sunshine; which is grey,
dark and light, and greenish-grey, and sometimes of the clear azure of the
deep sea. They were eyes that masked the soul with a thousand guises, and
that sometimes opened, at rare moments, and allowed it to rush up as though
it were about to fare forth nakedly into the world on some wonderful
adventure, - eyes that could brood with the hopeless sombreness of leaden
skies; that could snap and crackle points of fire like those which sparkle
from a whirling sword; that could grow chill as an arctic landscape, and yet
again, that could warm and soften and be all a-dance with love-lights,
intense and masculine, luring and compelling, which at the same time
fascinate and dominate women till they surrender in a gladness of joy and of
relief and sacrifice.

Глаза - мне довелось хорошо узнать их - были большие и красивые,
осененные густыми черными бровями и широко расставленные, что говорило о
недюжинности натуры. Цвет их, изменчиво-серый, поражал бесчисленным