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- Джеймс Джойс
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- Портрет художника в юности
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- Стр. 181/241
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--
Repeat
,
said
Lynch
.
Stephen
repeated
the
definitions
slowly
.
--
A
girl
got
into
a
hansom
a
few
days
ago
,
he
went
on
,
in
London
.
She
was
on
her
way
to
meet
her
mother
whom
she
had
not
seen
for
many
years
.
At
the
corner
of
a
street
the
shaft
of
a
lorry
shivered
the
window
of
the
hansom
in
the
shape
of
a
star
.
A
long
fine
needle
of
the
shivered
glass
pierced
her
heart
.
She
died
on
the
instant
.
The
reporter
called
it
a
tragic
death
.
It
is
not
.
It
is
remote
from
terror
and
pity
according
to
the
terms
of
my
definitions
.
--
The
tragic
emotion
,
in
fact
,
is
a
face
looking
two
ways
,
towards
terror
and
towards
pity
,
both
of
which
are
phases
of
it
.
You
see
I
use
the
word
ARREST
.
I
mean
that
the
tragic
emotion
is
static
.
Or
rather
the
dramatic
emotion
is
.
The
feelings
excited
by
improper
art
are
kinetic
,
desire
or
loathing
.
Desire
urges
us
to
possess
,
to
go
to
something
;
loathing
urges
us
to
abandon
,
to
go
from
something
.
The
arts
which
excite
them
,
pornographical
or
didactic
,
are
therefore
improper
arts
.
The
esthetic
emotion
(
I
used
the
general
term
)
is
therefore
static
.
The
mind
is
arrested
and
raised
above
desire
and
loathing
.
--
You
say
that
art
must
not
excite
desire
,
said
Lynch
.
I
told
you
that
one
day
I
wrote
my
name
in
pencil
on
the
backside
of
the
Venus
of
Praxiteles
in
the
Museum
.
Was
that
not
desire
?
--
I
speak
of
normal
natures
,
said
Stephen
.
You
also
told
me
that
when
you
were
a
boy
in
that
charming
carmelite
school
you
ate
pieces
of
dried
cowdung
.
Lynch
broke
again
into
a
whinny
of
laughter
and
again
rubbed
both
his
hands
over
his
groins
but
without
taking
them
from
his
pockets
.
--
O
,
I
did
!
I
did
!
he
cried
.
Stephen
turned
towards
his
companion
and
looked
at
him
for
a
moment
boldly
in
the
eyes
.
Lynch
,
recovering
from
his
laughter
,
answered
his
look
from
his
humbled
eyes
.
The
long
slender
flattened
skull
beneath
the
long
pointed
cap
brought
before
Stephen
's
mind
the
image
of
a
hooded
reptile
.
The
eyes
,
too
,
were
reptile-like
in
glint
and
gaze
.
Yet
at
that
instant
,
humbled
and
alert
in
their
look
,
they
were
lit
by
one
tiny
human
point
,
the
window
of
a
shrivelled
soul
,
poignant
and
self-embittered
.
