-
Главная
-
- Книги
-
- Авторы
-
- Джеймс Джойс
-
- Портрет художника в юности
-
- Стр. 190/241
Для того чтобы воспользоваться озвучкой предложений, необходимо
Войти или зарегистрироваться
Озвучка предложений доступна при наличии PRO-доступа
Купить PRO-доступ
The
mind
in
that
mysterious
instant
Shelley
likened
beautifully
to
a
fading
coal
.
The
instant
wherein
that
supreme
quality
of
beauty
,
the
clear
radiance
of
the
esthetic
image
,
is
apprehended
luminously
by
the
mind
which
has
been
arrested
by
its
wholeness
and
fascinated
by
its
harmony
is
the
luminous
silent
stasis
of
esthetic
pleasure
,
a
spiritual
state
very
like
to
that
cardiac
condition
which
the
Italian
physiologist
Luigi
Galvani
,
using
a
phrase
almost
as
beautiful
as
Shelley
's
,
called
the
enchantment
of
the
heart
.
Stephen
paused
and
,
though
his
companion
did
not
speak
,
felt
that
his
words
had
called
up
around
them
a
thought-enchanted
silence
.
--
What
I
have
said
,
he
began
again
,
refers
to
beauty
in
the
wider
sense
of
the
word
,
in
the
sense
which
the
word
has
in
the
literary
tradition
.
In
the
marketplace
it
has
another
sense
.
When
we
speak
of
beauty
in
the
second
sense
of
the
term
our
judgement
is
influenced
in
the
first
place
by
the
art
itself
and
by
the
form
of
that
art
.
The
image
,
it
is
clear
,
must
be
set
between
the
mind
or
senses
of
the
artist
himself
and
the
mind
or
senses
of
others
.
If
you
bear
this
in
memory
you
will
see
that
art
necessarily
divides
itself
into
three
forms
progressing
from
one
to
the
next
.
These
forms
are
:
the
lyrical
form
,
the
form
wherein
the
artist
presents
his
image
in
immediate
relation
to
himself
;
the
epical
form
,
the
form
wherein
he
presents
his
image
in
mediate
relation
to
himself
and
to
others
;
the
dramatic
form
,
the
form
wherein
he
presents
his
image
in
immediate
relation
to
others
.
--
That
you
told
me
a
few
nights
ago
,
said
Lynch
,
and
we
began
the
famous
discussion
.
--
I
have
a
book
at
home
,
said
Stephen
,
in
which
I
have
written
down
questions
which
are
more
amusing
than
yours
were
.
In
finding
the
answers
to
them
I
found
the
theory
of
esthetic
which
I
am
trying
to
explain
.
Here
are
some
questions
I
set
myself
:
IS
A
CHAIR
FINELY
MADE
TRAGIC
OR
COMIC
?
IS
THE
PORTRAIT
OF
MONA
LISA
GOOD
IF
I
DESIRE
TO
SEE
IT
?
IF
NOT
,
WHY
NOT
?
--
Why
not
,
indeed
?
said
Lynch
,
laughing
.
--
IF
A
MAN
HACKING
IN
FURY
AT
A
BLOCK
OF
WOOD
,
Stephen
continued
,
MAKE
THERE
AN
IMAGE
OF
A
COW
,
IS
THAT
IMAGE
A
WORK
OF
ART
?
IF
NOT
,
WHY
NOT
?
--
That
's
a
lovely
one
,
said
Lynch
,
laughing
again
.
That
has
the
true
scholastic
stink
.
--
Lessing
,
said
Stephen
,
should
not
have
taken
a
group
of
statues
to
write
of
.
The
art
,
being
inferior
,
does
not
present
the
forms
I
spoke
of
distinguished
clearly
one
from
another
.
Even
in
literature
,
the
highest
and
most
spiritual
art
,
the
forms
are
often
confused
.
The
lyrical
form
is
in
fact
the
simplest
verbal
vesture
of
an
instant
of
emotion
a
rhythmical
cry
such
as
ages
ago
cheered
on
the
man
who
pulled
at
the
oar
or
dragged
stones
up
a
slope
.
He
who
utters
it
is
more
conscious
of
the
instant
of
emotion
than
of
himself
as
feeling
emotion
.
The
simplest
epical
form
is
seen
emerging
out
of
lyrical
literature
when
the
artist
prolongs
and
broods
upon
himself
as
the
centre
of
an
epical
event
and
this
form
progresses
till
the
centre
of
emotional
gravity
is
equidistant
from
the
artist
himself
and
from
others
.
The
narrative
is
no
longer
purely
personal
.
The
personality
of
the
artist
passes
into
the
narration
itself
,
flowing
round
and
round
the
persons
and
the
action
like
a
vital
sea
.
This
progress
you
will
see
easily
in
that
old
English
ballad
TURPIN
HERO
which
begins
in
the
first
person
and
ends
in
the
third
person
.
The
dramatic
form
is
reached
when
the
vitality
which
has
flowed
and
eddied
round
each
person
fills
every
person
with
such
vital
force
that
he
or
she
assumes
a
proper
and
intangible
esthetic
life
.
The
personality
of
the
artist
,
at
first
a
cry
or
a
cadence
or
a
mood
and
then
a
fluid
and
lambent
narrative
,
finally
refines
itself
out
of
existence
,
impersonalizes
itself
,
so
to
speak
.
The
esthetic
image
in
the
dramatic
form
is
life
purified
in
and
reprojected
from
the
human
imagination
.
The
mystery
of
esthetic
,
like
that
of
material
creation
,
is
accomplished
.
The
artist
,
like
the
God
of
creation
,
remains
within
or
behind
or
beyond
or
above
his
handiwork
,
invisible
,
refined
out
of
existence
,
indifferent
,
paring
his
fingernails
.
