Showing posts with label რომანი. Show all posts
Showing posts with label რომანი. Show all posts
გადმოწერა Download
გადმოწერა Download
 |
| Add caption |
Les expériences que je relate dans ce volume me sont arrivées personnellement durant l'été 1902. Je suis descendu dans les bas-fonds londoniens avec le même état d'esprit que l'explorateur, bien décidé à ne croire que ce que je verrais par moi-même, plutôt que de m'en remettre aux récits de ceux qui n'avaient pas été témoins des faits qu'ils rapportaient, et de ceux qui m'avaient précédé dans mes recherches. J'étais parti avec quelques idées très simples, qui m'ont permis de me faire une opinion : tout ce qui améliore la vie, en renforçant sa santé morale et physique, est bon pour l'individu ; tout ce qui, au contraire, tend à la détruire, est mauvais.
Sense and Sensibility est le premier roman que publia Jane Austen
(1811). Le livre procède, si l'on considère le titre, d'une opposition
entre deux traits fondamentaux : le bon sens et la sensibilité, qui
seraient incarnés par deux sours, Elinor et Marianne. Mais l'une et
l'autre sont bien pourvues de ces deux qualités, si Elinor possède plus
de jugement, et si Marianne, en adepte du romantisme, a tendance à
cultiver les élans de sa sensibilité. Notamment lorsqu'elle tombe aveuglément amoureuse du héros de ses rêves, Willoughby, un homme superficiel, tourné vers l'argent, qui va la décevoir profondément. La sage, la raisonnable Elinor, qui l'avait mise en garde, avait-elle donc raison ? Et le secret du bonheur serait-il dans l'usage du jugement ? C'est l'être isolé affrontant la société, qu'analyse Jane Austen. La raison consiste à s'ajuster au monde, et non à le braver, à observer des règles qu'on ne peut changer, plutôt qu'à cultiver des rêves et des états d'âme condamnés à rester sans réponse.
.jpg){kind=logo}
''ყველაფერი იგი გაქრა,
ვით სიზმარი გვიანი,
დრომ ახალი ძალით დაჰკრა:
სხვაა ადამიანი.
რუსოს ხანა, ოხვრა რონის,
ტრიანონის ცდომანი...''
გ ა ლ ა კ ტ ი ო ნ ი
«საფრანგეთის დიდებული ერი ჰქმნის დიდებულ ადამიანებს არა მხოლოდ
საფრანგეთისათვის, არამედ ყველა ერისათვის. სალამი საფრანგეთს!»
ეს სიტყვები ილია ჭავჭავაძის ნათქვამია.
მართლაც, სალამი, სახელი და დიდება საფრანგეთს! რამდენი გამოჩენილი და
სახელოვანი ადამიანი აღუზარდა და მისცა მან კაცობრიობას. ყველას ვინ ჩამოთვლის...
მათ შორის ჟან-ჟაკ რუსოს ერთ-ერთი უპირველესი ადგილი უჭირავს.
.jpg)
დასაწყისი: თავდაპირეველად ის ქრისტოფერ ბელიუ იყო. კოლეჯში რომ სწავლობდა,
ქრის ბელიუდ იქცა. უფრო მოგვიანებით, სან-ფრანცისკოს ბოჰემურ წრეებში,
კიტ ბელიუ შეარქვეს; ბოლოს კი სმოკ ბულიუ გახდა და სხვა სახელით აღარც
იხსნიებდნენ.
In my younger and more vulnerable years my father gave me some advice that I’ve been turning over in my mind ever since.
‘Whenever you feel like criticizing any one,’ he told me, ‘just remember that all the people in this world haven’t had the advantages that you’ve had.’
He didn’t say any more but we’ve always been unusually communicative in a reserved way, and I understood that he meant a great deal more than that. In consequence I’m inclined to reserve all judgments, a habit that has opened up many curious natures to me and also made me the victim of not a few veteran bores. The abnormal mind is quick to detect and attach itself to this quality when it appears in a normal person, and so it came about that in college I was unjustly accused of being a politician, because I was privy to the secret griefs of wild, unknown men. Most of the confidences were unsought—frequently I have feigned sleep, preoccupation, or a hostile levity when I realized by some unmistakable sign that an intimate revelation was quivering on the horizon—for the intimate revelations of young men or at least the terms in which they express them are usually plagiaristic and marred by obvious suppressions. Reserving judgments is a matter of infinite hope. I am still a little afraid of missing something if I forget that, as my father snobbishly suggested, and I snobbishly repeat a sense of the fundamental decencies is parcelled out unequally at birth.
This sort of character is met with pretty frequently in a certain class. They are people who know everyone—that is, they know where a man is employed, what his salary is, whom he knows, whom he married, what money his wife had, who are his cousins, and second cousins, etc., etc. These men generally have about a hundred pounds a year to live on, and they spend their whole time and talents in the amassing of this style of knowledge, which they reduce—or raise—to the standard of a science.
During the latter part of the conversation the black-haired young man had become very impatient. He stared out of the window, and fidgeted, and evidently longed for the end of the journey. He was very absent; he would appear to listen-and heard nothing; and he would laugh of a sudden, evidently with no idea of what he was laughing about.
After the first surprise of the intelligence had a little abated, a rumor was spread through the entrenched camp, which stretched along the margin of the Hudson, forming a chain of outworks to the body of the fort itself, that a chosen detachment of fifteen hundred men was to depart, with the dawn, for William Henry, the post at the northern extremity of the portage. That which at first was only rumor, soon became certainty, as orders passed from the quarters of the commander-in-chief to the several corps he had selected for this service, to prepare for their speedy departure. All doubts as to the intention of Webb now vanished, and an hour or two of hurried footsteps and anxious faces succeeded. The novice in the military art flew from point to point, retarding his own preparations by the excess of his violent and somewhat distempered zeal; while the more practiced veteran made his arrangements with a deliberation that scorned every appearance of haste; though his sober lineaments and anxious eye sufficiently betrayed that he had no very strong professional relish for the, as yet, untried and dreaded warfare of the wilderness. At length the sun set in a flood of glory, behind the distant western hills, and as darkness drew its veil around the secluded spot the sounds of preparation diminished; the last light finally disappeared from the log cabin of some officer; the trees cast their deeper shadows over the mounds and the rippling stream, and a silence soon pervaded the camp, as deep as that which reigned in the vast forest by which it was environed.
Under certain circumstances there are few hours in life more agreeable than the hour dedicated to the ceremony known as afternoon tea. There are circumstances in which, whether you partake of the tea or not—some people of course never do—the situation is in itself delightful. Those that I have in mind in beginning to unfold this simple history offered an admirable setting to an innocent pastime. The implements of the little feast had been disposed upon the lawn of an old English country-house, in what I should call the perfect middle of a splendid summer afternoon. Part of the afternoon had waned, but much of it was left, and what was left was of the finest and rarest quality. Real dusk would not arrive for many hours; but the flood of summer light had begun to ebb, the air had grown mellow, the shadows were long upon the smooth, dense turf. They lengthened slowly, however, and the scene expressed that sense of leisure still to come which is perhaps the chief source of one’s enjoyment of such a scene at such an hour.
