Поиск по творчеству и критике
Cлово "JERUSALEM"
Входимость: 2. Размер: 45кб.
Входимость: 2. Размер: 10кб.
Входимость: 1. Размер: 24кб.
Входимость: 1. Размер: 14кб.
Входимость: 1. Размер: 71кб.
Входимость: 1. Размер: 21кб.
Входимость: 1. Размер: 96кб.
Примерный текст на первых найденных страницах
Входимость: 2. Размер: 45кб.
Часть текста: no sooner succeeded in assuming a serious air and muttering something when he suddenly glanced again as though accidentally at Razumihin, and could no longer control himself: his stifled laughter broke out the more irresistibly the more he tried to restrain it. The extraordinary ferocity with which Razumihin received this "spontaneous" mirth gave the whole scene the appearance of most genuine fun and naturalness. Razumihin strengthened this impression as though on purpose. "Fool! You fiend," he roared, waving his arm which at once struck a little round table with an empty tea-glass on it. Everything was sent flying and crashing. "But why break chairs, gentlemen? You know it's a loss to the Crown," Porfiry Petrovitch quoted gaily. Raskolnikov was still laughing, with his hand in Porfiry Petrovitch's, but anxious not to overdo it, awaited the right moment to put a natural end to it. Razumihin, completely put to confusion by upsetting the table and smashing the glass, gazed gloomily at the fragments, cursed and turned sharply to the window where he stood looking out with his back to the company with a fiercely scowling countenance, seeing nothing....
Входимость: 2. Размер: 10кб.
Часть текста: answered offhand, though with the customary impressiveness. "Doctor... your Excellency... and will it be soon, soon?" "You must be prepared for anything," said the doctor in emphatic and incisive tones, and dropping his eyes, he was about to step out to the coach. "Your Excellency, for Christ's sake!" the terror-stricken captain stopped him again. "Your Excellency! But can nothing, absolutely nothing save him now?" "It's not in my hands now," said the doctor impatiently, "but h'm!..." he stopped suddenly. "If you could, for instance... send... your patient... at once, without delay" (the words "at once, without delay," the doctor uttered with an almost wrathful sternness that made the captain start) "to Syracuse, the change to the new be-ne-ficial "To Syracuse!" cried the captain, unable to grasp what was said. "Syracuse is in Sicily," Kolya jerked out suddenly in explanation. The doctor looked at him. "Sicily! Your Excellency," faltered the captain, "but you've seen" -- he spread out his hands, indicating his surroundings -- "mamma and my family?" "N-no, SiciIy is not the place for the family, the family should go to Caucasus in the early spring... your daughter must go to the Caucasus, and your wife... after a course of the waters in the Caucasus for her rheumatism... must be sent straight to Paris to the mental specialist Lepelletier; I could give you a note to him, and then... there might be a change-" "Doctor, doctor! But you see!" The captain flung wide his hands again despairingly, indicating the bare wooden walls of the passage....
Входимость: 1. Размер: 24кб.
Часть текста: her brother would not be alone. He had gone to her, Sonia, first with his confession; he had gone to her for human fellowship when he needed it; she would go with him wherever fate might send him. Dounia did not ask, but she knew it was so. She looked at Sonia almost with reverence and at first almost embarrassed her by it. Sonia was almost on the point of tears. She felt herself, on the contrary, hardly worthy to look at Dounia. Dounia's gracious image when she had bowed to her so attentively and respectfully at their first meeting in Raskolnikov's room had remained in her mind as one of the fairest visions of her life. Dounia at last became impatient and, leaving Sonia, went to her brother's room to await him there; she kept thinking that he would come there first. When she had gone, Sonia began to be tortured by the dread of his committing suicide, and Dounia too feared it. But they had spent the day trying to persuade each other that that could not be, and both were less anxious while they were together. As soon as they parted, each thought of nothing else. Sonia remembered how Svidrigailov had said to her the day before that Raskolnikov had two alternatives- Siberia or... Besides she knew his vanity, his pride and his lack of faith. "Is it possible that he has nothing but cowardice and fear of death to make him live?" she thought at last in despair. Meanwhile the sun was setting. Sonia was standing in dejection, looking intently out of the window, but from it she could see nothing but the unwhitewashed blank wall of the next house. At...
Входимость: 1. Размер: 14кб.
Часть текста: places, there hung two large portraits -- one of some prince who had been governor of the district thirty years before, and the other of some bishop, also long since dead. In the corner opposite the door there were several ikons, before which a lamp was lighted at nightfall... not so much for devotional purposes as to light the room. Fyodor Pavlovitch used to go to bed very late, at three or four o'clock in the morning,and would wander about the room at night or sit in an armchair, thinking. This had become a habit with him. He often slept quite alone in the house, sending his servants to the lodge; but usually Smerdyakov remained, sleeping on a bench in the hall. When Alyosha came in, dinner was over, but coffee and preserves had been served. Fyodor Pavlovitch liked sweet things with brandy after dinner. Ivan was also at table, sipping coffee. The servants, Grigory and Smerdyakov, were standing by. Both the gentlemen and the servants seemed in singularly good spirits. Fyodor Pavlovitch was roaring with laughter. Before he entered the room, Alyosha heard the shrill laugh he knew so well, and could tell from the sound of it that his father had only reached the good-humoured stage, and was far from being completely drunk. "Here he is! Here he is!" yelled Fyodor Pavlovitch, highly delighted at seeing Alyosha. "Join us. Sit down. Coffee is a lenten dish, but it's hot and good. I don't offer you brandy, you're keeping the fast. But would you like some? No; I'd better give you some of our famous liqueur. Smerdyakov, go to the cupboard, the second shelf on the right. Here are the keys. Look sharp!" Alyosha began refusing the liqueur. "Never mind. If you won't have it, we will," said Fyodor Pavlovitch, beaming. "But stay -- have you dined?" "Yes," answered Alyosha, who had in truth only eaten a piece of bread and drunk a glass of kvass in the Father Superior's...
Входимость: 1. Размер: 71кб.
Часть текста: Одно из прямых отражений Пушкина в Достоевском, не замеченное пока историей литературы. Стихотворение "Свободы сеятель пустынный..." стало известно лишь в эпоху Достоевского (опубликовано Герценом в Лондоне в 1856 г. и П. И. Бартеневым в "Русском Архиве" в 1866 г. 1 ), и, при его внимании к каждой пушкинской строчке, Достоевский должен был его знать. Значит ли это, что он в строках "Великого инквизитора" скрыто его цитировал? Скорее тут работала более сложная сила, удачно названная А. Л. Бемом "литературным припоминанием". Достоевский, "может быть, и сам того не сознавая", постоянно бывал "во власти литературных припоминаний" 2 ; творческий анамнезис был его писательским методом. Сам того не сознавая! Вероятно, "припоминание" пушкинского сеятеля в речи великого инквизитора - это тот случай. Припоминание - не цитирование и не простое воспоминание, здесь важно слово, найденное филологом, -платоновский термин 3 . Это действие в литературе внутренней силы, ещё загадочной для теории творчества (загадочной, может быть, оставаться и предназначенной). Нечто вроде сверхпамяти, тайно работающей в писательской памяти, - попробуем назвать её генетической литературной памятью. Бем писал о беспримерной творческой возбудимости Достоевского и назвал это свойством гениального читателя 4 . Он видел такого художника, как Достоевский, в особенном состоянии спонтанного и полуосознанного припоминания, в том состоянии, в какое Сократ в диалогах Платона погружал своих собеседников, открывая им, что знание есть припоминание того, что душа (как Достоевский у Бема) уже знает, не сознавая того. Большие темы, переходящие от автора к автору и образующие сквозной большой сюжет национальной литературы, и заключают в себе и ...
Входимость: 1. Размер: 21кб.
Часть текста: with hair of a dark brown, with a regular, rather long, oval-shaped face, and wide-set dark grey, shining eyes; he was very thoughtful, and apparently very serene. I shall be told, perhaps, that red cheeks are not incompatible with fanaticism and mysticism; but I fancy that Alyosha was more of a realist than anyone. Oh! no doubt, in the monastery he fully believed in miracles, but, to my thinking, miracles are never a stumbling-block to the realist. It is not miracles that dispose realists to belief. The genuine realist, if he is an unbeliever, will always find strength and ability to disbelieve in the miraculous, and if he is confronted with a miracle as an irrefutable fact he would rather disbelieve his own senses than admit the fact. Even if he admits it, he admits it as a fact of nature till then unrecognised by him. Faith does not, in the realist, spring from the miracle but the miracle from faith. If the realist once believes, then he is bound by his very realism to admit the miraculous also. The Apostle Thomas said that he would not believe till he saw, but when he did see he said, "My Lord and my God!" Was it the miracle forced him to believe? Most likely not, but he believed solely...
Входимость: 1. Размер: 96кб.
Часть текста: Stepan Trofimovitch, her only son, Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch Stavrogin. It was to undertake his education that Stepan Trofimovitch had been engaged. The boy was at that time eight years old, and his frivolous father, General Stavrogin, was already living apart from Varvara Petrovna, so that the child grew up entirely in his mother's care. To do Stepan Trofimovitch justice, he knew how to win his pupil's heart. The whole secret of this lay in the fact that he was a child himself. I was not there in those days, and he continually felt the want of a real friend. He did not hesitate to make a friend of this little creature as soon as he had grown a little older. It somehow came to pass quite naturally that there seemed to be no discrepancy of age between them. More than once he awaked his ten- or eleven-year-old friend at night, simply to pour out his wounded feelings and weep before him, or to tell him some family secret, without realising that this was an outrageous proceeding. They threw themselves into each other's arms and wept. The boy knew that his mother loved him very much, but I doubt whether he cared much for her. She talked little to him and did not often interfere with him, but he was always morbidly conscious of her intent, searching eyes fixed upon him. Yet the mother confided his whole instruction and moral education to Stepan Trofimovitch. At that time her faith in him was unshaken. One can't help believing that the tutor had rather a bad influence on his pupil's nerves. When at sixteen he was taken to a lyceum he was fragile-looking and pale, strangely quiet and dreamy. ...