SESSION 7

1.“Frumoase case! exclama la rastimpuri. Asa aveam si noi, in Ferendari. Poate le cunosti d-ta…” Incepu sa-I descrie casele si sa-I povesteasca. Ii povesti in acea dupa-amiaza de timpurile de bogatie dinaintea celuilalt razboi; ochii I se umpleau de lacrimi si atunci privea din nou in jurul ei, emotionata. Apoi, dintr-o data, schimba vorba. “Petrica, nepotu-meu, s-a imbolnavit din nou. S-o fi speriat caci a cazut o bomba chiar la capatul strazii si praf a facut-o! Si m-a rugat sa va aduc lucrurile astea, pentru madam Irina. Spune ca sunt lucruri de mare pret si ca daca, Doamne fereste, se intimpla de cade vreo bomba…”

2. Cei doi chiparoşi - cu totul diferiţi de chiparoşii liniştiti şi cu sugestii de moarte ai naturii - izbucnesc din pamânt, înaltându-se ca nişte flăcări spre cer. Când zic aici "izbucnesc" ca nişte "flăcări" - nu rostim simple metafore sau comparaţii. Senzaţia izbucnirii şi a flăcării, ce pâlpâie, o ai aievea privind tabloul. Lanul e nebun mişcat, nu de vânt, ci de-o putere lăuntrică, ce o au aici toate liniile. Tufele sunt vii, stâncile au voinţa sa urce, întocmai ca dealurile ce formează fondul. E o creştere spre cer a întregului peisaj; cerul e un haos de lumină, cerul fierbe. Ai aci un petec de câmp, stufăriş, pietre, dealuri şi deasupra un cer ciudat; dar totul e de-o mişcare pătimaşă, de un dinamism al liniilor care-ţi dă iluzia că asişti o clipă la creaţia lumii; iată : munţii acum se nasc din adâncimi, iar chiparoţii nu sunt decât flăcări scăpate de sub scoarţa pamântului. Lucrurile şi fiintele nu-şi mai trăiesc viaţa lor, ci viaţa pictorului. Zola a scris: opera de arta e un colţ de natură văzut printr-un temperament; cineva a inversat formula aceasta pentru cazul Van Gogh; opera lui ar fi un temperament văzut printr-un colţ de natură. Ceea ce din punct de vedere al impresionismului era o abatere de la natură, o deformare a realităţii, e pentru noua atitudine expresia unei adânci mişcâri sufleteşti. Un temperament de un covârşitor dramatism sileşte natura să trăiască o viaţa improprie, împrumutându-i sufletul său. Linia, din redarea unui contur real, ce a fost până aici, devine simbolul unei mişcări, traiectoria unui gest pătruns de putere fanatică. Linia nu mai este marginea tăiată cu foarfeci ascuţite după forma lucrurilor, ci proiecţiunea unui suflet interior. În "peisajele cu pomi" ale pictorului, plantele şi-au pierdut fiinţa vegetală, schimbându-se într-un fel de animale ciudate, într-un fel de polipi ce-şi înalţă braţele îndoindu-se în lupta tragică cu natura. Se poate vorbi de chinul profund al pomilor, pe care nu vântul îi mişca, ci propriul lor suflet blestemat.

(L. Blaga - Cugetări filosofice)

3. She looked round the room, reviewing all its familiar objects which she had dusted once a week for so many years, wondering where on earth all the dust came from.Perhaps she would never see again those familar objects from which she had never dreamed of being divided. And yet during all those years she had never found out the name of the priest whose yellowing photograph hung on the wall. He had been a schoolfriend of her father. Whenever he showed the photograph to a visitor he father would pass it with a casual word :"He is in Melbourne now." She tried to weigh each side of the question. In her home anyway she had shelter and food; she had those whom she had known all her life about her. Of course she had to work hard, both in the house and at business. What would they say of her in the Stores when they found out that she had run away with a fellow? Say she was a fool, perhaps; and her place would be filled up by advertisement. Miss Gavan would be glad. She had always had an edge on her, especially whenever there were people listening.

4. Nu scrisese , fiindca avusese si ea necazurile ei, nevoile ei si grijile ei. E asta un motiv ca cineva sa-si bata joc de ea si sa-i trimeata ironic scrisori, pe care ea nu le cerea? Caci era lamurit ca numai din dorinta de a o umili ii scria el acum, numai pentru ca sa-i arate orgolios cit e el de bun si cit este ea de rea.

Adriana se simti deodata nedreptatita, insultata si avu pofta sa plinga, sa plinga tare, sa plinga mult, ca sa protesteze impotriva acestei cruzimi, care venea sa o loveasca neomeneste, tocmai intr-o dimineata in care crezuse ca ar putea sa fie vesela. Dar nu: ei nu i se permitea asemenea bucurie si nevinovata placere de a fi ascultat un concert ea trebuia sa o plateasca greu, imediat, fara intirziere.

Cit era de nenorocita si cum se indreptau toate impotriva ei! Se lasa asa cum era, cu paltonul pe ea, cu palaria in cap. cu plicul nedeschis intre degete, pe speteaza unui scaun, descurajata. Dintr-o odaie indepartata se auzea zgomotul de farfurii: se punea masa. Hotarirea ei fu nemiloasa: nu avea sa manince. Nu avea sa manince, de vreme ce si acest lucru ar fi putut sa-i fie imputat. Era mai bine asa sa rabde, sa sufere, sa se imbolnaveasca poate, dar sa pastreze pina la urma constiinta nedreptatii ce i se facea, pina cind intr-o zi vor vedea ei, vor vedea, dar nu vor avea timp sa repare nimic.

5. It was different for Hopper, of course. Though only two years older he had an apartment on Fifty-seventh Street and a job in his father’s law firm. Being British, Charlie had nothing of his own and nothing to do save ride round the family estate with a gun under his arm, waiting for his father to die. All the same, both insisted they had plans for a golden future which would have little to do with either law or the running of an estate. Quite what it would have to do with wasn’t made clear, though Hopper vowed he was going to land the biggest fish that ever flashed in a river.

It’s true he was crazy about fishing. When we were boys at Warm Springs he spent whole nights lying on his stomach waiting for the bait to be taken, until his grandmother, catching him fast asleep in the moonlight, a snake a foot away from his face, beat him out of the habit.

I envied them, lolling in that shining automobile, both so sure the future would be different from what had gone before. For myself, I had no such certainties. Jumping into the back of the Wolseley I lay flat and contemplated the heights above and the depths below. Cupping my hands over my ears I imagined it was the ocean that roared in my head. I might have fallen asleep if Hopper hadn’t bellowed my name.

(Beryl Bainbridge – Every Man for Himself)

6. So these are the things that are worrying Robyn Penrose as she drives through the gates of the University, with a nod and a smile to the security man in his little glass sentry box: her lecture on the Industrial Novel, her job future, and her relationship with Charles – in that order of conspicuousness rather than importance. Indeed, her uneasiness about Charles scarcely counts as a conscious worry at all; while the worry about the lecture is, she is well aware, a trivial and mechanical one. It is not that she does not know what to say, it is that there is not enough time to say all she knows. After all, she worked on the nineteenth century industrial novel for somehting like ten years, and even after publishing her book she went on accumulating ideas and insights about the subject. She has boxes full of notes and file cards on it. She probably knows more about the nineteenth century industrial novel than anyone else in the entire world. How can all that knowledge be condensed into a fifty-minute lecture to students who know almost nothing about it?