THEPREFACE
Theartististhecreatorofbeautifulthings.
Torevealart
a
andconcealtheartistisart’saim.Thecriticishe
kdo
whocantranslateintoanothermannernebo
oranewmaterialhisimpressionofbeautifulthings.Thehighestasthelowestformofcriticismisamodeofautobiography.
Those
kteří
whofinduglymeaningsinbeautifulthingsarecorruptaniž by
withoutbeingcharming.Thisisafault.
Those
kteří
whofindbeautifulmeaningsinkrásné
beautifulthingsarethecultivated.Forthesethereis
naděje
hope.Theyaretheelecttowhom
krásné
beautifulthingsmeanonlybeauty.Thereisnosuchthingasamoral
nebo
oranimmoralbook.Booksare
dobře
wellwritten,orbadlywritten.Thatisall.
ThenineteenthcenturydislikeofrealismistherageofCalibanseeinghis
vlastní
ownfaceinaglass.ThenineteenthcenturydislikeofromanticismistherageofCalibannotseeinghis
vlastní
ownfaceinaglass.Themoral
život
lifeofmanformspartofthesubject-matteroftheartist,ale
butthemoralityofartconsistsintheperfectpoužití
useofanimperfectmedium.Žádný
Noartistdesirestoprovenic
anything.Eventhingsthataretrue
mohou
canbeproved.Noartisthasethicalsympathies.
Anethicalsympathyinanartistisanunpardonablemannerismofstyle.
Žádný
Noartistisevermorbid.Theartist
může
canexpresseverything.Thoughtandlanguagearetotheartistinstrumentsofanart.
Vice
a
andvirtuearetotheartistmaterialsforanart.Fromthepointofviewofform,thetypeofalltheartsistheartofthemusician.
Fromthepointofviewoffeeling,theactor’scraftisthetype.
Allartisatoncesurface
a
andsymbol.Thosewhogobeneaththesurfacedosoattheirperil.
Those
kteří
whoreadthesymboldosoattheirperil.Itisthespectator,
a
andnotlife,thatartopravdu
reallymirrors.Diversityofopinionaboutaworkofartshows
že
thattheworkisnew,complex,a
andvital.Whencriticsdisagree,theartistisinaccordwithhimself.
Wecanforgiveamanformakingausefulthingaslongashedoesnotadmire
to
it.Theonlyexcuseformakingauseless
věci
thingisthatoneadmiresitintensely.Allartisquiteuseless.
CHAPTERI.
Thestudiowasfilledwiththerichodourofroses,
a
andwhenthelightsummerwindstirredamidstthetreesofthegarden,tam
therecamethroughtheopendveře
doortheheavyscentofthelilac,nebo
orthemoredelicateperfumeofthepink-floweringthorn.FromthecornerofthedivanofPersiansaddle-bagsonwhichhewaslying,smoking,aswashiscustom,innumerablecigarettes,LordHenryWottoncould
jen
justcatchthegleamofthehoney-sweeta
andhoney-colouredblossomsofalaburnum,whosetremulousbranchesseemedhardlyabletobeartheburdenofabeautysoflamelikeastheirs;a
andnowandthenthefantasticshadowsofbirdsinflightflittedacrossthedlouhé
longtussore-silkcurtainsthatwerestretchedinfrontofthehugewindow,producingadruh
kindofmomentaryJapaneseeffect,a
andmakinghimthinkofty
thosepallid,jade-facedpaintersofTokyokteří
who,throughthemediumofanartkteré
thatisnecessarilyimmobile,seektoconveythesenseofswiftnessa
andmotion.Thesullenmurmurofthebeesshoulderingtheir
cestu
waythroughthelongunmowngrass,nebo
orcirclingwithmonotonousinsistenceroundthedustygilthornsofthestragglingwoodbine,seemedtomakethestillnessvíce
moreoppressive.ThedimroarofLondonwas
jako
likethebourdonnoteofadistantorgan.Inthecentreofthe
místnosti
room,clampedtoanuprighteasel,stoodthefull-lengthportraitofayoungmuže
manofextraordinarypersonalbeauty,a
andinfrontofit,somelittledistanceaway,wassittingtheartisthimself,BasilHallward,whosesuddendisappearancesomeyearslety
agocaused,atthetime,takové
suchpublicexcitementandgaverisetosomanystrangeconjectures.Asthepainterlookedatthegracious
a
andcomelyformhehadsoskilfullymirroredinhisart,asmileofpleasurepassedacrosshisface,a
andseemedabouttolingertam
there.Buthesuddenlystartedup,
a
andclosinghiseyes,placedhisfingersuponthelids,asthoughhesoughttoimprisonwithinhisbrainsomecurioussen
dreamfromwhichhefearedhemightawake.“Itisyour
nejlepší
bestwork,Basil,thebestvěc
thingyouhaveeverdone,”saidLordHenrylanguidly.“Youmustcertainly
poslat
senditnextyeartotheGrosvenor.TheAcademyis
příliš
toolargeandtoovulgar.WheneverIhavegone
tam
there,therehavebeeneithersomanypeopleže
thatIhavenotbeenabletovidět
seethepictures,whichwasdreadful,nebo
orsomanypicturesthatIhavenotbeenabletovidět
seethepeople,whichwasworse.TheGrosvenoris
opravdu
reallytheonlyplace.”“Idon’tthinkIshallsenditanywhere,”heanswered,tossinghishead
zpět
backinthatoddwayže
thatusedtomakehisfriendslaughathimatOxford.“No,Iwon’tsenditanywhere.”
LordHenryelevatedhiseyebrows
a
andlookedathiminamazementthroughthethinbluewreathsofsmokekterý
thatcurledupinsuchfancifulwhorlsfromhisheavy,opium-taintedcigarette.“Notsenditanywhere?
My
drahý
dearfellow,why?Haveyouany
důvod
reason?Whatoddchapsyoupaintersare!
Youdo
cokoliv
anythingintheworldtogainareputation.Assoonasyouhaveone,youseemtowanttothrowitaway.
Itissillyofyou,forthereis
jen
onlyonethinginthesvětě
worldworsethanbeingtalkedo
about,andthatisnotbeingtalkedo
about.Aportraitlikethiswouldsetyou
daleko
farabovealltheyoungmeninEngland,a
andmaketheoldmendocela
quitejealous,ifoldmenareevercapableofanyemotion.”“Iknowyouwilllaughatme,”hereplied,“butI
opravdu
reallycan’texhibitit.Ihave
dal
puttoomuchofmyselfintoit.”LordHenrystretchedhimselfoutonthedivan
a
andlaughed.“Yes,Iknewyouwould;
ale
butitisquitetrue,allthesame.”“Too
mnoho
muchofyourselfinit!Uponmyword,Basil,Ididn’tknowyouweresovain;
a
andIreallycan’tseeanyresemblancemezi
betweenyou,withyourruggedstrongfacea
andyourcoal-blackhair,andthisyoungAdonis,který
wholooksasifhewasmadeoutofivorya
androse-leaves.Why,mydearBasil,heisaNarcissus,
a
andyou—well,ofcourseyouhaveanintellectualexpressiona
andallthat.Butbeauty,realbeauty,ends
kde
whereanintellectualexpressionbegins.Intellectisinitselfamodeofexaggeration,
a
anddestroystheharmonyofanyface.The
okamžiku
momentonesitsdowntopřemýšlet
think,onebecomesallnose,nebo
orallforehead,orsomethinghorrid.Podívejte
Lookatthesuccessfulmeninanyofthelearnedprofessions.Jak
Howperfectlyhideoustheyare!Except,of
samozřejmě
course,intheChurch.ButthenintheChurchtheydon’tthink.
Abishopkeepsonsayingattheageofeightywhathewastoldtosay
když
whenhewasaboyofeighteen,a
andasanaturalconsequencehevždy
alwayslooksabsolutelydelightful.Yourmysterious
mladý
youngfriend,whosenameyouhavenikdy
nevertoldme,butwhosepictureopravdu
reallyfascinatesme,neverthinks.Ifeel
docela
quitesureofthat.Heissomebrainlessbeautifulcreaturewhoshouldbe
vždy
alwayshereinwinterwhenwehavežádné
noflowerstolookat,a
andalwayshereinsummerkdyž
whenwewantsomethingtochillourintelligence.Don’tflatteryourself,Basil:
youarenotintheleast
jako
likehim.”“Youdon’tunderstand
mi
me,Harry,”answeredtheartist.“Of
samozřejmě
courseIamnotlikehim.I
vím
knowthatperfectlywell.Indeed,Ishouldbe
líto
sorrytolooklikehim.Youshrugyourshoulders?
Iamtellingyouthe
pravdu
truth.Thereisafatalityaboutallphysical
a
andintellectualdistinction,thesortoffatalitythatseemstodogthroughhistorythefalteringstepsofkings.Itis
lepší
betternottobedifferentfromone’sfellows.Na
Theuglyandthestupidmají
havethebestofitinthissvětě
world.Theycansitattheirease
a
andgapeattheplay.Pokud
Iftheyknownothingofvictory,theyareatalespoň
leastsparedtheknowledgeofdefeat.They
žít
liveasweallshouldlive—undisturbed,indifferent,a
andwithoutdisquiet.Theyneitherbringruinuponothers,noreverreceiveitfromalienhands.
Yourrank
a
andwealth,Harry;mybrains,suchastheyare—myart,whateveritmaybeworth;
DorianGray’s
dobrý
goodlooks—weshallallsufferforwhatthegodshavegivennám
us,sufferterribly.”“DorianGray?
Isthathisname?”
askedLordHenry,walkingacrossthestudiotowardsBasilHallward.
“Yes,thatishisname.
Ididn’tintendto
říct
tellittoyou.”“But
proč
whynot?”“Oh,Ican’texplain.
Když
WhenIlikepeopleimmensely,Inikdy
nevertelltheirnamestoanyone.Itis
jako
likesurrenderingapartofthem.Ihavegrownto
milovat
lovesecrecy.Itseemstobetheone
věc
thingthatcanmakemodernživot
lifemysteriousormarvelloustonás
us.Thecommonestthingisdelightfulifone
jen
onlyhidesit.WhenIleave
město
townnowInevertellmypeoplekam
whereIamgoing.IfIdid,Iwouldlose
veškeré
allmypleasure.Itisasillyhabit,Idare
říct
say,butsomehowitseemstobringavelké
greatdealofromanceintoone’slife.Isupposeyouthinkmeawfullyfoolishaboutit?”
“Notatall,”answeredLordHenry,“notatall,my
drahý
dearBasil.Youseemtoforget
že
thatIammarried,andtheonecharmofmarriageisže
thatitmakesalifeofdeceptionabsolutelynecessaryforobě
bothparties.Ineverknow
kde
wheremywifeis,andmyžena
wifeneverknowswhatIamdoing.Když
Whenwemeet—wedomeetoccasionally,když
whenwedineouttogether,nebo
orgodowntotheDuke’s—wetelleachotherthemostabsurdstoriess
withthemostseriousfaces.My
žena
wifeisverygoodatit—muchlepší
better,infact,thanIam.She
nikdy
nevergetsconfusedoverherdates,a
andIalwaysdo.But
když
whenshedoesfindmeout,shemakesnorowatall.I
někdy
sometimeswishshewould;butshemerelylaughsatme.”
“Ihatethewayyoutalk
o
aboutyourmarriedlife,Harry,”saidBasilHallward,strollingtowardsthedoorkteré
thatledintothegarden.“Ibelieve
že
thatyouarereallyavelmi
verygoodhusband,butthatyouarethoroughlyashamedofyourvlastní
ownvirtues.Youareanextraordinaryfellow.
You
nikdy
neversayamoralthing,a
andyouneverdoawrongthing.Yourcynicismissimplyapose.”
“Beingnaturalissimplyapose,
a
andthemostirritatingposeIknow,”criedLordHenry,laughing;a
andthetwoyoungmenwentoutintothegardentogethera
andensconcedthemselvesonalongbambooseatkteré
thatstoodintheshadeofatalllaurelbush.Thesunlightslipped
přes
overthepolishedleaves.Inthegrass,
bílé
whitedaisiesweretremulous.Afterapause,LordHenrypulledouthis
hodinky
watch.“IamafraidImustbegoing,Basil,”hemurmured,“andbeforeI
jít
go,IinsistonyouransweringaquestionIputtoyousometimeago.”“Whatisthat?”
saidthepainter,keepinghiseyesfixedontheground.
“Youknow
docela
quitewell.”“Idonot,Harry.”
“Well,Iwilltellyouwhatit
je
is.Iwantyoutoexplaintome
proč
whyyouwon’texhibitDorianGray’spicture.I
chci
wanttherealreason.”“Itoldyoutherealreason.”
“No,youdidnot.
Yousaiditwasbecausetherewas
příliš
toomuchofyourselfinto
it.Now,thatischildish.”
“Harry,”saidBasilHallward,lookinghimstraightintheface,“everyportrait
který
thatispaintedwithfeelingisaportraitoftheartist,notofthesitter.Thesitterismerelytheaccident,theoccasion.
Itisnothewhoisrevealedbythepainter;
itisratherthepainter
který
who,onthecolouredcanvas,revealshimself.The
důvod
reasonIwillnotexhibittento
thispictureisthatIamafraidže
thatIhaveshowninitthesecretofmyvlastní
ownsoul.”LordHenrylaughed.
“Andwhatisthat?”
heasked.
“Iwilltellyou,”saidHallward;
ale
butanexpressionofperplexitycameoverhisface.“Iamallexpectation,Basil,”continuedhiscompanion,glancingat
něj
him.“Oh,thereisreally
velmi
verylittletotell,Harry,”answeredthepainter;“andIamafraidyouwillhardlyunderstandit.
Možná
Perhapsyouwillhardlybelieveit.”LordHenrysmiled,
a
andleaningdown,pluckedapink-petalleddaisyfromthegrassa
andexaminedit.“Iam
docela
quitesureIshallunderstandit,”hereplied,gazingintentlyatthemalý
littlegolden,white-feathereddisk,“andasforbelievingthings,Icanvěřit
believeanything,providedthatitisdocela
quiteincredible.”Thewindshook
některé
someblossomsfromthetrees,a
andtheheavylilac-blooms,withtheirclusteringstars,movedtoa
andfrointhelanguidovzduší
air.Agrasshopperbegantochirrupbythewall,
a
andlikeabluethreadalongthindragon-flyfloatedpastonitsbrowngauzewings.LordHenryfeltasifhecouldhearBasilHallward’s
srdce
heartbeating,andwonderedwhatwascoming.“Thestoryissimplythis,”saidthepainter
po
aftersometime.“TwomonthsagoIwenttoacrushat
Lady
LadyBrandon’s.Youknowwepoorartistshaveto
ukázat
showourselvesinsocietyfromtimetotime,jen
justtoremindthepublicže
thatwearenotsavages.S
Withaneveningcoatandawhitetie,asyoutoldmejednou
once,anybody,evenastock-broker,může
cangainareputationforbeingcivilized.No
Well,afterIhadbeeninthemístnosti
roomabouttenminutes,talkingtohugeoverdresseddowagersa
andtediousacademicians,Isuddenlybecameconsciousže
thatsomeonewaslookingatmě
me.Iturnedhalf-wayround
a
andsawDorianGrayforthepoprvé
firsttime.Whenoureyesmet,Ifelt
že
thatIwasgrowingpale.Acurioussensationofterrorcameover
mě
me.IknewthatIhadcomefacetoface
s
withsomeonewhosemerepersonalitywassofascinatingže
that,ifIallowedittodoso,itwouldabsorbmycelou
wholenature,mywholesoul,myveryartitself.Ididnotwantanyexternalinfluenceinmylife.
Youknowyourself,Harry,
jak
howindependentIambynature.Ihave
vždycky
alwaysbeenmyownmaster;hadatleast
vždycky
alwaysbeenso,tillImetDorianGray.Then—butIdon’tknow
jak
howtoexplainittoyou.Něco
Somethingseemedtotellmeže
thatIwasonthevergeofaterriblecrisisinmylife.Ihadastrangefeeling
že
thatfatehadinstoreformeexquisitejoysa
andexquisitesorrows.Igrewafraid
a
andturnedtoquittheroom.Itwasnotconsciencethatmademedoso:
itwasasortofcowardice.
Itakenocredittomyselffortryingtoescape.”
“Conscience
a
andcowardicearereallythestejné
samethings,Basil.Conscienceisthetrade-nameofthefirm.
Thatisall.”
“Idon’tbelieve
že
that,Harry,andIdon’tbelieveyoudoeither.However,whateverwasmymotive—anditmayhavebeenpride,forIusedtobe
velmi
veryproud—Icertainlystruggledtothedoor.Tam
There,ofcourse,IstumbledagainstLady
LadyBrandon.‘Youarenotgoingtorunawayso
brzy
soon,Mr.Hallward?’shescreamedout.Youknowhercuriouslyshrillvoice?”
“Yes;
sheisapeacockineverythingbutbeauty,”saidLordHenry,pullingthedaisytobitswithhislongnervousfingers.
“Icouldnotgetridofher.
Shebroughtmeuptoroyalties,
a
andpeoplewithstarsandgarters,a
andelderlyladieswithgigantictiarasa
andparrotnoses.Shespokeofmeasherdearestfriend.
Ihad
jen
onlymetheroncebefore,ale
butshetookitintoherhlavy
headtolionizeme.Ibelievesomepictureofminehadmadeagreatsuccessatthe
době
time,atleasthadbeenchatteredo
aboutinthepennynewspapers,což
whichisthenineteenth-centurystandardofimmortality.SuddenlyIfoundmyselffacetoface
s
withtheyoungmanwhosepersonalityhadsostrangelystirredmě
me.