THEPREFACE
Theartististhecreatorofbeautifulthings.
Toreveal
umění
artandconcealtheartistisart’scílem
aim.Thecriticishe
kdo
whocantranslateintoanothermannernebo
oranewmaterialhisdojem
impressionofbeautifulthings.Thehighestasthe
nejnižší
lowestformofcriticismisamodeofautobiography.Those
kteří
whofinduglymeaningsinbeautifulthingsarecorruptaniž by
withoutbeingcharming.Thisisa
chyba
fault.Thosewhofindbeautifulmeaningsin
krásné
beautifulthingsarethecultivated.Forthesethereis
naděje
hope.Theyaretheelecttowhom
krásné
beautifulthingsmeanonlybeauty.Thereisnosuchthingasa
morální
moraloranimmoralbook.Booksare
dobře
wellwritten,orbadlywritten.Thatisall.
Thenineteenth
století
centurydislikeofrealismistherageofCalibanseeinghisvlastní
ownfaceinaglass.Thenineteenth
století
centurydislikeofromanticismistherageofCalibannotseeinghisvlastní
ownfaceinaglass.The
morální
morallifeofmanformspartofthesubject-matteroftheartist,ale
butthemoralityofartconsistsintheperfectpoužití
useofanimperfectmedium.Žádný
Noartistdesirestoprovenic
anything.Eventhingsthataretrue
mohou
canbeproved.Noartisthas
etické
ethicalsympathies.Anethicalsympathyinanartistisanunpardonablemannerismofstyle.
Žádný
Noartistisevermorbid.The
umělec
artistcanexpresseverything.Thought
a
andlanguagearetotheartistinstrumentsofanumění
art.Viceandvirtuearetotheartistmaterialsforan
umění
art.Fromthepointofviewofform,the
typem
typeofalltheartsistheumění
artofthemusician.Fromthepointofviewoffeeling,theactor’s
řemeslo
craftisthetype.All
umění
artisatoncesurfacea
andsymbol.Thosewhogo
pod
beneaththesurfacedosoattheirnebezpečí
peril.Thosewhoreadthe
symbol
symboldosoattheirnebezpečí
peril.Itisthespectator,
a
andnotlife,thatartopravdu
reallymirrors.Diversityofopinionaboutaworkof
umělecké
artshowsthattheworkisnové
new,complex,andvital.Whencritics
nesouhlasí
disagree,theartistisinsouladu
accordwithhimself.Wecan
odpustit
forgiveamanformakingausefulthingaslongashedoesnotadmireto
it.Theonlyexcuseformakinga
zbytečné
uselessthingisthatoneadmiresitintenzivně
intensely.Allartisquite
k ničemu
useless.CHAPTERI.
Thestudiowasfilledwiththerichodourofroses,
a
andwhenthelightsummervítr
windstirredamidstthetreesofthegarden,tam
therecamethroughtheopendveře
doortheheavyscentofthelilac,nebo
orthemoredelicateperfumeofthepink-floweringtrn
thorn.FromthecornerofthedivanofPersiansaddle-bagsonwhichhewaslying,smoking,aswashiscustom,innumerablecigarettes,LordHenryWottoncould
jen
justcatchthegleamofthehoney-sweeta
andhoney-colouredblossomsofalaburnum,jehož
whosetremulousbranchesseemedhardlyabletonést
beartheburdenofakrásy
beautysoflamelikeastheirs;a
andnowandthenthefantastické
fantasticshadowsofbirdsinflightflittedacrossthedlouhé
longtussore-silkcurtainsthatwerestretchedinfrontofthehugewindow,producingadruh
kindofmomentaryJapaneseeffect,a
andmakinghimthinkofty
thosepallid,jade-facedpaintersofTokyokteří
who,throughthemediumofanumění
artthatisnecessarilyimmobile,seektoconveythepocit
senseofswiftnessandmotion.Thesullen
šumění
murmurofthebeesshoulderingtheircestu
waythroughthelongunmowntrávu
grass,orcirclingwithmonotonousinsistenceroundthedustygilthornsofthestragglingwoodbine,seemedtomakethestillnessvíce
moreoppressive.ThedimroarofLondonwas
jako
likethebourdonnoteofadistantorgan.Inthecentreofthe
místnosti
room,clampedtoanuprighteasel,stoodthefull-lengthportrét
portraitofayoungmanofmimořádné
extraordinarypersonalbeauty,andinfrontofit,somelittledistanceaway,wassittingtheumělec
artisthimself,BasilHallward,whosenáhlé
suddendisappearancesomeyearsagocaused,atthedobě
time,suchpublicexcitementandgaverisetosomanystrangeconjectures.Asthe
malíř
painterlookedatthegraciousa
andcomelyformhehadsoskilfullymirroredinhisumění
art,asmileofpleasurepassedacrosshisface,a
andseemedabouttolingertam
there.Buthesuddenlystartedup,
a
andclosinghiseyes,placedhisfingersuponthelids,asthoughhesoughttouvěznit
imprisonwithinhisbrainsomepodivný
curiousdreamfromwhichhefearedhemightawake.“Itisyour
nejlepší
bestwork,Basil,thebestvěc
thingyouhaveeverdone,”saidLordHenrylanguidly.“Youmust
určitě
certainlysenditnextyeartotheGrosvenor.The
Akademie
Academyistoolargeandpříliš
toovulgar.WheneverIhavegone
tam
there,therehavebeeneithersomanypeopleže
thatIhavenotbeenabletovidět
seethepictures,whichwashrozné
dreadful,orsomanypicturesže
thatIhavenotbeenabletovidět
seethepeople,whichwashorší
worse.TheGrosvenorisreallytheonlyplace.”
“Idon’tthinkIshallsenditanywhere,”heanswered,tossinghishead
zpět
backinthatoddwayže
thatusedtomakehisfriendslaughathimatOxford.“No,Iwon’tsenditanywhere.”
LordHenryelevatedhiseyebrows
a
andlookedathiminúžasu
amazementthroughthethinbluewreathsofkouře
smokethatcurledupinsuchfancifulwhorlsfromhistěžké
heavy,opium-taintedcigarette.“Notsenditanywhere?
My
drahý
dearfellow,why?Haveyouany
důvod
reason?Whatoddchapsyoupaintersare!
Youdo
cokoliv
anythingintheworldtogainapověst
reputation.Assoonasyouhaveone,you
zdá
seemtowanttothrowitaway.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’tseeanypodobnost
resemblancebetweenyou,withyourruggedstrongfacea
andyourcoal-blackhair,andthisyoungAdonis,který
wholooksasifhewasmadeoutofslonoviny
ivoryandrose-leaves.Why,my
drahý
dearBasil,heisaNarcissus,a
andyou—well,ofcourseyouhaveanintelektuální
intellectualexpressionandallthat.Ale
Butbeauty,realbeauty,endskde
whereanintellectualexpressionbegins.Intelekt
Intellectisinitselfamodeofpřehánění
exaggeration,anddestroystheharmonyofanyface.The
okamžiku
momentonesitsdowntopřemýšlet
think,onebecomesallnose,nebo
orallforehead,orsomethinghorrid.Podívejte
Lookatthesuccessfulmeninanyofthelearnedprofessions.Jak
Howperfectlyhideoustheyare!S výjimkou
Except,ofcourse,intheChurch.Ale
ButthenintheChurchtheydon’tthink.A
biskup
bishopkeepsonsayingatthevěku
ageofeightywhathewastoldtosaykdyž
whenhewasaboyofeighteen,a
andasanaturalconsequencehevždy
alwayslooksabsolutelydelightful.Yourmysterious
mladý
youngfriend,whosenameyouhavenikdy
nevertoldme,butwhoseobrázek
picturereallyfascinatesme,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
Iftheyknownothingofvítězství
victory,theyareatleastsparedthevědomí
knowledgeofdefeat.Theyliveaswe
všichni
allshouldlive—undisturbed,indifferent,andbez
withoutdisquiet.Theyneitherbringruinuponothers,noreverreceiveitfromalienhands.
Your
hodnost
rankandwealth,Harry;mybrains,suchastheyare—my
umění
art,whateveritmaybeworth;DorianGray’s
dobrý
goodlooks—weshallallsufferforwhatthegodshavegivennám
us,sufferterribly.”“DorianGray?
Isthathisname?”
askedLordHenry,walking
přes
acrossthestudiotowardsBasilHallward.“Yes,thatishisname.
Ididn’tintendto
říct
tellittoyou.”“But
proč
whynot?”“Oh,Ican’t
vysvětlit
explain.WhenIlikepeople
nesmírně
immensely,Inevertelltheirnamestoanyone.Itis
jako
likesurrenderingapartofthem.Ihavegrownto
milovat
lovesecrecy.Itseemstobetheone
věc
thingthatcanmakemodernživot
lifemysteriousormarvelloustonás
us.Thecommonestthingisdelightfulifone
jen
onlyhidesit.WhenIleave
město
townnowInevertellmypeoplekam
whereIamgoing.IfIdid,Iwouldlose
veškeré
allmypleasure.Itisasilly
zvyk
habit,Idaresay,butnějak
somehowitseemstobringavelké
greatdealofromanceintoone’slife.Isupposeyouthinkme
hrozně
awfullyfoolishaboutit?”“Notatall,”answeredLordHenry,“notatall,my
drahý
dearBasil.Youseemtoforget
že
thatIammarried,andtheonecharmofmanželství
marriageisthatitmakesaživot
lifeofdeceptionabsolutelynecessaryforobě
bothparties.Ineverknow
kde
wheremywifeis,andmyžena
wifeneverknowswhatIamdoing.Když
Whenwemeet—wedomeetpříležitostně
occasionally,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,strollingk
towardsthedoorthatledintothegarden.“Ibelieve
že
thatyouarereallyavelmi
verygoodhusband,butthatyouarethoroughlyashamedofyourvlastní
ownvirtues.Youareanextraordinaryfellow.
You
nikdy
neversayamoralthing,a
andyouneverdoawrongthing.Yourcynicismissimplyapose.”
“Beingnaturalis
prostě
simplyapose,andthemostirritatingpóza
poseIknow,”criedLordHenry,laughing;a
andthetwoyoungmenwentoutintothegardentogethera
andensconcedthemselvesonalongbambooseatkteré
thatstoodintheshadeofatalllaurelbush.The
sluneční světlo
sunlightslippedoverthepolishedleaves.Inthe
trávě
grass,whitedaisiesweretremulous.Po
Afterapause,LordHenrypulledouthishodinky
watch.“IamafraidImustbegoing,Basil,”hemurmured,“andbeforeI
jít
go,IinsistonyouransweringaquestionIputtoyousometimeago.”“Whatisthat?”
saidthe
malíř
painter,keepinghiseyesfixedonthezem
ground.“Youknowquitewell.”
“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,lookinghim
přímo
straightintheface,“everyportrét
portraitthatispaintedwithfeelingisaportrét
portraitoftheartist,notofthesitter.Thesitterismerelytheaccident,theoccasion.
Itisnothewhoisrevealedbythe
malíř
painter;itisratherthe
malíř
painterwho,onthecolouredplátně
canvas,revealshimself.ThereasonIwillnotexhibit
tento
thispictureisthatIamafraidže
thatIhaveshowninitthetajemství
secretofmyownsoul.”LordHenrylaughed.
“Andwhatisthat?”
heasked.
“Iwilltellyou,”saidHallward;
ale
butanexpressionofperplexitycameoverhisface.“Iamall
očekávání
expectation,Basil,”continuedhiscompanion,glancingatněj
him.“Oh,thereisreally
velmi
verylittletotell,Harry,”answeredthemalíř
painter;“andIamafraidyouwill
sotva
hardlyunderstandit.Perhapsyouwill
sotva
hardlybelieveit.”LordHenrysmiled,
a
andleaningdown,pluckedapink-petalleddaisyfromthetrávy
grassandexaminedit.“Iam
docela
quitesureIshallunderstandit,”hereplied,gazingintentlyatthemalý
littlegolden,white-feathereddisk,“andasforbelievingthings,Icanvěřit
believeanything,providedthatitisdocela
quiteincredible.”Thewindshook
některé
someblossomsfromthetrees,a
andtheheavylilac-blooms,withtheirclusteringstars,movedtoa
andfrointhelanguidovzduší
air.Agrasshopperbegantochirrupbythe
stěně
wall,andlikeabluenit
threadalongthindragon-flyfloatedpastonitsbrowngauzewings.LordHenryfeltasifhecouldhearBasilHallward’s
srdce
heartbeating,andwonderedwhatwascoming.“Thestoryis
jednoduše
simplythis,”saidthepainterpo
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.A
podivný
curioussensationofterrorcameovermě
me.IknewthatIhadcomefacetoface
s
withsomeonewhosemerepersonalitywassofascinující
fascinatingthat,ifIallowedittodoso,itwouldabsorbmycelou
wholenature,mywholesoul,myveryumění
artitself.Ididnotwantany
vnější
externalinfluenceinmylife.Youknowyourself,Harry,
jak
howindependentIambypřírody
nature.Ihavealwaysbeenmyownmaster;
hadatleast
vždycky
alwaysbeenso,tillImetDorianGray.Then—butIdon’tknow
jak
howtoexplainittoyou.Něco
Somethingseemedtotellmeže
thatIwasonthevergeofahrozné
terriblecrisisinmylife.Ihadastrangefeeling
že
thatfatehadinstoreformenádherné
exquisitejoysandexquisitesorrows.Igrewafraid
a
andturnedtoquittheroom.Itwasnot
svědomí
consciencethatmademedoso:itwasasortofcowardice.
Itakenocredittomyselffortryingtoescape.”
“Conscience
a
andcowardicearereallythestejné
samethings,Basil.Conscienceisthetrade-nameofthefirm.
Thatisall.”
“Idon’tbelieve
že
that,Harry,andIdon’tbelieveyoudoeither.Nicméně
However,whateverwasmymotive—anditmayhavebeenpýchu
pride,forIusedtobevelmi
veryproud—Icertainlystruggledtothedoor.Tam
There,ofcourse,IstumbledagainstLady
LadyBrandon.‘Youarenotgoingtorunawayso
brzy
soon,Mr.Hallward?’shescreamedout.Youknowhercuriouslyshrillvoice?”
“Yes;
sheisa
páv
peacockineverythingbutbeauty,”saidLordHenry,pullingthedaisytobitswithhislongnervousfingers.“Icouldnotgetridofher.
Shebroughtmeuptoroyalties,
a
andpeoplewithstarsandgarters,a
andelderlyladieswithgigantictiarasa
andparrotnoses.Shespokeofmeasherdearestfriend.
Ihad
jen
onlymetheroncebefore,ale
butshetookitintoherhlavy
headtolionizeme.Ibelievesome
obrázek
pictureofminehadmadeagreatúspěch
successatthetime,atalespoň
leasthadbeenchatteredaboutinthepennynewspapers,což
whichisthenineteenth-centurystandardofimmortality.Najednou
SuddenlyIfoundmyselffacetofaces
withtheyoungmanwhosepersonalityhadsopodivně
strangelystirredme.