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The Picture of Dorian Gray | Progressive Translation Books for Danish A1-B2 Learners

The Picture of Dorian Gray | Progressive Translation Books for Danish A1-B2 Learners

Experience the benefits of this forward-thinking translation strategy that tailors language learning to your specific needs. You have control over the difficulty, which ensures that the content is neither too easy nor overly challenging. This method enhances your ability to understand new words through context, reducing reliance on direct translations. While the translations are subtly obscured to foster learning, you can still look up unclear terms. This balanced approach makes language acquisition smoother and more enjoyable. Delve into these translated literary works and discover the satisfaction of mastering a language through reading.

THEPREFACE
Theartististhe
skaberen
creatorofbeautifulthings.
To
afsløre
revealartandconcealtheartistisart’s
mål
aim.
Thecriticishe
der
whocantranslateintoanother
måde
manneroranewmaterialhis
indtryk
impressionofbeautifulthings.
Thehighestas
den
thelowestformofcriticismis
en
amodeofautobiography.
Those
der
whofinduglymeaningsin
smukke
beautifulthingsarecorruptwithoutbeing
charmerende
charming.
Thisisafault.
Those
der
whofindbeautifulmeaningsin
smukke
beautifulthingsarethecultivated.
Forthese
der
thereishope.
Theyarethe
udvalgte
electtowhombeautifulthings
betyder
meanonlybeauty.
Thereis
ikke
nosuchthingasa
moralsk
moraloranimmoralbook.
Booksare
godt
wellwritten,orbadlywritten.
Thatis
alt
all.
Thenineteenthcenturydislikeofrealismis
det
therageofCalibanseeinghis
eget
ownfaceinaglass.
Det
Thenineteenthcenturydislikeofromanticismis
det
therageofCalibannot
se
seeinghisownfacein
et
aglass.
Themorallifeofmanforms
del
partofthesubject-matterof
den
theartist,butthemoralityofartconsistsin
den
theperfectuseofanimperfect
medium
medium.
Noartistdesiresto
bevise
proveanything.
Eventhingsthatare
sande
truecanbeproved.
No
kunstner
artisthasethicalsympathies.
Anethical
sympati
sympathyinanartistis
en
anunpardonablemannerismofstyle.
Ingen
Noartistisevermorbid.
Theartist
kan
canexpresseverything.
Thoughtandlanguagearetotheartistinstrumentsof
et
anart.
Viceandvirtuearetotheartistmaterialsfor
en
anart.
Fromthepointofviewofform,the
typen
typeofalltheartsisthe
kunst
artofthemusician.
Fromthepointofviewoffeeling,theactor’s
håndværk
craftisthetype.
All
kunst
artisatoncesurface
og
andsymbol.
Thosewhogo
under
beneaththesurfacedosoattheirperil.
Those
der
whoreadthesymboldosoattheirperil.
Itisthespectator,
og
andnotlife,thatart
virkelig
reallymirrors.
Diversityofopinion
om
aboutaworkofart
viser
showsthattheworkis
nyt
new,complex,andvital.
Whencriticsdisagree,theartistisinaccord
med
withhimself.
Wecanforgive
en
amanformakinga
nyttig
usefulthingaslongashe
lave
doesnotadmireit.
The
eneste
onlyexcuseformakinga
ubrugelig
uselessthingisthatone
beundrer
admiresitintensely.
Allartis
helt
quiteuseless.
CHAPTERI.
Thestudiowas
fyldt
filledwiththerichodourof
roser
roses,andwhenthelightsummerwindstirredamidst
den
thetreesofthegarden,
der
therecamethroughtheopen
dør
doortheheavyscentof
den
thelilac,orthemoredelicateperfumeof
den
thepink-floweringthorn.
FromthecornerofthedivanofPersiansaddle-bagsonwhichhewas
lå
lying,smoking,aswashis
skik
custom,innumerablecigarettes,LordHenryWotton
kunne
couldjustcatchthegleamofthehoney-sweet
og
andhoney-colouredblossomsofalaburnum,
hvis
whosetremulousbranchesseemedhardlyableto
bære
beartheburdenofa
skønhed
beautysoflamelikeastheirs;
og
andnowandthenthefantasticshadowsofbirdsin
flyvning
flightflittedacrossthelongtussore-silkcurtainsthatwere
strakt
stretchedinfrontofthe
store
hugewindow,producingakindofmomentaryJapanese
effekt
effect,andmakinghimthinkofthosepallid,jade-facedpaintersofTokyowho,
gennem
throughthemediumofan
kunst
artthatisnecessarilyimmobile,
søger
seektoconveythesenseofswiftness
og
andmotion.
Thesullenmurmurofthebeesshoulderingtheirway
gennem
throughthelongunmowngrass,
eller
orcirclingwithmonotonousinsistence
rundt
roundthedustygilthornsofthestragglingwoodbine,seemedto
gøre
makethestillnessmoreoppressive.
Den
ThedimroarofLondonwas
som
likethebourdonnoteof
en
adistantorgan.
Inthe
midten
centreoftheroom,clampedtoan
oprejst
uprighteasel,stoodthefull-length
portræt
portraitofayoungmanof
ekstraordinær
extraordinarypersonalbeauty,andin
foran
frontofit,somelittledistance
væk
away,wassittingtheartisthimself,BasilHallward,
hvis
whosesuddendisappearancesomeyears
siden
agocaused,atthetime,
sådan
suchpublicexcitementandgave
anledning
risetosomanystrangeconjectures.
As
den
thepainterlookedatthegracious
og
andcomelyformhehadsoskilfullymirroredinhis
kunst
art,asmileofpleasure
passerede
passedacrosshisface,andseemed
om
abouttolingerthere.
Buthe
pludselig
suddenlystartedup,andclosinghiseyes,
placerede
placedhisfingersuponthelids,asthoughhe
søgte
soughttoimprisonwithinhis
hjerne
brainsomecuriousdreamfromwhichhe
frygtede
fearedhemightawake.
“Itisyour
bedste
bestwork,Basil,thebestthingyou
har
haveeverdone,”saidLordHenrylanguidly.
“You
må
mustcertainlysenditnext
år
yeartotheGrosvenor.
TheAcademyis
for
toolargeandtoovulgar.
WheneverI
har
havegonethere,therehavebeen
enten
eithersomanypeoplethatI
har
havenotbeenableto
se
seethepictures,whichwasdreadful,
eller
orsomanypicturesthatI
har
havenotbeenableto
se
seethepeople,whichwas
værre
worse.
TheGrosvenorisreally
det
theonlyplace.”
“Idon’t
tror
thinkIshallsenditanywhere,”he
svarede
answered,tossinghisheadbackinthatodd
måde
waythatusedtomakehisfriends
grine
laughathimatOxford.
“No,Iwon’t
sender
senditanywhere.”
LordHenryelevatedhiseyebrows
og
andlookedathiminamazement
gennem
throughthethinbluewreathsofsmoke
der
thatcurledupinsuchfancifulwhorlsfromhis
tunge
heavy,opium-taintedcigarette.
“Notsenditanywhere?
My
kære
dearfellow,why?
Haveyouany
grund
reason?
Whatoddchapsyoupaintersare!
You
gør
doanythingintheworldto
få
gainareputation.
Assoonasyou
har
haveone,youseemto
vil
wanttothrowitaway.
Itissillyofyou,forthereisonlyone
ting
thingintheworldworse
end
thanbeingtalkedabout,andthatisnotbeing
talt
talkedabout.
Aportraitlike
dette
thiswouldsetyoufar
over
abovealltheyoungmeninEngland,
og
andmaketheoldmen
ganske
quitejealous,ifoldmenareever
stand
capableofanyemotion.”
“Iknowyou
vil
willlaughatme,”he
svarede
replied,“butIreallycan’t
udstille
exhibitit.
Ihaveput
for
toomuchofmyselfintoit.”
LordHenry
strakte
stretchedhimselfoutonthedivan
og
andlaughed.
“Yes,Iknewyou
ville
would;
butitisquite
sandt
true,allthesame.”
“Too
meget
muchofyourselfinit!
Uponmy
ord
word,Basil,Ididn’tknowyouwereso
forfængelig
vain;
andIreallycan’tsee
nogen
anyresemblancebetweenyou,withyourruggedstrong
ansigt
faceandyourcoal-blackhair,
og
andthisyoungAdonis,wholooksasifhewas
lavet
madeoutofivoryandrose-leaves.
Hvorfor
Why,mydearBasil,heisaNarcissus,
og
andyou—well,ofcourseyou
har
haveanintellectualexpressionand
alt
allthat.
Butbeauty,real
skønhed
beauty,endswhereanintellectual
udtryk
expressionbegins.
Intellectisinitself
en
amodeofexaggeration,and
ødelægger
destroystheharmonyofany
ansigt
face.
Themomentonesits
ned
downtothink,onebecomesall
næsen
nose,orallforehead,or
noget
somethinghorrid.
Lookatthe
succesfulde
successfulmeninanyof
de
thelearnedprofessions.
Howperfectlyhideoustheyare!
Bortset fra
Except,ofcourse,intheChurch.
Men
ButthenintheChurchtheydon’tthink.
En
Abishopkeepsonsayingatthe
alder
ageofeightywhathewas
sige
toldtosaywhenhewas
en
aboyofeighteen,andas
en
anaturalconsequencehealways
ser
looksabsolutelydelightful.
Yourmysterious
unge
youngfriend,whosenameyou
har
havenevertoldme,but
hvis
whosepicturereallyfascinatesme,
aldrig
neverthinks.
Ifeelquite
sikker
sureofthat.
Heissomebrainless
smuk
beautifulcreaturewhoshouldbe
altid
alwayshereinwinterwhenwehave
ikke
noflowerstolookat,
og
andalwayshereinsummer
når
whenwewantsomethingtochillour
intelligens
intelligence.
Don’tflatteryourself,Basil:
youarenotin
det
theleastlikehim.”
“Youdon’t
forstår
understandme,Harry,”answeredtheartist.
“Of
selvfølgelig
courseIamnotlike
ham
him.
Iknowthatperfectly
godt
well.
Indeed,Ishouldbe
ked
sorrytolooklikehim.
Youshrugyourshoulders?
Iam
fortæller
tellingyouthetruth.
Thereis
en
afatalityaboutallphysical
og
andintellectualdistinction,thesortoffatalitythat
synes
seemstodogthroughhistorythefalteringstepsofkings.
Itis
bedre
betternottobedifferentfromone’sfellows.
The
grimme
uglyandthestupidhavethe
bedste
bestofitinthis
verden
world.
Theycansitattheirease
og
andgapeattheplay.
Hvis
Iftheyknownothingof
sejr
victory,theyareatleast
skånet
sparedtheknowledgeofdefeat.
They
leve
liveasweallshouldlive—undisturbed,indifferent,
og
andwithoutdisquiet.
Theyneitherbring
ødelægger
ruinuponothers,norever
modtager
receiveitfromalienhands.
Your
rang
rankandwealth,Harry;
mybrains,
sådan
suchastheyare—myart,whateveritmaybe
værd
worth;
DorianGray’sgoodlooks—weshall
alle
allsufferforwhatthegods
har
havegivenus,sufferterribly.”
“DorianGray?
Isthathisname?”
spurgte
askedLordHenry,walkingacrossthestudio
mod
towardsBasilHallward.
“Yes,thatishis
navn
name.
Ididn’tintendto
fortælle
tellittoyou.”
“But
hvorfor
whynot?”
“Oh,Ican’t
forklare
explain.
WhenIlikepeopleimmensely,I
aldrig
nevertelltheirnamesto
nogen
anyone.
Itislike
overgive
surrenderingapartofthem.
Ihave
vokset
growntolovesecrecy.
It
synes
seemstobetheone
ting
thingthatcanmakemodern
liv
lifemysteriousormarvellousto
os
us.
Thecommonestthingisdelightful
hvis
ifoneonlyhidesit.
Når
WhenIleavetownnowI
aldrig
nevertellmypeoplewhereIamgoing.
Hvis
IfIdid,Iwould
miste
loseallmypleasure.
Itis
en
asillyhabit,Idare
sige
say,butsomehowitseemsto
bringe
bringagreatdealof
romantik
romanceintoone’slife.
Isupposeyou
synes
thinkmeawfullyfoolishaboutit?”
“Notatall,”
svarede
answeredLordHenry,“notatall,my
kære
dearBasil.
Youseemto
glemme
forgetthatIammarried,
og
andtheonecharmofmarriageisthatit
gør
makesalifeofdeception
absolut
absolutelynecessaryforbothparties.
I
aldrig
neverknowwheremywife
er
is,andmywifenever
ved
knowswhatIamdoing.
Når
Whenwemeet—wedomeet
lejlighedsvis
occasionally,whenwedineout
sammen
together,orgodownto
de
theDuke’s—wetelleachother
de
themostabsurdstorieswith
de
themostseriousfaces.
My
kone
wifeisverygoodatit—much
bedre
better,infact,thanIam.
She
aldrig
nevergetsconfusedoverherdates,
og
andIalwaysdo.
But
når
whenshedoesfindme
ud
out,shemakesnorowatall.
I
nogle gange
sometimeswishshewould;
butshemerely
griner
laughsatme.”
“Ihate
den
thewayyoutalkaboutyourmarried
liv
life,Harry,”saidBasilHallward,strolling
mod
towardsthedoorthatledinto
den
thegarden.
“Ibelievethatyouare
virkelig
reallyaverygoodhusband,
men
butthatyouarethoroughly
skammer
ashamedofyourownvirtues.
Youare
en
anextraordinaryfellow.
Younever
siger
sayamoralthing,andyou
aldrig
neverdoawrongthing.
Yourcynicismis
simpelthen
simplyapose.”
“Beingnaturalissimply
en
apose,andthemostirritatingposeIknow,”criedLordHenry,
grinede
laughing;
andthetwoyoungmen
gik
wentoutintothegarden
sammen
togetherandensconcedthemselveson
en
alongbambooseatthat
stod
stoodintheshadeof
en
atalllaurelbush.
Thesunlight
glider
slippedoverthepolishedleaves.
In
de
thegrass,whitedaisiesweretremulous.
Efter
Afterapause,LordHenry
trak
pulledouthiswatch.
“Iam
bange
afraidImustbegoing,Basil,”hemurmured,“and
før
beforeIgo,Iinsistonyour
svarer
answeringaquestionIputtoyousome
tid
timeago.”
“Whatisthat?”
sagde
saidthepainter,keepinghiseyesfixedontheground.
“You
ved
knowquitewell.”
“Idonot,Harry.”
“Well,Iwill
fortælle
tellyouwhatitis.
I
vil
wantyoutoexplaintome
hvorfor
whyyouwon’texhibitDorianGray’s
billede
picture.
Iwanttherealreason.”
“I
fortalte
toldyoutherealreason.”
“No,you
gjorde
didnot.
Yousaiditwas
fordi
becausetherewastoomuchofyourselfinit.
Now,thatischildish.”
“Harry,”
sagde
saidBasilHallward,lookinghim
direkte
straightintheface,“every
portræt
portraitthatispaintedwithfeelingis
et
aportraitoftheartist,notofthesitter.
Thesitterismerelytheaccident,theoccasion.
Itisnothe
der
whoisrevealedbythepainter;
itis
snarere
ratherthepainterwho,onthecoloured
lærred
canvas,revealshimself.
ThereasonI
vil
willnotexhibitthispictureis
at
thatIamafraidthatI
har
haveshowninitthesecretofmy
egen
ownsoul.”
LordHenrylaughed.
“Andwhatisthat?”
he
spurgte
asked.
“Iwilltellyou,”
sagde
saidHallward;
butanexpressionofperplexity
kom
cameoverhisface.
“Iam
alt
allexpectation,Basil,”continuedhiscompanion,glancingat
ham
him.
“Oh,thereisreally
meget
verylittletotell,Harry,”
svarede
answeredthepainter;
“andIam
bange
afraidyouwillhardlyunderstand
det
it.
Perhapsyouwillhardly
tro
believeit.”
LordHenrysmiled,
og
andleaningdown,pluckedapink-petalled
daisy
daisyfromthegrassand
undersøgte
examinedit.
“Iamquite
sikker
sureIshallunderstandit,”he
svarede
replied,gazingintentlyatthe
lille
littlegolden,white-feathereddisk,“andasfor
tro
believingthings,Icanbelieve
alt
anything,providedthatitis
helt
quiteincredible.”
Thewindshook
nogle
someblossomsfromthetrees,
og
andtheheavylilac-blooms,withtheirclusteringstars,
bevægede
movedtoandfrointhelanguid
luft
air.
Agrasshopperbegantochirrupbythe
væggen
wall,andlikeablue
tråd
threadalongthindragon-fly
svævede
floatedpastonitsbrowngauzewings.
LordHenry
følte
feltasifhecould
høre
hearBasilHallward’sheartbeating,
og
andwonderedwhatwascoming.
“Thestoryis
simpelthen
simplythis,”saidthepainter
efter
aftersometime.
“Twomonths
siden
agoIwenttoacrushatLadyBrandon’s.
You
ved
knowwepoorartistshaveto
vise
showourselvesinsocietyfrom
tid
timetotime,justto
minde
remindthepublicthatwearenotsavages.
Med
Withaneveningcoatandawhite
slips
tie,asyoutoldmeonce,anybody,evenastock-broker,
kan
cangainareputationforbeing
civiliseret
civilized.
Well,afterIhadbeenintheroomabout
ti
tenminutes,talkingtohugeoverdresseddowagers
og
andtediousacademicians,Isuddenly
blev
becameconsciousthatsomeonewas
kiggede
lookingatme.
Iturned
halvvejs
half-wayroundandsawDorianGrayforthe
første
firsttime.
Whenoureyesmet,I
følte
feltthatIwasgrowing
bleg
pale.
Acurioussensationof
rædsel
terrorcameoverme.
I
vidste
knewthatIhadcome
ansigt
facetofacewithsome
en
onewhosemerepersonalitywasso
fascinerende
fascinatingthat,ifIalloweditto
gøre
doso,itwouldabsorbmy
hele
wholenature,mywholesoul,myvery
kunst
artitself.
Ididnot
ville
wantanyexternalinfluenceinmy
liv
life.
Youknowyourself,Harry,
hvor
howindependentIamby
natur
nature.
Ihavealwaysbeenmy
egen
ownmaster;
hadatleast
altid
alwaysbeenso,tillI
mødte
metDorianGray.
Then—butIdon’t
ved
knowhowtoexplainittoyou.
Noget
SomethingseemedtotellmethatIwasonthe
randen
vergeofaterriblecrisisinmy
liv
life.
Ihadastrangefeeling
at
thatfatehadinstoreforme
udsøgte
exquisitejoysandexquisitesorrows.
Igrew
bange
afraidandturnedtoquittheroom.
Itwasnot
samvittighed
consciencethatmademedoso:
itwas
en
asortofcowardice.
I
tager
takenocredittomyselffor
forsøge
tryingtoescape.”
“Conscienceandcowardicearereally
det
thesamethings,Basil.
Conscienceisthetrade-nameofthefirm.
Thatisall.”
“Idon’t
tror
believethat,Harry,andIdon’t
tror
believeyoudoeither.
However,whateverwasmymotive—andit
kan
mayhavebeenpride,forI
plejede
usedtobeveryproud—Icertainly
kæmpede
struggledtothedoor.
There,of
selvfølgelig
course,IstumbledagainstLady
Brandon
Brandon.
‘Youarenotgoingto
løbe
runawaysosoon,Mr.Hallward?’she
skreg
screamedout.
Youknowhercuriouslyshrillvoice?”
“Yes;
sheis
en
apeacockineverythingbutbeauty,”
sagde
saidLordHenry,pullingthedaisytobits
med
withhislongnervousfingers.
“I
kunne
couldnotgetridof
hende
her.
Shebroughtmeuptoroyalties,
og
andpeoplewithstarsandgarters,
og
andelderlyladieswithgigantictiaras
og
andparrotnoses.
Shespokeofmeasherdearest
ven
friend.
Ihadonlymetheronce
før
before,butshetookitintoherheadtolionizeme.
I
tror
believesomepictureofmine
havde
hadmadeagreatsuccessat
det
thetime,atleasthadbeenchattered
om
aboutinthepennynewspapers,
som
whichisthenineteenth-centurystandardof
udødelighed
immortality.
SuddenlyIfoundmyself
ansigt
facetofacewiththe
unge
youngmanwhosepersonalityhadso
mærkeligt
strangelystirredme.