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

THEPREFACE

Theartististhe

skaberen

creatorofbeautifulthings.

afsløre

revealartandconcealtheartistisart’saim.

Thecriticishewhocan

oversætte

translateintoanothermanneroranewmaterialhis

indtryk

impressionofbeautifulthings.

Thehighestasthe

laveste

lowestformofcriticismisamodeofautobiography.

Thosewhofinduglymeaningsinbeautifulthingsare

korrupte

corruptwithoutbeingcharming.

Thisisafault.

Thosewhofindbeautifulmeaningsinbeautifulthingsarethe

kultiverede

cultivated.

Forthesethereishope.

Theyarethe

udvalgte

electtowhombeautifulthingsmeanonlybeauty.

Thereisnosuchthingasa

moralsk

moraloranimmoralbook.

Booksarewellwritten,orbadlywritten.

Thatisall.

Thenineteenthcentury

afsky

dislikeofrealismisthe

raseri

rageofCalibanseeinghisownfaceinaglass.

Thenineteenthcentury

afsky

dislikeofromanticismisthe

raseri

rageofCalibannotseeinghisownfaceinaglass.

The

moralske

morallifeofmanformspartofthesubject-matteroftheartist,butthe

moral

moralityofartconsistsintheperfectuseofanimperfect

medium

medium.

Noartistdesirestoproveanything.

Eventhingsthataretruecanbeproved.

Noartisthas

etiske

ethicalsympathies.

Anethicalsympathyinanartistisanunpardonablemannerismofstyle.

Noartistisever

sygelig

morbid.

Theartistcanexpresseverything.

Thoughtandlanguagearetotheartistinstrumentsofanart.

Viceand

dyd

virtuearetotheartistmaterialsforanart.

Fromthepointofviewofform,thetypeofalltheartsistheartofthemusician.

Fromthepointofviewoffeeling,theactor’s

håndværk

craftisthetype.

Allartisatoncesurfaceand

symbol

symbol.

Thosewhogobeneaththesurfacedosoattheirperil.

Thosewhoreadthesymboldosoattheirperil.

Itisthespectator,andnotlife,thatartreallymirrors.

Forskellighed

Diversityofopinionaboutaworkofartshowsthattheworkisnew,complex,and

vigtigt

vital.

Whencriticsdisagree,theartistisinaccordwithhimself.

Wecanforgiveamanformakingausefulthingaslongashedoesnot

beundrer

admireit.

Theonlyexcuseformakingauselessthingisthatone

beundrer

admiresitintensely.

Allartisquiteuseless.

Kapitel

CHAPTERI.

Thestudiowasfilledwiththerichodourofroses,andwhenthelightsummerwindstirredamidstthetreesofthegarden,therecamethroughtheopendoortheheavy

duft

scentofthelilac,orthemoredelicateperfumeofthepink-flowering

torn

thorn.

FromthecornerofthedivanofPersiansaddle-bagsonwhichhewaslying,smoking,aswashis

skik

custom,innumerablecigarettes,LordHenryWottoncouldjustcatchthegleamofthehoney-sweetandhoney-colouredblossomsofalaburnum,whosetremulousbranchesseemedhardlyabletobeartheburdenofabeautysoflamelikeastheirs;

andnowandthenthefantasticshadowsofbirdsinflightflittedacrossthelongtussore-silkcurtainsthatwere

strakt

stretchedinfrontofthehugewindow,producingakindofmomentaryJapaneseeffect,andmakinghimthinkofthosepallid,jade-facedpaintersofTokyowho,throughthe

medium

mediumofanartthatis

nødvendigvis

necessarilyimmobile,seektoconveythesenseofswiftnessand

bevægelse

motion.

Thesullenmurmurofthebeesshoulderingtheirwaythroughthelongunmowngrass,orcirclingwithmonotonousinsistenceroundthe

støvede

dustygilthornsofthestragglingwoodbine,seemedtomakethestillnessmoreoppressive.

Thedim

brøl

roarofLondonwaslikethebourdonnoteofa

fjern

distantorgan.

Inthecentreoftheroom,clampedtoan

oprejst

uprighteasel,stoodthefull-length

portræt

portraitofayoungmanofextraordinarypersonalbeauty,andinfrontofit,somelittledistanceaway,wassittingtheartisthimself,BasilHallward,whosesudden

forsvinden

disappearancesomeyearsagocaused,atthetime,suchpublic

spænding

excitementandgaverisetosomanystrangeconjectures.

Asthepainterlookedatthegraciousandcomelyformhehadsoskilfullymirroredinhisart,asmileofpleasurepassedacrosshisface,andseemedabouttolingerthere.

Buthesuddenlystartedup,andclosinghiseyes,placedhisfingersuponthelids,asthoughhesoughttoimprisonwithinhisbrainsomecuriousdreamfromwhichhefearedhemightawake.

“Itisyourbestwork,Basil,thebestthingyouhaveeverdone,”saidLordHenrylanguidly.

“YoumustcertainlysenditnextyeartotheGrosvenor.

TheAcademyistoolargeandtoovulgar.

WheneverIhavegonethere,therehavebeeneithersomanypeoplethatIhavenotbeenabletoseethepictures,whichwasdreadful,orsomanypicturesthatIhavenotbeenabletoseethepeople,whichwasworse.

TheGrosvenorisreallytheonlyplace.”

“Idon’tthinkIshallsenditanywhere,”heanswered,

kastede

tossinghisheadbackinthatoddwaythatusedtomakehisfriendslaughathimatOxford.

“No,Iwon’tsenditanywhere.”

LordHenryelevatedhiseyebrowsandlookedathiminamazementthroughthethinbluewreathsofsmokethat

krøllede

curledupinsuchfancifulwhorlsfromhisheavy,opium-taintedcigarette.

“Notsenditanywhere?

Mydearfellow,why?

Haveyouanyreason?

Whatoddchapsyoupaintersare!

Youdoanythingintheworldto

få

gainareputation.

Assoonasyouhaveone,youseemtowanttothrowitaway.

Itissillyofyou,forthereisonlyonethingintheworldworsethanbeingtalkedabout,andthatisnotbeingtalkedabout.

portræt

portraitlikethiswouldsetyoufarabovealltheyoungmeninEngland,andmaketheoldmenquitejealous,ifoldmenareevercapableofanyemotion.”

“Iknowyouwilllaughatme,”he

svarede

replied,“butIreallycan’t

udstille

exhibitit.

Ihaveputtoomuchofmyselfintoit.”

LordHenry

strakte

stretchedhimselfoutonthedivanandlaughed.

“Yes,Iknewyouwould;

butitisquitetrue,allthesame.”

“Toomuchofyourselfinit!

Uponmyword,Basil,Ididn’tknowyouwereso

forfængelig

vain;

andIreallycan’tseeany

lighed

resemblancebetweenyou,withyourruggedstrongfaceandyourcoal-blackhair,andthisyoungAdonis,wholooksasifhewasmadeoutof

elfenben

ivoryandrose-leaves.

Why,mydearBasil,heisaNarcissus,andyou—well,ofcourseyouhaveanintellectual

udtryk

expressionandallthat.

Butbeauty,realbeauty,endswhereanintellectual

udtryk

expressionbegins.

Intellectisinitselfamodeofexaggeration,anddestroystheharmonyofanyface.

Themomentonesitsdowntothink,onebecomesallnose,orallforehead,orsomethinghorrid.

Lookatthesuccessfulmeninanyofthelearnedprofessions.

Howperfectlyhideoustheyare!

Except,ofcourse,intheChurch.

ButthenintheChurchtheydon’tthink.

biskop

bishopkeepsonsayingattheageofeightywhathewastoldtosaywhenhewasaboyofeighteen,andasanatural

konsekvens

consequencehealwayslooksabsolutely

dejlig

delightful.

Yourmysteriousyoungfriend,whosenameyouhavenevertoldme,butwhosepicturereallyfascinatesme,neverthinks.

Ifeelquitesureofthat.

Heissomebrainlessbeautifulcreaturewhoshouldbealwayshereinwinterwhenwehavenoflowerstolookat,andalwayshereinsummerwhenwewantsomethingtochillourintelligence.

Don’tflatteryourself,Basil:

youarenotintheleastlikehim.”

“Youdon’tunderstandme,Harry,”answeredtheartist.

“OfcourseIamnotlikehim.

Iknowthatperfectlywell.

Indeed,Ishouldbesorrytolooklikehim.

Youshrugyourshoulders?

Iamtellingyouthetruth.

Thereisafatalityaboutallphysicaland

intellektuelle

intellectualdistinction,thesortoffatalitythatseemstodogthroughhistorythefalteringstepsofkings.

Itisbetternottobedifferentfromone’sfellows.

Theuglyandthestupidhavethebestofitinthisworld.

Theycansitattheireaseandgapeattheplay.

Iftheyknownothingofvictory,theyareatleastsparedtheknowledgeofdefeat.

Theyliveasweallshouldlive—undisturbed,indifferent,andwithoutdisquiet.

Theyneitherbringruinuponothers,noreverreceiveitfromalienhands.

Your

rang

rankandwealth,Harry;

mybrains,suchastheyare—myart,whateveritmaybeworth;

DorianGray’sgoodlooks—weshallallsufferforwhatthegodshavegivenus,sufferterribly.”

“DorianGray?

Isthathisname?”

askedLordHenry,walkingacrossthestudiotowardsBasilHallward.

“Yes,thatishisname.

Ididn’t

hensigt

intendtotellittoyou.”

“Butwhynot?”

“Oh,Ican’texplain.

WhenIlikepeopleimmensely,Inevertelltheirnamestoanyone.

Itislikesurrenderingapartofthem.

Ihavegrowntolovesecrecy.

Itseemstobetheonethingthatcanmakemodernlife

mystisk

mysteriousormarvelloustous.

Thecommonestthingisdelightfulifoneonlyhidesit.

WhenIleavetownnowInevertellmypeoplewhereIamgoing.

IfIdid,Iwouldloseallmypleasure.

Itisasilly

vane

habit,Idaresay,butsomehowitseemstobringagreatdealof

romantik

romanceintoone’slife.

Isupposeyouthinkme

forfærdeligt

awfullyfoolishaboutit?”

“Notatall,”answeredLordHenry,“notatall,mydearBasil.

YouseemtoforgetthatIammarried,andtheone

charme

charmofmarriageisthatitmakesalifeof

bedrag

deceptionabsolutelynecessaryforbothparties.

Ineverknowwheremywifeis,andmywifeneverknowswhatIamdoing.

Whenwemeet—wedomeet

lejlighedsvis

occasionally,whenwedineouttogether,orgodowntotheDuke’s—wetelleachotherthemostabsurdstorieswiththemostseriousfaces.

Mywifeisverygoodatit—muchbetter,infact,thanIam.

Shenevergetsconfusedoverherdates,andIalwaysdo.

Butwhenshedoesfindmeout,shemakesnorowatall.

Isometimeswishshewould;

butshemerelylaughsatme.”

“Ihatethewayyoutalkaboutyourmarriedlife,Harry,”saidBasilHallward,strollingtowardsthedoorthatledintothegarden.

“Ibelievethatyouarereallyaverygoodhusband,butthatyouare

grundigt

thoroughlyashamedofyourownvirtues.

Youareanextraordinaryfellow.

Youneversaya

moralsk

moralthing,andyouneverdoawrongthing.

Yourcynicismissimplyapose.”

“Beingnaturalissimplyapose,andthemostirritatingposeIknow,”criedLordHenry,laughing;

andthetwoyoungmenwentoutintothegardentogetherandensconcedthemselvesonalongbambooseatthatstoodintheshadeofatalllaurelbush.

Thesunlightslippedoverthepolishedleaves.

Inthegrass,whitedaisiesweretremulous.

Aftera

pause

pause,LordHenrypulledouthiswatch.

“IamafraidImustbegoing,Basil,”hemurmured,“andbeforeIgo,I

insisterer

insistonyouransweringaquestionIputtoyousometimeago.”

“Whatisthat?”

saidthepainter,keepinghiseyesfixedontheground.

“Youknowquitewell.”

“Idonot,Harry.”

“Well,Iwilltellyouwhatitis.

Iwantyoutoexplaintomewhyyouwon’t

udstille

exhibitDorianGray’spicture.

Iwanttherealreason.”

“Itoldyoutherealreason.”

“No,youdidnot.

Yousaiditwasbecausetherewastoomuchofyourselfinit.

Now,thatischildish.”

“Harry,”saidBasilHallward,lookinghimstraightintheface,“every

portræt

portraitthatispaintedwithfeelingisa

portræt

portraitoftheartist,notofthesitter.

Thesitteris

blot

merelytheaccident,theoccasion.

Itisnothewhoisrevealedbythepainter;

itisratherthepainterwho,onthecoloured

lærred

canvas,revealshimself.

ThereasonIwillnot

udstille

exhibitthispictureisthatIamafraidthatIhaveshowninitthesecretofmyownsoul.”

LordHenrylaughed.

“Andwhatisthat?”

heasked.

“Iwilltellyou,”saidHallward;

butan

udtryk

expressionofperplexitycameoverhisface.

“Iamall

forventning

expectation,Basil,”continuedhiscompanion,glancingathim.

“Oh,thereisreallyverylittletotell,Harry,”answeredthepainter;

“andIamafraidyouwillhardlyunderstandit.

Perhapsyouwillhardlybelieveit.”

LordHenrysmiled,andleaningdown,

plukket

pluckedapink-petalleddaisyfromthegrassand

undersøgte

examinedit.

“IamquitesureIshallunderstandit,”he

svarede

replied,gazingintentlyatthelittlegolden,white-feathereddisk,“andasforbelievingthings,Icanbelieveanything,providedthatitisquiteincredible.”

Thewindshooksomeblossomsfromthetrees,andtheheavylilac-blooms,withtheirclusteringstars,movedtoandfrointhelanguidair.

Agrasshopperbegantochirrupbythewall,andlikeablue

tråd

threadalongthindragon-fly

svævede

floatedpastonitsbrowngauzewings.

LordHenryfeltasifhecouldhearBasilHallward’sheartbeating,andwonderedwhatwascoming.

“Thestoryissimplythis,”saidthepainteraftersometime.

“TwomonthsagoIwenttoacrushatLadyBrandon’s.

Youknowwepoorartistshavetoshowourselvesinsocietyfromtimetotime,justtoremindthepublicthatwearenotsavages.

Withaneveningcoatandawhitetie,asyoutoldmeonce,anybody,evenastock-broker,can

få

gainareputationforbeing

civiliseret

civilized.

Well,afterIhadbeenintheroomabouttenminutes,talkingtohugeoverdresseddowagersandtediousacademicians,Isuddenlybecame

bevidst

consciousthatsomeonewaslookingatme.

Iturned

halvvejs

half-wayroundandsawDorianGrayforthefirsttime.

Whenoureyesmet,IfeltthatIwasgrowing

bleg

pale.

Acurioussensationof

rædsel

terrorcameoverme.

IknewthatIhadcomefacetofacewithsomeonewhose

blot

merepersonalitywassofascinatingthat,ifIallowedittodoso,itwould

absorbere

absorbmywholenature,mywholesoul,myveryartitself.

Ididnotwantany

ydre

externalinfluenceinmylife.

Youknowyourself,Harry,how

uafhængig

independentIambynature.

Ihavealwaysbeenmyownmaster;

hadatleastalwaysbeenso,tillImetDorianGray.

Then—butIdon’tknowhowtoexplainittoyou.

SomethingseemedtotellmethatIwasonthe

randen

vergeofaterriblecrisisinmylife.

Ihadastrangefeelingthatfatehadinstoreforme

udsøgte

exquisitejoysandexquisitesorrows.

Igrewafraidandturnedtoquittheroom.

Itwasnot

samvittighed

consciencethatmademedoso:

itwasasortofcowardice.

Itakenocredittomyselffortryingtoescape.”

“Conscienceandcowardicearereallythesamethings,Basil.

Samvittighed

Conscienceisthetrade-nameofthefirm.

Thatisall.”

“Idon’tbelievethat,Harry,andIdon’tbelieveyoudoeither.

However,whateverwasmymotive—anditmayhavebeenpride,forIusedtobeveryproud—Icertainlystruggledtothedoor.

There,ofcourse,I

snublede

stumbledagainstLadyBrandon.

‘Youarenotgoingtorunawaysosoon,Mr.Hallward?’shescreamedout.

Youknowhercuriouslyshrillvoice?”

“Yes;

sheisa

påfugl

peacockineverythingbutbeauty,”saidLordHenry,pullingthedaisytobitswithhislongnervousfingers.

“Icouldnotgetridofher.

Shebroughtmeuptoroyalties,andpeoplewithstarsandgarters,andelderlyladieswithgigantictiarasand

papegøje

parrotnoses.

Shespokeofmeasherdearestfriend.

Ihadonlymetheroncebefore,butshetookitintoherheadtolionizeme.

Ibelievesomepictureofminehadmadeagreatsuccessatthetime,atleasthadbeenchatteredaboutinthepennynewspapers,whichisthenineteenth-century

standard

standardofimmortality.

SuddenlyIfoundmyselffacetofacewiththeyoungmanwhose

personlighed

personalityhadsostrangelystirredme.

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