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The Picture of Dorian Gray | Progressively Translated Dutch A1 Books

The Picture of Dorian Gray | Progressively Translated Dutch A1 Books

Unlock the potential of this modern translation approach, designed to enhance your language learning experience. By allowing you to choose your difficulty level, it guarantees a personalized challenge that's suited to your progress. This method promotes comprehension by encouraging you to infer the meaning of new words from context, rather than relying heavily on direct translations. Though some translations are obscured to stimulate guessing, it's perfectly fine to consult a dictionary when needed. This technique combines challenge and support, making language learning fun and effective. Explore these translated classics to enjoy literature while advancing your language skills.

THEPREFACE
Theartistis
de
thecreatorofbeautifulthings.
Torevealart
en
andconcealtheartistisart’saim.
De
Thecriticishewho
kan
cantranslateintoanothermanner
of
oranewmaterialhisimpressionof
mooie
beautifulthings.
Thehighestas
de
thelowestformofcriticismis
een
amodeofautobiography.
Thosewho
vinden
finduglymeaningsinbeautifulthingsarecorrupt
zonder
withoutbeingcharming.
Thisis
een
afault.
Thosewhofind
mooie
beautifulmeaningsinbeautifulthingsare
de
thecultivated.
Forthesethereis
hoop
hope.
Theyaretheelecttowhom
mooie
beautifulthingsmeanonlybeauty.
Er
Thereisnosuchthingasamoral
of
oranimmoralbook.
Booksare
goed
wellwritten,orbadlywritten.
Dat
Thatisall.
Thenineteenthcenturydislikeofrealismis
de
therageofCalibanseeinghis
eigen
ownfaceinaglass.
De
Thenineteenthcenturydislikeofromanticismis
de
therageofCalibannot
ziet
seeinghisownfacein
een
aglass.
Themorallifeof
mens
manformspartofthesubject-matteroftheartist,
maar
butthemoralityofartconsistsinthe
perfecte
perfectuseofanimperfectmedium.
Geen
Noartistdesirestoprove
iets
anything.
Eventhingsthatare
waar
truecanbeproved.
Noartist
heeft
hasethicalsympathies.
Anethicalsympathyin
een
anartistisanunpardonablemannerismofstyle.
Geen
Noartistisevermorbid.
De
Theartistcanexpresseverything.
Thought
en
andlanguagearetotheartistinstrumentsof
een
anart.
Viceandvirtueareto
de
theartistmaterialsforanart.
Fromthepointofviewofform,thetypeof
alle
alltheartsistheartofthemusician.
Fromthepointofviewof
gevoel
feeling,theactor’scraftisthetype.
Alle
Allartisatoncesurface
en
andsymbol.
Thosewhogobeneath
de
thesurfacedosoattheirperil.
Thosewho
lezen
readthesymboldosoattheirperil.
Itisthespectator,
en
andnotlife,thatart
echt
reallymirrors.
Diversityofopinion
over
aboutaworkofart
toont
showsthattheworkis
nieuw
new,complex,andvital.
Whencriticsdisagree,theartistisinaccord
met
withhimself.
Wecanforgive
een
amanformakingausefulthingaslongashedoesnotadmire
het
it.
Theonlyexcusefor
maken
makingauselessthingis
dat
thatoneadmiresitintensely.
Alle
Allartisquiteuseless.
CHAPTERI.
Thestudiowasfilled
met
withtherichodourofroses,
en
andwhenthelightsummerwindstirredamidstthetreesofthegarden,
er
therecamethroughtheopen
deur
doortheheavyscentofthelilac,
of
orthemoredelicateperfumeofthepink-floweringthorn.
From
de
thecornerofthedivanofPersiansaddle-bagsonwhichhewas
lag
lying,smoking,aswashiscustom,innumerablecigarettes,LordHenryWotton
kon
couldjustcatchthegleamof
de
thehoney-sweetandhoney-colouredblossomsof
een
alaburnum,whosetremulousbranchesseemedhardly
in staat
abletobeartheburdenof
een
abeautysoflamelikeastheirs;
en
andnowandthenthefantasticshadowsofbirdsinflightflittedacrossthe
lange
longtussore-silkcurtainsthatwerestretchedinfrontofthehugewindow,producinga
soort
kindofmomentaryJapaneseeffect,
en
andmakinghimthinkofthosepallid,jade-facedpaintersofTokyowho,throughthemediumofanartthatisnecessarilyimmobile,seektoconveythesenseofswiftness
en
andmotion.
Thesullenmurmurofthebeesshoulderingtheir
weg
waythroughthelongunmowngrass,
of
orcirclingwithmonotonousinsistenceroundthedustygilthornsofthestragglingwoodbine,seemedto
maken
makethestillnessmoreoppressive.
ThedimroarofLondonwas
als
likethebourdonnoteof
een
adistantorgan.
Inthecentreofthe
kamer
room,clampedtoanuprighteasel,
stond
stoodthefull-lengthportraitofa
jonge
youngmanofextraordinarypersonalbeauty,
en
andinfrontofit,
enkele
somelittledistanceaway,was
zat
sittingtheartisthimself,BasilHallward,whosesuddendisappearance
enkele
someyearsagocaused,atthe
moment
time,suchpublicexcitementand
gaf
gaverisetosomanystrangeconjectures.
Asthepainter
keek
lookedatthegraciousandcomelyformhe
had
hadsoskilfullymirroredinhisart,
een
asmileofpleasurepassedacrosshis
gezicht
face,andseemedabouttolinger
daar
there.
Buthesuddenlystartedup,
en
andclosinghiseyes,placedhisfingersuponthelids,asthoughhesoughttoimprisonwithinhisbrainsomecurious
droom
dreamfromwhichhefearedhe
kunnen
mightawake.
“Itisyour
beste
bestwork,Basil,thebest
wat
thingyouhaveeverdone,”
zei
saidLordHenrylanguidly.
“You
moet
mustcertainlysenditnext
jaar
yeartotheGrosvenor.
TheAcademyis
te
toolargeandtoovulgar.
WheneverI
heb
havegonethere,therehavebeen
ofwel
eithersomanypeoplethatI
heb
havenotbeenableto
zien
seethepictures,whichwasdreadful,
of
orsomanypicturesthatI
heb
havenotbeenableto
zien
seethepeople,whichwasworse.
De
TheGrosvenorisreallythe
enige
onlyplace.”
“Idon’tthinkIshallsenditanywhere,”heanswered,tossinghis
hoofd
headbackinthatodd
manier
waythatusedtomakehisfriendslaughathimatOxford.
“No,Iwon’t
sturen
senditanywhere.”
LordHenryelevatedhiseyebrows
en
andlookedathiminamazement
door
throughthethinbluewreathsofsmoke
die
thatcurledupinsuchfancifulwhorlsfromhisheavy,opium-taintedcigarette.
“Not
sturen
senditanywhere?
Mydearfellow,
waarom
why?
Haveyouanyreason?
Whatoddchapsyoupainters
zijn
are!
Youdoanythingin
de
theworldtogainareputation.
Assoonasyou
hebt
haveone,youseemto
wil
wanttothrowitaway.
Itissillyofyou,for
er
thereisonlyonethinginthe
wereld
worldworsethanbeingtalked
over
about,andthatisnotbeing
gesproken
talkedabout.
Aportraitlike
dit
thiswouldsetyoufarabove
alle
alltheyoungmeninEngland,
en
andmaketheoldmen
heel
quitejealous,ifoldmenareevercapableofanyemotion.”
“I
weet
knowyouwilllaughatme,”hereplied,“butI
echt
reallycan’texhibitit.
I
heb
haveputtoomuchofmyselfintoit.”
LordHenrystretchedhimself
uit
outonthedivanandlaughed.
“Yes,I
wist
knewyouwould;
butitisquite
waar
true,allthesame.”
“Too
veel
muchofyourselfinit!
Uponmy
woord
word,Basil,Ididn’tknowyouweresovain;
en
andIreallycan’tseeanyresemblance
tussen
betweenyou,withyourruggedstrong
gezicht
faceandyourcoal-blackhair,
en
andthisyoungAdonis,wholooksasifhewas
gemaakt
madeoutofivoryandrose-leaves.
Waarom
Why,mydearBasil,heisaNarcissus,
en
andyou—well,ofcourseyou
heb
haveanintellectualexpressionandallthat.
Maar
Butbeauty,realbeauty,ends
waar
whereanintellectualexpressionbegins.
Intellectisinitselfamodeofexaggeration,
en
anddestroystheharmonyofany
gezicht
face.
Themomentonesitsdownto
denken
think,onebecomesallnose,
of
orallforehead,orsomethinghorrid.
Kijk
Lookatthesuccessfulmenin
elk
anyofthelearnedprofessions.
Howperfectlyhideousthey
zijn
are!
Except,ofcourse,in
de
theChurch.
Butthenin
de
theChurchtheydon’tthink.
Een
Abishopkeepsonsayingattheageofeightywhathewastoldto
zeggen
saywhenhewasa
jongen
boyofeighteen,andas
een
anaturalconsequencehealwayslooksabsolutelydelightful.
Yourmysterious
jonge
youngfriend,whosenameyou
hebt
havenevertoldme,butwhosepicture
echt
reallyfascinatesme,neverthinks.
Ifeel
heel
quitesureofthat.
Heissomebrainless
mooi
beautifulcreaturewhoshouldbe
altijd
alwayshereinwinterwhenwe
hebben
havenoflowerstolookat,
en
andalwayshereinsummer
als
whenwewantsomethingtochillourintelligence.
Don’tflatteryourself,Basil:
youarenotin
het
theleastlikehim.”
“Youdon’t
begrijpt
understandme,Harry,”answeredtheartist.
“Of
natuurlijk
courseIamnotlikehim.
I
weet
knowthatperfectlywell.
Indeed,Ishouldbesorrytolooklike
hem
him.
Youshrugyourshoulders?
Iam
zeg
tellingyouthetruth.
Thereis
een
afatalityaboutallphysical
en
andintellectualdistinction,thesortoffatality
dat
thatseemstodogthroughhistorythefalteringstepsofkings.
Itis
beter
betternottobedifferentfromone’sfellows.
Theugly
en
andthestupidhavethe
beste
bestofitinthis
wereld
world.
Theycansitattheirease
en
andgapeattheplay.
Als
Iftheyknownothingofvictory,theyareatleastspared
de
theknowledgeofdefeat.
They
leven
liveasweallshouldlive—undisturbed,indifferent,
en
andwithoutdisquiet.
Theyneither
brengen
bringruinuponothers,noreverreceiveitfromalienhands.
Yourrank
en
andwealth,Harry;
mybrains,suchastheyare—myart,
wat
whateveritmaybeworth;
DorianGray’s
goede
goodlooks—weshallallsufferforwhat
de
thegodshavegivenus,sufferterribly.”
“DorianGray?
Is
dat
thathisname?”
askedLordHenry,
loopt
walkingacrossthestudiotowardsBasilHallward.
“Yes,
dat
thatishisname.
Ididn’tintendto
vertellen
tellittoyou.”
“But
waarom
whynot?”
“Oh,Ican’texplain.
WhenIlike
mensen
peopleimmensely,Inevertelltheirnamestoanyone.
Itislikesurrendering
een
apartofthem.
Ihavegrowntolovesecrecy.
Itseemstobetheonething
dat
thatcanmakemodernlifemysterious
of
ormarvelloustous.
Thecommonest
ding
thingisdelightfulifone
alleen
onlyhidesit.
WhenI
verlaat
leavetownnowInever
vertel
tellmypeoplewhereIam
ga
going.
IfIdid,I
zou
wouldloseallmypleasure.
Itis
een
asillyhabit,Idare
zeggen
say,butsomehowitseemsto
brengen
bringagreatdealofromanceintoone’s
leven
life.
Isupposeyouthinkmeawfullyfoolishaboutit?”
“Notatall,”answeredLordHenry,“notatall,my
beste
dearBasil.
Youseemto
vergeten
forgetthatIammarried,
en
andtheonecharmofmarriageis
dat
thatitmakesalifeofdeceptionabsolutelynecessaryforbothparties.
I
nooit
neverknowwheremywife
is
is,andmywifenever
weet
knowswhatIamdoing.
Als
Whenwemeet—wedomeetoccasionally,
als
whenwedineouttogether,
of
orgodowntotheDuke’s—we
vertellen
telleachotherthemostabsurdstories
met
withthemostseriousfaces.
My
vrouw
wifeisverygoodatit—much
beter
better,infact,thanIam.
She
nooit
nevergetsconfusedoverherdates,
en
andIalwaysdo.
But
als
whenshedoesfindmeout,she
maakt
makesnorowatall.
I
soms
sometimeswishshewould;
butshemerelylaughsatme.”
“I
haat
hatethewayyoutalk
over
aboutyourmarriedlife,Harry,”
zei
saidBasilHallward,strollingtowards
de
thedoorthatledinto
de
thegarden.
“Ibelievethatyouare
echt
reallyaverygoodhusband,
maar
butthatyouarethoroughlyashamedofyour
eigen
ownvirtues.
Youareanextraordinaryfellow.
You
nooit
neversayamoralthing,
en
andyouneverdoawrongthing.
Yourcynicismissimply
een
apose.”
“Beingnaturalissimply
een
apose,andthemostirritatingposeIknow,”criedLordHenry,laughing;
en
andthetwoyoungmen
gingen
wentoutintothegarden
samen
togetherandensconcedthemselveson
een
alongbambooseatthat
stond
stoodintheshadeof
een
atalllaurelbush.
Thesunlightslipped
over
overthepolishedleaves.
In
het
thegrass,whitedaisiesweretremulous.
Na
Afterapause,LordHenrypulledouthis
horloge
watch.
“IamafraidI
moet
mustbegoing,Basil,”hemurmured,“and
voordat
beforeIgo,Iinsistonyour
beantwoordt
answeringaquestionIputtoyousometimeago.”
“Whatisthat?”
zei
saidthepainter,keepinghiseyesfixedon
de
theground.
“Youknowquitewell.”
“Idonot,Harry.”
“Well,I
zal
willtellyouwhatit
is
is.
Iwantyoutoexplaintome
waarom
whyyouwon’texhibitDorianGray’spicture.
I
wil
wanttherealreason.”
“I
verteld
toldyoutherealreason.”
“No,youdidnot.
You
zei
saiditwasbecausetherewas
te
toomuchofyourselfin
het
it.
Now,thatischildish.”
“Harry,”
zei
saidBasilHallward,lookinghimstraightinthe
gezicht
face,“everyportraitthatispainted
met
withfeelingisaportraitoftheartist,notofthesitter.
Thesitterismerelytheaccident,theoccasion.
Itisnothe
die
whoisrevealedbythepainter;
itisratherthepainter
die
who,onthecolouredcanvas,revealshimself.
The
reden
reasonIwillnotexhibit
dit
thispictureisthatIam
bang
afraidthatIhaveshowninitthesecretofmy
eigen
ownsoul.”
LordHenrylaughed.
“Andwhatisthat?”
he
vroeg
asked.
“Iwilltellyou,”
zei
saidHallward;
butanexpressionofperplexity
kwam
cameoverhisface.
“Iam
alle
allexpectation,Basil,”continuedhiscompanion,glancingat
hem
him.
“Oh,thereisreally
heel
verylittletotell,Harry,”answered
de
thepainter;
“andIam
bang
afraidyouwillhardlyunderstand
het
it.
Perhapsyouwillhardly
geloof
believeit.”
LordHenrysmiled,
en
andleaningdown,pluckedapink-petalleddaisyfromthegrass
en
andexaminedit.
“Iam
heel
quitesureIshallunderstandit,”hereplied,gazingintentlyatthe
kleine
littlegolden,white-feathereddisk,“andasfor
geloven
believingthings,Icanbelieve
alles
anything,providedthatitis
heel
quiteincredible.”
Thewindshook
enkele
someblossomsfromthetrees,
en
andtheheavylilac-blooms,withtheirclusteringstars,
verplaatst
movedtoandfroin
de
thelanguidair.
Agrasshopperbegantochirrupby
de
thewall,andlikeabluethread
een
alongthindragon-flyfloatedpastonitsbrowngauzewings.
LordHenry
voelde
feltasifhecould
horen
hearBasilHallward’sheartbeating,
en
andwonderedwhatwascoming.
“The
verhaal
storyissimplythis,”said
de
thepainteraftersometime.
“Twomonths
geleden
agoIwenttoacrushat
Lady
LadyBrandon’s.
Youknowwe
arme
poorartistshavetoshowourselvesinsocietyfromtimetotime,justtoremindthepublic
dat
thatwearenotsavages.
Met
Withaneveningcoatanda
witte
whitetie,asyoutoldmeonce,
iedereen
anybody,evenastock-broker,cangainareputationforbeingcivilized.
Nou
Well,afterIhadbeenin
de
theroomabouttenminutes,
praten
talkingtohugeoverdresseddowagers
en
andtediousacademicians,Isuddenly
werd
becameconsciousthatsomeonewas
keek
lookingatme.
Iturnedhalf-wayround
en
andsawDorianGrayfor
het
thefirsttime.
Whenoureyes
ontmoetten
met,IfeltthatIwasgrowingpale.
Een
Acurioussensationofterror
kwam
cameoverme.
Iknew
dat
thatIhadcomefacetoface
met
withsomeonewhosemerepersonalitywassofascinating
dat
that,ifIallowedittodoso,it
zou
wouldabsorbmywholenature,my
hele
wholesoul,myveryartitself.
Ididnot
wilde
wantanyexternalinfluenceinmy
leven
life.
Youknowyourself,Harry,
hoe
howindependentIambynature.
Ihave
altijd
alwaysbeenmyownmaster;
hadatleast
altijd
alwaysbeenso,tillI
ontmoette
metDorianGray.
Then—butIdon’t
weet
knowhowtoexplainittoyou.
Iets
Somethingseemedtotellme
dat
thatIwasonthevergeof
een
aterriblecrisisinmy
leven
life.
Ihadastrange
gevoel
feelingthatfatehadinstoreformeexquisitejoys
en
andexquisitesorrows.
Igrew
bang
afraidandturnedtoquit
de
theroom.
Itwasnotconscience
dat
thatmademedoso:
itwas
een
asortofcowardice.
I
neem
takenocredittomyselffor
proberen
tryingtoescape.”
“Conscienceandcowardiceare
echt
reallythesamethings,Basil.
Conscienceisthetrade-nameofthefirm.
Dat
Thatisall.”
“Idon’t
geloof
believethat,Harry,andIdon’t
geloof
believeyoudoeither.
However,
wat
whateverwasmymotive—andit
kan
mayhavebeenpride,forIusedtobe
erg
veryproud—Icertainlystruggledtothe
deur
door.
There,ofcourse,Istumbled
tegen
againstLadyBrandon.
‘Youarenot
gaat
goingtorunawayso
snel
soon,Mr.Hallward?’shescreamedout.
You
ken
knowhercuriouslyshrillvoice?”
“Yes;
sheis
een
apeacockineverythingbutbeauty,”
zei
saidLordHenry,pullingthedaisytobits
met
withhislongnervousfingers.
“I
kon
couldnotgetridofher.
She
bracht
broughtmeuptoroyalties,
en
andpeoplewithstarsandgarters,
en
andelderlyladieswithgigantictiaras
en
andparrotnoses.
Shespokeofmeasherdearestfriend.
I
had
hadonlymetheroncebefore,
maar
butshetookitintoher
hoofd
headtolionizeme.
I
geloof
believesomepictureofmine
had
hadmadeagreatsuccessat
de
thetime,atleasthadbeenchattered
over
aboutinthepennynewspapers,whichis
de
thenineteenth-centurystandardofimmortality.
SuddenlyIfoundmyselffacetoface
met
withtheyoungmanwhosepersonality
had
hadsostrangelystirredme.