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The Picture of Dorian Gray | Progressively Translated Dutch A1-B2 Books

The Picture of Dorian Gray | Progressively Translated Dutch A1-B2 Books

Embrace the benefits of this cutting-edge translation method, offering a tailored learning experience by letting you select the difficulty level that fits you best. It improves your comprehension by urging you to deduce meanings from context, reducing the need for constant translation. While some translations are intentionally masked to encourage guessing, it's always acceptable to check unfamiliar words. This method strikes the perfect balance between challenge and accessibility, making language learning both effective and enjoyable. Immerse yourself in these translated classics and uncover the pleasure of learning through literary exploration.

THEPREFACE
Theartistis
de
thecreatorofbeautifulthings.
To
onthullen
revealartandconcealthe
kunstenaar
artistisart’saim.
The
criticus
criticishewhocan
vertalen
translateintoanothermanneror
een
anewmaterialhisimpressionof
mooie
beautifulthings.
Thehighestas
de
thelowestformofcriticismis
een
amodeofautobiography.
Thosewho
vinden
finduglymeaningsinbeautifulthingsare
corrupt
corruptwithoutbeingcharming.
Thisis
een
afault.
Thosewhofind
mooie
beautifulmeaningsinbeautifulthingsare
de
thecultivated.
Forthesethereis
hoop
hope.
Theyaretheelecttowhom
mooie
beautifulthingsmeanonlybeauty.
Er
Thereisnosuchthingasa
moreel
moraloranimmoralbook.
Boeken
Booksarewellwritten,or
slecht
badlywritten.
Thatisall.
De
Thenineteenthcenturydislikeofrealismis
de
therageofCalibanseeinghis
eigen
ownfaceinaglass.
De
Thenineteenthcenturydislikeofromanticismis
de
therageofCalibannot
ziet
seeinghisownfacein
een
aglass.
Themorallifeof
mens
manformspartofthesubject-matterofthe
kunstenaar
artist,butthemoralityof
kunst
artconsistsintheperfect
gebruik
useofanimperfectmedium.
Geen
Noartistdesirestoprove
iets
anything.
Eventhingsthatare
waar
truecanbeproved.
No
kunstenaar
artisthasethicalsympathies.
An
ethische
ethicalsympathyinanartistis
een
anunpardonablemannerismofstyle.
Geen
Noartistisevermorbid.
De
Theartistcanexpresseverything.
Thought
en
andlanguagearetothe
kunstenaar
artistinstrumentsofanart.
Ondeugd
Viceandvirtueareto
de
theartistmaterialsforan
kunst
art.
Fromthepointofviewof
vorm
form,thetypeofalltheartsisthe
kunst
artofthemusician.
Fromthepointofviewof
gevoel
feeling,theactor’scraftisthe
type
type.
Allartisatonce
oppervlak
surfaceandsymbol.
Thosewho
gaan
gobeneaththesurfacedosoattheirperil.
Thosewho
lezen
readthesymboldosoattheirperil.
Itisthespectator,
en
andnotlife,thatart
echt
reallymirrors.
Diversityofopinion
over
aboutaworkofart
toont
showsthattheworkis
nieuw
new,complex,andvital.
Whencriticsdisagree,the
kunstenaar
artistisinaccordwithhimself.
We
kunnen
canforgiveamanfor
gemaakt
makingausefulthingaslongashedoesnot
bewondert
admireit.
Theonlyexcusefor
maken
makingauselessthingis
dat
thatoneadmiresitintensely.
Alle
Allartisquiteuseless.
Hoofdstuk
CHAPTERI.
Thestudiowas
gevuld
filledwiththerichodourofroses,
en
andwhenthelightsummerwind
roerde
stirredamidstthetreesofthe
tuin
garden,therecamethroughthe
open
opendoortheheavyscentofthelilac,
of
orthemoredelicateperfumeofthepink-flowering
doorn
thorn.
Fromthecornerof
de
thedivanofPersiansaddle-bagsonwhichhewas
lag
lying,smoking,aswashiscustom,innumerablecigarettes,LordHenryWotton
kon
couldjustcatchthegleamof
de
thehoney-sweetandhoney-colouredblossomsof
een
alaburnum,whosetremulousbranches
leek
seemedhardlyabletobear
de
theburdenofabeautysoflamelikeastheirs;
en
andnowandthenthe
fantastische
fantasticshadowsofbirdsinflightflitted
over
acrossthelongtussore-silkcurtainsthatwerestretchedinfrontofthe
enorme
hugewindow,producingakindofmomentaryJapanese
effect
effect,andmakinghimthinkofthosepallid,jade-facedpaintersofTokyowho,throughthemediumofan
kunst
artthatisnecessarilyimmobile,
proberen
seektoconveythesenseofswiftness
en
andmotion.
Thesullenmurmurofthebeesshoulderingtheir
weg
waythroughthelongunmown
gras
grass,orcirclingwithmonotonousinsistence
rond
roundthedustygilthornsofthestragglingwoodbine,
leek
seemedtomakethestillness
meer
moreoppressive.
ThedimroarofLondonwas
als
likethebourdonnoteof
een
adistantorgan.
Inthecentreofthe
kamer
room,clampedtoanuprighteasel,
stond
stoodthefull-lengthportraitofa
jonge
youngmanofextraordinarypersonal
schoonheid
beauty,andinfrontofit,
enkele
somelittledistanceaway,was
zat
sittingtheartisthimself,BasilHallward,
wiens
whosesuddendisappearancesomeyears
geleden
agocaused,atthetime,such
publieke
publicexcitementandgaverisetoso
veel
manystrangeconjectures.
Asthe
schilder
painterlookedatthegracious
en
andcomelyformhehadsoskilfullymirroredinhis
kunst
art,asmileofpleasurepassedacrosshis
gezicht
face,andseemedabouttolinger
daar
there.
Buthesuddenlystartedup,
en
andclosinghiseyes,placedhisfingersuponthelids,asthoughhe
probeerde
soughttoimprisonwithinhis
hersenen
brainsomecuriousdreamfromwhichhe
vreesde
fearedhemightawake.
“Itisyour
beste
bestwork,Basil,thebest
wat
thingyouhaveeverdone,”
zei
saidLordHenrylanguidly.
“You
moet
mustcertainlysenditnext
jaar
yeartotheGrosvenor.
The
Academie
Academyistoolargeand
te
toovulgar.
WheneverIhavegonethere,there
heb
havebeeneithersomany
mensen
peoplethatIhavenotbeen
kunnen
abletoseethepictures,whichwas
verschrikkelijk
dreadful,orsomanypictures
dat
thatIhavenotbeen
kunnen
abletoseethepeople,whichwas
erger
worse.
TheGrosvenorisreally
de
theonlyplace.”
“Idon’t
denk
thinkIshallsenditanywhere,”heanswered,
gooien
tossinghisheadbackinthatodd
manier
waythatusedtomakehisfriends
lachen
laughathimatOxford.
“No,Iwon’t
sturen
senditanywhere.”
LordHenryelevatedhiseyebrows
en
andlookedathiminamazement
door
throughthethinbluewreathsof
rook
smokethatcurledupin
zulke
suchfancifulwhorlsfromhis
zware
heavy,opium-taintedcigarette.
“Notsendit
nergens
anywhere?
Mydearfellow,why?
Heb
Haveyouanyreason?
What
vreemd
oddchapsyoupaintersare!
You
doet
doanythingintheworldto
krijgen
gainareputation.
Assoonasyou
hebt
haveone,youseemto
wil
wanttothrowitaway.
Itissillyofyou,for
er
thereisonlyonethinginthe
wereld
worldworsethanbeingtalked
over
about,andthatisnotbeing
gesproken
talkedabout.
Aportraitlike
dit
thiswouldsetyoufar
boven
abovealltheyoungmeninEngland,
en
andmaketheoldmen
heel
quitejealous,ifoldmenareever
in staat
capableofanyemotion.”
“I
weet
knowyouwilllaughatme,”he
antwoordde
replied,“butIreallycan’texhibit
het
it.
Ihaveputtoo
veel
muchofmyselfintoit.”
LordHenry
strekte
stretchedhimselfoutonthedivan
en
andlaughed.
“Yes,Iknewyouwould;
maar
butitisquitetrue,allthesame.”
“Too
veel
muchofyourselfinit!
Uponmy
woord
word,Basil,Ididn’tknowyouwereso
ijdel
vain;
andIreallycan’t
zien
seeanyresemblancebetweenyou,
met
withyourruggedstrongface
en
andyourcoal-blackhair,and
deze
thisyoungAdonis,wholooksasifhewas
gemaakt
madeoutofivoryandrose-leaves.
Waarom
Why,mydearBasil,heisaNarcissus,
en
andyou—well,ofcourseyou
heb
haveanintellectualexpressionandallthat.
Maar
Butbeauty,realbeauty,ends
waar
whereanintellectualexpressionbegins.
Intellect
Intellectisinitselfamodeofexaggeration,
en
anddestroystheharmonyofany
gezicht
face.
Themomentonesitsdownto
denken
think,onebecomesallnose,
of
orallforehead,orsomethinghorrid.
Kijk
Lookatthesuccessfulmenin
elk
anyofthelearnedprofessions.
Howperfectly
afschuwelijk
hideoustheyare!
Except,of
natuurlijk
course,intheChurch.
Butthenin
de
theChurchtheydon’tthink.
Een
Abishopkeepsonsayingatthe
leeftijd
ageofeightywhathewastoldto
zeggen
saywhenhewasa
jongen
boyofeighteen,andas
een
anaturalconsequencehealwayslooks
absoluut
absolutelydelightful.
Yourmysteriousyoung
vriend
friend,whosenameyouhave
nooit
nevertoldme,butwhose
foto
picturereallyfascinatesme,never
denkt
thinks.
Ifeelquitesureofthat.
Heissomebrainless
mooi
beautifulcreaturewhoshouldbe
altijd
alwayshereinwinterwhenwe
hebben
havenoflowerstolookat,
en
andalwayshereinsummer
als
whenwewantsomethingto
koelen
chillourintelligence.
Don’tflatteryourself,Basil:
youarenotin
het
theleastlikehim.”
“Youdon’t
begrijpt
understandme,Harry,”answeredthe
kunstenaar
artist.
“OfcourseIamnot
zoals
likehim.
Iknowthatperfectly
goed
well.
Indeed,Ishouldbesorrytolooklike
hem
him.
Youshrugyourshoulders?
Iam
zeg
tellingyouthetruth.
Thereis
een
afatalityaboutallphysical
en
andintellectualdistinction,thesortoffatality
dat
thatseemstodogthrough
geschiedenis
historythefalteringstepsofkings.
Itis
beter
betternottobedifferentfromone’sfellows.
Theugly
en
andthestupidhavethe
beste
bestofitinthis
wereld
world.
Theycansitattheir
gemak
easeandgapeatthe
toneelstuk
play.
Iftheyknownothingof
overwinning
victory,theyareatleast
gespaard
sparedtheknowledgeofdefeat.
They
leven
liveasweallshouldlive—undisturbed,
onverschillig
indifferent,andwithoutdisquiet.
Theyneither
brengen
bringruinuponothers,norever
ontvangen
receiveitfromalienhands.
Your
rang
rankandwealth,Harry;
mybrains,suchastheyare—my
kunst
art,whateveritmaybe
waard
worth;
DorianGray’sgoodlooks—weshallall
lijden
sufferforwhatthegods
hebben
havegivenus,sufferterribly.”
“DorianGray?
Is
dat
thathisname?”
askedLordHenry,
loopt
walkingacrossthestudiotowardsBasilHallward.
“Yes,
dat
thatishisname.
Ididn’t
plan
intendtotellittoyou.”
“But
waarom
whynot?”
“Oh,Ican’t
uitleggen
explain.
WhenIlikepeopleimmensely,I
nooit
nevertelltheirnamestoanyone.
Itislikesurrendering
een
apartofthem.
Ihavegrowntolovesecrecy.
It
lijkt
seemstobetheonething
dat
thatcanmakemodernlife
mysterieus
mysteriousormarvelloustous.
Thecommonest
ding
thingisdelightfulifone
alleen
onlyhidesit.
WhenI
verlaat
leavetownnowInever
vertel
tellmypeoplewhereIam
ga
going.
IfIdid,I
zou
wouldloseallmypleasure.
Itis
een
asillyhabit,Idare
zeggen
say,butsomehowitseemsto
brengen
bringagreatdealof
romantiek
romanceintoone’slife.
I
veronderstel
supposeyouthinkmeawfully
dwaas
foolishaboutit?”
“Notatall,”answeredLordHenry,“notatall,my
beste
dearBasil.
Youseemto
vergeten
forgetthatIammarried,
en
andtheonecharmof
huwelijk
marriageisthatitmakesa
leven
lifeofdeceptionabsolutelynecessaryforbothparties.
I
nooit
neverknowwheremywife
is
is,andmywifenever
weet
knowswhatIamdoing.
Als
Whenwemeet—wedomeet
af en toe
occasionally,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;
butshe
alleen
merelylaughsatme.”
“I
haat
hatethewayyoutalk
over
aboutyourmarriedlife,Harry,”
zei
saidBasilHallward,strollingtowards
de
thedoorthatledinto
de
thegarden.
“Ibelievethatyouare
echt
reallyaverygoodhusband,
maar
butthatyouarethoroughlyashamedofyour
eigen
ownvirtues.
Youarean
buitengewone
extraordinaryfellow.
Youneversayamoralthing,
en
andyouneverdoawrongthing.
Yourcynicismis
gewoon
simplyapose.”
“Beingnaturalis
gewoon
simplyapose,andthe
meest
mostirritatingposeIknow,”criedLordHenry,
lachend
laughing;
andthetwoyoungmen
gingen
wentoutintothegarden
samen
togetherandensconcedthemselveson
een
alongbambooseatthat
stond
stoodintheshadeof
een
atalllaurelbush.
Thesunlight
gleed
slippedoverthepolishedleaves.
In
het
thegrass,whitedaisiesweretremulous.
Na
Afterapause,LordHenry
trok
pulledouthiswatch.
“Iam
bang
afraidImustbegoing,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,“everyportraitthatis
geschilderd
paintedwithfeelingisa
portret
portraitoftheartist,notofthesitter.
Thesitterismerelythe
ongeluk
accident,theoccasion.
Itisnothe
die
whoisrevealedbythe
schilder
painter;
itisratherthe
schilder
painterwho,onthecoloured
doek
canvas,revealshimself.
ThereasonI
zal
willnotexhibitthispictureis
dat
thatIamafraidthatI
heb
haveshowninitthe
geheim
secretofmyownsoul.”
LordHenry
lachte
laughed.
“Andwhatisthat?”
he
vroeg
asked.
“Iwilltellyou,”
zei
saidHallward;
butanexpressionofperplexity
kwam
cameoverhisface.
“Iam
alle
allexpectation,Basil,”continuedhis
metgezel
companion,glancingathim.
“Oh,
er
thereisreallyverylittleto
vertellen
tell,Harry,”answeredthepainter;
“andIam
bang
afraidyouwillhardlyunderstand
het
it.
Perhapsyouwillhardly
geloof
believeit.”
LordHenrysmiled,
en
andleaningdown,pluckedapink-petalled
daisy
daisyfromthegrassand
onderzocht
examinedit.
“Iamquite
zeker
sureIshallunderstandit,”he
antwoordde
replied,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.
Agrasshopper
begon
begantochirrupbythe
muur
wall,andlikeablue
draad
threadalongthindragon-fly
zweefde
floatedpastonitsbrowngauzewings.
LordHenry
voelde
feltasifhecould
horen
hearBasilHallward’sheartbeating,
en
andwonderedwhatwascoming.
“The
verhaal
storyissimplythis,”said
de
thepainteraftersometime.
“Twomonths
geleden
agoIwenttoacrushat
Lady
LadyBrandon’s.
Youknowwe
arme
poorartistshavetoshowourselvesin
samenleving
societyfromtimetotime,justto
herinneren
remindthepublicthatwearenotsavages.
Met
Withaneveningcoatanda
witte
whitetie,asyoutoldmeonce,
iedereen
anybody,evenastock-broker,cangaina
reputatie
reputationforbeingcivilized.
Well,
nadat
afterIhadbeenin
de
theroomabouttenminutes,
praten
talkingtohugeoverdresseddowagers
en
andtediousacademicians,Isuddenly
werd
becameconsciousthatsomeonewas
keek
lookingatme.
Iturned
halverwege
half-wayroundandsawDorianGrayfor
het
thefirsttime.
Whenoureyes
ontmoetten
met,IfeltthatIwasgrowing
bleek
pale.
Acurioussensationof
verschrikking
terrorcameoverme.
I
wist
knewthatIhadcomefacetoface
met
withsomeonewhosemere
persoonlijkheid
personalitywassofascinatingthat,
als
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
thatIwasonthe
rand
vergeofaterriblecrisisinmy
leven
life.
Ihadastrange
gevoel
feelingthatfatehadinstoreformeexquisitejoys
en
andexquisitesorrows.
Igrew
bang
afraidandturnedtoquit
de
theroom.
Itwasnot
geweten
consciencethatmademedoso:
itwas
een
asortofcowardice.
I
neem
takenocredittomyselffor
proberen
tryingtoescape.”
“Conscienceand
lafheid
cowardicearereallythesamethings,Basil.
Geweten
Conscienceisthetrade-nameofthe
bedrijf
firm.
Thatisall.”
“Idon’t
geloof
believethat,Harry,andIdon’t
geloof
believeyoudoeither.
However,
wat
whateverwasmymotive—andit
kan
mayhavebeenpride,forIusedtobe
erg
veryproud—Icertainlystruggledtothe
deur
door.
There,ofcourse,I
struikelde
stumbledagainstLadyBrandon.
‘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.
Plotseling
SuddenlyIfoundmyselffacetoface
met
withtheyoungmanwhose
persoonlijkheid
personalityhadsostrangelystirred
mij
me.