The Picture of Dorian Gray | Gradually Hardening Dutch B2 Translation Books

The Picture of Dorian Gray | Gradually Hardening Dutch B2 Translation Books

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THEPREFACE
Theartististhe
schepper
creator
ofbeautifulthings.
To
onthullen
reveal
artandconcealtheartistisart’saim.
The
criticus
critic
ishewhocan
vertalen
translate
intoanothermanneroranewmaterialhis
indruk
impression
ofbeautifulthings.
Thehighestasthe
laagste
lowest
formofcriticismisamodeofautobiography.
Thosewhofinduglymeaningsinbeautifulthingsare
corrupt
corrupt
withoutbeingcharming.
Thisisafault.
Thosewhofindbeautifulmeaningsinbeautifulthingsarethecultivated.
Forthesethereishope.
Theyarethe
uitverkorenen
elect
towhombeautifulthingsmeanonlybeauty.
Thereisnosuchthingasa
moreel
moral
oranimmoralbook.
Booksarewellwritten,orbadlywritten.
Thatisall.
Thenineteenthcentury
afkeer
dislike
ofrealismisthe
woede
rage
ofCalibanseeinghisownfaceinaglass.
Thenineteenthcentury
afkeer
dislike
ofromanticismisthe
woede
rage
ofCalibannotseeinghisownfaceinaglass.
The
morele
moral
lifeofmanformspartofthesubject-matteroftheartist,butthe
moraliteit
morality
ofartconsistsintheperfectuseofan
onvolmaakt
imperfect
medium.
Noartistdesirestoproveanything.
Eventhingsthataretruecanbeproved.
Noartisthas
ethische
ethical
sympathies.
Anethicalsympathyinanartistisanunpardonablemannerismofstyle.
Noartistisever
ziekelijk
morbid
.
Theartistcanexpresseverything.
Thoughtandlanguagearetotheartistinstrumentsofanart.
Viceand
deugd
virtue
aretotheartistmaterialsforanart.
Fromthepointofviewofform,thetypeofalltheartsistheartofthe
muzikant
musician
.
Fromthepointofviewoffeeling,theactor’s
ambacht
craft
isthetype.
Allartisatoncesurfaceand
symbool
symbol
.
Thosewhogobeneaththesurfacedosoattheirperil.
Thosewhoreadthe
symbool
symbol
dosoattheirperil.
Itisthespectator,andnotlife,thatartreallymirrors.
Verscheidenheid
Diversity
ofopinionaboutaworkofartshowsthattheworkisnew,
complex
complex
,andvital.
Whencriticsdisagree,theartistisinaccordwithhimself.
Wecanforgiveamanformakingausefulthingaslongashedoesnot
bewondert
admire
it.
Theonlyexcuseformakingauselessthingisthatone
bewondert
admires
itintensely.
Allartisquiteuseless.
Hoofdstuk
CHAPTER
I.
Thestudiowasfilledwiththerichodourofroses,andwhenthelightsummerwind
roerde
stirred
amidstthetreesofthegarden,therecamethroughtheopendoortheheavy
geur
scent
ofthelilac,orthemore
delicate
delicate
perfumeofthepink-flowering
doorn
thorn
.
FromthecornerofthedivanofPersiansaddle-bagsonwhichhewaslying,smoking,aswashiscustom,innumerablecigarettes,LordHenryWottoncouldjustcatchthegleamofthehoney-sweetandhoney-colouredblossomsofalaburnum,whosetremulousbranchesseemedhardlyabletobearthe
last
burden
ofabeautysoflamelikeastheirs;
andnowandthenthefantasticshadowsofbirdsinflightflittedacrossthelongtussore-silkcurtainsthatwerestretchedinfrontofthehugewindow,producingakindofmomentaryJapaneseeffect,andmakinghimthinkofthosepallid,jade-facedpaintersofTokyowho,throughthemediumofanartthatisnecessarilyimmobile,seekto
brengen
convey
thesenseofswiftnessand
beweging
motion
.
Thesullenmurmurofthebeesshoulderingtheirwaythroughthelongunmowngrass,orcirclingwithmonotonousinsistenceroundthe
stoffige
dusty
gilthornsofthestragglingwoodbine,seemedtomakethestillnessmoreoppressive.
Thedim
gebrul
roar
ofLondonwaslikethebourdonnoteofa
verre
distant
organ.
Inthecentreoftheroom,clampedtoanuprighteasel,stoodthefull-length
portret
portrait
ofayoungmanofextraordinarypersonalbeauty,andinfrontofit,somelittledistanceaway,wassittingtheartisthimself,BasilHallward,whosesudden
verdwijning
disappearance
someyearsagocaused,atthetime,suchpublic
opwinding
excitement
andgaverisetosomanystrangeconjectures.
Asthe
schilder
painter
lookedatthegraciousandcomelyformhehadsoskilfullymirroredinhisart,asmileofpleasurepassedacrosshisface,andseemedabouttolingerthere.
Buthesuddenlystartedup,andclosinghiseyes,placedhisfingersuponthelids,asthoughhesoughttoimprisonwithinhisbrainsomecuriousdreamfromwhichhefearedhemightawake.
“Itisyourbestwork,Basil,thebestthingyouhaveeverdone,”saidLordHenrylanguidly.
“YoumustcertainlysenditnextyeartotheGrosvenor.
The
Academie
Academy
istoolargeandtoo
vulgair
vulgar
.
WheneverIhavegonethere,therehavebeeneithersomanypeoplethatIhavenotbeenabletoseethepictures,whichwas
verschrikkelijk
dreadful
,orsomanypicturesthatIhavenotbeenabletoseethepeople,whichwasworse.
TheGrosvenorisreallytheonlyplace.”
“Idon’tthinkIshallsenditanywhere,”heanswered,
gooien
tossing
hisheadbackinthatoddwaythatusedtomakehisfriendslaughathimatOxford.
“No,Iwon’tsenditanywhere.”
LordHenryelevatedhiseyebrowsandlookedathiminamazementthroughthethinbluewreathsofsmokethat
krulden
curled
upinsuchfancifulwhorlsfromhisheavy,opium-taintedcigarette.
“Notsenditanywhere?
Mydearfellow,why?
Haveyouanyreason?
Whatoddchapsyoupaintersare!
Youdoanythingintheworldto
krijgen
gain
areputation.
Assoonasyouhaveone,youseemtowanttothrowitaway.
Itissillyofyou,forthereisonlyonethingintheworldworsethanbeingtalkedabout,andthatisnotbeingtalkedabout.
A
portret
portrait
likethiswouldsetyoufarabovealltheyoungmeninEngland,andmaketheoldmenquitejealous,ifoldmenareevercapableofanyemotion.”
“Iknowyouwilllaughatme,”he
antwoordde
replied
,“butIreallycan’texhibitit.
Ihaveputtoomuchofmyselfintoit.”
LordHenry
strekte
stretched
himselfoutonthedivanandlaughed.
“Yes,Iknewyouwould;
butitisquitetrue,allthesame.”
“Toomuchofyourselfinit!
Uponmyword,Basil,Ididn’tknowyouwereso
ijdel
vain
;
andIreallycan’tseeany
gelijkenis
resemblance
betweenyou,withyour
ruwe
rugged
strongfaceandyourcoal-blackhair,andthisyoungAdonis,wholooksasifhewasmadeoutof
ivoor
ivory
androse-leaves.
Why,mydearBasil,heisaNarcissus,andyou—well,ofcourseyouhavean
intellectuele
intellectual
expressionandallthat.
Butbeauty,realbeauty,endswherean
intellectuele
intellectual
expressionbegins.
Intellectisinitselfamodeofexaggeration,anddestroysthe
harmonie
harmony
ofanyface.
Themomentonesitsdowntothink,onebecomesallnose,orall
voorhoofd
forehead
,orsomethinghorrid.
Lookatthesuccessfulmeninanyofthelearnedprofessions.
Howperfectly
afschuwelijk
hideous
theyare!
Except,ofcourse,intheChurch.
ButthenintheChurchtheydon’tthink.
A
bisschop
bishop
keepsonsayingattheageofeightywhathewastoldtosaywhenhewasaboyofeighteen,andasanatural
gevolg
consequence
healwayslooksabsolutely
heerlijk
delightful
.
Yourmysteriousyoungfriend,whosenameyouhavenevertoldme,butwhosepicturereallyfascinatesme,neverthinks.
Ifeelquitesureofthat.
Heissomebrainlessbeautifulcreaturewhoshouldbealwayshereinwinterwhenwehavenoflowerstolookat,andalwayshereinsummerwhenwewantsomethingtochillourintelligence.
Don’tflatteryourself,Basil:
youarenotintheleastlikehim.”
“Youdon’tunderstandme,Harry,”answeredtheartist.
“OfcourseIamnotlikehim.
Iknowthatperfectlywell.
Indeed,Ishouldbesorrytolooklikehim.
Youshrugyourshoulders?
Iamtellingyouthetruth.
Thereisafatalityaboutallphysicaland
intellectuele
intellectual
distinction,thesortoffatalitythatseemstodogthroughhistorythefalteringstepsofkings.
Itisbetternottobedifferentfromone’sfellows.
Theuglyandthestupidhavethebestofitinthisworld.
Theycansitattheir
gemak
ease
andgapeattheplay.
Iftheyknownothingofvictory,theyareatleastsparedtheknowledgeofdefeat.
Theyliveasweallshouldlive—undisturbed,
onverschillig
indifferent
,andwithoutdisquiet.
Theyneitherbringruinuponothers,noreverreceiveitfromalienhands.
Your
rang
rank
andwealth,Harry;
mybrains,suchastheyare—myart,whateveritmaybeworth;
DorianGray’sgoodlooks—weshallallsufferforwhatthegodshavegivenus,sufferterribly.”
“DorianGray?
Isthathisname?”
askedLordHenry,walkingacrossthestudiotowardsBasilHallward.
“Yes,thatishisname.
Ididn’t
plan
intend
totellittoyou.”
“Butwhynot?”
“Oh,Ican’texplain.
WhenIlikepeopleimmensely,Inevertelltheirnamestoanyone.
Itislikesurrenderingapartofthem.
Ihavegrowntolovesecrecy.
Itseemstobetheonethingthatcanmakemodernlife
mysterieus
mysterious
ormarvelloustous.
Thecommonestthingis
heerlijk
delightful
ifoneonlyhidesit.
WhenIleavetownnowInevertellmypeoplewhereIamgoing.
IfIdid,Iwouldloseallmypleasure.
Itisasilly
gewoonte
habit
,Idaresay,butsomehowitseemstobringagreatdealof
romantiek
romance
intoone’slife.
Isupposeyouthinkme
erg
awfully
foolishaboutit?”
“Notatall,”answeredLordHenry,“notatall,mydearBasil.
YouseemtoforgetthatIammarried,andtheone
charme
charm
ofmarriageisthatitmakesalifeof
bedrog
deception
absolutelynecessaryforbothparties.
Ineverknowwheremywifeis,andmywifeneverknowswhatIamdoing.
Whenwemeet—wedomeet
af en toe
occasionally
,whenwedineouttogether,orgodowntotheDuke’s—wetelleachotherthemostabsurdstorieswiththemostseriousfaces.
Mywifeisverygoodatit—muchbetter,infact,thanIam.
Shenevergetsconfusedoverherdates,andIalwaysdo.
Butwhenshedoesfindmeout,shemakesnorowatall.
Isometimeswishshewould;
butshe
alleen
merely
laughsatme.”
“Ihatethewayyoutalkaboutyourmarriedlife,Harry,”saidBasilHallward,strollingtowardsthedoorthatledintothegarden.
“Ibelievethatyouarereallyaverygoodhusband,butthatyouarethoroughlyashamedofyourownvirtues.
Youareanextraordinaryfellow.
Youneversayamoralthing,andyouneverdoawrongthing.
Yourcynicismissimplyapose.”
“Beingnaturalissimplyapose,andthemostirritatingposeIknow,”criedLordHenry,laughing;
andthetwoyoungmenwentoutintothegardentogetherandensconcedthemselvesonalong
bamboe
bamboo
seatthatstoodinthe
schaduw
shade
ofatalllaurelbush.
Thesunlightslippedoverthepolishedleaves.
Inthegrass,whitedaisiesweretremulous.
Afterapause,LordHenrypulledouthiswatch.
“IamafraidImustbegoing,Basil,”hemurmured,“andbeforeIgo,IinsistonyouransweringaquestionIputtoyousometimeago.”
“Whatisthat?”
saidthe
schilder
painter
,keepinghiseyesfixedontheground.
“Youknowquitewell.”
“Idonot,Harry.”
“Well,Iwilltellyouwhatitis.
Iwantyoutoexplaintomewhyyouwon’texhibitDorianGray’spicture.
Iwanttherealreason.”
“Itoldyoutherealreason.”
“No,youdidnot.
Yousaiditwasbecausetherewastoomuchofyourselfinit.
Now,thatischildish.”
“Harry,”saidBasilHallward,lookinghimstraightintheface,“every
portret
portrait
thatispaintedwithfeelingisa
portret
portrait
oftheartist,notofthesitter.
Thesitterismerelytheaccident,the
gelegenheid
occasion
.
Itisnothewhois
onthuld
revealed
bythepainter;
itisratherthe
schilder
painter
who,onthecoloured
doek
canvas
,revealshimself.
ThereasonIwillnotexhibitthispictureisthatIamafraidthatIhaveshowninitthesecretofmyownsoul.”
LordHenrylaughed.
“Andwhatisthat?”
heasked.
“Iwilltellyou,”saidHallward;
butan
uitdrukking
expression
ofperplexitycameoverhisface.
“Iamall
verwachting
expectation
,Basil,”continuedhiscompanion,glancingathim.
“Oh,thereisreallyverylittletotell,Harry,”answeredthe
schilder
painter
;
“andIamafraidyouwillhardlyunderstandit.
Perhapsyouwillhardlybelieveit.”
LordHenrysmiled,andleaningdown,
plukte
plucked
apink-petalleddaisyfromthegrassand
onderzocht
examined
it.
“IamquitesureIshallunderstandit,”he
antwoordde
replied
,gazingintentlyatthelittlegolden,white-feathered
schijf
disk
,“andasforbelievingthings,Icanbelieveanything,providedthatitisquiteincredible.”
Thewindshooksomeblossomsfromthetrees,andtheheavylilac-blooms,withtheirclusteringstars,movedtoandfrointhelanguidair.
Agrasshopperbegantochirrupbythewall,andlikeablue
draad
thread
alongthindragon-fly
zweefde
floated
pastonitsbrowngauzewings.
LordHenryfeltasifhecouldhearBasilHallward’sheartbeating,andwonderedwhatwascoming.
“Thestoryissimplythis,”saidthe
schilder
painter
aftersometime.
“TwomonthsagoIwenttoacrushatLadyBrandon’s.
Youknowwepoorartistshavetoshowourselvesinsocietyfromtimetotime,justtoremindthepublicthatwearenotsavages.
Withaneveningcoatandawhitetie,asyoutoldmeonce,anybody,evenastock-broker,cangainareputationforbeing
beschaafd
civilized
.
Well,afterIhadbeenintheroomabouttenminutes,talkingtohugeoverdresseddowagersandtediousacademicians,Isuddenlybecame
bewust
conscious
thatsomeonewaslookingatme.
Iturned
halverwege
half-way
roundandsawDorianGrayforthefirsttime.
Whenoureyesmet,IfeltthatIwasgrowing
bleek
pale
.
Acurioussensationof
verschrikking
terror
cameoverme.
IknewthatIhadcomefacetofacewithsomeonewhosemere
persoonlijkheid
personality
wassofascinatingthat,ifIallowedittodoso,itwould
absorberen
absorb
mywholenature,mywholesoul,myveryartitself.
Ididnotwantany
externe
external
influenceinmylife.
Youknowyourself,Harry,how
onafhankelijk
independent
Iambynature.
Ihavealwaysbeenmyownmaster;
hadatleastalwaysbeenso,tillImetDorianGray.
Then—butIdon’tknowhowtoexplainittoyou.
SomethingseemedtotellmethatIwasonthe
rand
verge
ofaterriblecrisisinmylife.
Ihadastrangefeelingthatfatehadinstoreformeexquisitejoysandexquisitesorrows.
Igrewafraidandturnedtoquittheroom.
Itwasnot
geweten
conscience
thatmademedoso:
itwasasortof
lafheid
cowardice
.
Itakenocredittomyselffortryingtoescape.”
“Conscienceand
lafheid
cowardice
arereallythesamethings,Basil.
Geweten
Conscience
isthetrade-nameofthefirm.
Thatisall.”
“Idon’tbelievethat,Harry,andIdon’tbelieveyoudoeither.
However,whateverwasmymotive—anditmayhavebeenpride,forIusedtobeveryproud—Icertainlystruggledtothedoor.
There,ofcourse,I
struikelde
stumbled
againstLadyBrandon.
‘Youarenotgoingtorunawaysosoon,Mr.Hallward?’shescreamedout.
Youknowhercuriouslyshrillvoice?”
“Yes;
sheisa
pauw
peacock
ineverythingbutbeauty,”saidLordHenry,pullingthedaisytobitswithhislongnervousfingers.
“Icouldnotgetridofher.
Shebroughtmeuptoroyalties,andpeoplewithstarsandgarters,andelderlyladieswithgigantictiarasandparrotnoses.
Shespokeofmeasherdearestfriend.
Ihadonlymetheroncebefore,butshetookitintoherheadtolionizeme.
Ibelievesomepictureofminehadmadeagreatsuccessatthetime,atleasthadbeenchatteredaboutinthepennynewspapers,whichisthenineteenth-century
standaard
standard
ofimmortality.
SuddenlyIfoundmyselffacetofacewiththeyoungmanwhose
persoonlijkheid
personality
hadsostrangelystirredme.