THEPREFACE
Theartististhecreatorofbeautifulthings.
Torevealart
ja
andconcealtheartistisart’saim.Thecriticishe
joka
whocantranslateintoanothermannertai
oranewmaterialhisimpressionofbeautifulthings.Thehighestasthelowestformofcriticismisamodeofautobiography.
Ne
Thosewhofinduglymeaningsinbeautifulthingsarecorruptwithoutbeingcharming.Tämä
Thisisafault.Those
jotka
whofindbeautifulmeaningsinbeautifulthingsarethecultivated.Forthesethereis
toivoa
hope.Theyaretheelecttowhombeautifulthings
merkitsevät
meanonlybeauty.Thereisnosuchthingasamoral
tai
oranimmoralbook.Booksare
hyvin
wellwritten,orbadlywritten.Thatis
kaikki
all.ThenineteenthcenturydislikeofrealismistherageofCaliban
näkee
seeinghisownfaceinaglass.ThenineteenthcenturydislikeofromanticismistherageofCalibannot
näe
seeinghisownfaceinaglass.Themorallifeofmanforms
osa
partofthesubject-matteroftheartist,mutta
butthemoralityofartconsistsintheperfectuseofanimperfectmedium.Ei
Noartistdesirestoprovemitään
anything.Eventhingsthatare
totta
truecanbeproved.Noartisthasethicalsympathies.
Anethicalsympathyinanartistisanunpardonablemannerismofstyle.
Noartistisevermorbid.
Theartist
voi
canexpresseverything.Thoughtandlanguagearetotheartistinstrumentsofanart.
Vice
ja
andvirtuearetotheartistmaterialsforanart.Fromthepointofviewofform,thetypeofalltheartsistheartofthemusician.
Fromthepointofviewoffeeling,theactor’scraftisthetype.
Kaikki
Allartisatoncesurfaceja
andsymbol.Thosewhogobeneaththesurface
tekevät
dosoattheirperil.Ne
Thosewhoreadthesymboltekevät
dosoattheirperil.Itisthespectator,andnotlife,thatart
todella
reallymirrors.Diversityofopinionaboutaworkofart
osoittavat
showsthattheworkisuusi
new,complex,andvital.Whencriticsdisagree,theartistisinaccord
kanssa
withhimself.Wecanforgiveamanfor
tekee
makingausefulthingaskauan
longashedoesnotadmiresitä
it.Theonlyexcusefor
tehdä
makingauselessthingisettä
thatoneadmiresitintensely.Kaikki
Allartisquiteuseless.CHAPTERI.
Thestudiowasfilledwiththerichodourofroses,and
kun
whenthelightsummerwindstirredamidstthetreesofthegarden,therecamethroughtheopenovesta
doortheheavyscentofthelilac,tai
orthemoredelicateperfumeofthepink-floweringthorn.FromthecornerofthedivanofPersiansaddle-bagsonwhichhewaslying,smoking,aswashiscustom,innumerablecigarettes,
Lordi
LordHenryWottoncouldjustcatchthegleamofthehoney-sweetandhoney-colouredblossomsofa
alaburnum,whosetremulousbranchesseemedhardlyabletobeartheburdenofa
abeautysoflamelikeastheirs;andnowandthenthefantasticshadowsofbirdsinflightflittedacrossthelongtussore-silkcurtainsthatwerestretchedin
edessä
frontofthehugewindow,producingakindofmomentaryJapaneseeffect,andmakinghimajattelemaan
thinkofthosepallid,jade-facedpaintersofTokyowho,throughthemediumofanartthatisnecessarilyimmobile,seektoconveythesenseofswiftnessandmotion.Thesullenmurmurofthebeesshoulderingtheirway
läpi
throughthelongunmowngrass,tai
orcirclingwithmonotonousinsistenceroundthedustygilthornsofthestragglingwoodbine,seemedtomakethestillnessmoreoppressive.ThedimroarofLondonwas
kuin
likethebourdonnoteofadistantorgan.Inthecentreoftheroom,clampedtoanuprighteasel,
seisoi
stoodthefull-lengthportraitofayoungmiehen
manofextraordinarypersonalbeauty,andinedessä
frontofit,somelittledistanceaway,wasistui
sittingtheartisthimself,BasilHallward,whosesuddendisappearancejoitakin
someyearsagocaused,atthetime,niin
suchpublicexcitementandgaverisetosomonia
manystrangeconjectures.Asthepainter
näytti
lookedatthegraciousandcomelyformheoli
hadsoskilfullymirroredinhisart,asmileofpleasurepassedacrosshisface,andseemedabouttolingerthere.Mutta
Buthesuddenlystartedup,ja
andclosinghiseyes,placedhisfingersuponthelids,asthoughhesoughttoimprisonwithinhisbrainsomecuriousdreamfromwhichhefearedhemightawake.“Itisyour
paras
bestwork,Basil,thebestasia
thingyouhaveeverdone,”sanoi
saidLordHenrylanguidly.“You
täytyy
mustcertainlysenditnextvuonna
yeartotheGrosvenor.TheAcademyis
liian
toolargeandtoovulgar.WheneverI
on
havegonethere,therehavebeenjoko
eithersomanypeoplethatIon
havenotbeenabletonähdä
seethepictures,whichwasdreadful,tai
orsomanypicturesthatIon
havenotbeenabletonähdä
seethepeople,whichwasworse.TheGrosvenorisreallythe
ainoa
onlyplace.”“Idon’tthinkIshall
lähetän
senditanywhere,”heanswered,tossinghisheadtaaksepäin
backinthatoddwayettä
thatusedtomakehisfriendslaughathimatOxford.“No,Iwon’t
lähetä
senditanywhere.”LordHenryelevatedhiseyebrowsandlookedathiminamazement
läpi
throughthethinbluewreathsofsmokethatcurledylös
upinsuchfancifulwhorlsfromhisheavy,opium-taintedcigarette.“Not
lähetä
senditanywhere?Mydearfellow,
miksi
why?Haveyouanyreason?
Whatoddchapsyoupaintersare!
You
teet
doanythingintheworldtogainareputation.Assoonasyou
on
haveone,youseemtowanttothrowitpois
away.Itissillyofyou,forthereis
vain
onlyonethingintheworldworsekuin
thanbeingtalkedabout,andettä
thatisnotbeingtalkedsiitä
about.AportraitlikethiswouldsetyoufarabovealltheyoungmeninEngland,and
tekisi
maketheoldmenquitejealous,jos
ifoldmenareevercapableofanyemotion.”“Iknowyouwilllaughatme,”hereplied,“butIreallycan’texhibit
sitä
it.Ihaveputtoomuchofmyselfintoit.”
Lordi
LordHenrystretchedhimselfoutonthedivanja
andlaughed.“Yes,Iknewyouwould;
mutta
butitisquitetrue,allthesame.”“Too
paljon
muchofyourselfinit!Uponmyword,Basil,Ididn’t
tiennyt
knowyouweresovain;andIreallycan’t
näe
seeanyresemblancebetweenyou,withyourruggedstrongfaceandyourcoal-blackhair,andtämän
thisyoungAdonis,wholooksasifhewastehty
madeoutofivoryandrose-leaves.Why,my
rakas
dearBasil,heisaNarcissus,andyou—well,oftietenkin
courseyouhaveanintellectualexpressionandkaikki
allthat.Butbeauty,realbeauty,ends
missä
whereanintellectualexpressionbegins.Intellectisinitselfamodeofexaggeration,anddestroystheharmonyofanyface.
Themomentone
istuu
sitsdowntothink,onetulee
becomesallnose,orallforehead,tai
orsomethinghorrid.Lookatthesuccessfulmenin
tahansa
anyofthelearnedprofessions.Miten
Howperfectlyhideoustheyare!Except,of
tietenkin
course,intheChurch.ButthenintheChurchtheydon’t
ajattele
think.Abishopkeepsonsayingat
sitä
theageofeightywhathewastoldtosaykun
whenhewasaboyofeighteen,andasanaturalconsequenceheaina
alwayslooksabsolutelydelightful.Yourmysterious
nuori
youngfriend,whosenameyouole
havenevertoldme,butwhosepicturetodella
reallyfascinatesme,neverthinks.Ifeel
melko
quitesureofthat.Heissomebrainless
kaunis
beautifulcreaturewhoshouldbeaina
alwayshereinwinterwhenwehavenoflowerstolookat,ja
andalwayshereinsummerkun
whenwewantsomethingtochillourintelligence.Don’tflatteryourself,Basil:
youarenotintheleastlikehim.”
“Youdon’t
ymmärrä
understandme,Harry,”answeredtheartist.“OfcourseIamnotlikehim.
I
tiedän
knowthatperfectlywell.Indeed,I
olisin
shouldbesorrytolooklikehim.Youshrugyourshoulders?
Iam
kerron
tellingyouthetruth.Thereisafatalityaboutallphysicalandintellectualdistinction,the
sellainen
sortoffatalitythatseemstodogläpi
throughhistorythefalteringstepsofkings.Itis
parempi
betternottobedifferentfromone’sfellows.Theuglyandthe
tyhmä
stupidhavethebestofitinthisworld.They
voivat
cansitattheireaseja
andgapeattheplay.Jos
Iftheyknownothingofvictory,theyareatainakin
leastsparedtheknowledgeofdefeat.They
elää
liveasweallshouldlive—undisturbed,indifferent,ja
andwithoutdisquiet.Theyneitherbringruinuponothers,noreverreceiveitfromalienhands.
Yourrank
ja
andwealth,Harry;mybrains,suchastheyare—myart,
tahansa
whateveritmaybeworth;DorianGray’sgoodlooks—weshall
kaikki
allsufferforwhatthegodsovat
havegivenus,sufferterribly.”“DorianGray?
Isthathisname?”
kysyi
askedLordHenry,walkingacrossthestudiotowardsBasilHallward.“Yes,thatishisname.
Ididn’tintendto
kertoa
tellittoyou.”“Butwhynot?”
“Oh,Ican’texplain.
Kun
WhenIlikepeopleimmensely,Ikoskaan
nevertelltheirnamestoanyone.Itis
kuin
likesurrenderingapartofthem.I
olen
havegrowntolovesecrecy.Itseemstobetheone
asia
thingthatcanmakemodernlifemysterioustai
ormarvelloustous.Thecommonest
asia
thingisdelightfulifonevain
onlyhidesit.WhenI
lähden
leavetownnowIneverkerro
tellmypeoplewhereIammenen
going.IfIdid,Iwould
menettäisin
loseallmypleasure.Itisasillyhabit,Idare
sanoa
say,butsomehowitseemstobringagreatpaljon
dealofromanceintoone’slife.Isupposeyouthinkmeawfullyfoolish
siitä
aboutit?”“Notatall,”
vastasi
answeredLordHenry,“notatall,myrakas
dearBasil.Youseemto
unohdat
forgetthatIammarried,andtheonecharmofmarriageisettä
thatitmakesalifeofdeceptionabsolutelynecessaryforbothparties.I
koskaan
neverknowwheremywifeon
is,andmywifenevertiedä
knowswhatIamdoing.Kun
Whenwemeet—wedomeetoccasionally,kun
whenwedineouttogether,tai
orgodowntotheDuke’s—wekerromme
telleachotherthemostabsurdstorieswiththekaikkein
mostseriousfaces.Mywifeis
hyvin
verygoodatit—muchbetter,infact,kuin
thanIam.Shenevergetsconfusedoverherdates,
ja
andIalwaysdo.But
kun
whenshedoesfindmeout,shetee
makesnorowatall.I
joskus
sometimeswishshewould;butshemerelylaughsatme.”
“Ihatethewayyou
puhut
talkaboutyourmarriedlife,Harry,”sanoi
saidBasilHallward,strollingtowardsthedoorthatledintothegarden.“I
uskon
believethatyouarereallyaveryhyvä
goodhusband,butthatyouarethoroughlyashamedofyourownvirtues.Youareanextraordinaryfellow.
You
koskaan
neversayamoralthing,andyoukoskaan
neverdoawrongthing.Yourcynicismissimplyapose.”
“Beingnaturalissimplyapose,
ja
andthemostirritatingposeIknow,”criedLordi
LordHenry,laughing;andthetwo
nuoret
youngmenwentoutintothegardenyhdessä
togetherandensconcedthemselvesonalongbambooseatthatseisoi
stoodintheshadeofatalllaurelbush.Thesunlightslippedoverthepolishedleaves.
Inthegrass,whitedaisiesweretremulous.
Jälkeen
Afterapause,LordHenrypulledouthiswatch.“IamafraidI
täytyy
mustbegoing,Basil,”hemurmured,“andbeforeIgo,Iinsistonyourvastaat
answeringaquestionIputtoyousometimeago.”“Whatisthat?”
sanoi
saidthepainter,keepinghiseyesfixedontheground.“Youknowquitewell.”
“Idonot,Harry.”
“Well,Iwill
kerron
tellyouwhatitis.I
haluan
wantyoutoexplaintomemiksi
whyyouwon’texhibitDorianGray’spicture.I
haluan
wanttherealreason.”“I
kerroin
toldyoutherealreason.”“No,you
tehnyt
didnot.Yousaiditwasbecausetherewastoomuchofyourselfin
se
it.Now,thatischildish.”
“Harry,”
sanoi
saidBasilHallward,lookinghimstraightintheface,“everyportraitthatispaintedwithfeelingisaportraitoftheartist,notofthesitter.Thesitterismerelytheaccident,theoccasion.
Itisnothewhoisrevealedbythepainter;
itisratherthepainter
joka
who,onthecolouredcanvas,revealshimself.ThereasonIwillnotexhibit
tätä
thispictureisthatIamafraidettä
thatIhaveshowninitthesecretofmyownsoul.”Lordi
LordHenrylaughed.“Andwhatisthat?”
he
kysyi
asked.“Iwilltellyou,”
sanoi
saidHallward;butanexpressionofperplexitycameoverhisface.
“Iam
kaikki
allexpectation,Basil,”continuedhiscompanion,glancingathäntä
him.“Oh,thereisreally
hyvin
verylittletotell,Harry,”vastasi
answeredthepainter;“andIamafraidyouwillhardly
ymmärrä
understandit.Perhapsyouwillhardly
uskoa
believeit.”LordHenrysmiled,
ja
andleaningdown,pluckedapink-petalleddaisyfromthegrassja
andexaminedit.“Iam
aivan
quitesureIshallunderstandit,”hereplied,gazingintentlyatthelittlegolden,white-feathereddisk,“andasforuskoa
believingthings,Icanbelieveanything,providedettä
thatitisquiteincredible.”Thewindshook
joitakin
someblossomsfromthetrees,ja
andtheheavylilac-blooms,withtheirclusteringstars,liikkuivat
movedtoandfrointhelanguidair.Agrasshopperbegantochirrupbythewall,
ja
andlikeabluethreadapitkä
longthindragon-flyfloatedpastonitsbrowngauzewings.Lordi
LordHenryfeltasifhecouldhearBasilHallward’ssydämen
heartbeating,andwonderedwhatwascoming.“The
tarina
storyissimplythis,”saidthepainteraftersomeajan
time.“TwomonthsagoI
menin
wenttoacrushatLady
LadyBrandon’s.Youknowwe
köyhät
poorartistshavetoshowourselvesinsocietyfromtimetotime,vain
justtoremindthepublicthatwearenotsavages.Kanssa
Withaneveningcoatandawhitetie,asyousanoit
toldmeonce,anybody,evenastock-broker,voi
cangainareputationforbeingcivilized.No
Well,afterIhadbeeninthehuoneessa
roomabouttenminutes,talkingtohugeoverdresseddowagersja
andtediousacademicians,Isuddenlybecameconsciousettä
thatsomeonewaslookingatminua
me.Iturnedhalf-wayround
ja
andsawDorianGrayforthefirstkertaa
time.Whenoureyesmet,I
tunsin
feltthatIwasgrowingpale.Acurioussensationofterrorcameover
minut
me.IknewthatIhadcomefacetofacewithsomeonewhosemerepersonalitywassofascinating
että
that,ifIallowedittotehdä
doso,itwouldabsorbmywholenature,mywholesoul,myveryartitself.Ididnot
halunnut
wantanyexternalinfluenceinmylife.You
tiedät
knowyourself,Harry,howindependentIambynature.Ihave
aina
alwaysbeenmyownmaster;hadat
ainakin
leastalwaysbeenso,tillItapasin
metDorianGray.Then—butIdon’t
osaa
knowhowtoexplainittoyou.Somethingseemedtotellme
että
thatIwasonthevergeofaterriblecrisisinmylife.I
oli
hadastrangefeelingthatfateoli
hadinstoreformeexquisitejoysja
andexquisitesorrows.Igrew
pelätä
afraidandturnedtoquittheroom.Itwasnotconsciencethat
tekemään
mademedoso:itwasasortofcowardice.
I
ottaisi
takenocredittomyselfforyritin
tryingtoescape.”“Conscienceandcowardicearereallythe
sama
samethings,Basil.Conscienceisthetrade-nameofthefirm.
Thatisall.”
“Idon’t
usko
believethat,Harry,andIdon’tusko
believeyoudoeither.However,
tahansa
whateverwasmymotive—anditsaattoi
mayhavebeenpride,forIusedtobehyvin
veryproud—Icertainlystruggledtotheovelle
door.There,ofcourse,Istumbledagainst
Lady
LadyBrandon.‘Youarenotgoingtorunawayso
pian
soon,Mr.Hallward?’shescreamedout.Youknowhercuriouslyshrillvoice?”
“Yes;
sheisapeacockineverythingbutbeauty,”
sanoi
saidLordHenry,pullingthedaisytobitswithhislongnervousfingers.“Icouldnotgetridofher.
Shebroughtmeuptoroyalties,
ja
andpeoplewithstarsandgarters,ja
andelderlyladieswithgigantictiarasja
andparrotnoses.Shespokeofmeasherdearestfriend.
I
olin
hadonlymetheroncebefore,mutta
butshetookitintoherheadtolionizeme.Ibelievesomepictureofminehadmadeagreatsuccessatthetime,at
ainakin
leasthadbeenchatteredaboutinthepennynewspapers,whichisthenineteenth-centurystandardofimmortality.SuddenlyI
löysin
foundmyselffacetofacekanssa
withtheyoungmanwhosepersonalityoli
hadsostrangelystirredme.