THEPREFACE
Theartistis
der
thecreatorofbeautifulthings.Torevealart
und
andconcealtheartistisart’saim.Der
Thecriticishewhokann
cantranslateintoanothermanneroranewmaterialhisimpressionofbeautifulthings.Thehighestasthelowestformofcriticismis
eine
amodeofautobiography.Thosewho
finden
finduglymeaningsinbeautifulthingsarecorruptohne
withoutbeingcharming.Thisis
ein
afault.Thosewhofind
schöne
beautifulmeaningsinbeautifulthingsaredie
thecultivated.Forthesethereis
hoffnung
hope.Theyaretheelecttowhom
schöne
beautifulthingsmeanonlybeauty.Thereis
kein
nosuchthingasamoraloranimmoralbuch
book.Booksarewellwritten,orbadlywritten.
Thatisall.
ThenineteenthcenturydislikeofrealismistherageofCaliban
sieht
seeinghisownfaceinaglass.ThenineteenthcenturydislikeofromanticismistherageofCalibannot
sieht
seeinghisownfaceinaglass.Themoral
leben
lifeofmanformspartofthesubject-matteroftheartist,aber
butthemoralityofartconsistsintheperfectuseofanimperfectmedium.Kein
Noartistdesirestoproveetwas
anything.Eventhingsthatare
wahr
truecanbeproved.Noartisthasethicalsympathies.
Anethicalsympathyinanartistisanunpardonablemannerismofstyle.
Kein
Noartistisevermorbid.Der
Theartistcanexpresseverything.Denken
Thoughtandlanguagearetoden
theartistinstrumentsofanart.Vice
und
andvirtuearetotheartistmaterialsforeine
anart.Fromthepointofviewofform,thetypeof
aller
alltheartsistheartofthemusician.Fromthepointofviewoffeeling,theactor’scraftisthetype.
Alle
Allartisatoncesurfaceund
andsymbol.Thosewhogobeneath
die
thesurfacedosoattheirperil.Thosewho
lesen
readthesymboldosoattheirperil.Itisthespectator,
und
andnotlife,thatartwirklich
reallymirrors.Diversityofopinion
über
aboutaworkofartshowsdass
thattheworkisnew,complex,und
andvital.Whencriticsdisagree,
der
theartistisinaccordwithhimself.We
können
canforgiveamanformakingeine
ausefulthingaslongashemachen
doesnotadmireit.The
einzige
onlyexcuseformakingauselesssache
thingisthatoneadmiresitintensely.Alle
Allartisquiteuseless.CHAPTERI.
Thestudiowasfilledwiththerichodourofroses,
und
andwhenthelightsummerwindstirredamidstthetreesofthegarden,therekam
camethroughtheopendoortheheavyscentofthelilac,orthemoredelicateperfumeofthepink-floweringthorn.FromthecornerofthedivanofPersiansaddle-bagsonwhichhewas
lag
lying,smoking,aswashiscustom,innumerablecigarettes,Lord
LordHenryWottoncouldjustcatchthegleamofthehoney-sweetund
andhoney-colouredblossomsofalaburnum,whosetremulousbranchesseemedhardlyin der lage
abletobeartheburdenofabeautysoflamelikeastheirs;und
andnowandthenthefantasticshadowsofbirdsinflightflittedacrossthelongtussore-silkcurtainsthatwerestretchedinfrontofthehugewindow,producingaart
kindofmomentaryJapaneseeffect,und
andmakinghimthinkofthosepallid,jade-facedpaintersofTokyowho,durch
throughthemediumofanartthatisnecessarilyimmobile,seektoconveythesenseofswiftnessund
andmotion.Thesullenmurmurofthebeesshoulderingtheir
weg
waythroughthelongunmowngrass,orcirclingwithmonotonousinsistenceroundthedustygilthornsofthestragglingwoodbine,seemedtomachen
makethestillnessmoreoppressive.ThedimroarofLondonwaslikethebourdonnoteofadistantorgan.
Inthecentreoftheroom,clampedtoanuprighteasel,stoodthefull-lengthportraitofayoungmanofextraordinarypersonalbeauty,
und
andinfrontofit,somelittledistanceaway,wassittingtheartisthimself,BasilHallward,whosesuddendisappearancesomeyearsvor
agocaused,atthetime,solche
suchpublicexcitementandgaverisetosomanystrangeconjectures.Asthepainterlookedatthegracious
und
andcomelyformhehadsoskilfullymirroredinhisart,ein
asmileofpleasurepassedacrosshisgesicht
face,andseemedabouttolingerdort
there.Buthesuddenlystartedup,
und
andclosinghiseyes,placedhisfingersupondie
thelids,asthoughhesoughttoimprisonwithinhisbrainsomecurioustraum
dreamfromwhichhefearedhekönnte
mightawake.“Itisyour
beste
bestwork,Basil,thebestthingyouhaveeverdone,”saidLord
LordHenrylanguidly.“Youmustcertainly
schicken
senditnextyeartoden
theGrosvenor.TheAcademyistoolarge
und
andtoovulgar.WheneverIhave
gegangen
gonethere,therehavebeenentweder
eithersomanypeoplethatIhavenotbeenabletosehen
seethepictures,whichwasdreadful,orsoviele
manypicturesthatIhavenotbeenabletosehen
seethepeople,whichwasworse.TheGrosvenoris
wirklich
reallytheonlyplace.”“Idon’t
glaube
thinkIshallsenditanywhere,”heanswered,tossinghiskopf
headbackinthatoddweise
waythatusedtomakehisfriendslaughathimatOxford.“No,Iwon’t
schicken
senditanywhere.”LordHenryelevatedhiseyebrows
und
andlookedathiminamazementdurch
throughthethinbluewreathsofsmokethatcurledupinsuchfancifulwhorlsfromhisheavy,opium-taintedcigarette.“Not
schicken
senditanywhere?Mydearfellow,
warum
why?Haveyouanyreason?
Whatoddchapsyoupaintersare!
You
tut
doanythingintheworldtogainareputation.Assoonasyouhaveone,youseemto
wollen
wanttothrowitaway.Itissillyofyou,forthereis
nur
onlyonethinginthewelt
worldworsethanbeingtalkedabout,und
andthatisnotbeingtalkedabout.Ein
AportraitlikethiswouldsetyoufarabovealltheyoungmeninEngland,und
andmaketheoldmenganz
quitejealous,ifoldmenareevercapableofanyemotion.”“Iknowyou
wirst
willlaughatme,”hereplied,“butIwirklich
reallycan’texhibitit.Ihaveputtoo
viel
muchofmyselfintoit.”Lord
LordHenrystretchedhimselfoutonthedivanund
andlaughed.“Yes,Iknewyou
würdest
would;butitisquite
wahr
true,allthesame.”“Too
viel
muchofyourselfinit!Uponmy
wort
word,Basil,Ididn’tknowyouweresovain;und
andIreallycan’tseeanyresemblancezwischen
betweenyou,withyourruggedstronggesicht
faceandyourcoal-blackhair,und
andthisyoungAdonis,wholooksasifhewasmadeaus
outofivoryandrose-leaves.Warum
Why,mydearBasil,heisaNarcissus,und
andyou—well,ofcourseyouhaveanintellectualexpressionund
andallthat.Butbeauty,realbeauty,ends
wo
whereanintellectualexpressionbegins.Intellectisinitself
eine
amodeofexaggeration,anddestroystheharmonyofanyface.The
moment
momentonesitsdowntodenken
think,onebecomesallnose,orallforehead,oretwas
somethinghorrid.Lookatthesuccessfulmeninanyof
die
thelearnedprofessions.Howperfectlyhideoustheyare!
Except,ofcourse,in
der
theChurch.Butthenin
der
theChurchtheydon’tthink.Ein
Abishopkeepsonsayingatdas
theageofeightywhathewastoldtosaywhenhewasein
aboyofeighteen,andasein
anaturalconsequencehealwayslooksabsolutelydelightful.Yourmysteriousyoung
freund
friend,whosenameyouhavenie
nevertoldme,butwhosepicturewirklich
reallyfascinatesme,neverthinks.Ifeel
ganz
quitesureofthat.Heissomebrainlessbeautifulcreaturewho
sollte
shouldbealwayshereinwinterwenn
whenwehavenoflowerstolookat,und
andalwayshereinsummerwenn
whenwewantsomethingtochillourintelligence.Don’tflatteryourself,Basil:
youarenotintheleastlikehim.”
“Youdon’tunderstand
mich
me,Harry,”answeredtheartist.“OfcourseIamnotlikehim.
Iknowthatperfectlywell.
Indeed,Ishouldbe
leid tun
sorrytolooklikehim.Youshrugyourshoulders?
Iam
sage
tellingyouthetruth.Thereis
eine
afatalityaboutallphysicalund
andintellectualdistinction,thesortoffatalitythatseemstodogdurch
throughhistorythefalteringstepsofkings.Itis
besser
betternottobedifferentfromone’sfellows.Theugly
und
andthestupidhavethebeste
bestofitinthiswelt
world.Theycansitattheirease
und
andgapeattheplay.Wenn
Iftheyknownothingofvictory,theyareatleastsparedder
theknowledgeofdefeat.They
leben
liveasweallshouldlive—undisturbed,indifferent,und
andwithoutdisquiet.Theyneither
bringen
bringruinuponothers,noreverreceiveitfromalienhands.Yourrank
und
andwealth,Harry;mybrains,suchastheyare—myart,whateveritmaybeworth;
DorianGray’sgoodlooks—weshall
alle
allsufferforwhatthegodshaben
havegivenus,sufferterribly.”“DorianGray?
Isthathisname?”
fragte
askedLordHenry,walkingacrossdas
thestudiotowardsBasilHallward.“Yes,thatishis
name
name.Ididn’tintendto
sagen
tellittoyou.”“But
warum
whynot?”“Oh,Ican’texplain.
Wenn
WhenIlikepeopleimmensely,Ineversage
telltheirnamestoanyone.Itislikesurrenderinga
teil
partofthem.Ihavegrowntolovesecrecy.
Itseemstobe
das
theonethingthatcanmachen
makemodernlifemysteriousormarvelloustous.Das
Thecommonestthingisdelightfulwenn
ifoneonlyhidesit.Wenn
WhenIleavetownnowInie
nevertellmypeoplewhereIamgehe
going.IfIdid,I
würde
wouldloseallmypleasure.Itis
eine
asillyhabit,Idaresagen
say,butsomehowitseemstobringen
bringagreatdealofromanceintoone’sleben
life.Isupposeyouthinkmeawfullyfoolishaboutit?”
“Notatall,”answered
Lord
LordHenry,“notatall,mydearBasil.Youseemto
vergessen
forgetthatIammarried,und
andtheonecharmofmarriageisdass
thatitmakesalifeofdeceptionabsolutelynecessaryforbeide
bothparties.Ineverknow
wo
wheremywifeis,andmyfrau
wifeneverknowswhatIamtue
doing.Whenwemeet—wedo
treffen
meetoccasionally,whenwedineoutzusammen
together,orgodowntotheDuke’s—weerzählen
telleachotherthemostabsurdstorieswiththemostseriousfaces.My
frau
wifeisverygoodatit—muchbesser
better,infact,thanIam.She
nie
nevergetsconfusedoverherdates,und
andIalwaysdo.But
wenn
whenshedoesfindmeout,shemakesnorowatall.I
manchmal
sometimeswishshewould;butshemerelylaughsatme.”
“I
hasse
hatethewayyoutalküber
aboutyourmarriedlife,Harry,”saidBasilHallward,strollingtowardsthedoorthatledintothegarden.“I
glaube
believethatyouarereallyein
averygoodhusband,butdass
thatyouarethoroughlyashamedofyourownvirtues.Youare
ein
anextraordinaryfellow.Youneversayamoralthing,
und
andyouneverdoawrongthing.Yourcynicismissimply
eine
apose.”“Beingnaturalissimply
eine
apose,andthemostirritatingposeIknow,”criedLord
LordHenry,laughing;andthetwoyoungmen
gingen
wentoutintothegardenzusammen
togetherandensconcedthemselvesonalongbambooseatthatstoodintheshadeofatalllaurelbush.Thesunlightslipped
über
overthepolishedleaves.Inthegrass,whitedaisiesweretremulous.
Nach
Afterapause,LordHenrypulledouthisuhr
watch.“IamafraidI
muss
mustbegoing,Basil,”hemurmured,“andbeforeIgehen
go,Iinsistonyouransweringeine
aquestionIputtoyousomezeit
timeago.”“Whatisthat?”
said
der
thepainter,keepinghiseyesfixedonder
theground.“Youknowquitewell.”
“I
tue
donot,Harry.”“Well,I
werde
willtellyouwhatitis.I
wollen
wantyoutoexplaintomewarum
whyyouwon’texhibitDorianGray’spicture.Iwant
den
therealreason.”“Itoldyou
den
therealreason.”“No,youdidnot.
Yousaiditwas
weil
becausetherewastoomuchofyourselfines
it.Now,thatischildish.”
“Harry,”saidBasilHallward,lookinghimstraightin
das
theface,“everyportraitthatispaintedwithfeelingisein
aportraitoftheartist,notofdas
thesitter.Thesitterismerely
der
theaccident,theoccasion.Itisnothewhoisrevealedby
der
thepainter;itisrather
der
thepainterwho,onthecolouredcanvas,revealshimself.The
grund
reasonIwillnotexhibitdieses
thispictureisthatIamafraiddass
thatIhaveshowninitthesecretofmyownsoul.”Lord
LordHenrylaughed.“Andwhatisthat?”
he
gefragt
asked.“Iwilltellyou,”saidHallward;
aber
butanexpressionofperplexitykam
cameoverhisface.“Iamallexpectation,Basil,”continuedhiscompanion,glancingat
ihn
him.“Oh,thereisreally
sehr
verylittletotell,Harry,”answeredder
thepainter;“andIamafraidyou
werden
willhardlyunderstandit.Perhapsyou
werden
willhardlybelieveit.”LordHenrysmiled,
und
andleaningdown,pluckedapink-petalleddaisyfromthegrassund
andexaminedit.“Iamquite
sicher
sureIshallunderstandit,”hereplied,gazingintentlyatthelittlegolden,white-feathereddisk,“andasforglauben
believingthings,Icanbelievealles
anything,providedthatitisquiteincredible.”Thewindshook
einige
someblossomsfromthetrees,und
andtheheavylilac-blooms,withtheirclusteringstars,bewegten
movedtoandfrointhelanguidluft
air.Agrasshopperbegantochirrupby
der
thewall,andlikeabluethreadalange
longthindragon-flyfloatedpastonitsbrowngauzewings.Lord
LordHenryfeltasifhekönnte
couldhearBasilHallward’sheartbeating,und
andwonderedwhatwascoming.“The
geschichte
storyissimplythis,”saidder
thepainteraftersometime.“Twomonths
vor
agoIwenttoacrushatLady
LadyBrandon’s.Youknowwepoorartistshaveto
zeigen
showourselvesinsocietyfromzeit
timetotime,justtoremindthepublicdass
thatwearenotsavages.Withaneveningcoat
und
andawhitetie,asyousagten
toldmeonce,anybody,evenastock-broker,kann
cangainareputationforbeingcivilized.Nun
Well,afterIhadbeenintheraum
roomabouttenminutes,talkingtohugeoverdresseddowagersund
andtediousacademicians,Isuddenlybecameconsciousdass
thatsomeonewaslookingatme.Iturnedhalf-wayround
und
andsawDorianGrayforthefirsttime.Als
Whenoureyesmet,IfeltthatIwasgrowingpale.Ein
Acurioussensationofterrorcameovermich
me.IknewthatIhadcomefacetofacewithsomeonewhosemerepersonalitywassofascinatingthat,
wenn
ifIallowedittodoso,itwürde
wouldabsorbmywholenature,myganze
wholesoul,myveryartitself.Ididnotwantanyexternalinfluenceinmy
leben
life.Youknowyourself,Harry,howindependentIambynature.
Ihavealwaysbeenmyownmaster;
hadatleastalwaysbeenso,tillImetDorianGray.
Then—butIdon’tknowhowtoexplainittoyou.
Etwas
Somethingseemedtotellmedass
thatIwasonthevergeofaterriblecrisisinmyleben
life.Ihadastrangefeeling
dass
thatfatehadinstoreformeexquisitejoysund
andexquisitesorrows.Igrewafraid
und
andturnedtoquittheraum
room.Itwasnotconsciencethatmademedoso:
itwas
eine
asortofcowardice.Itakenocredittomyselffor
versucht
tryingtoescape.”“Conscienceandcowardiceare
wirklich
reallythesamethings,Basil.Conscienceis
der
thetrade-nameofthefirm.Thatisall.”
“Idon’t
glaube
believethat,Harry,andIdon’tglaube
believeyoudoeither.However,whateverwasmymotive—anditmay
sein
havebeenpride,forIusedtobesehr
veryproud—Icertainlystruggledtothedoor.Dort
There,ofcourse,IstumbledagainstLady
LadyBrandon.‘Youarenotgoingtorunawayso
bald
soon,Mr.Hallward?’shescreamedout.You
kennen
knowhercuriouslyshrillvoice?”“Yes;
sheis
ein
apeacockineverythingbutbeauty,”saidLord
LordHenry,pullingthedaisytobitswithhislongnervousfingers.“I
konnte
couldnotgetridofher.Shebroughtmeuptoroyalties,
und
andpeoplewithstarsandgarters,und
andelderlyladieswithgigantictiarasund
andparrotnoses.Shespokeofmeasherdearestfriend.
Ihad
nur
onlymetheroncebefore,aber
butshetookitintoherkopf
headtolionizeme.I
glaube
believesomepictureofminehadmadeein
agreatsuccessatthezeit
time,atleasthadbeenchatteredaboutinthepennynewspapers,whichisthenineteenth-centurystandardofimmortality.SuddenlyIfoundmyselffacetofacewiththeyoung
mann
manwhosepersonalityhadsostrangelystirredmich
me.