THEPREFACE
Theartististhecreatorof
सुंदर
beautifulthings.Torevealart
और
andconcealtheartistisart’sउद्देश्य
aim.Thecriticishe
जो
whocantranslateintoanotherतरीके
manneroranewmaterialhisधारणा
impressionofbeautifulthings.Thehighestasthe
निम्नतम
lowestformofcriticismisएक
amodeofautobiography.Those
जो
whofinduglymeaningsinसुंदर
beautifulthingsarecorruptwithoutbeingआकर्षक
charming.Thisisafault.
Those
जो
whofindbeautifulmeaningsinसुंदर
beautifulthingsarethecultivated.Forthesethereis
आशा
hope.Theyaretheelecttowhom
सुंदर
beautifulthingsmeanonlybeauty.Thereisnosuch
चीज
thingasamoraloranअनैतिक
immoralbook.Booksarewellwritten,
या
orbadlywritten.Thatisall.
Thenineteenth
शताब्दी
centurydislikeofrealismistheक्रोध
rageofCalibanseeinghisownfaceinaकांच
glass.Thenineteenthcenturydislikeofromanticismisthe
क्रोध
rageofCalibannotseeinghisownfaceinaकांच
glass.Themorallifeof
मनुष्य
manformspartofthesubject-matteroftheकलाकार
artist,butthemoralityofकला
artconsistsintheperfectउपयोग
useofanimperfectmedium.No
कलाकार
artistdesirestoproveanything.Eventhingsthatare
सच
truecanbeproved.No
कलाकार
artisthasethicalsympathies.An
नैतिक
ethicalsympathyinanartistisएक
anunpardonablemannerismofstyle.No
कलाकार
artistisevermorbid.The
कलाकार
artistcanexpresseverything.Thought
और
andlanguagearetotheकलाकार
artistinstrumentsofanart.Vice
और
andvirtuearetotheकलाकार
artistmaterialsforanart.Fromthepointofviewof
रूप
form,thetypeofalltheartsistheकला
artofthemusician.Fromthepointofviewoffeeling,theactor’s
शिल्प
craftisthetype.Allartisatonce
सतह
surfaceandsymbol.Thosewhogo
नीचे
beneaththesurfacedosoattheirperil.Those
जो
whoreadthesymboldosoattheirperil.Itisthe
दर्शक
spectator,andnotlife,thatकला
artreallymirrors.Diversityofopinion
बारे
aboutaworkofartshowsकि
thattheworkisnew,जटिल
complex,andvital.Whencritics
असहमत
disagree,theartistisinaccordwithhimself.Wecan
माफ
forgiveamanformakingएक
ausefulthingaslongasheकर
doesnotadmireit.Theonly
बहाना
excuseformakingauselessचीज
thingisthatoneadmiresitintensely.सभी
Allartisquiteuseless.अध्याय
CHAPTERI.Thestudiowasfilledwiththe
समृद्ध
richodourofroses,andजब
whenthelightsummerwindstirredamidstthetreesoftheबगीचे
garden,therecamethroughtheopendoortheभारी
heavyscentofthelilac,या
orthemoredelicateperfumeofthepink-floweringthorn.Fromthe
कोने
cornerofthedivanofPersiansaddle-bagsonजिस
whichhewaslying,smoking,aswashiscustom,innumerablecigarettes,LordHenryWottoncouldसिर्फ
justcatchthegleamofthehoney-sweetऔर
andhoney-colouredblossomsofalaburnum,whosetremulousbranchesseemedमुश्किल
hardlyabletobeartheबोझ
burdenofabeautysoflamelikeastheirs;और
andnowandthenthefantasticshadowsofbirdsinflightflittedacrossthelongtussore-silkcurtainsthatwerestretchedinसामने
frontofthehugewindow,producingaप्रकार
kindofmomentaryJapaneseeffect,और
andmakinghimthinkofउन
thosepallid,jade-facedpaintersofTokyowho,throughthemediumofanकला
artthatisnecessarilyimmobile,seektoव्यक्त
conveythesenseofswiftnessऔर
andmotion.Thesullenmurmurofthebeesshoulderingtheir
रास्ता
waythroughthelongunmownघास
grass,orcirclingwithmonotonousinsistenceroundtheधूल
dustygilthornsofthestragglingwoodbine,seemedtoबना
makethestillnessmoreoppressive.Thedim
गर्जन
roarofLondonwaslikethebourdonनोट
noteofadistantorgan.Inthecentreofthe
कमरे
room,clampedtoanuprighteasel,stoodthefull-lengthचित्र
portraitofayoungmanofअसाधारण
extraordinarypersonalbeauty,andinसामने
frontofit,somelittleदूरी
distanceaway,wassittingtheकलाकार
artisthimself,BasilHallward,whoseअचानक
suddendisappearancesomeyearsagocaused,attheसमय
time,suchpublicexcitementandgaverisetosoसारे
manystrangeconjectures.Asthe
चित्रकार
painterlookedatthegraciousऔर
andcomelyformhehadsoskilfullymirroredinhisकला
art,asmileofpleasurepassedacrosshisचेहरे
face,andseemedabouttolingerthere.लेकिन
Buthesuddenlystartedup,और
andclosinghiseyes,placedhisfingersuponthelids,asthoughhesoughttoकैद
imprisonwithinhisbrainsomecuriousdreamfromwhichhefearedhemightजाग
awake.“Itisyourbest
काम
work,Basil,thebestthingyouhaveeverdone,”saidLordHenrylanguidly.“Youmust
निश्चित
certainlysenditnextyeartotheGrosvenor.The
अकादमी
Academyistoolargeandबहुत
toovulgar.WheneverIhave
गया
gonethere,therehavebeenभी
eithersomanypeoplethatIhavenotbeenसक्षम
abletoseethepictures,whichwasभयानक
dreadful,orsomanypicturesthatIhavenotbeenसक्षम
abletoseethepeople,whichwasबदतर
worse.TheGrosvenorisreallythe
केवल
onlyplace.”“Idon’tthinkIshallsenditanywhere,”heanswered,tossinghis
सिर
headbackinthatoddwaythatइस्तेमाल किया
usedtomakehisfriendslaughathimatOxford.“No,Iwon’tsenditanywhere.”
LordHenryelevatedhiseyebrows
और
andlookedathiminamazementthroughको
thethinbluewreathsofधूम्रपान
smokethatcurledupinऐसे
suchfancifulwhorlsfromhisभारी
heavy,opium-taintedcigarette.“Notsendit
कहीं
anywhere?Mydearfellow,why?
Haveyou
कोई
anyreason?Whatoddchapsyoupainters
हैं
are!Youdoanythinginthe
दुनिया
worldtogainareputation.Assoonasyouhave
एक
one,youseemtowanttothrowitaway.Itissillyofyou,forthereisonly
एक
onethingintheworldworseसे
thanbeingtalkedabout,andthatisnotbeingtalkedबारे
about.Aportraitlikethiswouldsetyoufar
ऊपर
abovealltheyoungmeninEngland,और
andmaketheoldmenquiteईर्ष्या
jealous,ifoldmenareeverसक्षम
capableofanyemotion.”“I
पता
knowyouwilllaughatme,”hereplied,“butIवास्तव
reallycan’texhibitit.Ihaveputtoomuchofmyselfintoit.”
LordHenrystretchedhimselfouton
को
thedivanandlaughed.“Yes,Iknewyouwould;
लेकिन
butitisquitetrue,सब
allthesame.”“Toomuchofyourselfinit!
Uponmy
शब्द
word,Basil,Ididn’tknowyouweresovain;और
andIreallycan’tseeकिसी
anyresemblancebetweenyou,withyourruggedमजबूत
strongfaceandyourcoal-blackhair,और
andthisyoungAdonis,wholooksasअगर
ifhewasmadeoutofivoryऔर
androse-leaves.Why,mydear
बेसिल
Basil,heisaNarcissus,और
andyou—well,ofcourseyouhaveanबौद्धिक
intellectualexpressionandallthat.लेकिन
Butbeauty,realbeauty,endsजहां
whereanintellectualexpressionbegins.बुद्धि
Intellectisinitselfamodeofअतिशयोक्ति
exaggeration,anddestroystheharmonyofanyचेहरे
face.Themomentonesitsdowntothink,onebecomesall
नाक
nose,orallforehead,orकुछ
somethinghorrid.Lookatthe
सफल
successfulmeninanyofको
thelearnedprofessions.Howperfectly
घृणित
hideoustheyare!Except,ofcourse,in
को
theChurch.Buttheninthe
चर्च
Churchtheydon’tthink.A
बिशप
bishopkeepsonsayingattheआयु
ageofeightywhathewastoldtoकहा
saywhenhewasaboyofeighteen,और
andasanaturalconsequenceheहमेशा
alwayslooksabsolutelydelightful.Your
रहस्यमय
mysteriousyoungfriend,whosenameyouहै
havenevertoldme,butजिसका
whosepicturereallyfascinatesme,neverthinks.Ifeelquite
यकीन
sureofthat.Heissomebrainless
सुंदर
beautifulcreaturewhoshouldbeहमेशा
alwayshereinwinterwhenwehavenoflowerstoदेखने
lookat,andalwayshereinगर्मियों
summerwhenwewantsomethingtochillourबुद्धि
intelligence.Don’tflatteryourself,Basil:
youarenotintheleastlikehim.”
“Youdon’t
समझते
understandme,Harry,”answeredtheकलाकार
artist.“OfcourseIamnotlike
उसके
him.Iknowthatperfectly
तरह
well.Indeed,Ishouldbe
खेद
sorrytolooklikehim.Youshrugyourshoulders?
Iam
बता
tellingyouthetruth.Thereis
एक
afatalityaboutallphysicalऔर
andintellectualdistinction,thesortoffatalityजो
thatseemstodogthroughइतिहास
historythefalteringstepsofkings.Itis
बेहतर
betternottobedifferentfromone’sfellows.The
बदसूरत
uglyandthestupidhavetheसबसे अच्छा
bestofitinthisदुनिया
world.Theycansitattheirease
और
andgapeattheplay.यदि
Iftheyknownothingofविजय
victory,theyareatleastsparedtheज्ञान
knowledgeofdefeat.Theyliveaswe
सभी
allshouldlive—undisturbed,indifferent,andबिना
withoutdisquiet.Theyneitherbringruinuponothers,norever
प्राप्त
receiveitfromalienhands.Your
रैंक
rankandwealth,Harry;mybrains,suchastheyare—my
कला
art,whateveritmaybeworth;DorianGray’sgoodlooks—weshall
सभी
allsufferforwhatthegodsहै
havegivenus,sufferterribly.”“Dorian
ग्रे
Gray?Isthathisname?”
पूछा
askedLordHenry,walkingacrosstheस्टूडियो
studiotowardsBasilHallward.“Yes,thatishis
नाम
name.Ididn’tintendtotellittoyou.”
“But
क्यों
whynot?”“Oh,Ican’t
समझा
explain.WhenIlikepeopleimmensely,Inevertelltheirnamesto
किसी
anyone.Itislikesurrendering
एक
apartofthem.Ihavegrownto
प्यार
lovesecrecy.Itseemstobethe
एक
onethingthatcanmakeआधुनिक
modernlifemysteriousormarvelloustoहमारे
us.Thecommonestthingisdelightfulifone
ही
onlyhidesit.WhenIleave
शहर
townnowInevertellmyलोगों
peoplewhereIamgoing.अगर
IfIdid,Iwouldखो
loseallmypleasure.Itisasilly
आदत
habit,Idaresay,butsomehowitseemstobringagreatdealofरोमांस
romanceintoone’slife.Isupposeyouthinkmeawfullyfoolish
बारे
aboutit?”“Notatall,”answeredLordHenry,“notatall,my
प्रिय
dearBasil.Youseemto
भूल
forgetthatIammarried,और
andtheonecharmofmarriageisकि
thatitmakesalifeofdeceptionबिल्कुल
absolutelynecessaryforbothparties.Ineverknow
कहाँ
wheremywifeis,andmyपत्नी
wifeneverknowswhatIamकर
doing.Whenwemeet—wedo
मिलते
meetoccasionally,whenwedineouttogether,या
orgodowntotheDuke’s—weबताते
telleachotherthemostabsurdstorieswiththeसबसे
mostseriousfaces.Mywifeis
बहुत
verygoodatit—muchbetter,inवास्तव
fact,thanIam.Shenevergets
भ्रमित
confusedoverherdates,andIहमेशा
alwaysdo.Butwhenshedoesfindmeout,shemakes
कोई
norowatall.Isometimes
चाहता हूँ
wishshewould;butshe
केवल
merelylaughsatme.”“I
नफरत
hatethewayyoutalkबारे
aboutyourmarriedlife,Harry,”कहा
saidBasilHallward,strollingtowardsthedoorकि
thatledintothegarden.“I
मानना
believethatyouarereallyएक
averygoodhusband,butकि
thatyouarethoroughlyashamedofyourownvirtues.Youare
एक
anextraordinaryfellow.Younever
कहते
sayamoralthing,andyouneverकरते
doawrongthing.Yourcynicismis
केवल
simplyapose.”“Beingnaturalis
केवल
simplyapose,andtheसबसे
mostirritatingposeIknow,”criedLordHenry,laughing;और
andthetwoyoungmenगए
wentoutintothegardenसाथ
togetherandensconcedthemselvesonएक
alongbambooseatthatstoodintheछाया
shadeofatalllaurelझाड़ी
bush.Thesunlightslippedoverthepolishedleaves.
Inthe
घास
grass,whitedaisiesweretremulous.बाद
Afterapause,LordHenrypulledouthisघड़ी
watch.“IamafraidImustbegoing,Basil,”hemurmured,“andbeforeI
जाना
go,Iinsistonyouransweringएक
aquestionIputtoyouकुछ
sometimeago.”“Whatisthat?”
कहा
saidthepainter,keepinghiseyesfixedontheजमीन
ground.“Youknowquitewell.”
“I
करता
donot,Harry.”“Well,Iwilltellyouwhatit
है
is.Iwantyoutoexplaintome
क्यों
whyyouwon’texhibitDorianGray’sतस्वीर
picture.Iwanttherealreason.”
“I
बताया
toldyoutherealreason.”“No,youdidnot.
You
कहा
saiditwasbecausetherewastoomuchofyourselfinयह
it.Now,thatischildish.”
“Harry,”
कहा
saidBasilHallward,lookinghimसीधे
straightintheface,“everyचित्र
portraitthatispaintedwithfeelingisaचित्र
portraitoftheartist,notofthesitter.Thesitteris
केवल
merelytheaccident,theoccasion.Itisnothe
जो
whoisrevealedbytheचित्रकार
painter;itisratherthe
चित्रकार
painterwho,onthecolouredकैनवास
canvas,revealshimself.ThereasonIwillnotexhibitthis
चित्र
pictureisthatIamडर
afraidthatIhaveshowninitको
thesecretofmyownsoul.”LordHenrylaughed.
“Andwhatisthat?”
heasked.
“Iwilltellyou,”
कहा
saidHallward;butanexpressionofperplexitycame
पर
overhisface.“Iamall
उम्मीद
expectation,Basil,”continuedhiscompanion,glancingathim.“Oh,thereisreallyvery
कम
littletotell,Harry,”answeredtheचित्रकार
painter;“andIamafraidyouwill
मुश्किल
hardlyunderstandit.Perhapsyouwillhardly
विश्वास
believeit.”LordHenrysmiled,
और
andleaningdown,pluckedapink-petalledडेज़ी
daisyfromthegrassandexaminedit.“Iam
काफी
quitesureIshallunderstandit,”hereplied,gazingintentlyatको
thelittlegolden,white-feathereddisk,“andasforbelievingthings,Iसकता
canbelieveanything,providedthatitisकाफी
quiteincredible.”Thewindshook
कुछ
someblossomsfromthetrees,और
andtheheavylilac-blooms,withtheirclusteringstars,movedtoऔर
andfrointhelanguidair.एक
Agrasshopperbegantochirrupbytheदीवार
wall,andlikeabluethreadएक
alongthindragon-flyfloatedpastonitsभूरे रंग
browngauzewings.LordHenryfeltasifhecould
सुन
hearBasilHallward’sheartbeating,और
andwonderedwhatwascoming.“Thestoryis
बस
simplythis,”saidthepainterबाद
aftersometime.“Twomonths
पहले
agoIwenttoaक्रश
crushatLadyBrandon’s.You
जानते
knowwepoorartistshavetoshowourselvesinसमाज
societyfromtimetotime,बस
justtoremindthepublicकि
thatwearenotsavages.साथ
Withaneveningcoatandaसफेद
whitetie,asyoutoldmeबार
once,anybody,evenastock-broker,सकता
cangainareputationforbeingसभ्य
civilized.Well,afterIhadbeeninthe
कमरे
roomabouttenminutes,talkingtoविशाल
hugeoverdresseddowagersandtediousacademicians,Iअचानक
suddenlybecameconsciousthatsomeonewaslookingatme.Iturned
आधे रास्ते
half-wayroundandsawDorianग्रे
Grayforthefirsttime.जब
Whenoureyesmet,Ifeltकि
thatIwasgrowingpale.एक
Acurioussensationofterrorcameoverमुझे
me.IknewthatIhad
आ
comefacetofacewithsomeoneजिसका
whosemerepersonalitywassoआकर्षक
fascinatingthat,ifIallowedittoकर
doso,itwouldabsorbmywholeप्रकृति
nature,mywholesoul,myveryकला
artitself.Ididnotwant
कोई
anyexternalinfluenceinmyजीवन
life.Youknowyourself,Harry,
कैसे
howindependentIambyप्रकृति
nature.Ihavealwaysbeenmyownmaster;
hadat
कम
leastalwaysbeenso,tillImetDorianग्रे
Gray.Then—butIdon’tknow
कैसे
howtoexplainittoyou.कुछ
Somethingseemedtotellmeकि
thatIwasontheकगार
vergeofaterriblecrisisinmyजीवन
life.Ihadastrangefeeling
कि
thatfatehadinstoreformeexquisitejoysऔर
andexquisitesorrows.Igrew
डर
afraidandturnedtoquittheकमरे
room.Itwasnotconsciencethatmademe
किया
doso:itwasa
तरह
sortofcowardice.Itakeno
श्रेय
credittomyselffortryingtoescape.”“Conscience
और
andcowardicearereallytheही
samethings,Basil.Conscienceisthetrade-nameofthe
फर्म
firm.Thatisall.”
“Idon’t
विश्वास
believethat,Harry,andIdon’tविश्वास
believeyoudoeither.However,
जो
whateverwasmymotive—anditmayहै
havebeenpride,forIusedtobeबहुत
veryproud—Icertainlystruggledtothedoor.वहाँ
There,ofcourse,Istumbledagainstलेडी
LadyBrandon.‘Youarenotgoingtorunawayso
जल्दी
soon,Mr.Hallward?’shescreamedout.You
जानते
knowhercuriouslyshrillvoice?”“Yes;
sheis
एक
apeacockineverythingbutbeauty,”कहा
saidLordHenry,pullingthedaisytobitswithhislongnervousfingers.“Icouldnotget
छुटकारा
ridofher.Shebroughtmeuptoroyalties,
और
andpeoplewithstarsandgarters,और
andelderlyladieswithgigantictiarasऔर
andparrotnoses.Shespokeofmeasherdearest
मित्र
friend.Ihadonlymether
बार
oncebefore,butshetookitintoherसिर
headtolionizeme.I
मानना
believesomepictureofminehadmadeकिसी
agreatsuccessattheसमय
time,atleasthadbeenchatteredबारे
aboutinthepennynewspapers,जो
whichisthenineteenth-centurystandardofअमरता
immortality.SuddenlyIfoundmyselffacetofacewiththeyoungman
जिसका
whosepersonalityhadsostrangelystirredme.