THEPREFACE
Theartististhecreatorof
gyönyörű
beautifulthings.Torevealart
és
andconcealtheartistisart’scélja
aim.Thecriticishe
aki
whocantranslateintoanothermódon
manneroranewmaterialhisimpressionofszép
beautifulthings.Thehighestasthe
legalacsonyabb
lowestformofcriticismisamodeofautobiography.Those
akik
whofinduglymeaningsinszép
beautifulthingsarecorruptwithoutbeingcharming.Ez
Thisisafault.Those
akik
whofindbeautifulmeaningsingyönyörű
beautifulthingsarethecultivated.Forthesethereishope.
Theyare
a
theelecttowhombeautifulthingsmeancsak
onlybeauty.Thereisno
olyan
suchthingasamoralvagy
oranimmoralbook.Booksare
jól
wellwritten,orbadlywritten.Thatisall.
Thenineteenthcentury
ellenszenv
dislikeofrealismisthedüh
rageofCalibanseeinghissaját
ownfaceinaglass.Thenineteenth
század
centurydislikeofromanticismistherageofCalibannotlátja
seeinghisownfaceinaglass.The
erkölcsi
morallifeofmanformsrésze
partofthesubject-matteroftheművész
artist,butthemoralityofművészet
artconsistsintheperfectuseofantökéletlen
imperfectmedium.Noartistdesiresto
bizonyítani
proveanything.Eventhingsthatare
igaz
truecanbeproved.Noartisthas
etikai
ethicalsympathies.Anethicalsympathyin
egy
anartistisanunpardonablemannerismofstílus
style.Noartistisever
morbid
morbid.Theartistcanexpress
mindent
everything.Thoughtandlanguagearetothe
művész
artistinstrumentsofanart.Vice
és
andvirtuearetotheművész
artistmaterialsforanart.Fromthepointofviewofform,thetypeof
összes
alltheartsistheművészet
artofthemusician.Fromthepointofviewoffeeling,theactor’scraftisthe
típus
type.Allartisatoncesurface
és
andsymbol.Thosewhogobeneaththesurfacedosoattheirperil.
Those
akik
whoreadthesymboldosoattheirperil.Itisthespectator,andnotlife,that
művészet
artreallymirrors.Diversityofopinionaboutaworkofart
mutatja
showsthattheworkisúj
new,complex,andvital.Whencritics
egyet
disagree,theartistisinaccordwithhimself.Wecanforgive
egy
amanformakingahasznos
usefulthingaslongashedoesnotadmireit.The
egyetlen
onlyexcuseformakingahaszontalan
uselessthingisthatoneadmiresiterősen
intensely.Allartisquite
haszontalan
useless.CHAPTERI.
Thestudiowasfilledwiththe
gazdag
richodourofroses,andamikor
whenthelightsummerwindstirredamidstthetreesofthekert
garden,therecamethroughtheopenajtón
doortheheavyscentofthelilac,vagy
orthemoredelicateperfumeofthepink-floweringthorn.FromthecornerofthedivanofPersiansaddle-bagsonwhichhewaslying,smoking,aswashiscustom,innumerablecigarettes,LordHenryWotton
tudták
couldjustcatchthegleamofthehoney-sweetés
andhoney-colouredblossomsofalaburnum,amelynek
whosetremulousbranchesseemedhardlyabletoelviselni
beartheburdenofabeautysoflamelikeastheirs;és
andnowandthenthefantasztikus
fantasticshadowsofbirdsinflightflittedacrossthehosszú
longtussore-silkcurtainsthatwerestretchedinfrontofthehatalmas
hugewindow,producingakindofmomentaryJapaneseeffect,és
andmakinghimthinkofthosepallid,jade-facedpaintersofTokyoakik
who,throughthemediumofanartthatisszükségszerűen
necessarilyimmobile,seektoconveythesenseofswiftnessés
andmotion.Thesullenmurmurofthebeesshoulderingtheirwaythroughthe
hosszú
longunmowngrass,orcirclingwithmonotonousinsistenceroundtheporos
dustygilthornsofthestragglingwoodbine,seemedtomakethestillnessmoreoppressive.ThedimroarofLondonwas
mint
likethebourdonnoteofegy
adistantorgan.Inthecentreofthe
szoba
room,clampedtoanuprighteasel,stoodthefull-lengthportraitofayoungmanofrendkívüli
extraordinarypersonalbeauty,andinfrontofit,néhány
somelittledistanceaway,wasült
sittingtheartisthimself,BasilHallward,akinek
whosesuddendisappearancesomeyearsezelőtt
agocaused,atthetime,olyan
suchpublicexcitementandgaverisetosomanystrangeconjectures.Asthe
festő
painterlookedatthegraciousés
andcomelyformhehadsoskilfullymirroredinhisart,egy
asmileofpleasurepassedacrosshisface,és
andseemedabouttolingerott
there.Buthesuddenlystartedup,
és
andclosinghiseyes,placedhisfingersuponthelids,asthoughhesoughttoimprisonwithinhisbrainnéhány
somecuriousdreamfromwhichhefearedhemightawake.“Itisyour
legjobb
bestwork,Basil,thebestdolog
thingyouhaveeverdone,”mondta
saidLordHenrylanguidly.“You
kell
mustcertainlysenditnextyeartoa
theGrosvenor.TheAcademyis
túl
toolargeandtoovulgar.WheneverIhavegonethere,therehavebeeneithersomanypeoplethatIhavenotbeenableto
láttam
seethepictures,whichwasszörnyű
dreadful,orsomanypicturesthatIhavenotbeenabletoláttam
seethepeople,whichwasrosszabb
worse.TheGrosvenorisreallythe
egyetlen
onlyplace.”“Idon’tthinkIshallsenditanywhere,”heanswered,tossinghis
fejét
headbackinthatoddmódon
waythatusedtomakehisfriendslaughathimatOxford.“No,Iwon’tsenditanywhere.”
LordHenryelevatedhiseyebrows
és
andlookedathiminamazementthroughthevékony
thinbluewreathsofsmokehogy
thatcurledupinsuchfancifulwhorlsfromhisnehéz
heavy,opium-taintedcigarette.“Notsendit
sehova
anywhere?Mydearfellow,why?
Van
Haveyouanyreason?Whatoddchapsyoupainters
vagytok
are!Youdoanythingintheworldtogainareputation.
Assoonasyouhaveone,youseemto
akarod
wanttothrowitaway.Itissillyofyou,forthereis
csak
onlyonethingintheworldrosszabb
worsethanbeingtalkedabout,és
andthatisnotbeingtalkedabout.Egy
Aportraitlikethiswouldsetyoumessze
farabovealltheyoungmeninEngland,és
andmaketheoldmenquitejealous,ha
ifoldmenareevercapableofanyemotion.”“I
tudom
knowyouwilllaughatme,”hereplied,“butItényleg
reallycan’texhibitit.Ihaveput
túl
toomuchofmyselfintoit.”LordHenrystretchedhimselfoutonthedivan
és
andlaughed.“Yes,Iknewyouwould;
de
butitisquitetrue,allthesame.”“Too
sok
muchofyourselfinit!Uponmyword,Basil,Ididn’t
tudtam
knowyouweresovain;és
andIreallycan’tseeanyresemblancebetweenyou,withyourruggederős
strongfaceandyourcoal-blackhair,és
andthisyoungAdonis,whonéz ki
looksasifhewasmadeoutofivoryés
androse-leaves.Why,mydearBasil,heisaNarcissus,
és
andyou—well,ofcourseyouhaveanintellektuális
intellectualexpressionandallthat.De
Butbeauty,realbeauty,endsahol
whereanintellectualexpressionbegins.Intellektus
Intellectisinitselfamodeofexaggeration,és
anddestroystheharmonyofanyarc
face.Themomentonesitsdowntothink,one
válik
becomesallnose,orallforehead,vagy
orsomethinghorrid.Lookatthe
sikeres
successfulmeninanyofthelearnedprofessions.Milyen
Howperfectlyhideoustheyare!Kivéve
Except,ofcourse,intheChurch.De
ButthenintheChurchtheydon’tgondolnak
think.Abishopkeepsonsayingattheageofeightywhathewastoldtosaywhenhewas
egy
aboyofeighteen,andasegy
anaturalconsequencehealwayslooksabsolutelydelightful.Yourmysterious
fiatal
youngfriend,whosenameyouhavenevermondtad
toldme,butwhosepictureigazán
reallyfascinatesme,neverthinks.Ifeelquite
biztos
sureofthat.Heissomebrainless
gyönyörű
beautifulcreaturewhoshouldbemindig
alwayshereinwinterwhenwehavenoflowerstolookat,és
andalwayshereinsummeramikor
whenwewantsomethingtochillourintelligence.Don’tflatteryourself,Basil:
youarenotintheleastlikehim.”
“Youdon’tunderstand
engem
me,Harry,”answeredtheartist.“OfcourseIamnot
mint
likehim.Iknowthat
tökéletesen
perfectlywell.Indeed,Ishouldbesorrytolook
mint
likehim.Youshrugyourshoulders?
Iam
mondom
tellingyouthetruth.Thereis
egy
afatalityaboutallphysicalés
andintellectualdistinction,thesortoffatalitythatseemstodogthroughtörténelem
historythefalteringstepsofkings.Itis
jobb
betternottobedifferentfromone’sfellows.The
csúnya
uglyandthestupidhavethebestofitinthisworld.Theycansitattheirease
és
andgapeattheplay.Ha
Iftheyknownothingofvictory,theyareatleastsparedtheknowledgeofvereség
defeat.Theyliveasweall
kellene
shouldlive—undisturbed,indifferent,andwithoutdisquiet.Theyneitherbringruinuponothers,norever
kapják
receiveitfromalienhands.Yourrank
és
andwealth,Harry;mybrains,suchastheyare—myart,whateveritmaybeworth;
DorianGray’sgoodlooks—weshallallsufferforwhat
az
thegodshavegivenus,sufferterribly.”“DorianGray?
Isthathisname?”
kérdezte
askedLordHenry,walkingacrossa
thestudiotowardsBasilHallward.“Yes,thatishisname.
Ididn’tintendtotellittoyou.”
“But
miért
whynot?”“Oh,Ican’t
megmagyarázni
explain.WhenIlikepeopleimmensely,Inever
mondom
telltheirnamestoanyone.Itis
mint
likesurrenderingapartofthem.Ihavegrowntolovesecrecy.
Itseemstobetheone
dolog
thingthatcanmakemodernlifemysteriousvagy
ormarvelloustous.Thecommonest
dolog
thingisdelightfulifonecsak
onlyhidesit.WhenIleavetown
most
nowInevertellmypeoplewhereIammegyek
going.IfIdid,Iwouldlose
összes
allmypleasure.Itis
egy
asillyhabit,Idaremondani
say,butsomehowitseemstobringegy
agreatdealofromanceintoone’slife.Isupposeyouthinkme
szörnyen
awfullyfoolishaboutit?”“Notatall,”answeredLordHenry,“notatall,my
drága
dearBasil.YouseemtoforgetthatIam
házas
married,andtheonecharmofházasság
marriageisthatitmakesalifeofmegtévesztés
deceptionabsolutelynecessaryforbothparties.I
sosem
neverknowwheremywifevan
is,andmywifeneverknowswhatIamcsinálok
doing.Whenwemeet—wedo
találkozunk
meetoccasionally,whenwedineoutegyütt
together,orgodowntotheDuke’s—wetelleachotherthemostabsurdstorieswiththemostseriousfaces.Mywifeis
nagyon
verygoodatit—muchbetter,insőt
fact,thanIam.She
sosem
nevergetsconfusedoverherdates,és
andIalwaysdo.But
amikor
whenshedoesfindmeki
out,shemakesnorowatall.I
néha
sometimeswishshewould;butshemerelylaughsatme.”
“Ihatethewayyoutalkaboutyourmarriedlife,Harry,”
mondta
saidBasilHallward,strollingtowardstheajtó
doorthatledintothegarden.“Ibelieve
hogy
thatyouarereallyanagyon
verygoodhusband,butthatyouarethoroughlyashamedofyoursaját
ownvirtues.Youarean
rendkívüli
extraordinaryfellow.Youneversaya
erkölcsi
moralthing,andyouneverdoawrongdolgot
thing.Yourcynicismissimply
egy
apose.”“Beingnaturalis
egyszerűen
simplyapose,andthemostirritatingposeIknow,”criedLordHenry,laughing;és
andthetwoyoungmenment
wentoutintothegardenegyütt
togetherandensconcedthemselvesonegy
alongbambooseatthatstoodintheshadeofegy
atalllaurelbush.The
napfény
sunlightslippedoverthepolishedleaves.Inthe
fűben
grass,whitedaisiesweretremulous.Után
Afterapause,LordHenrypulledouthiswatch.“IamafraidI
kell
mustbegoing,Basil,”hemurmured,“andmielőtt
beforeIgo,Iinsistonyouransweringegy
aquestionIputtoyousomeideje
timeago.”“Whatisthat?”
mondta
saidthepainter,keepinghiseyesfixedontheground.“Youknowquitewell.”
“Idonot,Harry.”
“Well,Iwilltellyouwhatit
az
is.Iwantyoutoexplaintome
miért
whyyouwon’texhibitDorianGray’spicture.I
akarom
wanttherealreason.”“Itoldyou
az
therealreason.”“No,youdidnot.
You
mondtad
saiditwasbecausetherewastúl
toomuchofyourselfinit.Now,thatischildish.”
“Harry,”
mondta
saidBasilHallward,lookinghimegyenesen
straightintheface,“everyportré
portraitthatispaintedwithfeelingisaportré
portraitoftheartist,notofthesitter.Thesitterismerelythe
baleset
accident,theoccasion.Itisnothewhois
feltár
revealedbythepainter;itis
inkább
ratherthepainterwho,onthecolouredcanvas,feltárja
revealshimself.ThereasonI
fogom
willnotexhibitthispictureishogy
thatIamafraidthatIhaveshowninitthesecretofmysaját
ownsoul.”LordHenrylaughed.
“Andwhatisthat?”
he
kérdezte
asked.“Iwilltellyou,”
mondta
saidHallward;butanexpressionofperplexitycameoverhisface.
“Iamallexpectation,Basil,”continuedhis
társa
companion,glancingathim.“Oh,thereis
tényleg
reallyverylittletotell,Harry,”answereda
thepainter;“andIamafraidyou
fogod
willhardlyunderstandit.Perhapsyou
fogod
willhardlybelieveit.”LordHenry
mosolygott
smiled,andleaningdown,pluckedegy
apink-petalleddaisyfromthegrassés
andexaminedit.“Iamquite
biztos
sureIshallunderstandit,”hereplied,gazingintentlyatthekis
littlegolden,white-feathereddisk,“andasforhinni
believingthings,Icanbelieveanything,providedhogy
thatitisquiteincredible.”The
szél
windshooksomeblossomsfromthetrees,és
andtheheavylilac-blooms,withtheirclusteringstars,mozgott
movedtoandfrointhelanguidlevegő
air.Agrasshopperbegantochirrupbythe
falon
wall,andlikeablueszál
threadalongthindragon-flyfloatedpastonitsbarna
browngauzewings.LordHenryfeltasifhecouldhearBasilHallward’sheartbeating,
és
andwonderedwhatwascoming.“The
történet
storyissimplythis,”saida
thepainteraftersometime.“Twomonths
ezelőtt
agoIwenttoacrushatLadyBrandon’s.You
tudja
knowwepoorartistshavetomutatnunk
showourselvesinsocietyfromtimetotime,csak
justtoremindthepublicthatwearenotsavages.Withanevening
kabát
coatandawhitetie,asyoumondtad
toldmeonce,anybody,evenastock-broker,cangainareputationforbeingcivilizált
civilized.Well,afterIhadbeenintheroom
körülbelül
abouttenminutes,talkingtohatalmas
hugeoverdresseddowagersandtediousacademicians,Ihirtelen
suddenlybecameconsciousthatsomeonewaslookingatrám
me.Iturnedhalf-wayround
és
andsawDorianGrayfortheelőször
firsttime.Whenoureyes
találkoztak
met,IfeltthatIwasgrowingpale.Egy
Acurioussensationofterrorcameoverme.I
tudtam
knewthatIhadcomeszembe
facetofacewithsomeoneakinek
whosemerepersonalitywassolenyűgöző
fascinatingthat,ifIallowedittodoso,itwouldelnyelné
absorbmywholenature,mywholesoul,myveryartitself.Ididnot
akartam
wantanyexternalinfluenceinmylife.You
tudod
knowyourself,Harry,howindependentIambynature.I
voltam
havealwaysbeenmyownmaster;volt
hadatleastalwaysbeenso,tillImetDorianGray.Then—butIdon’t
tudom
knowhowtoexplainittoyou.Valami
SomethingseemedtotellmethatIwasonaz
thevergeofaterriblecrisisinmylife.I
volt
hadastrangefeelingthatsors
fatehadinstoreformeexquisitejoysés
andexquisitesorrows.Igrewafraid
és
andturnedtoquittheroom.Itwasnotconsciencethatmademedoso:
itwasasortof
gyávaság
cowardice.Itakenocredittomyselffor
megpróbáltam
tryingtoescape.”“Conscienceand
gyávaság
cowardicearereallythesamethings,Basil.Lelkiismeret
Conscienceisthetrade-nameofthecég
firm.Thatisall.”
“Idon’tbelievethat,Harry,
és
andIdon’tbelieveyoudosem
either.However,whateverwasmymotive—anditmayhavebeen
büszkeség
pride,forIusedtobenagyon
veryproud—Icertainlystruggledtoaz
thedoor.There,ofcourse,Istumbled
ellen
againstLadyBrandon.‘Youarenotgoingtorunawaysosoon,Mr.Hallward?’shescreamedout.
Youknowhercuriouslyshrillvoice?”
“Yes;
sheis
egy
apeacockineverythingbutbeauty,”mondta
saidLordHenry,pullingthedaisytobitswithhishosszú
longnervousfingers.“Icouldnotgetridofher.
Shebroughtme
fel
uptoroyalties,andpeoplea
withstarsandgarters,andelderlyladiesa
withgigantictiarasandparrotnoses.Shespokeofmeasherdearestfriend.
I
legyen
hadonlymetheroncebefore,de
butshetookitintoherheadtolionizeme.I
hiszem
believesomepictureofminehadmadeanagy
greatsuccessatthetime,atleasthadbeenchatteredarról
aboutinthepennynewspapers,ami
whichisthenineteenth-centurystandardofhalhatatlanság
immortality.SuddenlyIfoundmyself
szembe
facetofacewiththeyoungmanakinek
whosepersonalityhadsostrangelystirredme.