The Picture of Dorian Gray | Gradually Hardening Norwegian A2 Translation Books

The Picture of Dorian Gray | Gradually Hardening Norwegian A2 Translation Books

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THEPREFACE
Theartististhecreatorofbeautifulthings.
Toreveal
kunst
art
andconcealtheartistisart’saim.
Thecriticishewhocantranslateintoanothermanneroranewmaterialhisimpressionofbeautifulthings.
Thehighestasthelowest
formen
form
ofcriticismisamodeofautobiography.
Thosewhofinduglymeaningsinbeautifulthingsarecorruptwithoutbeingcharming.
Thisisa
feil
fault
.
Thosewhofindbeautifulmeaningsinbeautifulthingsarethecultivated.
Forthesethereishope.
Theyaretheelecttowhombeautifulthingsmeanonly
skjønnhet
beauty
.
Thereisnosuchthingasamoraloranimmoralbook.
Booksarewellwritten,orbadlywritten.
Thatisall.
ThenineteenthcenturydislikeofrealismistherageofCalibanseeinghisownfaceina
glass
glass
.
ThenineteenthcenturydislikeofromanticismistherageofCalibannotseeinghisownfaceina
glass
glass
.
Themorallifeofmanformspartofthesubject-matteroftheartist,butthemoralityofartconsistsintheperfectuseofanimperfectmedium.
Noartistdesiresto
bevise
prove
anything.
Eventhingsthataretruecanbeproved.
Noartisthasethicalsympathies.
Anethicalsympathyinanartistisanunpardonablemannerismofstyle.
Noartistisevermorbid.
Theartistcanexpresseverything.
Thoughtandlanguagearetotheartistinstrumentsofan
kunst
art
.
Viceandvirtuearetotheartistmaterialsforan
kunst
art
.
Fromthepointofviewofform,the
typen
type
ofalltheartsisthe
kunst
art
ofthemusician.
Fromthepointofviewoffeeling,theactor’scraftisthe
typen
type
.
Allartisatoncesurfaceandsymbol.
Thosewhogobeneaththesurfacedosoattheirperil.
Thosewhoreadthesymboldosoattheirperil.
Itisthespectator,andnotlife,thatartreallymirrors.
Diversityofopinionaboutaworkofartshowsthattheworkisnew,complex,andvital.
Whencriticsdisagree,theartistisinaccordwithhimself.
Wecan
tilgi
forgive
amanformakingausefulthingaslongashedoesnotadmireit.
Theonlyexcuseformakingauselessthingisthatoneadmiresitintensely.
All
kunst
art
isquiteuseless.
CHAPTERI.
Thestudiowasfilledwiththe
rike
rich
odourofroses,andwhenthelightsummerwindstirredamidstthetreesofthegarden,therecamethroughtheopendoorthe
tunge
heavy
scentofthelilac,orthemoredelicateperfumeofthepink-floweringthorn.
FromthecornerofthedivanofPersiansaddle-bagsonwhichhewaslying,smoking,aswashiscustom,innumerablecigarettes,LordHenryWottoncouldjustcatchthegleamofthehoney-sweetandhoney-colouredblossomsofalaburnum,
hvis
whose
tremulousbranchesseemedhardlyableto
bære
bear
theburdenofa
skjønnhet
beauty
soflamelikeastheirs;
andnowandthenthefantasticshadowsofbirdsinflightflitted
over
across
thelongtussore-silkcurtainsthatwerestretchedinfrontofthe
store
huge
window,producingakindofmomentaryJapaneseeffect,andmakinghimthinkofthosepallid,jade-facedpaintersofTokyowho,throughthemediumofan
kunst
art
thatisnecessarilyimmobile,seektoconveythesenseofswiftnessandmotion.
Thesullenmurmurofthebeesshoulderingtheirwaythroughthelongunmowngrass,orcirclingwithmonotonousinsistence
rundt
round
thedustygilthornsofthestragglingwoodbine,
syntes
seemed
tomakethestillnessmoreoppressive.
ThedimroarofLondonwaslikethebourdonnoteofadistantorgan.
Inthecentreoftheroom,clampedtoanuprighteasel,stoodthefull-lengthportraitofayoungmanofextraordinary
personlig
personal
beauty,andinfrontofit,somelittledistanceaway,wassittingtheartisthimself,BasilHallward,
hvis
whose
suddendisappearancesomeyearsagocaused,atthetime,such
offentlig
public
excitementandgaverisetosomanystrangeconjectures.
Asthepainterlookedatthegraciousandcomelyformhehadsoskilfullymirroredinhis
kunst
art
,asmileofpleasurepassed
over
across
hisface,andseemedabouttolingerthere.
Buthe
plutselig
suddenly
startedup,andclosinghiseyes,placedhisfingersuponthelids,asthoughhesoughttoimprisonwithinhis
hjernen
brain
somecuriousdreamfromwhichhe
fryktet
feared
hemightawake.
“Itisyourbestwork,Basil,thebestthingyouhaveeverdone,”saidLordHenrylanguidly.
“Youmust
sikkert
certainly
senditnextyeartotheGrosvenor.
TheAcademyistoo
stort
large
andtoovulgar.
WheneverIhavegonethere,therehavebeeneithersomanypeoplethatIhavenotbeenabletoseethepictures,whichwasdreadful,orsomanypicturesthatIhavenotbeenabletoseethepeople,whichwas
verre
worse
.
TheGrosvenorisreallytheonlyplace.”
“Idon’tthinkIshallsenditanywhere,”heanswered,tossinghisheadbackinthatoddwaythatusedtomakehisfriends
le
laugh
athimatOxford.
“No,Iwon’tsenditanywhere.”
LordHenryelevatedhiseyebrowsandlookedathiminamazementthroughthethin
blå
blue
wreathsofsmokethatcurledupinsuchfancifulwhorlsfromhis
tunge
heavy
,opium-taintedcigarette.
“Notsenditanywhere?
Mydearfellow,why?
Haveyouanyreason?
Whatoddchapsyoupaintersare!
Youdoanythingintheworldtogainareputation.
Assoonasyouhaveone,youseemtowantto
kaste
throw
itaway.
Itissillyofyou,forthereisonlyonethingintheworld
verre
worse
thanbeingtalkedabout,andthatisnotbeingtalkedabout.
Aportraitlikethiswouldsetyoufar
over
above
alltheyoungmeninEngland,andmaketheoldmenquitejealous,ifoldmenareevercapableofanyemotion.”
“Iknowyouwill
le
laugh
atme,”hereplied,“butIreallycan’texhibitit.
Ihaveputtoomuchofmyselfintoit.”
LordHenrystretchedhimselfoutonthedivanand
lo
laughed
.
“Yes,Iknewyouwould;
butitisquitetrue,allthesame.”
“Toomuchofyourselfinit!
Uponmyword,Basil,Ididn’tknowyouweresovain;
andIreallycan’tseeanyresemblancebetweenyou,withyourruggedstrongfaceandyourcoal-blackhair,andthisyoungAdonis,wholooksasifhewasmadeoutofivoryandrose-leaves.
Why,mydearBasil,heisaNarcissus,andyou—well,ofcourseyouhaveanintellectualexpressionandallthat.
But
skjønnhet
beauty
,realbeauty,endswhereanintellectualexpression
begynner
begins
.
Intellectisinitselfamodeofexaggeration,anddestroystheharmonyofanyface.
Themomentonesitsdowntothink,onebecomesall
nesen
nose
,orallforehead,orsomethinghorrid.
Lookatthesuccessfulmeninanyofthelearnedprofessions.
Howperfectlyhideoustheyare!
Bortsett fra
Except
,ofcourse,inthe
Kirken
Church
.
Buttheninthe
Kirken
Church
theydon’tthink.
Abishopkeepsonsayingatthe
alder
age
ofeightywhathewastoldtosaywhenhewasaboyofeighteen,andasanaturalconsequencehealwayslooks
helt
absolutely
delightful.
Yourmysteriousyoungfriend,
hvis
whose
nameyouhavenevertoldme,but
hvis
whose
picturereallyfascinatesme,neverthinks.
Ifeelquitesureofthat.
Heissomebrainlessbeautifulcreaturewhoshouldbealwayshereinwinterwhenwehavenoflowerstolookat,andalwaysherein
sommeren
summer
whenwewantsomethingtochillourintelligence.
Don’tflatteryourself,Basil:
youarenotintheleastlikehim.”
“Youdon’tunderstandme,Harry,”answeredtheartist.
“OfcourseIamnotlikehim.
Iknowthatperfectlywell.
Indeed,Ishouldbesorrytolooklikehim.
Youshrugyourshoulders?
Iamtellingyouthetruth.
Thereisafatalityaboutallphysicalandintellectualdistinction,thesortoffatalitythatseemstodogthroughhistorythefalteringstepsofkings.
Itisbetternottobedifferentfromone’sfellows.
Theuglyandthestupidhavethebestofitinthisworld.
Theycansitattheireaseandgapeattheplay.
Iftheyknownothingofvictory,theyareatleastsparedtheknowledgeofdefeat.
Theyliveasweallshouldlive—undisturbed,indifferent,andwithoutdisquiet.
They
verken
neither
bringruinuponothers,
eller
nor
everreceiveitfromalienhands.
Yourrankandwealth,Harry;
mybrains,suchastheyare—my
kunst
art
,whateveritmaybe
verdt
worth
;
DorianGray’sgoodlooks—weshallallsufferforwhatthegodshavegivenus,sufferterribly.”
“DorianGray?
Isthathisname?”
askedLordHenry,walking
over
across
thestudiotowardsBasilHallward.
“Yes,thatishisname.
Ididn’tintendtotellittoyou.”
“Butwhynot?”
“Oh,Ican’t
forklare
explain
.
WhenIlikepeopleimmensely,Inevertelltheirnamestoanyone.
Itislikesurrenderingapartofthem.
Ihavegrowntolovesecrecy.
Itseemstobetheonethingthatcanmakemodernlifemysteriousormarvelloustous.
Thecommonestthingisdelightfulifoneonly
skjuler
hides
it.
WhenIleavetownnowInevertellmypeoplewhereIamgoing.
IfIdid,Iwouldloseallmy
glede
pleasure
.
Itisasillyhabit,I
våger
dare
say,butsomehowitseemstobringagreatdealofromanceintoone’slife.
I
antar
suppose
youthinkmeawfullyfoolishaboutit?”
“Notatall,”answeredLordHenry,“notatall,mydearBasil.
You
ser ut
seem
toforgetthatIammarried,andtheonecharmof
ekteskap
marriage
isthatitmakesalifeofdeception
absolutt
absolutely
necessaryforbothparties.
Ineverknowwheremywifeis,andmywifeneverknowswhatIamdoing.
Whenwemeet—wedomeetoccasionally,whenwedineouttogether,orgodowntotheDuke’s—wetelleachotherthemostabsurdstorieswiththemostseriousfaces.
Mywifeisverygoodatit—muchbetter,infact,thanIam.
Shenevergetsconfusedoverherdates,andIalwaysdo.
Butwhenshedoesfindmeout,shemakesnorowatall.
Isometimeswishshewould;
butshemerelylaughsatme.”
“Ihatethewayyoutalkaboutyourmarriedlife,Harry,”saidBasilHallward,strollingtowardsthedoorthat
førte
led
intothegarden.
“Ibelievethatyouarereallyaverygoodhusband,butthatyouarethoroughlyashamedofyourownvirtues.
Youareanextraordinaryfellow.
Youneversayamoralthing,andyouneverdoawrongthing.
Yourcynicismis
bare
simply
apose.”
“Beingnaturalis
bare
simply
apose,andthemostirritatingposeIknow,”criedLordHenry,
lo
laughing
;
andthetwoyoungmenwentoutintothegardentogetherandensconcedthemselvesonalongbambooseatthatstoodintheshadeofatalllaurelbush.
Thesunlightslippedoverthepolishedleaves.
Inthegrass,whitedaisiesweretremulous.
Afterapause,LordHenry
trakk
pulled
outhiswatch.
“IamafraidImustbegoing,Basil,”hemurmured,“andbeforeIgo,IinsistonyouransweringaquestionIputtoyousometimeago.”
“Whatisthat?”
saidthepainter,keepinghiseyesfixedonthe
bakken
ground
.
“Youknowquitewell.”
“Idonot,Harry.”
“Well,Iwilltellyouwhatitis.
Iwantyouto
forklare
explain
tomewhyyouwon’texhibitDorianGray’s
bilde
picture
.
Iwanttherealreason.”
“Itoldyoutherealreason.”
“No,youdidnot.
Yousaiditwasbecausetherewastoomuchofyourselfinit.
Now,thatischildish.”
“Harry,”saidBasilHallward,lookinghim
rett
straight
intheface,“everyportraitthatispaintedwithfeelingisaportraitoftheartist,notofthesitter.
Thesitterismerelytheaccident,theoccasion.
Itisnothewhoisrevealedbythepainter;
itis
snarere
rather
thepainterwho,onthecolouredcanvas,revealshimself.
ThereasonIwillnotexhibitthispictureisthatIamafraidthatIhaveshowninitthesecretofmyownsoul.”
LordHenry
lo
laughed
.
“Andwhatisthat?”
heasked.
“Iwilltellyou,”saidHallward;
butanexpressionofperplexitycameoverhisface.
“Iamallexpectation,Basil,”
fortsatte
continued
hiscompanion,glancingathim.
“Oh,thereisreallyverylittletotell,Harry,”answeredthepainter;
“andIamafraidyouwillhardlyunderstandit.
Perhapsyouwillhardlybelieveit.”
LordHenry
smilte
smiled
,andleaningdown,pluckedapink-petalleddaisyfromthegrassandexaminedit.
“IamquitesureIshallunderstandit,”hereplied,gazingintentlyatthelittlegolden,white-feathereddisk,“andasforbelievingthings,Icanbelieveanything,providedthatitisquiteincredible.”
Thewindshooksomeblossomsfromthetrees,andthe
tunge
heavy
lilac-blooms,withtheirclusteringstars,movedtoandfrointhelanguidair.
Agrasshopper
begynte
began
tochirrupbythe
veggen
wall
,andlikeabluethreadalongthindragon-flyfloatedpastonitsbrowngauzewings.
LordHenryfeltasifhecouldhearBasilHallward’sheartbeating,and
lurte
wondered
whatwascoming.
“Thestoryissimplythis,”saidthepainteraftersometime.
“TwomonthsagoIwenttoacrushatLadyBrandon’s.
Youknowwepoorartistshavetoshowourselvesinsocietyfromtimetotime,justtoremindthe
publikum
public
thatwearenotsavages.
Withaneveningcoatandawhitetie,asyoutoldmeonce,anybody,evenastock-broker,cangainareputationforbeingcivilized.
Well,afterIhadbeenintheroomabouttenminutes,talkingto
store
huge
overdresseddowagersandtediousacademicians,I
plutselig
suddenly
becameconsciousthatsomeonewaslookingatme.
Iturnedhalf-wayroundandsawDorianGrayforthefirsttime.
Whenoureyesmet,IfeltthatIwasgrowingpale.
Acurioussensationofterrorcameoverme.
IknewthatIhadcomefacetofacewithsomeonewhosemerepersonalitywassofascinatingthat,ifI
tillot
allowed
ittodoso,itwouldabsorbmywhole
natur
nature
,mywholesoul,myvery
kunst
art
itself.
Ididnotwantanyexternalinfluenceinmylife.
Youknowyourself,Harry,howindependentIamby
natur
nature
.
Ihavealwaysbeenmyownmaster;
hadatleastalwaysbeenso,tillImetDorianGray.
Then—butIdon’tknowhowto
forklare
explain
ittoyou.
Something
syntes
seemed
totellmethatIwasonthevergeofa
forferdelig
terrible
crisisinmylife.
Ihada
merkelig
strange
feelingthatfatehadin
butikken
store
formeexquisitejoysandexquisitesorrows.
Igrewafraidandturnedtoquittheroom.
Itwasnotconsciencethatmademedoso:
itwasasortofcowardice.
Itakenocredittomyselffortryingtoescape.”
“Conscienceandcowardicearereallythesamethings,Basil.
Conscienceisthetrade-nameofthefirm.
Thatisall.”
“Idon’tbelievethat,Harry,andIdon’tbelieveyoudoeither.
Men
However
,whateverwasmymotive—anditmayhavebeenpride,forIusedtobeveryproud—I
sikkert
certainly
struggledtothedoor.
There,ofcourse,IstumbledagainstLadyBrandon.
‘Youarenotgoingtorunawaysosoon,Mr.Hallward?’shescreamedout.
Youknowhercuriouslyshrillvoice?”
“Yes;
sheisapeacockineverythingbutbeauty,”saidLordHenry,
trakk
pulling
thedaisytobitswithhislongnervousfingers.
“Icouldnotgetridofher.
Shebroughtmeuptoroyalties,andpeoplewithstarsandgarters,andelderlyladieswithgigantictiarasandparrotnoses.
Shespokeofmeasherdearestfriend.
Ihadonlymetheroncebefore,butshetookitintoherheadtolionizeme.
Ibelievesome
bilde
picture
ofminehadmadeagreatsuccessatthetime,atleasthadbeenchatteredaboutinthepennynewspapers,whichisthenineteenth-centurystandardofimmortality.
Plutselig
Suddenly
Ifoundmyselffacetofacewiththeyoungman
hvis
whose
personalityhadsostrangelystirredme.