The Picture of Dorian Gray | Gradually Hardening Portuguese B1

The Picture of Dorian Gray | Gradually Hardening Portuguese B1

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THEPREFACE
Theartististhecreatorofbeautifulthings.
Torevealartandconcealthe
artista
artist
isart’saim.
Thecriticishewhocantranslateintoanothermanneroranew
material
material
hisimpressionofbeautifulthings.
Thehighestasthelowestformofcriticismisamodeofautobiography.
Thosewhofinduglymeaningsinbeautifulthingsarecorruptwithoutbeingcharming.
Thisisafault.
Thosewhofindbeautifulmeaningsinbeautifulthingsarethecultivated.
Forthesethereishope.
Theyaretheelecttowhombeautifulthingsmeanonlybeauty.
Thereisnosuchthingasamoraloranimmoralbook.
Booksarewellwritten,or
mal
badly
written.
Thatisall.
Thenineteenth
século
century
dislikeofrealismistherageofCalibanseeinghisownfaceinaglass.
Thenineteenth
século
century
dislikeofromanticismistherageofCalibannotseeinghisownfaceinaglass.
Themorallifeofmanformspartofthesubject-matterofthe
artista
artist
,butthemoralityofartconsistsintheperfectuseofanimperfectmedium.
No
artista
artist
desirestoproveanything.
Eventhingsthataretruecanbeproved.
No
artista
artist
hasethicalsympathies.
Anethicalsympathyinan
artista
artist
isanunpardonablemannerismof
estilo
style
.
Noartistisevermorbid.
The
artista
artist
canexpresseverything.
Thoughtandlanguagearetothe
artista
artist
instrumentsofanart.
Vício
Vice
andvirtuearetothe
artista
artist
materialsforanart.
Fromthepointof
vista
view
ofform,thetypeofalltheartsistheartofthemusician.
Fromthepointof
vista
view
offeeling,theactor’scraftisthetype.
Allartisatonce
superfície
surface
andsymbol.
Thosewhogobeneaththe
superfície
surface
dosoattheirperil.
Thosewhoreadthesymboldosoattheirperil.
Itisthespectator,andnotlife,thatartreally
espelha
mirrors
.
Diversityofopinionaboutaworkofartshowsthattheworkisnew,complex,andvital.
Whencriticsdisagree,the
artista
artist
isinaccordwithhimself.
Wecanforgiveamanformakinga
útil
useful
thingaslongashedoesnotadmireit.
Theonlyexcuseformakinga
inútil
useless
thingisthatoneadmiresitintensely.
Allartisquite
inútil
useless
.
CHAPTERI.
Thestudiowas
cheio
filled
withtherichodourofroses,andwhenthelightsummerwindstirredamidstthetreesofthe
jardim
garden
,therecamethroughtheopendoortheheavyscentofthelilac,orthemoredelicateperfumeofthepink-floweringthorn.
Fromthe
canto
corner
ofthedivanofPersiansaddle-bagsonwhichhewaslying,smoking,aswashiscustom,innumerablecigarettes,LordHenryWottoncouldjustcatchthegleamofthehoney-sweetandhoney-colouredblossomsofalaburnum,whosetremulousbranchesseemed
dificilmente
hardly
abletobeartheburdenofabeautysoflamelikeastheirs;
andnowandthenthefantasticshadowsofbirdsinflightflittedacrossthelongtussore-silkcurtainsthatwerestretchedinfrontofthehugewindow,producingakindofmomentaryJapanese
efeito
effect
,andmakinghimthinkofthosepallid,jade-facedpaintersofTokyowho,throughthemediumofanartthatisnecessarilyimmobile,
procuram
seek
toconveythesenseofswiftnessandmotion.
Thesullenmurmurofthebeesshoulderingtheirwaythroughthelongunmown
grama
grass
,orcirclingwithmonotonousinsistenceroundthedustygilthornsofthestragglingwoodbine,seemedtomakethestillnessmoreoppressive.
ThedimroarofLondonwaslikethebourdon
nota
note
ofadistantorgan.
Inthecentreoftheroom,clampedtoanuprighteasel,stoodthefull-lengthportraitofayoungmanofextraordinarypersonalbeauty,andinfrontofit,somelittledistanceaway,wassittingthe
artista
artist
himself,BasilHallward,whose
súbito
sudden
disappearancesomeyearsagocaused,atthetime,suchpublicexcitementandgaverisetosomanystrangeconjectures.
Asthepainterlookedatthegraciousandcomelyformhehadsoskilfully
espelhado
mirrored
inhisart,asmileofpleasurepassedacrosshisface,andseemedabouttolingerthere.
Buthesuddenlystartedup,andclosinghiseyes,placedhisfingersuponthelids,asthoughhe
procurou
sought
toimprisonwithinhisbrainsome
curioso
curious
dreamfromwhichhefearedhemightawake.
“Itisyourbestwork,Basil,thebestthingyouhaveeverdone,”saidLordHenrylanguidly.
“YoumustcertainlysenditnextyeartotheGrosvenor.
TheAcademyistoolargeandtoovulgar.
WheneverIhavegonethere,therehavebeeneithersomanypeoplethatIhavenotbeenabletoseethepictures,whichwasdreadful,orsomanypicturesthatIhavenotbeenabletoseethepeople,whichwasworse.
TheGrosvenorisreallytheonlyplace.”
“Idon’tthinkIshallsenditanywhere,”heanswered,tossinghisheadbackinthatoddwaythatusedtomakehisfriendslaughathimatOxford.
“No,Iwon’tsenditanywhere.”
LordHenryelevatedhiseyebrowsandlookedathiminamazementthroughthethinbluewreathsofsmokethatcurledupinsuchfancifulwhorlsfromhisheavy,opium-tainted
cigarro
cigarette
.
“Notsenditanywhere?
Mydear
companheiro
fellow
,why?
Haveyouanyreason?
Whatoddchapsyoupaintersare!
Youdoanythingintheworldtogaina
reputação
reputation
.
Assoonasyouhaveone,youseemtowanttothrowitaway.
Itissillyofyou,forthereisonlyonethingintheworldworsethanbeingtalkedabout,andthatisnotbeingtalkedabout.
AportraitlikethiswouldsetyoufarabovealltheyoungmeninEngland,andmaketheoldmenquite
ciúmes
jealous
,ifoldmenareevercapableofanyemotion.”
“Iknowyouwilllaughatme,”hereplied,“butIreallycan’texhibitit.
Ihaveputtoomuchofmyselfintoit.”
LordHenrystretchedhimselfoutonthedivanandlaughed.
“Yes,Iknewyouwould;
butitisquitetrue,allthesame.”
“Toomuchofyourselfinit!
Uponmyword,Basil,Ididn’tknowyouweresovain;
andIreallycan’tseeanyresemblancebetweenyou,withyourruggedstrongfaceandyourcoal-blackhair,andthisyoungAdonis,wholooksasifhewasmadeoutofivoryandrose-leaves.
Why,mydearBasil,heisaNarcissus,andyou—well,ofcourseyouhaveanintellectualexpressionandallthat.
Butbeauty,realbeauty,endswhereanintellectualexpressionbegins.
Intellectisinitselfamodeofexaggeration,and
destrói
destroys
theharmonyofanyface.
Themomentonesitsdowntothink,onebecomesallnose,orallforehead,orsomethinghorrid.
Lookatthe
sucesso
successful
meninanyofthelearnedprofessions.
How
perfeitamente
perfectly
hideoustheyare!
Except,ofcourse,intheChurch.
ButthenintheChurchtheydon’tthink.
Abishopkeepsonsayingattheageofeightywhathewastoldtosaywhenhewasaboyofeighteen,andasa
natural
natural
consequencehealwayslooksabsolutelydelightful.
Yourmysteriousyoungfriend,whosenameyouhavenevertoldme,butwhosepicturereallyfascinatesme,neverthinks.
Ifeelquitesureofthat.
Heissomebrainlessbeautiful
criatura
creature
whoshouldbealwaysherein
inverno
winter
whenwehavenoflowerstolookat,andalwayshereinsummerwhenwewantsomethingtochillour
inteligência
intelligence
.
Don’tflatteryourself,Basil:
youarenotintheleastlikehim.”
“Youdon’tunderstandme,Harry,”answeredthe
artista
artist
.
“OfcourseIamnotlikehim.
Iknowthat
perfeitamente
perfectly
well.
Indeed,Ishouldbesorrytolooklikehim.
Youshrugyourshoulders?
Iamtellingyouthetruth.
Thereisafatalityaboutall
física
physical
andintellectualdistinction,thesortoffatalitythatseemstodogthroughhistorythefalteringstepsofkings.
Itisbetternottobedifferentfromone’sfellows.
Theuglyandthestupidhavethebestofitinthisworld.
Theycansitattheireaseandgapeattheplay.
Iftheyknownothingof
vitória
victory
,theyareatleastsparedthe
conhecimento
knowledge
ofdefeat.
Theyliveasweallshouldlive—undisturbed,indifferent,andwithoutdisquiet.
Theyneitherbring
ruína
ruin
uponothers,norever
recebem
receive
itfromalienhands.
Yourrankandwealth,Harry;
mybrains,suchastheyare—myart,whateveritmaybeworth;
DorianGray’sgoodlooks—weshallall
sofrer
suffer
forwhatthegodshavegivenus,
sofrer
suffer
terribly.”
“DorianGray?
Isthathisname?”
askedLordHenry,walkingacrossthe
estúdio
studio
towardsBasilHallward.
“Yes,thatishisname.
Ididn’tintendtotellittoyou.”
“Butwhynot?”
“Oh,Ican’texplain.
WhenIlikepeopleimmensely,Inevertelltheirnamestoanyone.
Itislike
entregar
surrendering
apartofthem.
Ihavegrowntolovesecrecy.
Itseemstobetheonethingthatcanmakemodernlifemysteriousormarvelloustous.
Thecommonestthingisdelightfulifoneonlyhidesit.
WhenIleavetownnowInevertellmypeoplewhereIamgoing.
IfIdid,Iwouldloseallmypleasure.
Itisasillyhabit,Idaresay,but
alguma
somehow
itseemstobringagreatdealofromanceintoone’slife.
Isupposeyouthinkmeawfullyfoolishaboutit?”
“Notatall,”answeredLordHenry,“notatall,mydearBasil.
YouseemtoforgetthatIammarried,andtheonecharmofmarriageisthatitmakesalifeofdeceptionabsolutelynecessaryforbothparties.
Ineverknowwheremywifeis,andmywifeneverknowswhatIamdoing.
Whenwemeet—wedomeetoccasionally,whenwedineouttogether,orgodowntotheDuke’s—wetelleachotherthemostabsurdstorieswiththemostseriousfaces.
Mywifeisverygoodatit—muchbetter,infact,thanIam.
Shenevergets
confunde
confused
overherdates,andIalwaysdo.
Butwhenshedoesfindmeout,shemakesnorowatall.
Isometimeswishshewould;
butshemerelylaughsatme.”
“Ihatethewayyoutalkaboutyourmarriedlife,Harry,”saidBasilHallward,strollingtowardsthedoorthatledintothe
jardim
garden
.
“Ibelievethatyouarereallyaverygoodhusband,butthatyouarethoroughly
envergonhado
ashamed
ofyourownvirtues.
Youarean
extraordinário
extraordinary
fellow.
Youneversayamoralthing,andyouneverdoawrongthing.
Yourcynicismissimplyapose.”
“Being
natural
natural
issimplyapose,andthemostirritatingposeIknow,”criedLordHenry,laughing;
andthetwoyoungmenwentoutintothe
jardim
garden
togetherandensconcedthemselvesonalongbambooseatthatstoodintheshadeofa
alto
tall
laurelbush.
Thesunlight
escorregou
slipped
overthepolishedleaves.
Inthe
grama
grass
,whitedaisiesweretremulous.
Afterapause,LordHenrypulledouthiswatch.
“IamafraidImustbegoing,Basil,”hemurmured,“andbeforeIgo,IinsistonyouransweringaquestionIputtoyousometimeago.”
“Whatisthat?”
saidthepainter,keepinghiseyesfixedontheground.
“Youknowquitewell.”
“Idonot,Harry.”
“Well,Iwilltellyouwhatitis.
Iwantyoutoexplaintomewhyyouwon’texhibitDorianGray’spicture.
Iwanttherealreason.”
“Itoldyoutherealreason.”
“No,youdidnot.
Yousaiditwasbecausetherewastoomuchofyourselfinit.
Now,thatischildish.”
“Harry,”saidBasilHallward,lookinghimstraightintheface,“everyportraitthatis
pintado
painted
withfeelingisaportraitofthe
artista
artist
,notofthesitter.
Thesitterismerelytheaccident,theoccasion.
Itisnothewhoisrevealedbythepainter;
itisratherthepainterwho,onthecolouredcanvas,revealshimself.
ThereasonIwillnotexhibitthispictureisthatIamafraidthatIhave
mostrado
shown
initthesecretofmyownsoul.”
LordHenrylaughed.
“Andwhatisthat?”
heasked.
“Iwilltellyou,”saidHallward;
butanexpressionofperplexitycameoverhisface.
“Iamallexpectation,Basil,”continuedhiscompanion,glancingathim.
“Oh,thereisreallyverylittletotell,Harry,”answeredthepainter;
“andIamafraidyouwill
dificilmente
hardly
understandit.
Perhapsyouwill
dificilmente
hardly
believeit.”
LordHenrysmiled,andleaningdown,pluckedapink-petalleddaisyfromthe
grama
grass
andexaminedit.
“IamquitesureIshallunderstandit,”hereplied,gazingintentlyatthelittle
dourado
golden
,white-feathereddisk,“andasforbelievingthings,Icanbelieveanything,providedthatitisquiteincredible.”
Thewindshooksomeblossomsfromthetrees,andtheheavylilac-blooms,withtheirclusteringstars,movedtoandfrointhelanguidair.
Agrasshopperbegantochirrupbythewall,andlikeabluethreadalong
fina
thin
dragon-flyfloatedpastonits
marrom
brown
gauzewings.
LordHenryfeltasifhecouldhearBasilHallward’sheartbeating,andwonderedwhatwascoming.
“Thestoryissimplythis,”saidthepainteraftersometime.
“TwomonthsagoIwenttoacrushatLadyBrandon’s.
Youknowwepoorartistshavetoshowourselvesin
sociedade
society
fromtimetotime,justto
lembrar
remind
thepublicthatwearenotsavages.
Withanevening
casaco
coat
andawhitetie,asyoutoldmeonce,anybody,evenastock-broker,cangaina
reputação
reputation
forbeingcivilized.
Well,afterIhadbeenintheroomabouttenminutes,talkingtohugeoverdresseddowagersandtediousacademicians,Isuddenlybecameconsciousthatsomeonewaslookingatme.
Iturnedhalf-wayroundandsawDorianGrayforthefirsttime.
Whenoureyesmet,IfeltthatIwasgrowingpale.
Acurioussensationofterrorcameoverme.
IknewthatIhadcomefacetofacewithsomeonewhosemerepersonalitywassofascinatingthat,ifIallowedittodoso,itwouldabsorbmywholenature,mywholesoul,myveryartitself.
Ididnotwantanyexternalinfluenceinmylife.
Youknowyourself,Harry,howindependentIambynature.
Ihavealwaysbeenmyownmaster;
hadatleastalwaysbeenso,tillImetDorianGray.
Then—butIdon’tknowhowtoexplainittoyou.
SomethingseemedtotellmethatIwasonthevergeofaterrible
crise
crisis
inmylife.
Ihadastrangefeelingthat
destino
fate
hadinstoreformeexquisitejoysandexquisitesorrows.
Igrewafraidandturnedtoquittheroom.
Itwasnotconsciencethatmademedoso:
itwasasortofcowardice.
Itakeno
crédito
credit
tomyselffortryingtoescape.”
“Conscienceandcowardicearereallythesamethings,Basil.
Conscienceisthetrade-nameofthe
empresa
firm
.
Thatisall.”
“Idon’tbelievethat,Harry,andIdon’tbelieveyoudoeither.
However,whateverwasmymotive—anditmayhavebeen
orgulho
pride
,forIusedtobeveryproud—Icertainly
lutei
struggled
tothedoor.
There,ofcourse,IstumbledagainstLadyBrandon.
‘Youarenotgoingtorunawaysosoon,Mr.Hallward?’she
gritou
screamed
out.
Youknowhercuriouslyshrillvoice?”
“Yes;
sheisapeacockineverythingbutbeauty,”saidLordHenry,pullingthedaisytobitswithhislongnervousfingers.
“Icouldnotgetridofher.
Shebroughtmeuptoroyalties,andpeoplewithstarsandgarters,andelderlyladieswithgigantictiarasandparrotnoses.
Shespokeofmeasherdearestfriend.
Ihadonlymetheroncebefore,butshetookitintoherheadtolionizeme.
Ibelievesomepictureofminehadmadeagreat
sucesso
success
atthetime,atleasthadbeenchatteredaboutinthepennynewspapers,whichisthenineteenth-centurystandardofimmortality.
SuddenlyIfoundmyselffacetofacewiththeyoungmanwhosepersonalityhadsostrangelystirredme.