THEPREFACE
Theartististhecreatorofbeautifulthings.
Toreveal
umetnosti
artandconcealtheartistisart’scilj
aim.Thecriticishe
ki
whocantranslateintoanothernačin
manneroranewmaterialhisvtis
impressionofbeautifulthings.Thehighestasthelowestformof
kritike
criticismisamodeofautobiography.Those
ki
whofinduglymeaningsinbeautifulthingsarecorruptwithoutbeingcharming.To
Thisisafault.Those
ki
whofindbeautifulmeaningsinčudovite
beautifulthingsarethecultivated.For
te
thesethereishope.Theyaretheelecttowhom
lepe
beautifulthingsmeanonlybeauty.Thereis
ne
nosuchthingasamoralali
oranimmoralbook.Booksare
dobro
wellwritten,orbadlywritten.To
Thatisall.Thenineteenthcenturydislikeofrealismisthe
bes
rageofCalibanseeinghisownobraz
faceinaglass.Thenineteenthcenturydislikeofromanticismisthe
bes
rageofCalibannotseeinghisownfaceinaglass.The
moralno
morallifeofmanformsdel
partofthesubject-matteroftheartist,toda
butthemoralityofartconsistsintheperfectuseofanimperfectmedium.Ne
Noartistdesirestoproveničesar
anything.Eventhingsthataretrue
lahko
canbeproved.Noartisthas
etičnih
ethicalsympathies.Anethicalsympathyinanartistisanunpardonablemannerismofstyle.
Ni
Noartistisevermorbid.The
umetnik
artistcanexpresseverything.Thought
in
andlanguagearetotheartistinstrumentsofanumetnosti
art.Viceandvirtuearetotheartistmaterialsforanart.
Fromthepointofviewofform,the
vrsta
typeofalltheartsistheumetnosti
artofthemusician.Fromthepointofviewoffeeling,theactor’scraftisthe
tip
type.Allartisatoncesurface
in
andsymbol.Thosewhogo
pod
beneaththesurfacedosoattheirperil.Those
ki
whoreadthesymboldosoattheirperil.Itisthespectator,andnot
življenje
life,thatartreallymirrors.Diversityofopinion
o
aboutaworkofartshowsda
thattheworkisnew,zapleteno
complex,andvital.Whencriticsdisagree,the
umetnik
artistisinaccordwithhimself.We
lahko
canforgiveamanformakingauporabno
usefulthingaslongashedoesnotadmireit.The
edini
onlyexcuseformakingauselessthingisda
thatoneadmiresitintensely.Allartis
povsem
quiteuseless.CHAPTERI.
The
studio
studiowasfilledwiththerichodourofroses,in
andwhenthelightsummerveter
windstirredamidstthetreesofje
thegarden,therecamethroughje
theopendoortheheavyscentofje
thelilac,orthemoredelicateparfum
perfumeofthepink-floweringthorn.FromthecornerofthedivanofPersiansaddle-bagsonwhichhewaslying,smoking,aswashis
običaj
custom,innumerablecigarettes,LordHenryWottoncouldpravkar
justcatchthegleamofthehoney-sweetin
andhoney-colouredblossomsofalaburnum,katerih
whosetremulousbranchesseemedhardlyabletobearthebreme
burdenofabeautysoflamelikeastheirs;in
andnowandthenthefantasticshadowsofbirdsinflightflittedacrossthelongtussore-silkcurtainsthatwerestretchedinfrontofthehugewindow,producingakindofmomentaryJapaneseučinek
effect,andmakinghimthinkofthosepallid,jade-facedpaintersofTokyowho,throughthemediumofanumetnosti
artthatisnecessarilyimmobile,seektoconveytheobčutek
senseofswiftnessandmotion.Je
Thesullenmurmurofthebeesshoulderingtheirwaythroughje
thelongunmowngrass,orcirclingz
withmonotonousinsistenceroundthedustygilthornsofje
thestragglingwoodbine,seemedtomakeje
thestillnessmoreoppressive.Thedim
rjovenje
roarofLondonwaslikethebourdonnoteofadistantorgan.Inthecentreoftheroom,clampedtoanuprighteasel,stoodthefull-lengthportraitofayoungmanofextraordinary
osebne
personalbeauty,andinfrontofit,nekaj
somelittledistanceaway,wassittingtheumetnik
artisthimself,BasilHallward,whosenenadno
suddendisappearancesomeyearsagocaused,atthečasu
time,suchpublicexcitementandgaverisetosomanyčudnih
strangeconjectures.Asthepainterlookedatthegracious
in
andcomelyformhehadsoskilfullymirroredinhisumetnosti
art,asmileofpleasurepassedacrosshisface,in
andseemedabouttolingertam
there.Buthesuddenlystartedup,andclosinghiseyes,placedhisfingersuponthelids,asthoughhesoughttoimprisonwithinhisbrain
nekaj
somecuriousdreamfromwhichhefearedhemightawake.“Itisyourbest
delo
work,Basil,thebestthingyouhaveeverdone,”saidLordHenrylanguidly.“Youmustcertainlysenditnext
leto
yeartotheGrosvenor.The
Akademija
Academyistoolargeandpreveč
toovulgar.WheneverIhavegone
tam
there,therehavebeeneithersoveliko
manypeoplethatIhavenotbeenabletoseeje
thepictures,whichwasdreadful,ali
orsomanypicturesthatIhavenotbeenabletoseeje
thepeople,whichwasworse.TheGrosvenoris
res
reallytheonlyplace.”“Idon’tthinkIshallsenditanywhere,”heanswered,tossinghis
glavo
headbackinthatoddnačin
waythatusedtomakehisfriendslaughathimatOxford.“No,Iwon’tsenditanywhere.”
LordHenryelevatedhiseyebrows
in
andlookedathiminamazementskozi
throughthethinbluewreathsofdima
smokethatcurledupintakšne
suchfancifulwhorlsfromhistežke
heavy,opium-taintedcigarette.“Notsendit
nikamor
anywhere?Mydearfellow,why?
Haveyouany
razlog
reason?Whatoddchapsyoupaintersare!
Youdoanythinginthe
svetu
worldtogainareputation.Assoonasyouhaveone,youseemtowanttothrowit
stran
away.Itissillyofyou,forthereis
samo
onlyonethinginthesvetu
worldworsethanbeingtalkedo
about,andthatisnotbeingtalkedo
about.Aportraitlikethiswouldsetyou
daleč
farabovealltheyoungmeninEngland,in
andmaketheoldmenzelo
quitejealous,ifoldmenareevercapableofanyemotion.”“Iknowyouwilllaughatme,”hereplied,“butI
res
reallycan’texhibitit.Ihaveput
preveč
toomuchofmyselfintoit.”LordHenrystretchedhimselfouton
je
thedivanandlaughed.“Yes,Iknewyouwould;
ampak
butitisquitetrue,allthesame.”“Toomuchofyourselfinit!
Uponmy
besedo
word,Basil,Ididn’tknowyouweresovain;in
andIreallycan’tseeanyresemblancemed
betweenyou,withyourruggedstrongfacein
andyourcoal-blackhair,andtem
thisyoungAdonis,wholooksasifhewasmadeoutofivoryin
androse-leaves.Why,mydearBasil,heisaNarcissus,
in
andyou—well,ofcourseyouhaveanintellectualizraz
expressionandallthat.Butbeauty,realbeauty,ends
kjer
whereanintellectualexpressionbegins.Intelekt
Intellectisinitselfanačin
modeofexaggeration,anddestroystheharmonyofanyface.Themomentonesitsdowntothink,onebecomes
vse
allnose,orallforehead,ali
orsomethinghorrid.Lookatthesuccessfulmeninanyofthelearnedprofessions.
Kako
Howperfectlyhideoustheyare!Razen
Except,ofcourse,intheChurch.Toda
ButthenintheChurchtheydon’tthink.A
škof
bishopkeepsonsayingattheageofeightywhathewastoldtosayko
whenhewasaboyofeighteen,in
andasanaturalconsequencehevedno
alwayslooksabsolutelydelightful.Yourmysterious
mladi
youngfriend,whosenameyouhavenikoli
nevertoldme,butwhosepictureresnično
reallyfascinatesme,neverthinks.Ifeelquitesureof
to
that.Heissomebrainlessbeautiful
bitje
creaturewhoshouldbealwaystukaj
hereinwinterwhenwehavenoflowerstolookat,in
andalwayshereinsummerko
whenwewantsomethingtochillourintelligence.Don’tflatteryourself,Basil:
youarenotintheleast
kot
likehim.”“Youdon’tunderstandme,Harry,”answered
je
theartist.“OfcourseIamnot
kot
likehim.Iknowthatperfectlywell.
Res
Indeed,Ishouldbesorrytolooklikehim.Youshrugyourshoulders?
Iamtellingyouthetruth.
Thereisafatalityabout
vseh
allphysicalandintellectualdistinction,thesortoffatalitythatseemstodogskozi
throughhistorythefalteringstepsofkings.Itis
bolje
betternottobedifferentfromone’sfellows.The
grdi
uglyandthestupidhavethebestofitintem
thisworld.Theycansitattheirease
in
andgapeattheplay.Če
Iftheyknownothingofzmagi
victory,theyareatleastsparedtheknowledgeofporazu
defeat.Theyliveaswe
vsi
allshouldlive—undisturbed,indifferent,andbrez
withoutdisquiet.Theyneitherbringruinuponothers,norever
prejmejo
receiveitfromalienhands.Your
čin
rankandwealth,Harry;mybrains,suchastheyare—myart,
karkoli
whateveritmaybeworth;DorianGray’s
dober
goodlooks—weshallallsufferforwhatje
thegodshavegivenus,trpeli
sufferterribly.”“DorianGray?
Is
to
thathisname?”askedLordHenry,walkingacross
je
thestudiotowardsBasilHallward.“Yes,thatishis
ime
name.Ididn’tintendtotellittoyou.”
“Butwhynot?”
“Oh,Ican’t
razložiti
explain.WhenIlikepeopleimmensely,Inever
povem
telltheirnamestoanyone.Itis
kot
likesurrenderingapartofnjih
them.Ihavegrowntolovesecrecy.
Itseemstobe
je
theonethingthatcanmakemodernživljenje
lifemysteriousormarvelloustonam
us.Thecommonestthingisdelightful
če
ifoneonlyhidesit.Ko
WhenIleavetownnowInikoli
nevertellmypeoplewhereIamgoing.Če
IfIdid,Iwouldloseallmyužitek
pleasure.Itisasillyhabit,Idare
reči
say,butsomehowitseemstobringaveliko
greatdealofromanceintoone’sživljenje
life.Isupposeyouthinkmeawfullyfoolishaboutit?”
“Notatall,”answeredLordHenry,“notatall,my
dragi
dearBasil.YouseemtoforgetthatIam
poročen
married,andtheonecharmofmarriageisthatitmakesaživljenje
lifeofdeceptionabsolutelynecessaryforobe
bothparties.Ineverknow
kje
wheremywifeis,andmyžena
wifeneverknowswhatIamdoing.Ko
Whenwemeet—wedomeetoccasionally,ko
whenwedineouttogether,orgodowntotheDuke’s—wetelleachotherthenajbolj
mostabsurdstorieswiththenajbolj
mostseriousfaces.Mywifeis
zelo
verygoodatit—muchbetter,infact,kot
thanIam.Shenevergetsconfusedoverherdates,andI
vedno
alwaysdo.Butwhenshedoesfindmeout,shemakes
ne
norowatall.I
včasih
sometimeswishshewould;butshemerelylaughsatme.”
“Ihate
je
thewayyoutalkaboutyourmarriedlife,Harry,”saidBasilHallward,strollingproti
towardsthedoorthatledintoje
thegarden.“Ibelievethatyouare
res
reallyaverygoodhusband,vendar
butthatyouarethoroughlyashamedofyourownvirtues.Youareanextraordinaryfellow.
You
nikoli
neversayamoralthing,in
andyouneverdoawrongthing.Yourcynicismissimplyapose.”
“Beingnaturalis
preprosto
simplyapose,andthenajbolj
mostirritatingposeIknow,”criedLordHenry,laughing;in
andthetwoyoungmenwentoutintothevrt
gardentogetherandensconcedthemselvesonalongbambooseatki
thatstoodintheshadeofatalllaurelbush.Je
Thesunlightslippedoverthepolishedleaves.Inthe
travi
grass,whitedaisiesweretremulous.Po
Afterapause,LordHenrypulledouthiswatch.“IamafraidImustbegoing,Basil,”hemurmured,“andbeforeI
iti
go,Iinsistonyouransweringavprašanje
questionIputtoyounekaj
sometimeago.”“Whatisthat?”
said
je
thepainter,keepinghiseyesfixedonje
theground.“Youknowquitewell.”
“Idonot,Harry.”
“Well,Iwill
povedal
tellyouwhatitis.Iwantyoutoexplaintomewhyyouwon’texhibitDorianGray’spicture.
Iwanttherealreason.”
“Itoldyouthe
pravi
realreason.”“No,youdidnot.
Yousaiditwas
ker
becausetherewastoomuchofyourselfinto
it.Now,thatischildish.”
“Harry,”saidBasilHallward,lookinghim
naravnost
straightintheface,“everyportret
portraitthatispaintedwithfeelingisaportret
portraitoftheartist,notofthesitter.Thesitterismerelytheaccident,theoccasion.
Itisnothe
ki
whoisrevealedbytheslikar
painter;itisratherthe
slikar
painterwho,onthecolouredcanvas,revealshimself.The
razlog
reasonIwillnotexhibitte
thispictureisthatIamafraidda
thatIhaveshowninittheskrivnost
secretofmyownsoul.”LordHenrylaughed.
“Andwhatisthat?”
heasked.
“Iwill
povedal
tellyou,”saidHallward;but
je
anexpressionofperplexitycameoverhisface.“Iamallexpectation,Basil,”continuedhis
spremljevalec
companion,glancingathim.“Oh,thereis
res
reallyverylittletotell,Harry,”answeredtheslikar
painter;“andIamafraidyouwillhardlyunderstandit.
Morda
Perhapsyouwillhardlybelieveit.”LordHenrysmiled,
in
andleaningdown,pluckedapink-petalleddaisyfromthetrave
grassandexaminedit.“Iam
povsem
quitesureIshallunderstandit,”hereplied,gazingintentlyatthelittlezlati
golden,white-feathereddisk,“andasforbelievingthings,Ilahko
canbelieveanything,providedthatitispovsem
quiteincredible.”Thewindshook
nekaj
someblossomsfromthetrees,in
andtheheavylilac-blooms,withtheirclusteringstars,movedtoin
andfrointhelanguidzraku
air.Agrasshopperbegantochirrupbythe
steni
wall,andlikeabluenit
threadalongthindragon-flyfloatedmimo
pastonitsbrowngauzewings.LordHenryfeltasifhecouldhearBasilHallward’s
srca
heartbeating,andwonderedwhatwascoming.“Thestoryis
preprosto
simplythis,”saidthepainterpo
aftersometime.“TwomonthsagoIwenttoacrushatLadyBrandon’s.
Youknowwe
ubogi
poorartistshavetoshowourselvesinsocietyfromtimetotime,samo
justtoremindthepublicthatwearenotsavages.Z
Withaneveningcoatandabelo
whitetie,asyoutoldmenekoč
once,anybody,evenastock-broker,lahko
cangainareputationforbeingcivilized.No
Well,afterIhadbeeninthesobi
roomabouttenminutes,talkingtohugeoverdresseddowagersin
andtediousacademicians,Isuddenlybecameconsciousthatsomeonewaslookingatme.Iturnedhalf-wayround
in
andsawDorianGrayfortheprvič
firsttime.Whenoureyesmet,Ifelt
da
thatIwasgrowingpale.Je
Acurioussensationofterrorcameoverme.IknewthatIhadcomefacetoface
z
withsomeonewhosemereosebnost
personalitywassofascinatingthat,če
ifIallowedittodoso,itwouldabsorbmywholenature,mywholedušo
soul,myveryartitself.Ididnotwantanyexternalinfluenceinmylife.
Youknowyourself,Harry,
kako
howindependentIambynature.Ihave
vedno
alwaysbeenmyownmaster;hadat
vsaj
leastalwaysbeenso,tillImetDorianGray.Then—butIdon’t
vem
knowhowtoexplainittoyou.Nekaj
SomethingseemedtotellmethatIwasontherobu
vergeofaterriblecrisisinmylife.Ihada
čuden
strangefeelingthatfatehadinstoreformeexquisitejoysin
andexquisitesorrows.Igrewafraid
in
andturnedtoquitthesobo
room.Itwasnotconsciencethatmademedoso:
itwas
je
asortofcowardice.Itake
ne
nocredittomyselffortryingtoescape.”“Conscience
in
andcowardicearereallythesamethings,Basil.Conscienceisthetrade-nameofthefirm.
To
Thatisall.”“Idon’tbelievethat,Harry,
in
andIdon’tbelieveyoudoeither.However,whateverwasmymotive—andit
morda
mayhavebeenpride,forIusedtobezelo
veryproud—Icertainlystruggledtoje
thedoor.There,ofcourse,IstumbledagainstLady
Brandon
Brandon.‘Youarenotgoingtorunawayso
kmalu
soon,Mr.Hallward?’shescreamedout.Youknowhercuriouslyshrillvoice?”
“Yes;
sheisa
pav
peacockineverythingbutbeauty,”saidLordHenry,pullingthedaisytobitsz
withhislongnervousfingers.“Icouldnotgetridofher.
Shebroughtmeuptoroyalties,
in
andpeoplewithstarsandgarters,in
andelderlyladieswithgigantictiarasin
andparrotnoses.Shespokeofmeasherdearestfriend.
Ihad
samo
onlymetheroncebefore,butshetookitintoherglavo
headtolionizeme.Ibelievesomepictureofminehadmadeagreatsuccessatthe
času
time,atleasthadbeenchatteredo
aboutinthepennynewspapers,kar
whichisthenineteenth-centurystandardofimmortality.Nenadoma
SuddenlyIfoundmyselffacetoobraz
facewiththeyoungmanwhoseosebnost
personalityhadsostrangelystirredme.