THEPREFACE
Theartististhecreatorofbeautifulthings.
Toreveal
мистецтва
artandconcealtheartistisart’sмета
aim.Thecriticishe
хто
whocantranslateintoanothermannerабо
oranewmaterialhisвраження
impressionofbeautifulthings.Thehighestasthelowest
форма
formofcriticismisamodeofautobiography.Ті
Thosewhofinduglymeaningsinbeautifulthingsarecorruptwithoutbeingcharming.Thisisafault.
Ті
Thosewhofindbeautifulmeaningsinbeautifulthingsarethecultivated.Forthesethereis
надія
hope.Theyaretheelecttowhom
красиві
beautifulthingsmeanonlybeauty.Thereis
немає
nosuchthingasamoralабо
oranimmoralbook.Booksare
добре
wellwritten,orbadlywritten.Thatis
все
all.ThenineteenthcenturydislikeofrealismistherageofCalibanseeinghisown
обличчя
faceinaglass.Thenineteenth
століття
centurydislikeofromanticismistherageofCalibannotseeinghisownобличчя
faceinaglass.Themoral
життя
lifeofmanformspartofthesubject-matteroftheartist,але
butthemoralityofartconsistsintheperfectuseofє
animperfectmedium.Noartistdesirestoprove
нічого
anything.Eventhingsthataretrue
можна
canbeproved.Noartisthas
етичних
ethicalsympathies.Anethicalsympathyinanartistisanunpardonablemannerismof
стилю
style.Noartistisevermorbid.
The
художник
artistcanexpresseverything.Thought
і
andlanguagearetotheartistinstrumentsofanмистецтва
art.Viceandvirtuearetotheartistmaterialsforan
мистецтва
art.Fromthepointofviewof
форми
form,thetypeofalltheartsistheartofthemusician.Fromthe
точки
pointofviewoffeeling,theactor’sремесло
craftisthetype.Allartisatoncesurface
і
andsymbol.Thosewhogo
під
beneaththesurfacedosoattheirperil.Ті
Thosewhoreadthesymboldosoattheirperil.Itisthespectator,
а
andnotlife,thatartнасправді
reallymirrors.Diversityofopinion
про
aboutaworkofartshowsщо
thattheworkisnew,complex,і
andvital.Whencriticsdisagree,the
художник
artistisinaccordwithhimself.We
можемо
canforgiveamanformakingausefulріч
thingaslongashedoesnotadmireвона
it.Theonlyexcuseformakingauseless
речі
thingisthatoneadmiresitінтенсивно
intensely.Allartisquiteuseless.
CHAPTERI.
Thestudiowasfilledwiththerichodourofroses,
і
andwhenthelightsummerвітер
windstirredamidstthetreesoftheсаду
garden,therecamethroughtheвідкриті
opendoortheheavyscentofthelilac,або
orthemoredelicateperfumeofthepink-floweringthorn.FromthecornerofthedivanofPersiansaddle-bagsonwhichhewaslying,smoking,aswashiscustom,innumerablecigarettes,
Лорд
LordHenryWottoncouldjustcatchthegleamofthehoney-sweetі
andhoney-colouredblossomsofalaburnum,чиї
whosetremulousbranchesseemedhardlyabletoнести
beartheburdenofaкраси
beautysoflamelikeastheirs;і
andnowandthenthefantasticshadowsofbirdsinflightflittedacrossthelongtussore-silkcurtainsthatwerestretchedinfrontofthehugewindow,producingakindofmomentaryJapaneseефект
effect,andmakinghimthinkofтих
thosepallid,jade-facedpaintersofTokyowho,throughthemediumofanмистецтва
artthatisnecessarilyimmobile,seektoпередати
conveythesenseofswiftnessі
andmotion.Thesullenmurmurofthebeesshoulderingtheirwaythroughthelongunmown
траві
grass,orcirclingwithmonotonousinsistenceroundthedustygilthornsofthestragglingwoodbine,seemedtomakethestillnessбільш
moreoppressive.ThedimroarofLondonwaslikethebourdonnoteofadistantorgan.
Inthecentreoftheroom,clampedtoanuprighteasel,stoodthefull-length
портрет
portraitofayoungmanofextraordinarypersonalbeauty,andinfrontofit,somelittledistanceaway,wassittingtheхудожник
artisthimself,BasilHallward,whosesuddenзникнення
disappearancesomeyearsagocaused,attheчас
time,suchpublicexcitementandgaverisetosomanystrangeconjectures.Asthe
художник
painterlookedatthegraciousі
andcomelyformhehadsoskilfullymirroredinhisart,aусмішка
smileofpleasurepassedacrosshisобличчя
face,andseemedabouttolingerтам
there.Buthesuddenlystartedup,
і
andclosinghiseyes,placedhisfingersuponна
thelids,asthoughhesoughttoimprisonwithinhisмозку
brainsomecuriousdreamfromwhichhefearedhemightawake.“Itisyourbestwork,Basil,thebest
річ
thingyouhaveeverdone,”saidЛорд
LordHenrylanguidly.“Youmust
безумовно
certainlysenditnextyeartotheGrosvenor.TheAcademyis
занадто
toolargeandtoovulgar.WheneverIhavegonethere,therehavebeeneithersomany
людей
peoplethatIhavenotbeenabletoпобачити
seethepictures,whichwasжахливо
dreadful,orsomanypicturesщо
thatIhavenotbeenabletoпобачити
seethepeople,whichwasгірше
worse.TheGrosvenorisreallytheonlyplace.”
“Idon’t
думаю
thinkIshallsenditanywhere,”heanswered,tossinghisheadназад
backinthatoddwayщо
thatusedtomakehisfriendslaughathimatOxford.“No,Iwon’tsenditanywhere.”
Лорд
LordHenryelevatedhiseyebrowsі
andlookedathiminamazementчерез
throughthethinbluewreathsofдиму
smokethatcurledupinsuchfancifulwhorlsfromhisважкої
heavy,opium-taintedcigarette.“Notsendit
нікуди
anywhere?Mydearfellow,why?
Є
Haveyouanyreason?Whatoddchapsyoupaintersare!
Youdo
все
anythingintheworldtogainaрепутацію
reputation.Assoonasyouhaveone,you
здається
seemtowanttothrowitaway.Itissillyofyou,forthereis
тільки
onlyonethingintheсвіті
worldworsethanbeingtalkedпро
about,andthatisnotbeingtalkedпро
about.Aportraitlikethiswouldsetyou
далеко
farabovealltheyoungmeninEngland,і
andmaketheoldmenquitejealous,якщо
ifoldmenareeverздатні
capableofanyemotion.”“I
знаю
knowyouwilllaughatme,”hereplied,“butIдійсно
reallycan’texhibitit.Ihaveput
занадто
toomuchofmyselfintoit.”Лорд
LordHenrystretchedhimselfoutonthedivanі
andlaughed.“Yes,Iknewyouwould;
але
butitisquitetrue,все
allthesame.”“Toomuchofyourselfinit!
Uponmy
слово
word,Basil,Ididn’tknowyouweresovain;і
andIreallycan’tseeanyresemblanceміж
betweenyou,withyourruggedstrongfaceі
andyourcoal-blackhair,andthisyoungAdonis,який
wholooksasifhewasmadeoutofслонової кістки
ivoryandrose-leaves.Why,mydear
Василь
Basil,heisaNarcissus,andyou—well,ofзвичайно
courseyouhaveanintellectualвираження
expressionandallthat.But
краса
beauty,realbeauty,endswhereanintellectualвираження
expressionbegins.Intellectisinitselfamodeof
перебільшення
exaggeration,anddestroystheharmonyofanyобличчя
face.Themomentonesitsdowntothink,onebecomesall
ніс
nose,orallforehead,orщось
somethinghorrid.Lookatthesuccessfulmeninanyofthelearnedprofessions.
Як
Howperfectlyhideoustheyare!За винятком
Except,ofcourse,intheChurch.Але
ButthenintheChurchtheydon’tthink.A
єпископ
bishopkeepsonsayingattheвіці
ageofeightywhathewastoldtosayколи
whenhewasaboyofeighteen,і
andasanaturalconsequenceheзавжди
alwayslooksabsolutelydelightful.Your
таємничий
mysteriousyoungfriend,whosenameyouhaveніколи не
nevertoldme,butwhosepictureдуже
reallyfascinatesme,neverthinks.Ifeel
цілком
quitesureofthat.Heissomebrainlessbeautiful
істота
creaturewhoshouldbealwaysтут
hereinwinterwhenwehaveне
noflowerstolookat,і
andalwayshereinsummerколи
whenwewantsomethingtochillourintelligence.Don’tflatteryourself,Basil:
youarenotin
на
theleastlikehim.”“Youdon’tunderstand
мене
me,Harry,”answeredtheartist.“OfcourseIamnot
як
likehim.Iknowthatperfectly
добре
well.Indeed,Ishouldbe
шкода
sorrytolooklikehim.Youshrugyourshoulders?
Iamtellingyouthetruth.
Існує
Thereisafatalityaboutвсіх
allphysicalandintellectualdistinction,thesortoffatalityяка
thatseemstodogthroughісторії
historythefalteringstepsofkings.Itis
краще
betternottobedifferentfromone’sfellows.Theugly
і
andthestupidhavetheнайкраще
bestofitinthisсвіту
world.Theycansitattheirease
і
andgapeattheplay.Якщо
Iftheyknownothingofvictory,theyareatleastsparedtheknowledgeofdefeat.Theyliveaswe
всі
allshouldlive—undisturbed,indifferent,andбез
withoutdisquiet.Theyneitherbringruinuponothers,noreverreceiveitfromalienhands.
Your
ранг
rankandwealth,Harry;mybrains,
такий
suchastheyare—myart,whateveritmaybeworth;DorianGray’sgoodlooks—weshall
всі
allsufferforwhatthegodshavegivenнам
us,sufferterribly.”“DorianGray?
Isthathisname?”
asked
Лорд
LordHenry,walkingacrossthestudiotowardsBasilHallward.“Yes,thatishisname.
Ididn’tintendtotellittoyou.”
“But
чому
whynot?”“Oh,Ican’t
пояснити
explain.WhenIlikepeopleimmensely,Inevertelltheirnamestoanyone.
Itislikesurrendering
на
apartofthem.Ihavegrownto
любити
lovesecrecy.Itseemstobetheonething
що
thatcanmakemodernlifemysteriousабо
ormarvelloustous.Thecommonest
річ
thingisdelightfulifoneтільки
onlyhidesit.WhenIleave
міста
townnowInevertellmyлюдям
peoplewhereIamgoing.IfIdid,Iwouldloseallmy
задоволення
pleasure.Itisasillyhabit,Idare
сказати
say,butsomehowitseemstobringagreatdealofromanceintoone’sжиття
life.Isupposeyouthinkme
жахливо
awfullyfoolishaboutit?”“Notatall,”answered
Лорд
LordHenry,“notatall,mydearBasil.You
здається
seemtoforgetthatIamодружений
married,andtheonecharmofшлюбу
marriageisthatitmakesaжиття
lifeofdeceptionabsolutelynecessaryforобох
bothparties.Ineverknow
де
wheremywifeis,andmyдружина
wifeneverknowswhatIamdoing.Коли
Whenwemeet—wedomeetіноді
occasionally,whenwedineoutразом
together,orgodowntotheDuke’s—wetelleachotherthemostabsurdstorieswiththemostseriousfaces.My
дружина
wifeisverygoodatit—muchкраще
better,infact,thanIam.She
ніколи не
nevergetsconfusedoverherdates,а
andIalwaysdo.But
коли
whenshedoesfindmeout,shemakesне
norowatall.I
іноді
sometimeswishshewould;butshe
просто
merelylaughsatme.”“I
ненавиджу
hatethewayyoutalkпро
aboutyourmarriedlife,Harry,”saidBasilHallward,strollingдо
towardsthedoorthatledintotheсаду
garden.“Ibelievethatyouarereallyavery
хороший
goodhusband,butthatyouarethoroughlyсоромно
ashamedofyourownvirtues.Youareanextraordinary
хлопець
fellow.Youneversaya
моральних
moralthing,andyouneverdoawrongthing.Yourcynicismis
просто
simplyapose.”“Beingnaturalis
просто
simplyapose,andtheнайбільш
mostirritatingposeIknow,”criedЛорд
LordHenry,laughing;andthetwoyoungmenwentoutintothe
сад
gardentogetherandensconcedthemselvesonalongbambooсидіння
seatthatstoodintheтіні
shadeofatalllaurelbush.Thesunlightslipped
над
overthepolishedleaves.Inthe
траві
grass,whitedaisiesweretremulous.Після
Afterapause,LordHenrypulledouthisгодинник
watch.“IamafraidImustbegoing,Basil,”hemurmured,“and
перш ніж
beforeIgo,Iinsistonyouransweringaзапитання
questionIputtoyousomeчас
timeago.”“Whatisthat?”
saidthe
художник
painter,keepinghiseyesfixedontheземлі
ground.“Youknowquitewell.”
“Idonot,Harry.”
“Well,Iwilltellyouwhatitis.
I
хочу
wantyoutoexplaintomeчому
whyyouwon’texhibitDorianGray’spicture.I
хочу
wanttherealreason.”“Itoldyoutherealreason.”
“No,youdidnot.
Yousaiditwas
тому
becausetherewastoomuchofyourselfinце
it.Now,thatischildish.”
“Harry,”saidBasilHallward,lookinghim
прямо
straightintheface,“everyпортрет
portraitthatispaintedwithfeelingisaпортрет
portraitoftheartist,notofthesitter.Thesitteris
лише
merelytheaccident,theoccasion.Itisnothewhoisrevealedbythe
художник
painter;itisratherthe
художник
painterwho,onthecolouredcanvas,revealshimself.The
причина
reasonIwillnotexhibitцю
thispictureisthatIamбоюся
afraidthatIhaveshowninittheтаємницю
secretofmyownsoul.”Лорд
LordHenrylaughed.“Andwhatisthat?”
heasked.
“Iwilltellyou,”saidHallward;
але
butanexpressionofperplexitycameoverhisface.“Iam
все
allexpectation,Basil,”continuedhisкомпаньйон
companion,glancingathim.“Oh,thereisreallyvery
мало
littletotell,Harry,”answeredtheхудожник
painter;“andIamafraidyouwill
навряд
hardlyunderstandit.Perhapsyouwill
навряд
hardlybelieveit.”LordHenrysmiled,
і
andleaningdown,pluckedapink-petalleddaisyfromtheтрави
grassandexaminedit.“Iamquite
впевнений
sureIshallunderstandit,”hereplied,gazingintentlyattheмаленький
littlegolden,white-feathereddisk,“andasforbelievingthings,Iможу
canbelieveanything,providedthatitisquiteincredible.”The
вітер
windshooksomeblossomsfromthetrees,andtheважкі
heavylilac-blooms,withtheirclusteringstars,movedtoandfrointhelanguidair.Agrasshopperbegantochirrupbythe
стіни
wall,andlikeablueнитка
threadalongthindragon-flyfloatedповз
pastonitsbrowngauzewings.LordHenryfeltasifhecouldhearBasilHallward’s
серце
heartbeating,andwonderedwhatwascoming.“Thestoryis
просто
simplythis,”saidthepainteraftersomeчас
time.“TwomonthsagoIwenttoacrushat
Леді
LadyBrandon’s.Youknowwepoorartistshavetoshowourselvesinsocietyfromtimetotime,justto
нагадати
remindthepublicthatwearenotsavages.З
Withaneveningcoatandaбілим
whitetie,asyoutoldmeколись
once,anybody,evenastock-broker,може
cangainareputationforbeingцивілізованого
civilized.Well,afterIhadbeeninthe
кімнаті
roomabouttenminutes,talkingtohugeoverdresseddowagersі
andtediousacademicians,Isuddenlybecameconsciousщо
thatsomeonewaslookingatмене
me.Iturnedhalf-wayround
і
andsawDorianGrayforна
thefirsttime.Whenoureyesmet,Ifelt
що
thatIwasgrowingpale.Acurious
відчуття
sensationofterrorcameoverмене
me.IknewthatIhadcome
обличчя
facetofacewithsomeoneчия
whosemerepersonalitywassofascinatingщо
that,ifIallowedittoзробити
doso,itwouldabsorbmywholenature,mywholeдушу
soul,myveryartitself.Ididnotwantanyexternal
вплив
influenceinmylife.Youknowyourself,Harry,
наскільки
howindependentIambynature.Ihave
завжди
alwaysbeenmyownmaster;hadatleast
завжди
alwaysbeenso,tillImetDorianGray.Then—butIdon’t
знаю
knowhowtoexplainittoyou.Щось
Somethingseemedtotellmeщо
thatIwasontheмежі
vergeofaterriblecrisisinmyжитті
life.Ihadastrangefeeling
що
thatfatehadinstoreformeexquisitejoysі
andexquisitesorrows.Igrewafraid
і
andturnedtoquittheroom.Itwasnotconsciencethatmademe
зробити
doso:itwasasortof
боягузтво
cowardice.Itakenocredittomyselffortryingtoescape.”
“Conscience
і
andcowardicearereallytheж
samethings,Basil.Conscienceisthetrade-nameofthe
фірми
firm.Thatisall.”
“Idon’t
вірю
believethat,Harry,andIdon’tвірю
believeyoudoeither.However,whateverwasmymotive—anditmayhavebeen
гордість
pride,forIusedtobeдуже
veryproud—Icertainlystruggledtotheдверей
door.There,ofcourse,Istumbledagainst
Леді
LadyBrandon.‘Youarenotgoingtorunawaysosoon,Mr.Hallward?’shescreamedout.
Youknowhercuriouslyshrillvoice?”
“Yes;
sheisapeacockineverythingbutbeauty,”said
Лорд
LordHenry,pullingthedaisytobitswithhislongnervousfingers.“Icouldnotgetridof
неї
her.Shebroughtmeuptoroyalties,
і
andpeoplewithstarsandgarters,і
andelderlyladieswithgigantictiarasі
andparrotnoses.Shespokeofmeasherdearest
друга
friend.Ihadonlymetheronce
раніше
before,butshetookitintoherheadtolionizeмене
me.Ibelievesomepictureofminehadmadea
великий
greatsuccessatthetime,atleasthadbeenchatteredпро
aboutinthepennynewspapers,whichisthenineteenth-centurystandardofбезсмертя
immortality.SuddenlyIfoundmyself
обличчя
facetofacewiththeyoungmanчия
whosepersonalityhadsostrangelystirredмене
me.