THEPREFACE
Theartistis
những
thecreatorofbeautifulthings.Torevealart
và
andconcealtheartistisart’saim.Những
Thecriticishewhocó thể
cantranslateintoanothermannerhoặc
oranewmaterialhisimpressionofđẹp
beautifulthings.Thehighestasthelowestformofcriticismis
một
amodeofautobiography.Those
người
whofinduglymeaningsinđẹp
beautifulthingsarecorruptwithoutbeingcharming.Đây
Thisisafault.Those
người
whofindbeautifulmeaningsinđẹp
beautifulthingsarethecultivated.For
những
thesethereishope.Theyare
những
theelecttowhombeautifulthingsmeanchỉ
onlybeauty.Thereisnosuchthingasamoral
hay
oranimmoralbook.Booksare
tốt
wellwritten,orbadlywritten.Đó
Thatisall.ThenineteenthcenturydislikeofrealismistherageofCalibanseeinghisownfaceinaglass.
ThenineteenthcenturydislikeofromanticismistherageofCalibannotseeinghisownfaceinaglass.
Themoral
cuộc sống
lifeofmanformspartofthesubject-matteroftheartist,nhưng
butthemoralityofartconsistsintheperfectsử dụng
useofanimperfectmedium.Không
Noartistdesirestoproveanything.Ngay cả
Eventhingsthataretruecó thể
canbeproved.Noartisthasethicalsympathies.
Một
Anethicalsympathyinanartistismột
anunpardonablemannerismofstyle.Không
Noartistisevermorbid.Theartist
có thể
canexpresseverything.Thoughtandlanguagearetotheartistinstrumentsof
một
anart.Viceandvirtuearetotheartistmaterialsfor
một
anart.Fromthepointofviewofform,
các
thetypeofalltheartsiscác
theartofthemusician.Fromthe
điểm
pointofviewoffeeling,theactor’scraftisthetype.Tất cả
Allartisatoncesurfacevà
andsymbol.Thosewhogobeneaththesurface
làm
dosoattheirperil.Those
người
whoreadthesymboldosoattheirperil.Itisthespectator,
và
andnotlife,thatartthực sự
reallymirrors.Diversityofopinion
về
aboutaworkofartshowsthatthetác phẩm
workisnew,complex,andvital.Khi
Whencriticsdisagree,theartistisinaccordvới
withhimself.Wecanforgive
một
amanformakingausefulthứ
thingaslongashedoesnotadmirenó
it.Theonlyexcuseformakingauseless
thứ
thingisthatoneadmiresitintensely.Tất cả
Allartisquiteuseless.CHAPTERI.
Những
Thestudiowasfilledwithnhững
therichodourofroses,và
andwhenthelightsummerwindstirredamidstnhững
thetreesofthegarden,therecamequa
throughtheopendoortheheavyscentofnhững
thelilac,orthemoredelicateperfumeofnhững
thepink-floweringthorn.FromthecornerofthedivanofPersiansaddle-bagson
đó
whichhewaslying,smoking,aswashiscustom,innumerablecigarettes,Chúa
LordHenryWottoncouldjustbắt
catchthegleamofthehoney-sweetvà
andhoney-colouredblossomsofalaburnum,whosetremulousbranchesseemedhardlyabletobeartheburdenofmột
abeautysoflamelikeastheirs;và
andnowandthenthefantasticshadowsofbirdsinflightflittedacrossthedài
longtussore-silkcurtainsthatwerestretchedintrước
frontofthehugewindow,producingaloại
kindofmomentaryJapaneseeffect,và
andmakinghimthinkofthosepallid,jade-facedpaintersofTokyongười
who,throughthemediumofanartthatisnecessarilyimmobile,seektoconveythesenseofswiftnessvà
andmotion.Thesullenmurmurof
những
thebeesshoulderingtheirwayqua
throughthelongunmowngrass,hoặc
orcirclingwithmonotonousinsistenceroundnhững
thedustygilthornsofnhững
thestragglingwoodbine,seemedtolàm
makethestillnessmoreoppressive.ThedimroarofLondonwaslikethebourdonnoteof
một
adistantorgan.Inthecentreofthe
phòng
room,clampedtoanuprighteasel,stoodthefull-lengthportraitofatrẻ
youngmanofextraordinarypersonalbeauty,và
andinfrontofit,somechút
littledistanceaway,wassittingtheartisthimself,BasilHallward,whosesuddendisappearancesomeyearsagocaused,atthetime,suchpublicexcitementvà
andgaverisetosomanystrangeconjectures.Asthepainterlookedatthegracious
và
andcomelyformhehadsoskilfullymirroredinhisart,một
asmileofpleasurepassedacrosshisface,và
andseemedabouttolingerđó
there.Buthesuddenlystartedup,
và
andclosinghiseyes,placedhisfingersuponthelids,asthoughhesoughttoimprisonwithinhisbrainmột
somecuriousdreamfromwhichhefearedhemightawake.“Itisyour
nhất
bestwork,Basil,thebestđiều
thingyouhaveeverdone,”saidChúa
LordHenrylanguidly.“Youmustcertainly
gửi
senditnextyeartotheGrosvenor.TheAcademyis
quá
toolargeandtoovulgar.WheneverIhavegonethere,therehavebeeneitherso
nhiều
manypeoplethatIhavenotbeenthể
abletoseethepictures,whichwasdreadful,orsonhiều
manypicturesthatIhavenotbeenthể
abletoseethepeople,whichwasworse.TheGrosvenoris
thực sự
reallytheonlyplace.”“Idon’t
nghĩ rằng
thinkIshallsenditanywhere,”heanswered,tossinghisđầu
headbackinthatoddcách
waythatusedtomakehisfriendslaughathimatOxford.“No,Iwon’t
gửi
senditanywhere.”LordHenryelevatedhiseyebrows
và
andlookedathiminamazementthroughnhững
thethinbluewreathsofsmokemà
thatcurledupinsuchfancifulwhorlsfromhisheavy,opium-taintedcigarette.“Not
gửi
senditanywhere?Mydearfellow,
sao
why?Haveyouanyreason?
Whatoddchapsyoupaintersare!
You
làm
doanythingintheworldtogainareputation.As
ngay
soonasyouhaveone,youseemtomuốn
wanttothrowitaway.Itissillyofyou,forthereis
chỉ
onlyonethingintheworldworsehơn
thanbeingtalkedabout,andthatisnotbeingtalkedabout.Một
Aportraitlikethiswouldđặt
setyoufaraboveallnhững
theyoungmeninEngland,và
andmaketheoldmenkhá
quitejealous,ifoldmenareevercapableofbất kỳ
anyemotion.”“Iknowyou
sẽ
willlaughatme,”hereplied,“butIthực sự
reallycan’texhibitit.I
đã
haveputtoomuchofmyselfintoit.”Chúa
LordHenrystretchedhimselfoutonthedivanvà
andlaughed.“Yes,Iknewyouwould;
nhưng
butitisquitetrue,tất cả
allthesame.”“Toomuchofyourselfin
đó
it!Uponmyword,Basil,Ididn’t
biết
knowyouweresovain;và
andIreallycan’tseebất kỳ
anyresemblancebetweenyou,withyourruggedstrongfacevà
andyourcoal-blackhair,andnày
thisyoungAdonis,wholooksasifhewasmadeoutofivoryvà
androse-leaves.Why,mydearBasil,heisaNarcissus,
và
andyou—well,ofcourseyoucó
haveanintellectualexpressionandtất cả
allthat.Butbeauty,realbeauty,ends
nơi
whereanintellectualexpressionbegins.Intellectisinitself
một
amodeofexaggeration,anddestroystheharmonyofbất kỳ
anyface.Themomentonesits
xuống
downtothink,onebecomestất cả
allnose,orallforehead,hoặc
orsomethinghorrid.Lookat
những
thesuccessfulmeninanyofnhững
thelearnedprofessions.Howperfectlyhideousthey
là
are!Except,ofcourse,intheChurch.
Nhưng
ButthenintheChurchtheydon’tthink.Một
Abishopkeepsonsayingatnhững
theageofeightywhathewastoldtosaykhi
whenhewasaboyofeighteen,và
andasanaturalconsequenceheluôn luôn
alwayslooksabsolutelydelightful.Yourmysterious
trẻ
youngfriend,whosenameyouhavenevertoldtôi
me,butwhosepicturereallyfascinatestôi
me,neverthinks.Ifeel
khá
quitesureofthat.Heis
một
somebrainlessbeautifulcreaturewhonên
shouldbealwayshereinwinterkhi
whenwehavenoflowerstonhìn
lookat,andalwayshereinsummerkhi
whenwewantsomethingtochillourintelligence.Don’tflatteryourself,Basil:
youarenotintheleastlikehim.”
“Youdon’t
hiểu
understandme,Harry,”answeredtheartist.“OfcourseIamnotlike
anh ta
him.Iknowthatperfectlywell.
Indeed,Ishouldbe
tiếc
sorrytolooklikehim.Youshrugyourshoulders?
Iamtellingyouthe
sự thật
truth.Thereisafatality
về
aboutallphysicalandintellectualdistinction,theloại
sortoffatalitythatseemstodogqua
throughhistorythefalteringstepsofkings.Itisbetternottobe
khác
differentfromone’sfellows.Theugly
và
andthestupidhavethenhất
bestofitinthisworld.They
có thể
cansitattheireasevà
andgapeattheplay.Nếu
Iftheyknownothingofvictory,theyareatít
leastsparedtheknowledgeofdefeat.They
sống
liveasweallshouldlive—undisturbed,indifferent,và
andwithoutdisquiet.Theyneitherbringruinuponothers,noreverreceiveitfromalienhands.
Yourrank
và
andwealth,Harry;mybrains,suchastheyare—myart,
bất cứ điều gì
whateveritmaybeworth;DorianGray’s
chịu
goodlooks—weshallallsufferforwhatthegodsđã
havegivenus,sufferterribly.”“DorianGray?
Is
đó
thathisname?”askedLordHenry,walkingacrossthestudiotowardsBasilHallward.
“Yes,
đó
thatishisname.Ididn’tintendto
nói
tellittoyou.”“But
sao
whynot?”“Oh,Ican’texplain.
Khi
WhenIlikepeopleimmensely,Ikhông bao giờ
nevertelltheirnamestoanyai
one.Itislikesurrendering
một
apartofthem.I
đã
havegrowntolovesecrecy.Itseemstobetheone
điều
thingthatcanmakemoderncuộc sống
lifemysteriousormarvelloustous.Thecommonest
điều
thingisdelightfulifonechỉ
onlyhidesit.WhenIleave
thị trấn
townnowInevertellmyngười
peoplewhereIamgoing.Nếu
IfIdid,Iwouldmất
loseallmypleasure.Itis
một
asillyhabit,Idarenói
say,butsomehowitseemstobringmột
agreatdealofromanceintoone’scuộc sống
life.Isupposeyouthinkmeawfullyfoolish
về
aboutit?”“Notatall,”answered
Chúa
LordHenry,“notatall,mythân
dearBasil.Youseemto
quên
forgetthatIammarried,và
andtheonecharmofmarriageisrằng
thatitmakesalifeofdeceptionabsolutelynecessaryforcả
bothparties.Ineverknowwheremy
vợ
wifeis,andmywifekhông bao giờ
neverknowswhatIamdoing.Khi
Whenwemeet—wedomeetoccasionally,khi
whenwedineouttogether,hoặc
orgodowntotheDuke’s—wetelleachothernhững
themostabsurdstorieswithnhững
themostseriousfaces.My
vợ
wifeisverygoodatit—muchbetter,infact,thanIam.She
không bao giờ
nevergetsconfusedoverherdates,và
andIalwaysdo.But
khi
whenshedoesfindmera
out,shemakesnorowatall.I
đôi khi
sometimeswishshewould;butshemerelylaughsatme.”
“I
ghét
hatethewayyoutalkvề
aboutyourmarriedlife,Harry,”saidBasilHallward,strollingtowardsthedoorthatledintothegarden.“I
tin
believethatyouarereallymột
averygoodhusband,butrằng
thatyouarethoroughlyashamedofyourriêng
ownvirtues.Youareanextraordinaryfellow.
You
không bao giờ
neversayamoralthing,và
andyouneverdoawrongđiều
thing.Yourcynicismissimply
một
apose.”“Beingnaturalissimply
một
apose,andthemostirritatingposeIknow,”criedChúa
LordHenry,laughing;andthe
hai
twoyoungmenwentoutintothegardentogethervà
andensconcedthemselvesonadài
longbambooseatthatstoodintheshadeofmột
atalllaurelbush.Thesunlightslipped
qua
overthepolishedleaves.In
những
thegrass,whitedaisiesweretremulous.Sau
Afterapause,LordHenrypulledra
outhiswatch.“IamafraidI
phải
mustbegoing,Basil,”hemurmured,“andbeforeIđi
go,IinsistonyouransweringaquestionIđặt
puttoyousometimeago.”“Whatisthat?”
saidthepainter,keepinghiseyesfixedontheground.
“You
biết
knowquitewell.”“Idonot,Harry.”
“Well,I
sẽ
willtellyouwhatitlà
is.Iwantyoutoexplaintome
sao
whyyouwon’texhibitDorianGray’spicture.I
muốn
wanttherealreason.”“Itoldyoutherealreason.”
“No,youdidnot.
Yousaiditwasbecausetherewas
quá
toomuchofyourselfinit.Bây giờ
Now,thatischildish.”“Harry,”saidBasilHallward,lookinghimstraightin
những
theface,“everyportraitthatispaintedvới
withfeelingisaportraitofnhững
theartist,notofthesitter.Thesitterismerelytheaccident,theoccasion.
Itisnothewhoisrevealedbythepainter;
itisratherthepainterwho,onthecolouredcanvas,revealshimself.
The
lý do
reasonIwillnotexhibitnày
thispictureisthatIamsợ
afraidthatIhaveshowninitthesecretofmyownsoul.”Chúa
LordHenrylaughed.“Andwhatisthat?”
heasked.
“I
sẽ
willtellyou,”saidHallward;nhưng
butanexpressionofperplexitycameoverhisface.“Iam
tất cả
allexpectation,Basil,”continuedhiscompanion,glancingatanh ta
him.“Oh,thereisreally
rất
verylittletotell,Harry,”answeredthepainter;“andIamafraidyou
sẽ
willhardlyunderstandit.Perhapsyou
sẽ
willhardlybelieveit.”LordHenrysmiled,
và
andleaningdown,pluckedapink-petalleddaisyfromthegrassvà
andexaminedit.“Iam
khá
quitesureIshallunderstandit,”hereplied,gazingintentlyatthenhỏ
littlegolden,white-feathereddisk,“andasforbelievingthings,Icó thể
canbelieveanything,providedthatitiskhá
quiteincredible.”Thewindshook
một
someblossomsfromthetrees,và
andtheheavylilac-blooms,withtheirclusteringstars,movedtovà
andfrointhelanguidkhí
air.Agrasshopperbegantochirrupbythewall,
và
andlikeabluethreadmột
alongthindragon-flyfloatedqua
pastonitsbrowngauzewings.Chúa
LordHenryfeltasifhecouldnghe
hearBasilHallward’sheartbeating,và
andwonderedwhatwascoming.“The
chuyện
storyissimplythis,”saidthepaintersau
aftersometime.“Twomonths
trước
agoIwenttoacrushatLady
LadyBrandon’s.Youknowwepoorartistshavetoshowourselvesinsocietyfromtimetotime,
chỉ
justtoremindthepublicrằng
thatwearenotsavages.Với
Withaneveningcoatandatrắng
whitetie,asyoutoldmelần
once,anybody,evenastock-broker,có thể
cangainareputationforbeingcivilized.Vâng
Well,afterIhadbeeninthephòng
roomabouttenminutes,talkingtohugeoverdresseddowagersvà
andtediousacademicians,Isuddenlybecameconsciousthatsomeai
onewaslookingatme.Iturnedhalf-wayround
và
andsawDorianGrayforthefirstlần
time.Whenoureyesmet,IfeltthatIwasgrowingpale.
Một
Acurioussensationofterrorcameovertôi
me.IknewthatIhadcomefacetoface
với
withsomeonewhosemerepersonalitywassofascinatingrằng
that,ifIallowedittolàm
doso,itwouldabsorbmywholenature,mywholesoul,myveryartitself.Ididnot
muốn
wantanyexternalinfluenceinmycuộc sống
life.Youknowyourself,Harry,howindependentIambynature.
Ihave
luôn luôn
alwaysbeenmyownmaster;hadat
ít
leastalwaysbeenso,tillImetDorianGray.Then—butIdon’t
biết
knowhowtoexplainittoyou.Gì
SomethingseemedtotellmethatIwasonthevergeofmột
aterriblecrisisinmycuộc sống
life.Ihadastrangefeeling
rằng
thatfatehadinstoreformeexquisitejoysvà
andexquisitesorrows.Igrew
sợ
afraidandturnedtoquitthephòng
room.Itwasnotconsciencethatmademe
làm
doso:itwasa
loại
sortofcowardice.Itake
không
nocredittomyselffortryingtoescape.”“Conscience
và
andcowardicearereallythetương tự
samethings,Basil.Conscienceisthetrade-nameofthefirm.
Đó
Thatisall.”“Idon’t
tin
believethat,Harry,andIdon’ttin
believeyoudoeither.However,whateverwasmymotive—andit
có thể
mayhavebeenpride,forIusedtoberất
veryproud—Icertainlystruggledtothecửa
door.There,ofcourse,Istumbledagainst
Lady
LadyBrandon.‘Youarenotgoingto
chạy
runawaysosoon,Mr.Hallward?’shescreamedout.You
biết
knowhercuriouslyshrillvoice?”“Yes;
sheis
một
apeacockineverythingbutbeauty,”saidChúa
LordHenry,pullingthedaisytobitswithhisdài
longnervousfingers.“Icouldnotgetridofher.
Shebroughtmeuptoroyalties,
và
andpeoplewithstarsandgarters,và
andelderlyladieswithgigantictiarasvà
andparrotnoses.Shespokeofmeasherdearestfriend.
Ihad
chỉ
onlymetheroncebefore,nhưng
butshetookitintoherđầu
headtolionizeme.I
tin
believesomepictureofminehadmadealớn
greatsuccessatthetime,atít
leasthadbeenchatteredaboutincác
thepennynewspapers,whichiscác
thenineteenth-centurystandardofimmortality.SuddenlyIfoundmyselffacetoface
với
withtheyoungmanwhosepersonalityhadsostrangelystirredme.