Inhaltsverzeichnis

1. TITELBLATT

2. IMPRESSUM

3. THE PREFACE

4. CHAPTER I

5. CHAPTER II

6. CHAPTER III

7. CHAPTER IV

8. CHAPTER V

9. CHAPTER VI

10. CHAPTER VII

11. CHAPTER VIII

12. CHAPTER IX

13. CHAPTER X

14. CHAPTER XI

15. CHAPTER XII

16. CHAPTER XIII

17. CHAPTER XIV

18. CHAPTER XV

19. CHAPTER XVI

20. CHAPTER XVII

21. CHAPTER XVIII

22. CHAPTER XIX

23. CHAPTER XX

24. THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY (ENGLISCH)

Oscar Wilde
The Picture of Dorian Gray / Das Bildnis des Dorian Gray
Zweisprachige Ausgabe
Übersetzt von Hedwig Lachmann und Gustav Landauer

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THE PREFACE

VORREDE

THE artist is the creator of beautiful things.

Der Künstler ist der Schöpfer schöner Dinge.

To reveal art and conceal the artist is art’s aim.

Die Kunst zu offenbaren und den Künstler zu verstecken ist die Aufgabe der Kunst.

The critic is he who can translate into another manner or a new material his impression of beautiful things.

Der Kritiker ist der, der seinen Eindruck von schönen Dingen in eine neue Form oder ein neues Material übertragen kann.

The highest, as the lowest, form of criticism is a mode of autobiography.

Die höchste wie die niederste Form der Kritik ist eine Art Selbstbiographie.

Those who find ugly meanings in beautiful things are corrupt without being charming. This is a fault.

Wer häßlichen Sinn in schönen Dingen findet, ist verderbt, ohne Anmut zu haben. Das ist ein Fehler.

Those who find beautiful meanings in beautiful things are the cultivated. For these there is hope.

Wer schönen Sinn in schönen Dingen findet, gehört zum Reiche der Kultur. Für ihn ist Hoffnung.

They are the elect to whom beautiful things mean only Beauty.

Die sind die Auserwählten, denen schöne Dinge einzig Schönheit bedeuten.

There is no such thing as a moral or an immoral book. Books are well written, or badly written. That is all.

So etwas wie ein moralisches oder unmoralisches Buch gibt es nicht. Bücher sind gut geschrieben oder schlecht geschrieben, weiter nichts.

The nineteenth century dislike of Realism is the rage of Caliban seeing his own face in a glass.

Das Mißfallen des neunzehnten Jahrhunderts am Realismus ist die Wut Kalibans, der sein eigenes Gesicht im Spiegel sieht.

The nineteenth century dislike of Romanticism is the rage of Caliban not seeing his own face in a glass.

Das Mißfallen des neunzehnten Jahrhunderts an der Romantik ist die Wut Kalibans, der sein eigenes Gesicht nicht im Spiegel sieht.

The moral life of man forms part of the subject-matter of the artist,

Das moralische Leben des Menschen bildet einen Teil des Stoffgebiets des Künstlers,

but the morality of art consists in the perfect use of an imperfect medium.

aber die Moralität der Kunst besteht im vollkommenen Gebrauch eines unvollkommenen Mittels.

No artist desires to prove anything. Even things that are true can be proved.

Kein Künstler will etwas beweisen. Selbst Wahrheiten können bewiesen werden.

No artist has ethical sympathies. An ethical sympathy in an artist is an unpardonable mannerism of style.

Kein Künstler bat ethische Sympathien. Eine ethische Sympathie bei einem Künstler ist eine unverzeihliche Manieriertheit des Stils.

No artist is ever morbid. The artist can express everything.

Kein Künstler ist je dekadent. Der Künstler kann alles ausdrücken.

Thought and language are to the artist instruments of an art.

Denken und Sprechen sind für den Künstler Mittel einer Kunst.

Vice and virtue are to the artist materials for an art.

Laster und Tugend sind für den Künstler Material einer Kunst.

From the point of view of form, the type of all the arts is the art of the musician.

Vom Standpunkt der Form ist das Urbild aller Künste die Kunst des Musikers.

From the point of view of feeling, the actor’s craft is the type.

Vom Standpunkt des Gefühls ist das Handwerk des Schauspielers das Urbild.

All art is at once surface and symbol. Those who go beneath the surface do so at their peril.

Alle Kunst ist zugleich Oberfläche und Symbol. Wer unter die Oberfläche geht, tut es auf eigene Gefahr.

Those who read the symbol do so at their peril.

Wer das Symbol deutet, tut es auf eigene Gefahr.

It is the spectator, and not life, that art really mirrors.

Den Beschauer und nicht das Leben spiegelt die Kunst in Wahrheit.

Diversity of opinion about a work of art shows that the work is new, complex, and vital.

Meinungsverschiedenheit über ein Kunstwerk zeigt, daß das Werk neu, vielfältig und bedeutend ist.

When critics disagree the artist is in accord with himself.

Wenn die Kritiker uneins sind, ist der Künstler einig mit sich selbst.

We can forgive a man for making a useful thing as long as he does not admire it.

Wir können einem Menschen verzeihen, daß er etwas Nützliches gemacht hat, solange er es nicht bewundert.

The only excuse for making a useless thing is that one admires it intensely.

Die einzige Entschuldigung dafür, daß einer etwas Nutzloses gemacht hat, ist, daß man es sehr bewundert.

All art is quite useless.

Alle Kunst ist völlig nutzlos.

Oscar Wilde

CHAPTER I

ERSTES KAPITEL

THE studio was filled with the rich odour of roses, and when the light summer wind stirred amidst the trees of the garden,

Starker Rosenduft durchströmte das Atelier, und als ein leichter Sommerwind die Bäume im Garten hin und her wiegte,

there came through the open door the heavy scent of the lilac, or the more delicate perfume of the pink-flowering thorn.

kam durch die offene Tür der schwere Geruch des Flieders oder der feinere Duft des Rotdorns.

From the corner of the divan of Persian saddlebags on which he was lying, smoking, as was his custom, innumerable cigarettes,

Von dem Perserdiwan, auf dem er lag und nach seiner Gewohnheit unzählige Zigaretten rauchte,

Lord Henry Wotton could just catch the gleam of the honey-sweet and honey-coloured blossoms of a laburnum,

konnte Lord Henry Wotton gerade die süßduftenden und honigfarbenen Blüten eines Goldregenstrauchs gewahren,

whose tremulous branches seemed hardly able to bear the burden of a beauty so flame-like as theirs;

dessen zitternde Zweige die Last einer so flammenden Schönheit kaum tragen zu können schienen;

and now and then the fantastic shadows of birds in flight flitted across the long tussore-silk curtains that were stretched in front of the huge window,

und hie und da flitzten die phantastischen Schatten vorbeifliegender Vögel über die langen bastseidenen Vorhänge des großen Fensters

producing a kind of momentary Japanese effect, and making him think of those pallid jade-faced painters of Tokio

und brachten eine Art japanische Augenblickswirkung hervor, so daß ihm die blassen, nephritfarbenen Maler Tokios einfielen,

who, through the medium of an art that is necessarily immobile, seek to convey the sense of swiftness and motion.

die vermittelst einer Kunst, die nicht anders als unbeweglich sein kann, den Eindruck der Raschheit und Bewegung hervorzurufen suchen.

The sullen murmur of the bees shouldering their way through the long unmown grass,

Das summende Murren der Bienen, die in dem langen ungemähten Gras hin und her taumelten

or circling with monotonous insistence round the dusty gilt horns of the straggling woodbine,

oder mit eintöniger Hartnäckigkeit die staubiggoldenen Blütentrichter des wuchernden Geißblatts umkreisten,

seemed to make the stillness more oppressive. The dim roar of London was like the bourdon note of a distant organ.

schienen die Stille noch drückender zu machen. Das dumpfe Getöse Londons klang wie das Schnarrwerk einer entfernten Orgel.

In the centre of the room, clamped to an upright easel, stood the full-length portrait of a young man of extraordinary personal beauty,

In der Mitte des Gemaches stand auf einer hoch aufgerichteten Staffelei das lebensgroße Porträt eines ungewöhnlich schönen jungen Mannes,

and in front of it, some little distance away, was sitting the artist himself, Basil Hallward,

und ihm gegenüber, etwas entfernt davon, saß der Künstler, der es gemalt hatte, Basil Hallward,

whose sudden disappearance some years ago caused, at the time, such public excitement, and gave rise to so many strange conjectures.

dessen plötzliches Verschwinden vor einigen Jahren das Publikum erregt und so viele seltsame Vermutungen erweckt hat.

As the painter looked at the gracious and comely form he had so skilfully mirrored in his art,

Als der Maler auf die anmutige Gestalt blickte, die er so schön in seiner Kunst gespiegelt hatte,

a smile of pleasure passed across his face, and seemed about to linger there.

überflog ein Lächeln der Freude seine Züge und schien auf ihnen verweilen zu wollen.

But he suddenly started up, and, closing his eyes, placed his fingers upon the lids,

Aber er fuhr plötzlich auf, schloß die Augen und drückte die Lider mit den Fingern zu,

as though he sought to imprison within his brain some curious dream from which he feared he might awake.

wie wenn er einen absonderlichen Traum, dessen Erwachen er fürchtete, im Hirne gefangen halten wollte.

“It is your best work, Basil, the best thing you have ever done,” said Lord Henry, languidly.

»Es ist deine beste Arbeit, Basil, das Beste, was du je gemacht hast,« sagte Lord Henry mit müder Stimme.

“You must certainly send it next year to the Grosvenor. The Academy is too large and too vulgar.

»Du mußt es bestimmt nächstes Jahr ins Grosvenor schicken. Die Akademie-Ausstellung ist zu groß und zu gewöhnlich.

Whenever I have gone there, there have been either so many people that I have not been able to see the pictures, which was dreadful,

Jedesmal, wenn ich hinging, waren entweder so viele Menschen da, daß ich die Bilder nicht sehen konnte, und das war schrecklich,

or so many pictures that I have not been able to see the people, which was worse. The Grosvenor is really the only place.”

oder so viele Bilder, daß ich die Menschen nicht sehen konnte, und das war noch schlimmer. Das Grosvenor ist wirklich der einzige Ort, der in Frage kommt.«

“I don’t think I shall send it anywhere,”

»Ich denke nicht daran, es überhaupt auszustellen,«

he answered, tossing his head back in that odd way that used to make his friends laugh at him at Oxford.

antwortete der Maler und warf den Kopf in der besonderen Art zurück, über die seine Freunde in Oxford so oft gelacht hatten.

“No: I won’t send it anywhere.”

»Nein, ich stelle es nirgends aus.«

Lord Henry elevated his eyebrows, and looked at him in amazement through the thin blue wreaths of smoke

Lord Henry zog die Brauen hoch und blickte ihn durch die dünnen blauen Rauchgirlanden,

that curled up in such fanciful whorls from his heavy opium-tainted cigarette.

die sich in phantastischen Windungen aus seiner schweren, opiumgetränkten Zigarette emporkräuselten, erstaunt an.

“Not send it anywhere? My dear fellow, why? Have you any reason?

»Nirgends ausstellen? Mein Lieber, warum? Hast du einen Grund?

What odd chaps you painters are! You do anything in the world to gain a reputation.

Was ihr Maler für kuriose Kerle seid! Ihr tut alles in der Welt, um berühmt zu werden.

As soon as you have one, you seem to want to throw it away.

Sowie ihr es seid, scheint ihr des Ruhms überdrüssig.

It is silly of you, for there is only one thing in the world

Das ist dumm von dir, denn es gibt nur ein Ding in der Welt,

worse than being talked about, and that is not being talked about.

das schlimmer ist, als daß über einen geredet wird, nämlich, daß nicht über einen geredet wird.

A portrait like this would set you far above all the young men in England,

Ein Porträt wie dieses muß dich weit über alle jungen Leute in England heben

and make the old men quite jealous, if old men are ever capable of any emotion.”

und die Alten ganz neidisch machen – wenn alte Leute überhaupt einer Gemütsbewegung fähig sind.«

“I know you will laugh at me,” he replied, “but I really can’t exhibit it. I have put too much of myself into it.”

»Ich weiß, du wirst mich auslachen,« erwiderte jener, »aber ich kann es wirklich nicht ausstellen. Ich habe zu viel von mir selbst hineingebracht.«

Lord Henry stretched himself out on the divan and laughed.

Lord Henry streckte sich auf dem Diwan aus und lachte.

“Yes, I knew you would; but it is quite true, all the same.”

»Ja, ja, das wußte ich, aber es ist völlig wahr, trotzdem.«

“Too much of yourself in it! Upon my word, Basil, I didn’t know you were so vain;

»Zu viel von dir soll darin sein! Auf mein Wort, Basil, ich wußte nicht, daß du so eitel bist;

and I really can’t see any resemblance between you, with your rugged strong face and your coal-black hair,

ich kann wahrhaftig nicht die geringste Ähnlichkeit zwischen dir mit deinem eckigen strengen Gesicht und deinen kohlschwarzen Haaren

and this young Adonis, who looks as if he was made out of ivory and rose-leaves.

und diesem jungen Adonis finden, der aussieht, als sei er aus Elfenbein und Rosenblättern gemacht.

Why, my dear Basil, he is a Narcissus, and you — well, of course you have an intellectual expression, and all that.

Nein, lieber Basil, er ist ein Narcissus, und du – nun, natürlich hast du geistigen Ausdruck und so weiter.

But beauty, real beauty, ends where an intellectual expression begins.

Aber Schönheit, wahre Schönheit hört auf, wo geistiger Ausdruck anfängt.

Intellect is in itself a mode of exaggeration, and destroys the harmony of any face.

Geist ist an sich eine Art Übertriebenheit und zerstört das Ebenmaß jedes Gesichts.

The moment one sits down to think, one becomes all nose, or all forehead, or something horrid.

Sowie man sich ans Denken macht, wird man ganz Nase oder ganz Stirn oder derart Gräßliches.

Look at the successful men in any of the learned professions.

Betrachte die Männer, die in irgendeinem gelehrten Beruf Erfolg hatten.

How perfectly hideous they are! Except, of course, in the Church. But then in the Church they don’t think.

Wie vollendet häßlich sind sie! Ausgenommen natürlich die Männer der Kirche. Aber in der Kirche denken sie eben nicht.

A bishop keeps on saying at the age of eighty what he was told to say

Ein Bischof bleibt dabei, mit achtzig Jahren dasselbe zu sagen, was man ihm

when he was a boy of eighteen, and as a natural consequence he always looks absolutely delightful.

als achtzehnjährigem Jungen beigebracht hat, und die natürliche Folge ist, daß er immer ganz wonnig aussieht.

Your mysterious young friend, whose name you have never told me, but whose picture really fascinates me, never thinks. I feel quite sure of that.

Dein geheimnisvoller junger Freund, dessen Namen du mir nie gesagt hast, dessen Bild mich jedoch wahrhaft bezaubert, denkt niemals. Das ist mir ganz sicher.

He is some brainless, beautiful creature, who should be always here in winter

Er ist so ein hirnloses, schönes Geschöpf, das wir im Winter immer haben sollten,

when we have no flowers to look at, and always here in summer when we want something to chill our intelligence.

wenn es keine Blumen gibt, auf die wir blicken können, und immer im Sommer, wenn wir etwas zur Abkühlung unseres Geistes brauchen.

Don’t flatter yourself, Basil: you are not in the least like him.”

Schmeichle dir nicht, Basil: du hast nicht die mindeste Ähnlichkeit mit ihm.«

“You don’t understand me, Harry,” answered the artist. “Of course I am not like him. I know that perfectly well.

»Du verstehst mich nicht, Harry,« antwortete der Künstler. »Natürlich habe ich keine Ähnlichkeit mit ihm – das weiß ich sehr wohl.

Indeed, I should be sorry to look like him. You shrug your shoulders? I am telling you the truth.

Ich wäre sogar traurig, wenn ich so aussähe wie er. Du zuckst die Achseln? Ich sage dir die Wahrheit.

There is a fatality about all physical and intellectual distinction, the sort of fatality

Es schwebt ein Verhängnis um alle körperliche und geistige Auszeichnung; die Art Verhängnis,

that seems to dog through history the faltering steps of kings.

die in der ganzen Geschichte den schwankenden Schritten der Könige auf dem Fuße zu folgen scheint.

It is better not to be different from one’s fellows.

Es ist besser, sich nicht von seinen Genossen zu unterscheiden.

The ugly and the stupid have the best of it in this world. They can sit at their ease and gape at the play.

Die Häßlichen und die Dummen sind in dieser Welt am besten daran. Sie können behaglich dasitzen und sorglos dem Spiel zuschauen.

If they know nothing of victory, they are at least spared the knowledge of defeat.

Wenn sie nichts von Siegen wissen, so ist ihnen dafür auch erspart, Niederlagen kennen zu lernen.

They live as we all should live, undisturbed, indifferent, and without disquiet.

Sie leben, wie wir alle leben sollten: sorglos, gleichgültig und ohne Unruhe.

They neither bring ruin upon others, nor ever receive it from alien hands.

Sie bringen über andere kein Verderben und empfangen es auch nicht aus fremden Händen.

Your rank and wealth, Harry; my brains, such as they are — my art, whatever it may be worth; Dorian Gray’s good looks

Dein Rang und dein Reichtum, Harry; mein Hirn, wie es nun schon ist – meine Kunst, sie mag wert sein, was sie will – Dorian Grays schönes Äußere:

— we shall all suffer for what the gods have given us, suffer terribly.”

wir werden alle drei unter dem leiden, was uns die Götter gegeben haben, schrecklich leiden.«

“Dorian Gray? Is that his name?” asked Lord Henry, walking across the studio towards Basil Hallward.

»Dorian Gray? So heißt er?« fragte Lord Henry und ging durch das Atelier auf Basil Hallward zu.

“Yes, that is his name. I didn’t intend to tell it to you.”

»Ja, so heißt er. Ich wollte dir den Namen nicht nennen.«

“But why not?”

»Aber warum nicht?«

“Oh, I can’t explain. When I like people immensely I never tell their names to anyone.

»Oh! Ich kann das nicht erklären. Wenn ich einen Menschen unmäßig lieb habe, sage ich nie jemandem seinen Namen.

It is like surrendering a part of them. I have grown to love secrecy.

Es ist, als übergäbe man damit einen Teil von ihm. Ich bin dazu gekommen, das Geheimnis zu lieben.

It seems to be the one thing that can make modern life mysterious or marvellous to us.

Das scheint allein imstande zu sein, das Leben unserer Zeit für uns zum Mysterium oder zum Wunder zu machen.

The commonest thing is delightful if one only hides it.

Das gemeinste Ding ist voller Schönheit, wenn man es nur versteckt.

When I leave town now I never tell my people where I am going. If I did, I would lose all my pleasure.

Wenn ich die Stadt verlasse, sage ich den Menschen nie mehr, wohin ich gehe. Täte ich es, so büßte ich all meinen Genuß ein.

It is a silly habit, I daresay, but somehow it seems to bring a great deal of romance into one’s life.

Es ist eine törichte Gewohnheit, ich gebe es zu, aber irgendwie scheint dadurch viel Romantik ins Leben zu kommen.

I suppose you think me awfully foolish about it?”

Vermutlich hältst du mich darum für schrecklich verrückt?«

“Not at all,” answered Lord Henry, “not at all, my dear Basil.

»Nicht im geringsten,« erwiderte Lord Henry, »nicht im geringsten, lieber Basil.

You seem to forget that I am married, and the one charm of marriage is

Du scheinst zu vergessen, daß ich verheiratet bin, und die Ehe hat den einen Reiz,

that it makes a life of deception absolutely necessary for both parties.

daß sie beiden Teilen ein Leben der Täuschung völlig zur Notwendigkeit macht.

I never know where my wife is, and my wife never knows what I am doing.

Ich weiß nie, wo meine Frau ist, und meine Frau weiß nie, was ich treibe.

When we meet — we do meet occasionally, when we dine out together, or go down to the Duke’s

Wenn wir zusammen sind – wir sind manchmal zusammen, wenn wir miteinander eingeladen sind oder zum Herzog aufs Land fahren –,

— we tell each other the most absurd stories with the most serious faces.

erzählen wir uns die verrücktesten Geschichten mit der ernsthaftesten Miene.

My wife is very good at it — much better, in fact, than I am. She never gets confused over her dates, and I always do.

Meine Frau versteht sich trefflich darauf – eigentlich besser als ich. Sie bringt ihre Daten nie durcheinander; und ich immer.

But when she does find me out, she makes no row at all. I sometimes wish she would; but she merely laughs at me.”

Aber wenn sie mich ertappt, macht sie keinen Lärm darüber. Ich wünschte manchmal, sie täte es; aber sie lacht mich bloß aus.«

“I hate the way you talk about your married life, Harry,” said Basil Hallward, strolling towards the door that led into the garden.

»Die Art, wie du über dein Eheleben sprichst, ist mir verhaßt, Harry,« sagte Basil Hallward und ging langsam zu der Tür, die in den Garten führte.

“I believe that you are really a very good husband, but that you are thoroughly ashamed of your own virtues.

»Ich glaube, du bist in Wahrheit ein sehr guter Ehemann, schämst dich jedoch heftig über deine eigene Tugendhaftigkeit.

You are an extraordinary fellow. You never say a moral thing, and you never do a wrong thing. Your cynicism is simply a pose.”

Du bist ein absonderlicher Bursche. Du sagst nie etwas Moralisches, und du tust nie etwas Schlechtes. Dein Zynismus ist lediglich Pose.«

“Being natural is simply a pose, and the most irritating pose I know,” cried Lord Henry, laughing;

»Natürlichsein ist lediglich eine Pose, und die ärgerlichste, die ich kenne,« rief Lord Henry und lachte;

and the two young men went out into the garden together,

und die beiden jungen Leute gingen miteinander in den Garten

and ensconced themselves on a long bamboo seat that stood in the shade of a tall laurel bush.

und setzten sich in dem Schatten eines großen Lorbeerbusches auf ein langes Bambussofa.

The sunlight slipped over the polished leaves. In the grass, white daisies were tremulous.

Das Sonnenlicht glitt über die glänzenden Blätter. Im Grase zitterten weiße Gänseblümchen.

After a pause, Lord Henry pulled out his watch. “I am afraid I must be going, Basil,” he murmured, “and before I go,

Nach einer Pause zog Lord Henry seine Uhr. »Ich fürchte, ich muß gleich gehen, Basil,« brummte er, »und ehe ich gehe,

I insist on your answering a question I put to you some time ago.”

bestehe ich darauf, daß du mir die Frage beantwortest, die ich vorhin an dich richtete.«

“What is that?” said the painter, keeping his eyes fixed on the ground.

»Was denn?« fragte der Maler, ohne aufzublicken.

“You know quite well.”

»Du weißt schon.«

“I do not, Harry.”

»Nein, Harry.«

“Well, I will tell you what it is. I want you to explain to me why you won’t exhibit Dorian Gray’s picture. I want the real reason.”

»Nun, dann will ich dirs sagen. Du sollst mir erklären, warum du Dorian Grays Bildnis nicht ausstellen willst. Ich verlange den wirklichen Grund zu wissen.«

“I told you the real reason.”

»Ich sagte dir den wirklichen Grund.«

“No, you did not. You said it was because there was too much of yourself in it. Now, that is childish.”

»Nein, das tatest du nicht. Du sagtest, der Grund sei, weil zu viel von dir in dem Bilde sei. Nun, das ist kindisch.«

“Harry,” said Basil Hallward, looking him straight in the face, “every portrait

»Harry,« sagte Basil Hallward und schaute ihm gerade ins Gesicht, »jedes Porträt,

that is painted with feeling is a portrait of the artist, not of the sitter.

das mit Empfindung gemalt ist, ist ein Porträt des Künstlers, nicht dessen, der ihm sitzt.

The sitter is merely the accident, the occasion.

Der ist bloß der Anlaß, die Gelegenheit.

It is not he who is revealed by the painter; it is rather the painter who, on the coloured canvas, reveals himself.

Nicht er wird vom Maler offenbart; es ist eher der Maler, der auf der farbigen Leinwand sich selber offenbart.

The reason I will not exhibit this picture is that I am afraid that I have shown in it the secret of my own soul.”

Der Grund, warum ich dieses Bild nicht ausstellen will, ist, daß ich fürchte, ich habe in ihm das Geheimnis meiner eigenen Seele aufgedeckt.«

Lord Henry laughed. “And what is that?” he asked.

Lord Henry lachte. »Und das wäre?« fragte er.

“I will tell you,” said Hallward; but an expression of perplexity came over his face.

»Ich will es dir erklären,« sagte Hallward; aber ein Ausdruck der Ratlosigkeit legte sich über seine Züge.

“I am all expectation, Basil,” continued his companion, glancing at him.

»Ich bin ganz Erwartung, Basil,« fing sein Gefährte wieder an und sah zu ihm hin.

“Oh, there is really very little to tell, Harry,” answered the painter; “and I am afraid you will hardly understand it.

»Oh! Es ist wirklich nicht viel zu erzählen, Harry,« antwortete der Maler, »und ich fürchte, du wirst es kaum verstehen.

Perhaps you will hardly believe it.”

Vielleicht wirst du es kaum glauben.«

Lord Henry smiled, and, leaning down, plucked a pink-petalled daisy from the grass, and examined it.

Lord Henry lächelte; dann bückte er sich, pflückte ein rot gefärbtes Gänseblümchen aus dem Gras und betrachtete es.

“I am quite sure I shall understand it,” he replied, gazing intently at the little golden white-feathered disk,

»Ich bezweifle gar nicht, daß ich es verstehen werde,« gab er zurück und blickte anhaltend auf das kleine goldene, weißgefiederte Rund in seiner Hand;

“and as for believing things, I can believe anything, provided that it is quite incredible.”

»und was das Glauben angeht, so kann ich alles glauben, vorausgesetzt, daß es unwahrscheinlich genug ist.«

The wind shook some blossoms from the trees, and the heavy lilac-blooms, with their clustering stars, moved to and fro in the languid air.

Der Wind schüttelte ein paar Blüten von den Bäumen, und die schweren Sternenbüschel des Flieders schwankten in der schwülen Luft hin und her.

A grasshopper began to chirrup by the wall, and like a blue thread a long thin dragon-fly floated past on its brown gauze wings.

Eine Grille fing an der Mauer zu zirpen an, und wie ein blauer Faden schwebte eine lange, dünne Libelle auf ihren braunen Gazeflügeln durch die Luft.

Lord Henry felt as if he could hear Basil Hallward’s heart beating, and wondered what was coming.

Lord Henry war es, als könnte er Basil Hallwards Herz klopfen hören, und war gespannt, was er hören sollte.

“The story is simply this,” said the painter after some time. “Two months ago I went to a crush at Lady Brandon’s.

»Die Geschichte ist einfach die,« sagte der Maler nach einer Weile. »Vor zwei Monaten ging ich einmal zu einem Gesellschaftsrummel bei Lady Brandon.

You know we poor artists have to show ourselves in society from time to time, just to remind the public that we are not savages.

Du weißt, wir armen Künstler müssen uns von Zeit zu Zeit in der Gesellschaft sehen lassen, bloß um dem Publikum ins Gedächtnis zu rufen, daß wir keine Wilden sind.

With an evening coat and a white tie, as you told me once, anybody, even a stockbroker, can gain a reputation for being civilised.

Mit einem Gesellschaftsanzug und einer weißen Binde, wie du mir einmal sagtest, kann jeder, selbst ein Börsenmakler, in den Ruf eines Gebildeten kommen.

Well, after I had been in the room about ten minutes, talking to huge over-dressed dowagers

Nun, ich war etwa zehn Minuten da und plauderte mit umfangreichen, überladenen, vornehmen Witwen

and tedious Academicians, I suddenly became conscious that someone was looking at me.

und langweiligen Akademikern, als mir plötzlich ins Bewußtsein kam, daß mich jemand ansah.

I turned halfway round, and saw Dorian Gray for the first time.

Ich drehte mich halb um und erblickte zum erstenmal Dorian Gray.

When our eyes met, I felt that I was growing pale. A curious sensation of terror came over me.

Als unsre Augen sich trafen, fühlte ich, daß ich blaß wurde. Ein seltsames Gefühl des Bangens überkam mich.

I knew that I had come face to face with someone whose mere personality was so fascinating

Ich spürte, ich stand einem von Angesicht zu Angesicht gegenüber, dessen bloße Erscheinung so bezaubernd war,

that, if I allowed it to do so, it would absorb my whole nature, my whole soul, my very art itself.

daß sie, wenn ich es ihr gestattete, meine ganze Natur, meine ganze Seele und sogar meine Kunst an sich reißen mußte.

I did not want any external influence in my life. You know yourself, Harry, how independent I am by nature.

Ich brauchte in meinem Leben keinerlei Einwirkung von außen. Du weißt selbst, Harry, wie unabhängig ich von Natur aus bin.

I have always been my own master; had at least always been so, till I met Dorian Gray.

Ich bin immer mein eigener Herr gewesen; war es zum mindesten gewesen, bis ich Dorian Gray getroffen habe.

Then — but I don’t know how to explain it to you. Something seemed to tell me that I was on the verge of a terrible crisis in my life.

Dann – aber ich weiß nicht, wie ich es dir erklären soll. Ich hatte ein Vorgefühl, daß ich unmittelbar vor einer furchtbaren Krise in meinem Leben stehe.

I had a strange feeling that Fate had in store for me exquisite joys and exquisite sorrows.

Ich hatte die seltsame Empfindung, das Schicksal halte erlesene Freuden und erlesene Schmerzen für mich in Bereitschaft.

I grew afraid, and turned to quit the room. It was not conscience that made me do so; it was a sort of cowardice.

Mich schauderte, und ich wandte mich zum Gehen. Es war nicht das Gewissen, was mich dazu trieb; es war eine Art Feigheit.

I take no credit to myself for trying to escape.”

Ich rechne es mir nicht zur Ehre an, daß ich zu fliehen versuchte.«

“Conscience and cowardice are really the same things, Basil. Conscience is the trade-name of the firm. That is all.”

»Gewissen und Feigheit sind in Wahrheit ein und dasselbe. Gewissen ist der eingetragene Name der Firma, weiter nichts.«

“I don’t believe that, Harry, and I don’t believe you do either. However, whatever was my motive — and it may have been pride,

»Ich glaube das nicht, Harry, und ich glaube, auch du nicht. Indessen, das oder jenes mag mein Motiv gewesen sein – vielleicht war es Stolz,

for I used to be very proud — I certainly struggled to the door.

ich bin immer sehr stolz gewesen –, gewiß ist, daß ich die Tür erreichen wollte.

There, of course, I stumbled against Lady Brandon.

Dort natürlich prallte ich mit Lady Brandon zusammen.

‘You are not going to run away so soon, Mr. Hallward?’ she screamed out. You know her curiously shrill voice?”

›Sie werden doch nicht so früh weglaufen wollen, Herr Hallward?‹ schrie sie. Du kennst ihre seltsam gellende Stimme?«

“Yes; she is a peacock in everything but beauty,” said Lord Henry, pulling the daisy to bits with his long, nervous fingers.

»O ja, die Dame ist, von der Schönheit abgesehen, ein Pfau,« sagte Lord Henry und zerzupfte mit seinen langen, nervösen Fingern das Gänseblümchen.

“I could not get rid of her. She brought me up to Royalties, and people with Stars and Garters, and elderly ladles with gigantic tiaras and parrot noses.

»Ich konnte mich nicht von ihr losmachen. Sie produzierte mich königlichen Hoheiten und Leuten mit Sternen und Hosenbandorden und ältlichen Damen mit riesenhaften Diademen und Papageinasen.

She spoke of me as her dearest friend. I had only met her once before, but she took it into her head to lionise me.

Sie sprach von mir als von ihrem besten Freund. Wir hatten uns ein einziges Mal vorher gesehen, aber sie hatte es sich in den Kopf gesetzt, mich als berühmten Mann zu behandeln.

I believe some picture of mine had made a great success at the time,

Ich glaube, irgendein Bild von mir hatte gerade großen Erfolg gehabt,

at least had been chattered about in the penny newspapers, which is the nineteenth-century standard of immortality.

oder es war wenigstens in den Abendblättern davon geschwatzt worden, und das ist der Unsterblichkeitsmaßstab unsres Jahrhunderts.

Suddenly I found myself face to face with the young man whose personality had so strangely stirred me.

Plötzlich befand ich mich dem jungen Manne gegenüber, dessen Erscheinung mich so sonderbar erschüttert hatte.

We were quite close, almost touching. Our eyes met again.

Wir waren einander ganz nahe und berührten uns fast. Unsre Augen trafen sich wieder.

It was reckless of me, but I asked Lady Brandon to introduce me to him. Perhaps it was not so reckless, after all.

Es war unbedacht von mir, aber ich bat Lady Brandon, mich ihm vorzustellen. Vielleicht war es, alles erwogen, nicht so unbedacht.

It was simply inevitable. We would have spoken to each other without any introduction. I am sure of that.

Es war einfach unvermeidlich. Wir hätten angefangen, miteinander zu sprechen, auch ohne jede Vorstellung – dessen bin ich sicher.

Dorian told me so afterwards. He, too, felt that we were destined to know each other.”

Dorian sagte es mir später. Auch er hatte das Gefühl, daß wir dazu bestimmt waren, einander kennen zu lernen.«

THE PREFACE

THE artist is the creator of beautiful things. To reveal art and conceal the artist is art’s aim. The critic is he who can translate into another manner or a new material his impression of beautiful things.

The highest, as the lowest, form of criticism is a mode of autobiography.

Those who find ugly meanings in beautiful things are corrupt without being charming. This is a fault.

Those who find beautiful meanings in beautiful things are the cultivated. For these there is hope.

They are the elect to whom beautiful things mean only Beauty.

There is no such thing as a moral or an immoral book. Books are well written, or badly written. That is all.

The nineteenth century dislike of Realism is the rage of Caliban seeing his own face in a glass.

The nineteenth century dislike of Romanticism is the rage of Caliban not seeing his own face in a glass.

The moral life of man forms part of the subject-matter of the artist, but the morality of art consists in the perfect use of an imperfect medium. No artist desires to prove anything. Even things that are true can be proved.

No artist has ethical sympathies. An ethical sympathy in an artist is an unpardonable mannerism of style.

No artist is ever morbid. The artist can express everything.

Thought and language are to the artist instruments of an art.

Vice and virtue are to the artist materials for an art.

From the point of view of form, the type of all the arts is the art of the musician. From the point of view of feeling, the actor’s craft is the type.

All art is at once surface and symbol. Those who go beneath the surface do so at their peril.

Those who read the symbol do so at their peril.

It is the spectator, and not life, that art really mirrors. Diversity of opinion about a work of art shows that the work is new, complex, and vital.

When critics disagree the artist is in accord with himself.

We can forgive a man for making a useful thing as long as he does not admire it. The only excuse for making a useless thing is that one admires it intensely.

All art is quite useless.

Oscar Wilde

CHAPTER I

THE studio was filled with the rich odour of roses, and when the light summer wind stirred amidst the trees of the garden, there came through the open door the heavy scent of the lilac, or the more delicate perfume of the pink-flowering thorn.

From the corner of the divan of Persian saddlebags on which he was lying, smoking, as was his custom, innumerable cigarettes, Lord Henry Wotton could just catch the gleam of the honey-sweet and honey-coloured blossoms of a laburnum, whose tremulous branches seemed hardly able to bear the burden of a beauty so flame-like as theirs; and now and then the fantastic shadows of birds in flight flitted across the long tussore-silk curtains that were stretched in front of the huge window, producing a kind of momentary Japanese effect, and making him think of those pallid jade-faced painters of Tokio who, through the medium of an art that is necessarily immobile, seek to convey the sense of swiftness and motion. The sullen murmur of the bees shouldering their way through the long unmown grass, or circling with monotonous insistence round the dusty gilt horns of the straggling woodbine, seemed to make the stillness more oppressive. The dim roar of London was like the bourdon note of a distant organ.

In the centre of the room, clamped to an upright easel, stood the full-length portrait of a young man of extraordinary personal beauty, and in front of it, some little distance away, was sitting the artist himself, Basil Hallward, whose sudden disappearance some years ago caused, at the time, such public excitement, and gave rise to so many strange conjectures.

As the painter looked at the gracious and comely form he had so skilfully mirrored in his art, a smile of pleasure passed across his face, and seemed about to linger there. But he suddenly started up, and, closing his eyes, placed his fingers upon the lids, as though he sought to imprison within his brain some curious dream from which he feared he might awake.

“It is your best work, Basil, the best thing you have ever done,” said Lord Henry, languidly. “You must certainly send it next year to the Grosvenor. The Academy is too large and too vulgar. Whenever I have gone there, there have been either so many people that I have not been able to see the pictures, which was dreadful, or so many pictures that I have not been able to see the people, which was worse. The Grosvenor is really the only place.”

“I don’t think I shall send it anywhere,” he answered, tossing his head back in that odd way that used to make his friends laugh at him at Oxford. “No: I won’t send it anywhere.”

Lord Henry elevated his eyebrows, and looked at him in amazement through the thin blue wreaths of smoke that curled up in such fanciful whorls from his heavy opium-tainted cigarette. “Not send it anywhere? My dear fellow, why? Have you any reason? What odd chaps you painters are! You do anything in the world to gain a reputation. As soon as you have one, you seem to want to throw it away. It is silly of you, for there is only one thing in the world worse than being talked about, and that is not being talked about. A portrait like this would set you far above all the young men in England, and make the old men quite jealous, if old men are ever capable of any emotion.”

“I know you will laugh at me,” he replied, “but I really can’t exhibit it. I have put too much of myself into it.”

Lord Henry stretched himself out on the divan and laughed.

“Yes, I knew you would; but it is quite true, all the same.”

“Too much of yourself in it! Upon my word, Basil, I didn’t know you were so vain; and I really can’t see any resemblance between you, with your rugged strong face and your coal-black hair, and this young Adonis, who looks as if he was made out of ivory and rose-leaves. Why, my dear Basil, he is a Narcissus, and you — well, of course you have an intellectual expression, and all that. But beauty, real beauty, ends where an intellectual expression begins. Intellect is in itself a mode of exaggeration, and destroys the harmony of any face. The moment one sits down to think, one becomes all nose, or all forehead, or something horrid. Look at the successful men in any of the learned professions. How perfectly hideous they are! Except, of course, in the Church. But then in the Church they don’t think. A bishop keeps on saying at the age of eighty what he was told to say when he was a boy of eighteen, and as a natural consequence he always looks absolutely delightful. Your mysterious young friend, whose name you have never told me, but whose picture really fascinates me, never thinks. I feel quite sure of that. He is some brainless, beautiful creature, who should be always here in winter when we have no flowers to look at, and always here in summer when we want something to chill our intelligence. Don’t flatter yourself, Basil: you are not in the least like him.”

“You don’t understand me, Harry,” answered the artist. “Of course I am not like him. I know that perfectly well. Indeed, I should be sorry to look like him. You shrug your shoulders? I am telling you the truth. There is a fatality about all physical and intellectual distinction, the sort of fatality that seems to dog through history the faltering steps of kings. It is better not to be different from one’s fellows. The ugly and the stupid have the best of it in this world. They can sit at their ease and gape at the play. If they know nothing of victory, they are at least spared the knowledge of defeat. They live as we all should live, undisturbed, indifferent, and without disquiet. They neither bring ruin upon others, nor ever receive it from alien hands. Your rank and wealth, Harry; my brains, such as they are — my art, whatever it may be worth; Dorian Gray’s good looks — we shall all suffer for what the gods have given us, suffer terribly.”

“Dorian Gray? Is that his name?” asked Lord Henry, walking across the studio towards Basil Hallward.

“Yes, that is his name. I didn’t intend to tell it to you.”

“But why not?”

“Oh, I can’t explain. When I like people immensely I never tell their names to anyone. It is like surrendering a part of them. I have grown to love secrecy. It seems to be the one thing that can make modern life mysterious or marvellous to us. The commonest thing is delightful if one only hides it. When I leave town now I never tell my people where I am going. If I did, I would lose all my pleasure. It is a silly habit, I daresay, but somehow it seems to bring a great deal of romance into one’s life. I suppose you think me awfully foolish about it?”

“Not at all,” answered Lord Henry, “not at all, my dear Basil. You seem to forget that I am married, and the one charm of marriage is that it makes a life of deception absolutely necessary for both parties. I never know where my wife is, and my wife never knows what I am doing. When we meet — we do meet occasionally, when we dine out together, or go down to the Duke’s — we tell each other the most absurd stories with the most serious faces. My wife is very good at it — much better, in fact, than I am. She never gets confused over her dates, and I always do. But when she does find me out, she makes no row at all. I sometimes wish she would; but she merely laughs at me.”

“I hate the way you talk about your married life, Harry,” said Basil Hallward, strolling towards the door that led into the garden. “I believe that you are really a very good husband, but that you are thoroughly ashamed of your own virtues. You are an extraordinary fellow. You never say a moral thing, and you never do a wrong thing. Your cynicism is simply a pose.”

“Being natural is simply a pose, and the most irritating pose I know,” cried Lord Henry, laughing; and the two young men went out into the garden together, and ensconced themselves on a long bamboo seat that stood in the shade of a tall laurel bush. The sunlight slipped over the polished leaves. In the grass, white daisies were tremulous.

After a pause, Lord Henry pulled out his watch. “I am afraid I must be going, Basil,” he murmured, “and before I go, I insist on your answering a question I put to you some time ago.”

“What is that?” said the painter, keeping his eyes fixed on the ground.

“You know quite well.”

“I do not, Harry.”

“Well, I will tell you what it is. I want you to explain to me why you won’t exhibit Dorian Gray’s picture. I want the real reason.”

“I told you the real reason.”

“No, you did not. You said it was because there was too much of yourself in it. Now, that is childish.”

“Harry,” said Basil Hallward, looking him straight in the face, “every portrait that is painted with feeling is a portrait of the artist, not of the sitter. The sitter is merely the accident, the occasion. It is not he who is revealed by the painter; it is rather the painter who, on the coloured canvas, reveals himself. The reason I will not exhibit this picture is that I am afraid that I have shown in it the secret of my own soul.”

Lord Henry laughed. “And what is that?” he asked.

“I will tell you,” said Hallward; but an expression of perplexity came over his face.

“I am all expectation, Basil,” continued his companion, glancing at him.

“Oh, there is really very little to tell, Harry,” answered the painter; “and I am afraid you will hardly understand it. Perhaps you will hardly believe it.”

Lord Henry smiled, and, leaning down, plucked a pink-petalled daisy from the grass, and examined it. “I am quite sure I shall understand it,” he replied, gazing intently at the little golden white-feathered disk, “and as for believing things, I can believe anything, provided that it is quite incredible.”

The wind shook some blossoms from the trees, and the heavy lilac-blooms, with their clustering stars, moved to and fro in the languid air. A grasshopper began to chirrup by the wall, and like a blue thread a long thin dragon-fly floated past on its brown gauze wings. Lord Henry felt as if he could hear Basil Hallward’s heart beating, and wondered what was coming.

“The story is simply this,” said the painter after some time. “Two months ago I went to a crush at Lady Brandon’s. You know we poor artists have to show ourselves in society from time to time, just to remind the public that we are not savages. With an evening coat and a white tie, as you told me once, anybody, even a stockbroker, can gain a reputation for being civilised. Well, after I had been in the room about ten minutes, talking to huge over-dressed dowagers and tedious Academicians, I suddenly became conscious that someone was looking at me. I turned halfway round, and saw Dorian Gray for the first time. When our eyes met, I felt that I was growing pale. A curious sensation of terror came over me. I knew that I had come face to face with someone whose mere personality was so fascinating that, if I allowed it to do so, it would absorb my whole nature, my whole soul, my very art itself. I did not want any external influence in my life. You know yourself, Harry, how independent I am by nature. I have always been my own master; had at least always been so, till I met Dorian Gray. Then — but I don’t know how to explain it to you. Something seemed to tell me that I was on the verge of a terrible crisis in my life. I had a strange feeling that Fate had in store for me exquisite joys and exquisite sorrows. I grew afraid, and turned to quit the room. It was not conscience that made me do so; it was a sort of cowardice. I take no credit to myself for trying to escape.”

“Conscience and cowardice are really the same things, Basil. Conscience is the trade-name of the firm. That is all.”

“I don’t believe that, Harry, and I don’t believe you do either. However, whatever was my motive — and it may have been pride, for I used to be very proud — I certainly struggled to the door. There, of course, I stumbled against Lady Brandon. ‘You are not going to run away so soon, Mr. Hallward?’ she screamed out. You know her curiously shrill voice?”

“Yes; she is a peacock in everything but beauty,” said Lord Henry, pulling the daisy to bits with his long, nervous fingers.

“I could not get rid of her. She brought me up to Royalties, and people with Stars and Garters, and elderly ladles with gigantic tiaras and parrot noses. She spoke of me as her dearest friend. I had only met her once before, but she took it into her head to lionise me. I believe some picture of mine had made a great success at the time, at least had been chattered about in the penny newspapers, which is the nineteenth-century standard of immortality. Suddenly I found myself face to face with the young man whose personality had so strangely stirred me. We were quite close, almost touching. Our eyes met again. It was reckless of me, but I asked Lady Brandon to introduce me to him. Perhaps it was not so reckless, after all. It was simply inevitable. We would have spoken to each other without any introduction. I am sure of that. Dorian told me so afterwards. He, too, felt that we were destined to know each other.”