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  .., 2026.



Oscar Wilde  

The Picture of Dorian Gray   



Preface 

An artist is one who creates beauty.   ,   .

To reveal oneself to people and to hide the artistthat is what art strives for.            .

A critic is someone who is able to convey his impression of the beautiful in a new form or by new means.    ,             .

The highest, as well as the lowest, form of criticism is one of the types of autobiography. ,   ,       .

Those who find evil in the beautiful are corrupted people, and their corruption does not make them attractive. ,     ,   ,       . This is a great sin.   .

Those who are able to see the high meaning in beauty are cultured people. ,        ,   . They are not hopeless.   .

But the chosen one is the one who sees only one thing in the beautiful:    ,      : Beauty. .

There are no moral or immoral books.     . There are books that are well written or poorly written.       . That's all.   .

The nineteenth century's hatred of Realism is the rage of Caliban seeing himself in the mirror.         ,    .

The nineteenth century's hatred of Romanticism is the rage of Caliban, who does not find his reflection in the mirror.         ,      .

For an artist, the moral life of man is only one of the themes of his work.            . The ethics of art lies in the perfect use of imperfect means.        .

The artist does not seek to prove anything.    - . Even indisputable truths can be proven.     .

The artist is not a moralist.   . This inclination of the artist gives rise to an unforgivable mannerism of style.       .

Do not attribute unhealthy tendencies to the artist:     : he is allowed to depict everything.    .

Thought and Word for the artist are the means of Art.        .

Vice and Virtue are the material for his creativity.        .

If we speak about form, the prototype of all arts is the art of the musician.    ,       . If we speak about feeling, the art of the actor.       .

In every art there is something that lies on the surface and a symbol.     ,    ,  .

Anyone who tries to penetrate deeper than the surface takes a risk.     ,    .

And whoever reveals the symbol takes a risk.    ,   .

In essence, Art is a mirror that reflects the one who looks into it, and not life at all.  ,   ,  ,    ,    .

If a work of art is controversial, it means that it contains something new, complex and significant.       ,     ,   .

Let the critics differ in their opinions - the artist remains true to himself.          .

One can forgive a person who does something useful, as long as he does not admire it.   ,    ,      . But for someone who creates something useless, the only justification is passionate love for his creation.  ,   ,         .

All art is completely useless.    .

Oscar Wilde  



Chapter I  I

The rich scent of roses filled the artist's studio, and when a summer breeze rose in the garden, it flew in through the open door, bringing with it either the intoxicating scent of lilac or the delicate fragrance of scarlet hawthorn flowers.      ,       , ,    ,       ,      .

From the Persian-covered sofa on which Lord Henry Wotton lay, smoking, as usual, one after another countless cigarettes, only a broom bush was visible - its golden and fragrant, like honey, flowers glowed hotly in the sun, and its trembling branches seemed barely able to bear the weight of this sparkling magnificence;     ,      , ,  ,     ,          ,  ,     ,   , ,      ; from time to time, on the long silk curtains of the huge window, whimsical shadows of birds flying past flickered, creating for a moment a semblance of Japanese drawings - and then Lord Henry thought of the yellow-faced artists of distant Tokyo, who strove to convey movement and impulse by means of an art that is by nature static.             ,      ,           ,       ,    . The angry buzzing of bees, making their way through the unmown tall grass or monotonously and persistently circling above the curly honeysuckle sprinkled with golden dust, seemed to make the silence even more oppressive.   ,                , ,     . The dull noise of London came here like the hum of a distant organ.     ,    .

In the middle of the room, on an easel, stood a portrait of a young man of extraordinary beauty, and in front of the easel, a little further away, sat the artist, the same Basil Hallward, whose sudden disappearance several years ago had so excited London society and given rise to so many of the most fantastic assumptions.          ,   ,  ,   ,    ,                .

The artist looked at the handsome young man, depicted with such skill in his portrait, and a satisfied smile did not leave his face.     ,       ,        . But suddenly he jumped up and, closing his eyes, pressed his fingers to his eyelids, as if wanting to retain some amazing dream in his memory and afraid to wake up.     ,  ,    ,      -     .

This is your best work, Basil, the best of all that you have written, said Lord Henry lazily.     , ,    ,   ,     . We must certainly send it to the exhibition at Grosvenor next year.           . It is not worth going to the Academy:    : The Academy is too large and too accessible to everyone.     . Whenever you go, you meet so many people there that you do not see the paintings, or so many paintings that you do not get a chance to see the people.   ,    ,    ,   ,     . The first is very unpleasant, the second is even worse.   ,   . No, the only suitable place is Grosvenor. ,      .

I dont intend to exhibit this portrait at all, the artist responded, throwing back his head, as was his characteristic habit, which his comrades at Oxford University used to make fun of.         ,   ,  ,    ,  , ,      . No, I wont send it anywhere.   ,     .

Lord Henry raised his eyebrows in surprise and looked at Basil through the blue smoke that rose in strange rings from his opium-soaked cigarette.   ,        ,        .

 You wont send it anywhere?    ? And why is that?   ? For what reason, my dear?    ,  ? These artists are really eccentrics! , ,  ! They go out of their way to achieve fame, and when fame comes, they seem to be burdened by it.   ,   ,    ,     . How stupid it is!   ! If it is unpleasant when they talk a lot about you, then it is even worse when they dont talk about you at all.  ,     ,   ,      . This portrait would have elevated you, Basil, far above all the young artists in England, and would have inspired strong envy in the old ones, if old people are still capable of experiencing any feelings at all.     , ,      ,      ,       - .

I know youll laugh at me, the artist objected, but I really cant put this portrait on display Ive put too much of myself into it.  ,     ,   ,   , ,              .

Lord Henry laughed, settling himself more comfortably on the sofa.   ,    .

- Well, I knew you would find it funny.   ,    ,     . However, it is the absolute truth.      .

 Too much of yourself?     ? By God, Basil, I didnt suspect you of such conceit. -, ,       . I dont see the slightest resemblance between you, my black-haired, stern-faced friend, and this young Adonis, as if created from ivory and rose petals.       ,  ,  ,    ,        . Understand, Basil, he is Narcissus, and you... Well, of course, your face is spiritual and all that. , ,   ,    ,       . But beauty, true beauty, disappears where spirituality appears.  ,  ,  ,   . A highly developed intellect is in itself a certain anomaly; it disrupts the harmony of the face.         ,    . As soon as a person begins to think, his nose becomes disproportionately elongated, or his forehead enlarges, or something else spoils his face.     ,     ,   ,  -    . Look at the outstanding figures of any learned professionhow ugly they are!           ! The exception is, of course, our spiritual shepherds, - but these do not bother their brains.  , ,   ,        . A bishop at eighty continues to repeat what he was told when he was an eighteen-year-old youth - it is natural that his face retains its beauty and good looks.       ,   ,     ,  ,       . Judging by the portrait, your mysterious young friend, whose name you stubbornly refuse to mention, is charming - which means he never thinks about anything.   ,    ,       , ,  ,       . I am absolutely convinced of this.     . Probably he is a brainless and charming creature of God, whom we should always have before us: ,       ,        : in winter, when there are no flowers - to please the eyes, and in summer - to refresh the overheated brain. ,   ,    ,       . No, Basil, do not flatter yourself: , ,   : you are not at all like him.      .

You misunderstood me, Harry, said the artist.     , ,   . Of course, there is no resemblance between me and that boy.   ,        . I know that very well.    . And I wouldnt want to be like him.        ,  . You shrug your shoulders, dont believe me?   ,  ? And yet I speak quite sincerely.       . There is something fatal in the fate of people who are physically or spiritually perfect - exactly the same fate throughout history seemed to guide the uncertain steps of kings.   ,    ,  -                . It is much safer to be no different from others.       . In this world, fools and freaks always come out on top.          . They can sit quietly and watch others struggle.         . They are not given to know the triumph of victory, but they are spared the bitterness of defeat.      ,       . They live as we all should live - without any worries, serenely, in addition to everything indifferent.   ,      ,    , ,   . They do not destroy anyone and do not perish themselves at the hands of the enemy... You are noble and rich, Harry, I have intellect and talent, no matter how small it may be, Dorian Gray has his beauty.               , ,      ,      ,      . And for all these gifts of the gods we will pay someday, we will pay with great suffering.         -,   .

Dorian Gray?   ? Aha, so thats his name? , ,    ? asked Lord Henry, approaching Hallward.     ,   .

- Yes.  . I didnt want to name his name      

- But why?    ?

 How can I explain it to you... When I love someone very much, I never tell anyone their name.         -,       . It's like giving away a piece of someone dear to you.       -    . And you know, I've become secretive; I like having secrets from people.      ,      . This is perhaps the only thing that can make modern life exciting and mysterious for us. , , ,          . The most ordinary trifle acquires amazing interest as soon as you start hiding it from people.      ,       . When I leave London, I now never tell my relatives where I'm going.   ,       ,  . If I told them, all the fun would be gone.        . It's a funny whim, I agree, but it somehow brings a fair amount of romance into my life.   , ,   -        . You'll say, of course, that this is terribly stupid? , , ,    ?

Not at all, replied Lord Henry, not at all, my dear Basil!  ,    ,  ,  ! You forget that I am a married man, and that is the only joy of marriage, that both parties are inevitably forced to invent lies.  ,    ,        ,        . I never know where my wife is, and my wife does not know what I am doing.    ,   ,     ,   . When we meetand we sometimes meet when we dine together at a party or pay a call on the Dukewe tell each other all sorts of tall tales with the most serious air.  ,       ,           ,           . My wife does this much better than I do.     ,  . She never gets confused, whereas with me it always happens.    ,      . However, if she happens to catch me out, she does not get angry and does not make a scene. ,     ,       . Sometimes it even annoys me.      . But she only makes fun of me.      .

"I hate the way you talk about your family life, Harry," said Basil Hallward, coming to the garden door.    ,          , ,    ,     . "I'm sure you're a really good husband, but you're ashamed of your virtue.    ,       ,    . You're a wonderful man!   ! You never say anything moral - and you never do anything immoral.            . Your cynicism is just a pose.     .

I know that being natural is a pose, and the most hated pose by people!  ,      ,     ! exclaimed Lord Henry with a laugh.       .

The young people went out into the garden and sat down on a bamboo bench in the shade of a tall laurel bush.               . Sunbeams glided across its shiny, varnished leaves.      ,   . White daisies swayed gently in the grass.      .

For some time the host and guest sat in silence.       . Then Lord Henry looked at his watch.      .

Well, unfortunately, I must go, Basil, he said.  ,  ,  , ,   . But before I go, you must answer the question I asked you.    ,   ,      ,    .

What question?   ? asked the artist without looking up.    ,   .

- You know very well which one.     .

- No, Harry, I dont know.  , ,  .

- Okay, I'll remind you.  ,   . Please explain why you decided not to send the portrait of Dorian Gray to the exhibition. , ,          . I want to know the truth.    .

- I told you the truth.      .

- No.  . You said that there is too much of you in this portrait.  ,        . But that is childish!     !

Understand, Harry.  , . Hallward looked into Lord Henrys eyes.        . Every portrait painted with love is, in essence, a portrait of the artist himself, and not of the one who posed for him.    ,   ,  ,  ,   ,   ,   . It is not him, but himself, that the artist reveals on canvas.  ,       . And I am afraid that the portrait will reveal the secret of my soul.   ,      . That is why I do not want to exhibit it.      .

Lord Henry burst out laughing.   .

And what is this secret?       ? he asked.    .

Okay, Ill tell you, Hallward began, somewhat embarrassed.    ,  ,    - .

Well?  -? Im dying of impatience, Basil, Lord Henry insisted, looking at him.    , ,    ,   .

- Theres almost nothing to say here, Harry... And I doubt youll understand me.   -   ,       . You probably wont even believe it. ,   .

Lord Henry only grinned in response and, bending down, plucked a pink daisy from the grass.       , ,     .

I am absolutely sure that I will understand, he responded, carefully examining the golden pistil of the flower with a white edge.    ,  ,   ,        . And I am capable of believing in anything, and the more likely it is, the more readily it will be.         ,   ,   .

A slight breeze shook a few flowers from the trees;       ; the heavy lilac brushes, as if woven from stars, slowly swayed in the sleepy silence softened by the heat.   ,    ,       . A grasshopper chirped near the wall.    . A dragonfly flashed through the air like a long blue thread on transparent brown wings... Lord Henry seemed to hear Basil's heart beating in his chest, and he tried to guess what would happen next.              ,   ,      ,    ,   .

Well, so the artist began after a short silence.  ,     ,  . About two months ago I had to attend a reception at Lady Brandons.             . After all, we, poor artists, should appear in society from time to time, if only to show people that we are not savages.  ,  ,       ,    ,   ,    . I remember your words that in a tailcoat and white tie anyone, even a stockbroker, can pass for a civilized person.   ,        ,   ,     .

In Lady Brandon's drawing room I had been chatting for about ten minutes with the elegant widows and the tedious academics when I suddenly felt someone's eyes on me.                    ,      - . I looked around and it was then that I saw Dorian Gray for the first time.    -      . Our eyes met and I felt myself turning pale.   ,   ,  . I was overcome by some instinctive fear and I realized:   -  ,   : before me was a man so charming that if I succumbed to his charm he would swallow me up entirely, my soul and even my art.     , ,     ,    ,      . And I didn't want any outside influences in my life.          . You know, Henry, what an independent character I have.  , ,     . I have always been my own master... at least until I met Dorian Gray.         ,     . Well, and now... I don't know how to explain it to you... An inner voice told me that on the eve of a terrible a turning point in my life.     ,        ,       . I had a vague premonition that fate was preparing extraordinary joys and equally sophisticated torments for me.   ,           . I felt terrified, and I was already stepping towards the door, deciding to leave.   ,       ,  . I did it almost unconsciously, out of some kind of cowardice.     ,  - . Of course, trying to escape does not do me honor. ,      . In all honesty...   

 Conscience and cowardice are essentially the same thing, Basil.    ,  ,    , . Conscience is the official name for cowardice, thats all.     ,   .

I dont believe it, Harry, and I dont think you believe it either In short, I dont know for what reasons  perhaps out of pride, for I am very proud  I began to make my way to the exit.     , ,   ,  ,   ,  ,   ,   ,  ,     ,     . However, at the door, of course, Lady Brandon intercepted me.    , ,   . You dont intend to run away so early, Mr. Hallward?        ,  ? she cried.    . Do you know what a shrill voice she has! ,     !

You bet!   ! Shes a real peacock, only without his beauty, Lord Henry continued, tearing apart the daisy with his long, nervous fingers.    ,    ,    ,     .

 I couldnt get rid of her.       . She introduced me to the highest persons, then to various dignitaries wearing stars and the Order of the Garter, and to some old ladies in huge tiaras and with hooked noses.     ,          -         . She recommended me to everyone as her best friend, although she saw me only for the second time in her life.        ,       . Apparently, she took it into her head to include me in her collection of celebrities. ,           . It seems that at that time one of my pictures had a great success - in any case, they chatted about it in the penny newspapers, and in our time that is a patent for immortality. ,    -      ,    ,      ,        .

And suddenly I found myself face to face with the very young man who, at first sight, had caused such a strange excitement in my soul.           ,           . He stood so close that we almost collided.    ,    . Our eyes met again.    . Then I recklessly asked Lady Brandon to introduce us.        . However, this, perhaps, was not such recklessness: , , ,     : all the same, even if we had not been introduced, we would inevitably have started talking to each other.  ,      ,       . I am sure of it.    . Dorian told me the same thing later.       . And he, too, immediately felt that it was not chance that brought us together, but fate.     ,     ,  .

And what did Lady Brandon tell you about this charming young man?            ? asked Lord Henry.     . I know her habit of giving a cursory description of each guest.          . I remember how she once led me to some formidable, red-faced old man, hung with orders and ribbons, and along the way, in a tragic whisper - probably heard by everyone in the drawing room - she told me in my ear the most stunning details of his biography. ,       -   ,    ,       , ,              . I simply ran away from her.  -   . I like to understand people myself, without anyone else's help.   ,   ,   . And Lady Brandon describes her guests exactly like an appraiser at an auction sells things under the hammer:       --        : she either tells you the most intimate things about them, or tells you everything except what you would like to know.        ,    ,  ,     .

Poor Lady Brandon!    ! You are too hard on her, Harry, Hallward remarked absently.      , ,    .

- My dear, she tried to create a salon for herself, but it turned out to be simply a restaurant.   ,      ,    . And you want me to admire her?   ,    ? Well, God be with her, tell me instead, what did she say about Dorian Gray? ,   , -  ,      ?

 She muttered something like:   -  : A lovely boy his poor mother and I were inseparable Ive forgotten what he does Im afraid he doesnt do anything Oh yes, he plays the piano Or the violin, dear Mr. Gray?          ,    ,    ,      ,   ? We both couldnt help but laugh, and it somehow immediately brought us closer together.        ,    -  .

"It is a good thing for a friendship to begin with laughter, and best of all for it to end with it," remarked Lord Henry, plucking another daisy.  ,    ,   ,     ,    ,    .

Hallward shook his head.   .

You dont know what true friendship is, Harry, he said quietly.    ,    , ,    . And you dont know true enmity either.         . You love everyone, and to love everyone means to love no one.   ,        . You are equally indifferent to everyone.    .

How unfair you are to me!      ! exclaimed Lord Henry.     . Pushing his hat back on his head, he looked at the clouds floating in the turquoise depths of the summer sky and looking like disheveled skeins of shiny silk.    ,    ,             . Yes, yes, outrageously unfair!   , ,  ! I am far from treating people equally.       . I choose beautiful people as close friends, people with a good reputation as acquaintances, and I make only intelligent enemies.       ,       ,    . One should choose ones enemies most carefully.     . There is not a single fool among my enemies.       . They are all thinking people, intelligent enough, and therefore know how to appreciate me.     ,       . You will say that my choice is explained by vanity?  ,     ? Well, perhaps that is true.  , ,  .




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