Oscar Wilde - Портрет Дориана Грея / The Picture of Dorian Gray (+ аудиоприложение)

“That’s not true!” cried Lord Henry, pushing his hat back, and looking at the summer sky. “I make a great difference between people. I choose my friends for their beauty, my acquaintances for their good characters and my enemies for their intelligence. A man cannot be too careful in the choice of his enemies. Of course, I hate my relations. And I hate poor people because they are ugly, stupid and drunk —”

“I don’t agree with a single word you have said. And I feel sure that you don’t agree either.”

Lord Henry touched his pointed brown beard with his finger, and the toe of his boot with his stick. “How English you are, Basil! An Englishman is only interested in whether he agrees with an idea, not whether it is right or wrong. I like persons better than principles, and I like persons with no principles better than anything else in the world. But tell me more about Mr. Dorian Gray. How often do you see him?”

“Every day. I couldn’t be happy if I didn’t see him every day.”

“How extraordinary! I thought you only cared about your art.”

“He is all my art to me now,” said the painter. “I know that the work I have done since I met Dorian Gray, is the best work of my life. He is much more to me than a model or a sitter. In some strange way his personality has shown me a new kind of art. He seems like a little boy – though he is really more than twenty – and when he is with me I see the world differently.”

“Basil, this is extraordinary! I must see Dorian Gray.”

Hallward got up from his seat and walked up and down the garden. After some time he came back. “Harry,” he said, “Dorian Gray is the reason for my art. You might see nothing in him. I see everything in him.”

“Then why won’t you exhibit his portrait?” asked Lord Henry.

“An artist should paint beautiful things, but he should put nothing of his own life into them. There is too much of myself in the thing, Harry – too much of myself! Some day I will show the world what that beauty is. For that reason the world will never see my portrait of Dorian Gray.”

“I think you are wrong, Basil, but I won’t argue with you. Tell me, is Dorian Gray very fond of you?”

The painter thought for a few moments. “He likes me,” he answered, after a pause. “I know he likes me. Of course I flatter him dreadfully and tell him things that I should not. He is usually very charming to me, and we spend thousands of wonderful hours together. But sometimes he can be horribly thoughtless and seems to enjoy causing me pain. Then I feel, Harry, that I have given my whole soul to someone who uses it like a flower to put in his coat on a summer’s day.”

“Summer days are long, Basil,” said Lord Henry in a quiet voice. “Perhaps you will get bored before he will. Intelligence lives longer than beauty. One day you will look at your friend and you won’t like his colour or something. And then you will begin to think that he has behaved badly towards you —”

“Harry, don’t talk like that. As long as I live, Dorian Gray will be everything to me. You can’t feel what I feel. You change too often.”

“My dear Basil, that is exactly why I can feel it.” Lord Henry took a cigarette from his pretty silver box and lit it. Then he turned to Hallward and said, “I have just remembered.”

“Remembered what, Harry?”

“Where I heard the name of Dorian Gray.”

“Where was it?” asked Hallward with a slight frown.

“Don’t look so angry, Basil. It was at my aunt’s, Lady Agatha’s. She told me that she had discovered this wonderful young man. He was going to help her work with the poor people in the East End of London, and his name was Dorian Gray. Of course I didn’t know it was your friend.”

“I am very glad you didn’t, Harry.”

“Why?”

“I don’t want you to meet him.”

“Mr. Dorian Gray is in the studio, sir,” said the butler, coming into the garden.

“You must introduce me now,” cried Lord Henry, laughing.

The painter turned to his servant. “Ask Mr. Gray to wait, Parker. I will come in in a few moments.”

Then he looked at Lord Henry. “Dorian Gray is my dearest friend,” he said. “He has a simple and a beautiful nature. Don’t spoil him. Don’t try to influence him. Your influence would be bad. Don’t take away from me the one person who makes me a true artist. Mind, Harry, I trust you.”

“What nonsense you talk!” said Lord Henry, smiling, and taking Hallward by the arm, he almost led him into the house.

Мастерская была наполнена густым ароматом роз. Лорд Генри Уоттон сидел на диване и курил бесчисленные папиросы. Через открытую дверь доносились отдалённые звуки лондонских улиц.

Посреди комнаты стоял портрет в полный рост молодого человека необыкновенной красоты, и перед ним на небольшом расстоянии сидел сам художник – Бэзил Холлуорд.

Когда художник смотрел на грациозную, прекрасную фигуру, которую он так умело отразил в своем портрете, его лицо озаряла довольная улыбка. Он внезапно вскочил и, закрыв глаза, прижал пальцы к векам.

– Это лучшая твоя работа, Бэзил, лучшее, что ты когда-либо делал, – сказал Лорд Генри. – Ты, конечно, должен послать её в следующем году в Гросвенор. Академия слишком обширная и слишком вульгарная.

Гросвенор – это единственное место, чтобы выставлять такие работы.

– Не думаю, что куда-нибудь пошлю этот портрет, – ответил художник, откинув голову по той странной привычке, которая обычно веселила его друзей в Оксфорде. – Нет, я не буду его никуда посылать.

Лорд Генри поднял брови и в изумлении посмотрел на него сквозь тонкие голубые кольца дыма.

– Никуда не пошлёшь? Мой дорогой друг, почему? Какие странные люди вы, художники! Этот портрет вознёс бы тебя много выше всех молодых художников Англии.

– Я знаю, что ты будешь надо мной смеяться, – ответил Бэзил, – но я действительно не могу выставить этот портрет. Я вложил в него слишком много самого себя.

Лорд Генри вытянулся на диване и засмеялся.

– Слишком много самого себя! Честное слово, Бэзил, этот человек действительно красив. Не льсти себе, Бэзил: ты ничуть на него не похож.

– Ты не понимаешь меня, Гарри, – ответил художник. – Я это отлично знаю. Да мне бы и не хотелось походить на него. Я говорю тебе правду. Лучше не отличаться от других людей. Глупые и уродливые в этом мире преуспевают. Дориан Грей…