Портрет Доріана Грея
Preface
"IamquitesureIshallunderstandit,"hereplied,gazingintentlyatthelittlegoldenwhite-feathereddisk, "andasforbelievingthings,Icanbelieveanything,providedthatitisquiteincredible."
Thewindshooksomeblossomsfromthetrees,andtheheavylilac-blooms,withtheirclusteringstars,movedtoandfrointhelanguidair. Agrasshopperbegantochirrupbythewall,andlikeabluethreadalongthindragon-flyfloatedpastonitsbrowngauzewings. LordHenryfeltasifhecouldhearBasilHallward’sheartbeating,andwonderedwhatwascoming.
"Thestoryissimplythis,"saidthepainteraftersometime. "TwomonthsagoIwenttoacrushatLadyBrandon’s. Youknowwepoorartistshavetoshowourselvesinsocietyfromtimetotime,justtoremindthepublicthatwearenotsavages. Withaneveningcoatandawhitetie,asyoutoldmeonce,anybody,evenastockbroker,cangainareputationforbeingcivilised. Well,afterIhadbeenintheroomabouttenminutes,talkingtohugeover-dresseddowagersandtediousAcademicians,Isuddenlybecameconsciousthatsomeonewaslookingatme. Iturnedhalfwayround,andsawDorianGrayforthefirsttime. Whenoureyesmet,IfeltthatIwasgrowingpale.Acurioussensationofterrorcameoverme. IknewthatIhadcomefacetofacewithsomeonewhosemerepersonalitywassofascinatingthat,ifIallowedittodoso,itwouldabsorbmywholenature,mywholesoul,myveryartitself. Ididnotwantanyexternalinfluenceinmylife.
Youknowyourself,Harry,howindependentIambynature. Ihavealwaysbeenmyownmaster;hadatleastalwaysbeenso,tillImetDorianGray. Then—butIdon’tknowhowtoexplainittoyou.
