Oscar Wilde

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to its presumed obscenity In 1891, his intimate association with the young poet Douglas led to his trial on charges of homosexuality (illegal in Britain) He was sentenced to two-years' hard labour -> When he was released, he was a broken man: his wife refused to see him, and he went into exile (esilio) in France and lived in poverty Wilde adopted the aesthetic ideal He lived the double role of rebel and dandy Wilde's dandy is an aristocrat whose elegance is a symbol of the superiority of his spirit ->He uses his wit to shock and he's an individualist who demands absolute freedom Live was meant for pleasure and pleasure is an indulgence in the beautiful->His beauty had no moral stance (posizione) THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY Plot The novel is set in London at the end of the 19th century The protagonist is Dorian Gray, a young man whose beauty fascinates a printer, Basil Hallward, who decides to paint his portrait Under the influence of the brilliant but corrupt Lord Henry Wotton, Dorian throws himself into a life of pleasure ->The signs of age, experience and vice (vizio) appear not on Dorian, but on the portrait When Basil sees the corrupted image of the portrait, Dorian kills him Later, Dorian wants to free himself of the portrait, witness to his spiritual corruption, and stabs it He kills himself Dorian's portrait returns to its original purity The story is allegorical It's the 19th century version of the legend of Faust The story of a man who sells his soul to the devil, so that all his desires might be satisfied -> In the novel this soul is the picture which records the signs of time, corruption, horror, sins concealed under the mask of Dorian's timeless beauty Moral: every excess must be punished, there is no escape from reality The corrupted picture could be seen as a symbol of the immorality and bad conscience of the Victorian middle-class Dorian and his pure, innocent appearance are symbols of bourgeois hypocrisy Characters All the characters reveal themselves through what they say or what other people say of them Typical technique of drama • Dorian Gray represent the ideal of youth, beauty and innocence Immortalised as a living Adonis (greek god of rebirth) ->He is introduced by what the painter says of him Initially he seems immature, but the reader is made aware of his purity and innocence through the narrator's words • He is influenced by Lord Henry, who teaches him about hedonism (pleasure is the supreme good of man) -> Dorian starts to look for a Dorian's speech seems to mimic Lord Henry's style life of leisure and sensations The portrait is a visual representation of the degradation of Dorian's soul Basil Hallward is an intellectual, who falls in love with Dorian's beauty and innocence -> He is killed by Dorian, because his painting is considered responsible for the young man's tortured existence The story is told by and unobtrusive third person narrator>This allows a process of identification between the reader and the character The settings are vividly described with words appealing to the senses Art has to give pleasure Wilde rejected the didacticism that had characterised the Victorian novel in the first half of the century There's no didacticism in art No moral lesson 10 15 20 25 30 35 The preface The 'Preface', first published as an essay in a literary magazine, appeared in the 1891 final edition of the novel. It consists of a series of aphorisms, or epigrammatic sentences, considered the basic principles of Aestheticism in England. The artist is the creator of beautiful things. To reveal art and conceal the artist is art's aim. Principio dell'impersonalità dell'arte The critic is he who can translate into another manner or a new material his impression of beautiful things. Forma The highest as the lowest form of criticism is a mode² of autobiography. Those who find ugly meanings in beautiful things are corrupt without being charming. This is a fault. Raffinati, colti Those who find beautiful meanings in beautiful things are the cultivated'. For these there is hope. Elette 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. Lo schiavo nero e selvaggio della tempesta di Shakespeare 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. Morboso No artist is ever morbid'. The artist can express everything. Thought and language are to the artist instruments of an art. Vizio e virtù 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. -> Origin of decadentism 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, t 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. La forma è più importante del messaggio 1 Description of the setting Mosse The studio was filled with the rich odour of roses, and when the light summer wind stirred Leggermente 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 thospino Glicin Syolazzavano Very detailed and precious incipit From the corner of the divan of Persian saddle-bags on which he was lying, smoking, as was his custom, innumerable cigarettes, Lord Henry Wotton could just catch the gream of the honey-sweet and honey-coloured blossoms of a laburnum', whose tremulous branches seemed hardly able to sopportare 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 Tokyo who through the medium of an art that is necessarily immobile, seek to convey the sense of swiftness and motion. The sullen Non tagliata, 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 woodbine¹2, seemed to make the stillness more oppressive. The dim roar of London was like the bourdon¹³ note of a distant organ. 10 Wilde uses three words. for the same idea This shows his ability Very long sentences (strange. in English literature) At the time, people didn't know the bad effects of smoking -> It was considered cool. Adone, nella mitologia greca, era un giovane amato da Afrodite per la sua grande bellezza 15 20 25 30 The painter's studio What follows is an extract from the first pages of the novel. Two characters are portrayed: Basil Hallward, the painter, and his friend Lord Henry Wotton. 2 Presentation of the portrait Fissato dritto, A figura intera In the centre of the room, clamped ¹4 to an upright easel¹5, 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 disappearancesosizione some years ago caused, at the time, such public excitement and gave rise to so many strange conjectures. Attraente, As the painter looked at the gracious and comely form he had so skilfully mirrored in Indugiare Palpebre his art, a smile of pleasure passed across his face, and seemed about to lingers 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. 45 3 Discussion about the painting 'It is your best work, Basil, the best thing you have ever done,' said Lord Henry, languidly. 'You Galleria d'arte 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? 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 40 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 Adonis26, who looks as if he was made out of ivory and rose-leaves. Why, my dear Basil, he is a Narcissus27, 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 50 successful men in any of the learned professions. How perfectly hideous² they are! [...]' Smelling I don't think I shall send it anywhere,' he answered, tossing2¹ 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. Anellid Henry elevated his eyebrows, and looked at him in amazement through the thin blue wreaths of smoke that curled up in such fanciful whirls23 from his heavy opium-tainted -> Opium was recently cigarette. 'Not send it anywhere? My dear fellow, why? Have you any reason? What odd chaps24 imported from India you painters are! You do anything in the world to gain a reputation. As soon as you have one, Condita Seeing Hearing Narciso era un personaggio mitologico greco che innamorò della sua stessa immagine riflessa in una sorgente, vi si gettò e annegò He wore sophisticated clothes He doesn't like this attitudes anymore His servants weren't considered important people Boyhood it's the period before adolescence -> It doesn't exist for girls Mirrors reflect your soul, not just your appearance Beauty and youth are responsible of his corruption He had to get rid of the painter's corpse Alan Campbell was the chemist that Dorian blackmailed to dispose of the corpse He spared her innocence not taking her virginity 5 10 15 20 25 30 35 40 45 50 60 A new life! That was what he wanted. That was what he was waiting for. Surely he had begun it already. He had spared one innocent thing, at any rate. He would never again tempt innocence. He would be good. His new fiancée As he thought of Hetty Merton, he began to wonder if the portrait in the locked room had changed. Surely it was not still so horrible as it had been? Perhaps if his life became pure, he 55 would be able to expel every sign of evil passion from the face. Perhaps the signs of evil had already gone away. He would go and look. Tolse il catenaccio He took the lamp from the table and crept upstairs. As he unbarred ¹9 the door a smile of joy flitted across his strangely young-looking face and lingered for a moment about his lips. Yes, he would be good, and the hideous thing that he had hidden away would no longer be a terror to him. He felt as if the load had been lifted from him already. Dorian's death The following passage is from the final chapter of the novel, when the story reaches its climax with Dorian's dreadful metamorphosis. 65 It was a lovely night, so warm that he threw his coat over his arm, and did not even put his Passeggiava silk scarf round his throat. As he strolled home, smoking his cigarette, two young men in evening dress passed him. He heard one of them whisper to the other, "That is Dorian Gray. He remembered how pleased he used to be when he was pointed out, or stared at, or talked about. He was tired of hearing his own name now. Half the charm of the little village where he had been so often lately was that no one knew who he was. He had often told the girl whom he had Indotto vagi to love him that he was poor, and she had believed him. He had told her once that he was wicked, and she had laughed at him, and answered that wicked people were always very old and very ugly. What a laugh she had! - just like a thrush' singing. And how pretty she had been in her cotton dress and her large hats! She knew nothing, but she had everything that he had lost. To protect herself from sun Innocence 75 When he reached home, he found his servant waiting up for him. He sent him to bed, and threw himself down on the sofa in the library, and began to think over some of the things that Desiderio Lord Henry had said to him. intenso Non macchiata Was it really true that one could never change? He felt a wild longing for the unstained purity of his boyhood - his rose-white boyhood, as Lord Henry had once called it. He knew that he had tarnished himself, filled his mind with corruption, and given horror to his fancy; that he had been an evil influence to others, and had experienced a terrible joy in being so; and that, of the lives that had crossed his own, it had been the fairest and the most full of promise that he had brought to shame. But was it all irretrievable? Was there no hope for him? Ah! in what a monstrous moment of pride and passion he had prayed that the portrait should bear the burden of his days, and he keep the unsullied splendour of eternal youth! All his failure had been due to that. Better for him that each sin of his life had brought its sure, swift penalty along with it. There was purification in punishment. Not Forgive us our sins, but Smite us for our iniquities, should be the prayer of a man to a most just God. The curiously carved mirror that Lord Henry had given to him, so many years ago now, tempo was standing on the table, and the white-limbed Cupids laughed round it as of old. He took it up, as he had done on that night of horror, when he had first noted the change in the fatal picture, and with wild, tear-dimmed eyes looked into its polished shield. Once, some one who had terribly loved him had written to him a mad letter, ending with these idolatrous words: "The world is changed because you are made of ivory and gold. The curves of your lips rewrite history. The phrases came back to his memory, and he repeated them over and over to himself. Then he loathed his own beauty, and, flinging the mirror on the floor, crushed it into silver splinters beneath his heel. It was his beauty that had ruined him, his beauty and the youth that he had prayed for. But for those two things, his life might have been free from stain. His beauty had been to him but a mask, his youth but a mockery¹2. What was youth at best? A green, an unripe time, a time of shallow moods and sickly thoughts. Why had he worn its livery? Youth had spoiled him. It was better not to think of the past. Nothing could alter that. It was of himself, and of his own future, that he had to think. James Vane¹5 was hidden in a nameless grave in Selby Churchyard. Alan Campbell had shot himself one night in his laboratory, but had not revealed the secret that he had been forced to know. The excitement, such as it was, over Basil Hallward's disappearance would soon pass away. It was already waning. He was perfectly safe there. Nor, indeed, was it the death of Basil Hallward that weighed most upon his mind. It was the living death of his own soul that troubled him. Basil had painted the portrait that had marred¹s his life. He could not forgive him that. It was the portrait that had done everything. Basil had said things to him that were unbearable, and that he had yet borne with patience. The murder had been simply the madness of a moment. As for Alan Campbell, his suicide had been his own act. He had chosen to do it. It was nothing to him. Rovinato If you didn't smoke, you would be called silly Land of corruption He went from London to a country village (₂ His sins Land of innocence Youth, beauty and pleasure were the only things that mattered Wilde refers to Pantheon's statues -> Most precious materials for Greeks Murdered while hunting accidentally James Vane was the brother of Sybil, the actress whose Dorian fell in love with and broke her heart, leading her to suicide Dorian doesn't feel guilty Astuzia He went in quietly, locking the door behind him, as was his custom, and dragged the purple hanging from the portrait. A cry of pain and indignation broke from him. He could see no change save that in the eyes there was a look of cunning", and in the mouth the curved wrinkle of the hypocrite. The thing was still loathsome25 - more loathsome, if possible, than Rugiada scarlatta che macchiava before and the scarlet dew that spotted the hand seemed brighter, and more like blood newly spilt. Then he trembled. Had it been merely vanity that had made him do his one good deed? Or the desire for a new sensation, as Lord Henry had hinted, with his mocking laugh? Or that passion to act a part that sometimes makes us do things finer than we are ourselves? Or, perhaps, all these? And why was the red stain larger than it had been? It seemed to have 70 crept like a horrible disease over the wrinkled fingers. There was blood on the painted feet, as It was a full length portrait though the thing had dripped 27 - blood even on the hand that had not held the knife. Confess? Did t mean that he was to confess? To give himself up28, and be put to death? He laughed. He felt that the idea was monstrous. Besides, even if he did confess, who would believe him? There was no trace of the murdered man anywhere. Everything belonging to him had been destroyed. He himself had burned what had been below-stairs. The world would simply say that he was mad. They would shut him up if he persisted in his story... Yet it was his duty to confess, to He has hope that something has changed in the portrait It reflected the murder he had done (dew-blood) This seems a detective story -> He was influenced by Sherlock Holmes that became famous at the time Sparing her, he played the part of the generous man Espiazione suffer public shame, and to make public atonement. There was a God who called upon men to tell their sins to earth as well as to heaven. Nothing that he could do would cleanse him till he had told his own sin. His sin? He shrugged his shoulders. The death of Basil Hallward seemed very little to him. He was thinking of Hetty Merton. For it was an unjust mirror, this mirror of his soul that he was looking at. Vanity? Curiosity? Hypocrisy? Had there been nothing more in his renunciation than that? There had been something more. At least he thought so. But who could tell?... No. There had been nothing more. Through 85 vanity he had spared her. In hypocrisy he had worn the mask of goodness. For curiosity's sake he had tried the denial of self. He recognised that now. But this murder - was it to dog" him all his life? Was he always to be burdened by his past? Was he really to confess? Never. There was only one bit of evidence³¹ left against him. The picture itself - that was evidence. He would destroy it. Why had he kept it so long? Once it had given him pleasure to watch it changing and growing old. Of late he had felt no such pleasure. It had kept him awake at night. When he had been away, he had been filled with terror lest other eyes should look upon it. It had brought melancholy across his passions. Its mere memory had marred many moments Per 80 90 of joy. It had been like conscience to him. Yes, it had been conscience. He would destroy it. To destroy the last evidence He looked round, and saw the knife that had stabbed Basil Hallward. He had cleaned it Brillava many times, till there was no stain left upon it. It was bright, and glistened". As it had killed the painter, so it would kill the painter's work, and all that that meant. It would kill the past and when that was dead he would be free. It would kill this monstrous soul-life, and, without its hideous warnings, he would be at peace. He seized the thing, and stabbed the picture with it. There was a cry heard, and a crash. The cry was so horrible in its agony that the frightened servants woke, and crept out of their rooms. Two gentlemen, who were passing in the Square below, stopped, and looked up at the great house. They walked on till they met a policeman, and brought him back. The man rang the bell several times, but there was no answer. Except for a light in one of the top windows, the house was all dark. After a time, he went away and stood in an adjoining portico and watched. 105 95 100 110 'Whose house is that, constable?' asked the elder of the two gentlemen. 'Mr Dorian Gray's, sir, answered the policeman. Sghignazzarono They looked at each other, as they walked away, and sneered". One of them was Sir Henry Ashton's uncle. Parzialmente vestiti Inside, in the servants' part of the house, the half-clad domestics were talking in low whispers to each other. Old Mrs Leaf was crying and wringing her hands. Francis was as pale as death. Vetturino, cocchiere After about quarter of an hour, he got the coachman and one of the footmen and crept upstairs. They knocked, but there was no reply. They called out. Everything was still. Finally, 115 after vainly trying to force the door, they got on the roof, and dropped down on to the balcony. The windows yielded easily; their bolts were old. When they entered they found, hanging upon the wall, a splendid portrait of their master as they had last seen him, in all the wonder of his exquisite youth and beauty. Lying on the floor vas a dead man, in evening dress, with a knife in his heart. He was withered, wrinkled, and 120 loathsome of visage. It was not till they had examined the rings that they recognised who it was. The novel ends with no comments and no mourns