The Picture of Dorian Gray



ThePictureofDorianGray

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OscarWilde

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THEPREFACE

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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

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CHAPTER1

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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 saddle-bags 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 flamelike 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

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anyone.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 dare say, 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stock-broker,cangainareputationforbeingcivilized.Well,

after I had beenin theroom about ten minutes, talking to huge overdressed

dowagersandtedious academicians, I suddenlybecameconsciousthatsome

onewaslookingatme.Iturnedhalf-way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

someone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ladies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lionize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."

"AndhowdidLadyBrandondescribethiswonderfulyoungman?"asked

hiscompanion."Iknowshegoesinforgivingarapidprecisofallherguests.I

remember her bringing me up to a truculent and red-faced old gentleman

coveredalloverwithordersandribbons,andhissingintomyear,inatragic

whisperwhichmusthavebeenperfectlyaudibletoeverybodyintheroom,the

mostastoundingdetails.Isimplyfled.Iliketofindoutpeopleformyself.But

LadyBrandontreatsherguestsexactlyasanauctioneertreatshisgoods.She

eitherexplainsthementirelyaway,ortellsoneeverythingaboutthemexcept

whatonewantstoknow."

"PoorLadyBrandon!Youarehardonher,Harry!"saidHallwardlistlessly.

"Mydearfellow,shetriedtofoundasalon,andonlysucceededinopening

arestaurant.HowcouldIadmireher?Buttellme,whatdidshesayaboutMr.

DorianGray?"

"Oh, something like, 'Charming boy—poor dear mother and I absolutely

inseparable.Quiteforgetwhathedoes—afraidhe—doesn'tdoanything—oh,

yes,playsthepiano—orisittheviolin,dearMr. Gray?'Neitherofus could

helplaughing,andwebecamefriendsatonce."

"Laughterisnotatallabadbeginningforafriendship,anditisfarthebest

endingforone,"saidtheyounglord,pluckinganotherdaisy.

Hallwardshookhishead."Youdon'tunderstandwhatfriendshipis,Harry,"

hemurmured—"orwhatenmityis,forthatmatter.Youlikeeveryone;thatis

tosay,youareindifferenttoeveryone."

"Howhorribly unjust of you!"criedLord Henry,tilting his hatbackand

looking up at thelittle cloudsthat, likeravelled skeinsof glossywhite silk,

weredriftingacrossthehollowedturquoiseofthesummersky."Yes;horribly

unjustofyou.Imakeagreatdifferencebetweenpeople.Ichoosemyfriends

for their good looks, my acquaintances for their good characters, and my

enemiesfortheirgoodintellects.Amancannotbetoocarefulinthechoiceof

his enemies. I have not got one who is a fool. They are all men of some

intellectualpower,andconsequentlytheyallappreciateme.Isthatveryvain

ofme?Ithinkitisrathervain."

"I should think it was, Harry. But according to your category I must be

merelyanacquaintance."

"MydearoldBasil,youaremuchmorethananacquaintance."

"Andmuchlessthanafriend.Asortofbrother,Isuppose?"

"Oh,brothers!Idon'tcareforbrothers.Myelderbrotherwon'tdie,andmy

youngerbrothersseemnevertodoanythingelse."

"Harry!"exclaimedHallward,frowning.

"My dear fellow, I am not quite serious. But I can't help detesting my

relations. I suppose it comes from the fact that none of us can stand other

peoplehavingthesamefaultsasourselves.Iquitesympathizewiththerageof

the English democracy against what they call the vices of the upper orders.

The masses feel that drunkenness, stupidity, and immorality should be their

ownspecialproperty,andthatifanyoneofusmakesanassofhimself,heis

poachingontheirpreserves.WhenpoorSouthwarkgotintothedivorcecourt,

theirindignationwasquitemagnificent.AndyetIdon'tsupposethattenper

centoftheproletariatlivecorrectly."

"I don't agree with a single word that you have said, and, what is more,

Harry,Ifeelsureyoudon'teither."

Lord Henry stroked his pointed brown beard and tapped the toe of his

patent-leatherbootwithatasselledebonycane."HowEnglishyouareBasil!

Thatisthesecondtimeyouhavemadethatobservation.Ifoneputsforward

anideatoatrueEnglishman—alwaysarashthingtodo—heneverdreamsof

consideringwhethertheideaisrightorwrong.Theonlythingheconsidersof

anyimportanceiswhetheronebelievesitoneself.Now,thevalueofanidea

hasnothingwhatsoevertodowiththesincerityofthemanwhoexpressesit.

Indeed, the probabilities are that the more insincere the man is, the more

purelyintellectualwilltheideabe,asinthatcase itwillnotbecolouredby

either his wants, his desires, or his prejudices. However, I don't propose to

discusspolitics,sociology,ormetaphysicswithyou.Ilikepersonsbetterthan

principles,andIlikepersonswithnoprinciplesbetterthananythingelseinthe

world.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. He is

absolutelynecessarytome."

"Howextraordinary!Ithoughtyouwouldnevercareforanythingbutyour

art."

"Heisallmyarttomenow,"saidthepaintergravely."Isometimesthink,

Harry, thatthere areonly two erasof anyimportance in the world's history.

The first is the appearance of a new medium for art, and the second is the

appearance of a new personality for art also. What the invention of oil-

painting was to the Venetians, the face of Antinous was to late Greek

sculpture,andthefaceofDorianGraywillsomedaybetome.Itisnotmerely

thatIpaintfromhim,drawfromhim,sketchfromhim.Ofcourse,Ihavedone

allthat.Butheismuchmoretomethanamodelorasitter.Iwon'ttellyou

thatIamdissatisfiedwithwhatIhavedoneofhim,orthathisbeautyissuch

thatartcannotexpressit.Thereisnothingthatartcannotexpress,andIknow

thattheworkIhavedone,sinceImetDorianGray,isgoodwork,isthebest

workofmylife.Butinsomecuriousway—Iwonderwillyouunderstandme?

—his personality has suggested to me an entirely new manner in art, an

entirelynewmodeofstyle.Iseethingsdifferently,Ithinkofthemdifferently.

Icannowrecreatelifeinawaythatwashiddenfrommebefore.'Adreamof

form in days of thought'—who is it who says that? I forget; but it is what

DorianGrayhasbeentome.Themerelyvisiblepresenceofthislad—forhe

seemstomelittlemorethanalad,thoughheisreallyovertwenty—hismerely

visible presence—ah! I wonder can you realize all that that means?

Unconsciouslyhedefinesformethelinesofafreshschool,aschoolthatisto

haveinitallthepassionoftheromanticspirit,alltheperfectionofthespirit

thatisGreek.Theharmonyofsoulandbody—howmuchthatis!Weinour

madnesshaveseparatedthetwo,andhaveinventedarealismthatisvulgar,an

idealitythatisvoid.Harry!ifyouonlyknewwhatDorianGrayistome!You

rememberthat landscapeofmine,forwhichAgnewoffered mesuchahuge

pricebutwhichIwouldnotpartwith?ItisoneofthebestthingsIhaveever

done. And why is it so? Because, while I was painting it, Dorian Gray sat

besideme.Somesubtleinfluencepassedfromhimtome,andforthefirsttime

inmylifeIsawintheplainwoodlandthewonderIhadalwayslookedforand

alwaysmissed."

"Basil,thisisextraordinary!ImustseeDorianGray."

Hallwardgotupfromtheseatandwalkedupanddownthegarden.After

some time he came back. "Harry," he said, "Dorian Gray is to me simply a

motive in art.You mightsee nothing inhim. Isee everythingin him. He is

nevermorepresentinmyworkthanwhennoimageofhimisthere.Heisa

suggestion,asIhavesaid,ofanewmanner.Ifindhiminthecurvesofcertain

lines,inthelovelinessandsubtletiesofcertaincolours.Thatisall."

"Thenwhywon'tyouexhibithisportrait?"askedLordHenry.

"Because,withoutintendingit,Ihaveputintoitsomeexpressionofallthis

curious artistic idolatry, of which, of course, I have never cared to speak to

him.Heknowsnothingaboutit.Heshallneverknowanythingaboutit.But

theworldmightguessit,andIwillnotbaremysoultotheirshallowprying

eyes.Myheartshallneverbeputundertheirmicroscope.Thereistoomuchof

myselfinthething,Harry—toomuchofmyself!"

"Poetsarenotsoscrupulousasyouare.Theyknowhowusefulpassionis

forpublication.Nowadaysabrokenheartwillruntomanyeditions."

"I hate them for it," cried Hallward. "An artist should create beautiful

things, but should put nothing of his own life into them. We live in an age

whenmentreatartasifitweremeanttobeaformofautobiography.Wehave

losttheabstractsenseofbeauty.SomedayIwillshowtheworldwhatitis;

andforthatreasontheworldshallneverseemyportraitofDorianGray."

"I think you are wrong, Basil, but I won't argue with you. It is only the

intellectuallylostwhoeverargue.Tellme,isDorianGrayveryfondofyou?"

The painter considered for a few moments. "He likes me," he answered

afterapause;"Iknowhelikesme.OfcourseIflatterhimdreadfully.Ifinda

strangepleasureinsayingthingstohimthatIknowIshallbesorryforhaving

said.As a rule, heischarmingtome, and we sitinthestudioand talk of a

thousandthings.Nowandthen,however,heishorriblythoughtless,andseems

totakearealdelightingivingmepain.ThenIfeel,Harry,thatIhavegiven

awaymywholesoultosomeonewhotreatsitasifitwereaflowertoputin

hiscoat,abitofdecorationtocharmhisvanity,anornamentforasummer's

day."

"Days in summer, Basil, are apt to linger," murmured Lord Henry.

"Perhaps you will tire sooner than he will. It is a sad thing to think of, but

there isno doubt that genius lasts longerthan beauty. That accountsfor the

factthatwealltakesuchpainstoover-educateourselves.Inthewildstruggle

for existence, we want to have something that endures, and so we fill our

minds with rubbish and facts, in the silly hope of keeping our place. The

thoroughlywell-informedman—thatisthemodernideal.Andthemindofthe

thoroughlywell-informedmanisadreadfulthing.Itislikeabric-a-bracshop,

allmonstersanddust,witheverythingpricedabove its proper value. I think

youwilltirefirst,allthesame.Somedayyouwilllookatyourfriend,andhe

will seem to youto bea little out of drawing, or you won't likehis tone of

colour, or something. You willbitterly reproach him in your own heart, and

seriouslythinkthathehasbehavedverybadlytoyou.Thenexttimehecalls,

youwillbeperfectlycoldandindifferent.Itwillbeagreatpity,foritwillalter

you.Whatyouhavetoldmeisquitearomance,aromanceofartonemight

callit,andtheworstofhavingaromanceofanykindisthatitleavesoneso

unromantic."

"Harry, don't talk like that. As long as I live, the personality of Dorian

Graywilldominateme.Youcan'tfeelwhatIfeel.Youchangetoooften."

"Ah,mydearBasil,thatisexactlywhyIcanfeelit.Thosewhoarefaithful

know only the trivial side of love: it is the faithless who know love's

tragedies."AndLordHenrystruckalightonadaintysilvercaseandbeganto

smokeacigarettewithaself-consciousandsatisfiedair,asifhehadsummed

up the world in a phrase. There was a rustle of chirruping sparrows in the

greenlacquerleavesoftheivy,andthebluecloud-shadowschasedthemselves

acrossthegrasslikeswallows.Howpleasantitwasinthegarden!Andhow

delightful other people's emotions were!—much more delightful than their

ideas,itseemedto him.One'sownsoul,andthepassionsofone's friends—

those were the fascinating things in life. He pictured to himself with silent

amusementthetediousluncheon thathehadmissedbystayingsolongwith

BasilHallward.Had he gonetohisaunt's,hewouldhavebeen sure tohave

metLordGoodbodythere,andthewholeconversationwouldhavebeenabout

thefeedingofthepoorandthenecessityformodellodging-houses.Eachclass

wouldhavepreachedtheimportanceofthosevirtues,forwhoseexercisethere

wasnonecessityintheirownlives.Therichwouldhavespokenonthevalue

of thrift, and the idle grown eloquent over the dignity of labour. It was

charmingtohaveescapedallthat!Ashethoughtofhisaunt,anideaseemed

to strike him. He turned to Hallward and said, "My dear fellow, 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,LadyAgatha's.Shetoldme

shehaddiscoveredawonderfulyoungmanwhowasgoingtohelpherinthe

East End, and that his name was Dorian Gray. I am bound to state that she

never told me he was good-looking. Women have no appreciation of good

looks;atleast,goodwomenhavenot.Shesaidthathewasveryearnestand

hadabeautifulnature.Iatoncepicturedtomyselfacreaturewithspectacles

andlankhair,horriblyfreckled,andtrampingaboutonhugefeet.IwishIhad

knownitwasyourfriend."

"Iamverygladyoudidn't,Harry."

"Why?"

"Idon'twantyoutomeethim."

"Youdon'twantmetomeethim?"

"No."

"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,whostoodblinkinginthesunlight."Ask

Mr.Graytowait,Parker:Ishallbeininafewmoments."Themanbowedand

wentupthewalk.

ThenhelookedatLordHenry."DorianGrayismydearestfriend,"hesaid.

"Hehasasimpleandabeautifulnature.Yourauntwasquiterightinwhatshe

saidofhim.Don'tspoilhim.Don'ttrytoinfluencehim.Yourinfluencewould

bebad.Theworldiswide,andhasmanymarvellouspeopleinit.Don'ttake

away from me the one person who gives to my art whatever charm it

possesses:mylifeasanartistdependsonhim.Mind,Harry,Itrustyou."He

spokeveryslowly,andthewordsseemedwrungoutofhimalmostagainsthis

will.

"Whatnonsenseyoutalk!"saidLordHenry,smiling,andtakingHallward

bythearm,healmostledhimintothehouse.



CHAPTER2



AstheyenteredtheysawDorianGray.Hewasseatedatthepiano,withhis

back to them, turning over the pages of a volume of Schumann's "Forest

Scenes." "You must lend me these, Basil," he cried. "I want to learn them.

Theyareperfectlycharming."

"Thatentirelydependsonhowyousitto-day,Dorian."

"Oh,Iamtiredofsitting,andIdon'twantalife-sizedportraitofmyself,"

answered the lad, swinging round on the music-stool in a wilful, petulant

manner. When he caught sight of Lord Henry, a faint blush coloured his

cheeksforamoment,andhestartedup."Ibegyourpardon,Basil,butIdidn't

knowyouhadanyonewithyou."

"ThisisLordHenryWotton,Dorian,anoldOxfordfriendofmine.Ihave

justbeentellinghimwhatacapitalsitteryouwere,andnowyouhavespoiled

everything."

"Youhavenotspoiledmypleasureinmeetingyou,Mr.Gray,"saidLord

Henry,steppingforwardandextendinghishand."Myaunthasoftenspokento

me about you. You are one of her favourites, and, I am afraid, one of her

victimsalso."

"Iam in LadyAgatha'sblackbooks at present," answeredDorianwitha

funnylookofpenitence."IpromisedtogotoaclubinWhitechapelwithher

lastTuesday,andI really forgotallaboutit.Wewere to have playeda duet

together—threeduets,Ibelieve.Idon'tknowwhatshewillsaytome.Iamfar

toofrightenedtocall."

"Oh, Iwill make your peace withmy aunt. She is quitedevoted to you.

And I don't thinkit reallymatters aboutyour notbeing there. The audience

probablythoughtitwasaduet.WhenAuntAgathasitsdowntothepiano,she

makesquiteenoughnoisefortwopeople."

"That is very horrid to her, and not very nice to me," answered Dorian,

laughing.

LordHenrylooked at him. Yes, he wascertainlywonderfullyhandsome,

with his finely curved scarlet lips, his frank blue eyes, his crisp gold hair.

There was something in his face that made one trust him at once. All the

candourofyouthwasthere,aswellasallyouth'spassionatepurity.Onefelt

thathehadkepthimselfunspottedfromtheworld.NowonderBasilHallward

worshippedhim.

"You are too charming to go in for philanthropy, Mr. Gray—far too

charming."AndLordHenryflunghimselfdownonthedivanandopenedhis

cigarette-case.

The painter had been busy mixing his colours and getting his brushes

ready.Hewaslookingworried,andwhenheheardLordHenry'slastremark,

he glanced at him, hesitated for a moment, and then said, "Harry, I want to

finishthispictureto-day.WouldyouthinkitawfullyrudeofmeifIaskedyou

togoaway?"

LordHenrysmiledandlookedatDorianGray."AmItogo,Mr.Gray?"he

asked.

"Oh,pleasedon't,LordHenry.IseethatBasilisinoneofhissulkymoods,

and I can't bear him when he sulks. Besides, I want you to tell me why I

shouldnotgoinforphilanthropy."

"Idon'tknowthatIshalltellyouthat,Mr.Gray.Itissotediousasubject

that one would have to talk seriously about it. But I certainly shall not run

away, now that you have asked me tostop. You don't really mind, Basil, do

you?Youhaveoftentoldmethatyoulikedyoursitterstohavesomeoneto

chatto."

Hallwardbithislip."IfDorianwishesit,ofcourseyoumuststay.Dorian's

whimsarelawstoeverybody,excepthimself."

LordHenrytookuphishatandgloves."Youareverypressing,Basil,butI

amafraidImustgo.IhavepromisedtomeetamanattheOrleans.Good-bye,

Mr. Gray. Come and see me some afternoon in Curzon Street. I am nearly

alwaysathomeatfiveo'clock.Writetomewhenyouarecoming.Ishouldbe

sorrytomissyou."

"Basil," cried Dorian Gray, "if Lord Henry Wotton goes, I shall go, too.

You never open your lips while you are painting, and it is horribly dull

standing on a platform and trying to look pleasant.Ask himto stay. Iinsist

uponit."

"Stay, Harry, to oblige Dorian, and to oblige me," said Hallward, gazing

intentlyathispicture."Itisquitetrue,InevertalkwhenIamworking,and

neverlisteneither,anditmustbedreadfullytediousformyunfortunatesitters.

Ibegyoutostay."

"ButwhataboutmymanattheOrleans?"

Thepainterlaughed."Idon'tthinktherewillbeanydifficultyaboutthat.

Sit down again, Harry. And now, Dorian, get up on the platform, and don't

moveabouttoomuch,orpayanyattentiontowhatLordHenrysays.Hehasa

verybadinfluenceoverallhisfriends,withthesingleexceptionofmyself."

DorianGraysteppeduponthedaiswiththeairofayoungGreekmartyr,

and made alittle moue ofdiscontent to LordHenry, to whomhe had rather

takenafancy.HewassounlikeBasil.Theymadeadelightfulcontrast.Andhe

hadsuchabeautifulvoice.Afterafewmomentshesaidtohim,"Haveyou

reallyaverybadinfluence,LordHenry?AsbadasBasilsays?"

"There is no such thing as a good influence, Mr. Gray. All influence is

immoral—immoralfromthescientificpointofview."

"Why?"

"Becausetoinfluenceapersonistogivehimone'sownsoul.Hedoesnot

thinkhisnaturalthoughts,orburnwithhisnaturalpassions.Hisvirtuesarenot

real to him. His sins, if there are such things as sins, are borrowed. He

becomesanechoofsomeoneelse'smusic,anactorofapartthathasnotbeen

written for him. The aim of life is self-development.To realize one'snature

perfectly—thatiswhateachofusisherefor.Peopleareafraidofthemselves,

nowadays. They have forgotten the highest of all duties, the duty that one

owesto one's self. Ofcourse,theyare charitable. They feed thehungryand

clothethebeggar.Buttheirownsoulsstarve,andarenaked.Couragehasgone

outofourrace.Perhapsweneverreallyhadit.Theterrorofsociety,whichis

thebasisofmorals,theterrorofGod,whichis the secret of religion—these

arethetwothingsthatgovernus.Andyet—"

"Justturnyourheadalittlemoretotheright,Dorian,likeagoodboy,"said

thepainter,deepinhisworkandconsciousonlythatalookhadcomeintothe

lad'sfacethathehadneverseentherebefore.

"Andyet,"continuedLordHenry,inhislow,musicalvoice,andwiththat

gracefulwaveofthehandthatwasalwayssocharacteristicofhim,andthathe

hadeveninhisEtondays,"Ibelievethatifonemanweretoliveouthislife

fullyandcompletely,weretogiveformtoeveryfeeling,expressiontoevery

thought, reality to every dream—Ibelieve thatthe world would gain such a

freshimpulse of joy thatwewould forgetallthemaladies of mediaevalism,

andreturntotheHellenicideal—tosomethingfiner,richerthantheHellenic

ideal, it may be. But the bravest man amongst us is afraid of himself. The

mutilationofthesavagehasitstragicsurvivalintheself-denialthatmarsour

lives. We are punished for our refusals. Every impulse that we strive to

stranglebroodsinthemindandpoisonsus.Thebodysinsonce,andhasdone

withitssin,foractionisamodeofpurification.Nothingremainsthenbutthe

recollectionofapleasure,ortheluxuryofaregret.Theonlywaytogetridof

atemptationistoyieldtoit.Resistit,andyoursoulgrowssickwithlonging

forthethingsithasforbiddentoitself,withdesireforwhatitsmonstrouslaws

havemademonstrousandunlawful.It hasbeensaidthatthegreateventsof

theworldtakeplaceinthebrain.Itisinthebrain,andthebrainonly,thatthe

greatsinsoftheworldtakeplacealso.You,Mr.Gray,youyourself,withyour

rose-redyouthandyourrose-whiteboyhood,youhavehadpassionsthathave

made you afraid, thoughts that have filled you with terror, day-dreams and

sleepingdreamswhosemerememorymightstainyourcheekwithshame—"

"Stop!"falteredDorianGray,"stop!youbewilderme.Idon'tknowwhatto

say. There is some answer to you, but I cannot find it. Don't speak. Letme

think.Or,rather,letmetrynottothink."

Fornearlytenminuteshestoodthere,motionless,withpartedlipsandeyes

strangelybright.Hewasdimlyconsciousthatentirelyfreshinfluenceswereat

workwithinhim.Yettheyseemedtohimtohavecomereallyfromhimself.

ThefewwordsthatBasil'sfriendhadsaidtohim—wordsspokenbychance,

no doubt, and withwilful paradoxin them—hadtouched somesecret chord

that had never been touched before, but that he felt was now vibrating and

throbbingtocuriouspulses.

Musichadstirredhimlikethat.Musichadtroubledhimmanytimes.But

musicwasnotarticulate.Itwasnotanewworld,butratheranotherchaos,that

itcreatedinus.Words!Merewords!Howterribletheywere!Howclear,and

vivid, and cruel! One could not escape from them. And yet what a subtle

magic there was in them! They seemed to be able to give a plastic form to

formlessthings,andtohaveamusicoftheirownassweetasthatofviolorof

lute.Merewords!Wasthereanythingsorealaswords?

Yes;therehadbeenthingsinhisboyhoodthathehadnotunderstood.He

understoodthemnow.Lifesuddenlybecamefiery-colouredtohim.Itseemed

tohimthathehadbeenwalkinginfire.Whyhadhenotknownit?

With his subtle smile, Lord Henry watched him. He knew the precise

psychological moment when to say nothing. He felt intenselyinterested. He

was amazed at the sudden impression that his words had produced, and,

rememberingabookthathehadreadwhenhewassixteen,abookwhichhad

revealed to him much that he had not known before, he wondered whether

DorianGraywaspassingthroughasimilarexperience.Hehadmerelyshotan

arrowintotheair.Hadithitthemark?Howfascinatingtheladwas!

Hallwardpaintedawaywiththatmarvellousboldtouchofhis,thathadthe

truerefinementandperfectdelicacythatinart,atanyratecomesonlyfrom

strength.Hewasunconsciousofthesilence.

"Basil,Iamtiredofstanding,"criedDorianGraysuddenly."Imustgoout

andsitinthegarden.Theairisstiflinghere."

"My dear fellow, I am so sorry. When I am painting, I can't think of

anythingelse.But you neversatbetter.Youwere perfectly still. And Ihave

caughttheeffectIwanted—thehalf-partedlipsandthebrightlookintheeyes.

I don't know what Harry has been saying to you, but he has certainly made

you have the most wonderful expression. Isuppose hehas beenpaying you

compliments.Youmustn'tbelieveawordthathesays."

"He has certainly not been paying me compliments. Perhaps that is the

reasonthatIdon'tbelieveanythinghehastoldme."

"You know you believeit all," said Lord Henry, lookingat him withhis

dreamylanguorouseyes."Iwillgoouttothegardenwithyou.Itishorribly

hotinthestudio. Basil,letushavesomethingicedtodrink, something with

strawberriesinit."

"Certainly, Harry. Just touch the bell, and when Parker comes I will tell

himwhatyouwant.Ihavegottoworkupthisbackground,soIwilljoinyou

later on. Don't keep Dorian too long. I have never been in better form for

painting than I am to-day. This is going to be my masterpiece. It is my

masterpieceasitstands."

LordHenrywentouttothegardenandfoundDorianGrayburyinghisface

in thegreat cool lilac-blossoms, feverishly drinking in theirperfume as if it

hadbeenwine.Hecameclosetohimandputhishanduponhisshoulder."You

arequiterighttodothat,"hemurmured."Nothingcancurethesoulbutthe

senses,justasnothingcancurethesensesbutthesoul."

The lad started and drew back. He was bareheaded, and the leaves had

tossed his rebellious curls and tangled all their gilded threads. There was a

look of fear in his eyes, such as people have when they are suddenly

awakened.Hisfinelychisellednostrilsquivered,andsomehiddennerveshook

thescarletofhislipsandleftthemtrembling.

"Yes," continuedLordHenry, "thatisoneof the greatsecretsoflife—to

curethesoulbymeansofthesenses,andthesensesbymeansofthesoul.You

areawonderfulcreation.Youknowmorethanyouthinkyouknow,justasyou

knowlessthanyouwanttoknow."

DorianGrayfrownedandturnedhisheadaway.Hecouldnothelpliking

thetall, graceful young manwhowas standing by him.Hisromantic,olive-

colouredfaceandwornexpressioninterestedhim.Therewassomethinginhis

lowlanguidvoicethatwasabsolutelyfascinating.Hiscool,white,flowerlike

hands,even,hadacuriouscharm.Theymoved,ashespoke,likemusic,and

seemed to have a language of their own. But he felt afraid of him, and

ashamedofbeingafraid.Whyhaditbeenleftforastrangertorevealhimto

himself?HehadknownBasilHallwardformonths,butthefriendshipbetween

themhadneveralteredhim.Suddenlytherehadcomesomeoneacrosshislife

whoseemedtohavedisclosedtohimlife'smystery.And,yet,whatwasthere

to be afraid of? He was not a schoolboy or a girl. It was absurd to be

frightened.

"Letusgoandsitintheshade,"saidLordHenry."Parkerhasbroughtout

thedrinks,andifyoustayanylongerinthisglare,youwillbequitespoiled,

and Basil will never paint you again. You really must not allow yourself to

becomesunburnt.Itwouldbeunbecoming."

"Whatcanitmatter?"criedDorianGray,laughing,ashesatdownonthe

seatattheendofthegarden.

"Itshouldmattereverythingtoyou,Mr.Gray."

"Why?"

"Becauseyouhavethemostmarvellousyouth,andyouthistheonething

worthhaving."

"Idon'tfeelthat,LordHenry."

"No,youdon'tfeelitnow.Someday,whenyouareoldandwrinkledand

ugly, when thought has seared your forehead with its lines, and passion

branded your lips with its hideous fires, you will feel it, you will feel it

terribly.Now,whereveryougo,youcharmtheworld.Willitalwaysbeso?...

Youhaveawonderfullybeautifulface,Mr.Gray.Don'tfrown.Youhave.And

beauty is a form of genius—is higher, indeed, than genius, as it needs no

explanation.Itisofthegreatfactsoftheworld,likesunlight,orspring-time,

orthereflectionindarkwatersofthatsilvershellwecallthemoon.Itcannot

bequestioned.Ithasitsdivinerightofsovereignty.Itmakesprincesofthose

whohaveit.Yousmile?Ah!whenyouhavelostityouwon'tsmile....People

saysometimesthatbeautyisonlysuperficial.Thatmaybeso,butatleastitis

notsosuperficialasthoughtis.Tome,beautyisthewonderofwonders.Itis

onlyshallowpeoplewhodonotjudgebyappearances.Thetruemysteryofthe

world is the visible, not the invisible.... Yes, Mr. Gray, the gods have been

goodtoyou.Butwhatthegodsgivetheyquicklytakeaway.Youhaveonlya

fewyearsinwhichtolivereally,perfectly,andfully.Whenyouryouthgoes,

yourbeautywillgowithit,andthenyouwillsuddenlydiscoverthatthereare

notriumphsleftforyou,orhavetocontentyourselfwiththosemeantriumphs

thatthememoryofyourpastwillmakemorebitterthandefeats.Everymonth

asitwanesbringsyounearertosomethingdreadful.Timeisjealousofyou,

and wars against your lilies and your roses. You will become sallow, and

hollow-cheeked, and dull-eyed. You will suffer horribly.... Ah! realize your

youthwhileyouhaveit.Don'tsquanderthegoldofyourdays,listeningtothe

tedious,tryingtoimprovethehopelessfailure,orgivingawayyourlifetothe

ignorant, the common, and the vulgar. These are the sickly aims, the false

ideals,ofourage.Live!Livethewonderfullifethatisinyou!Letnothingbe

lostuponyou.Bealwayssearchingfornewsensations.Beafraidofnothing....

A new Hedonism—that is what our century wants. You might be its visible

symbol.Withyourpersonalitythereisnothingyou could not do. The world

belongs to you for a season.... The moment I met you I saw that you were

quiteunconsciousofwhatyoureallyare,ofwhatyoureallymightbe.There

was so much in you that charmed me that I felt I must tell you something

aboutyourself.Ithoughthowtragicitwouldbeifyouwerewasted.Forthere

issuchalittletimethatyouryouthwilllast—suchalittletime.Thecommon

hill-flowerswither, butthey blossomagain. Thelaburnum will be asyellow

nextJuneasitisnow.Inamonththerewillbepurplestarsontheclematis,

andyearafteryearthegreennightofitsleaveswillholditspurplestars.But

we never get back our youth. The pulse of joy that beats in us at twenty

becomessluggish.Ourlimbsfail,oursensesrot.Wedegenerateintohideous

puppets,hauntedbythememoryofthepassionsofwhichweweretoomuch

afraid,andtheexquisitetemptationsthatwehadnotthecouragetoyieldto.

Youth!Youth!Thereisabsolutelynothingintheworldbutyouth!"

Dorian Gray listened, open-eyed and wondering. The spray of lilac fell

from his hand uponthe gravel.A furry bee came andbuzzed roundit for a

moment.Thenitbegantoscrambleallovertheovalstellatedglobeofthetiny

blossoms.Hewatcheditwiththatstrangeinterestintrivialthingsthatwetry

todevelopwhenthingsofhighimportmakeusafraid,orwhenwearestirred

by some new emotion for which we cannot find expression, or when some

thoughtthatterrifiesuslayssuddensiegetothebrainandcallsonustoyield.

Afteratimethebeeflewaway.Hesawitcreepingintothestainedtrumpetof

aTyrianconvolvulus.Theflowerseemedtoquiver,andthenswayedgentlyto

andfro.

Suddenlythepainterappearedatthedoorofthestudioandmadestaccato

signsforthemtocomein.Theyturnedtoeachotherandsmiled.

"Iamwaiting,"hecried."Docomein.Thelightisquiteperfect,andyou

canbringyourdrinks."

Theyroseupandsauntereddownthewalktogether.Twogreen-and-white

butterfliesflutteredpastthem,andinthepear-treeatthecornerofthegardena

thrushbegantosing.

"You are gladyou havemet me,Mr. Gray," said Lord Henry, looking at

him.

"Yes,Iamgladnow.IwondershallIalwaysbeglad?"

"Always! That is a dreadful word. It makes me shudder when I hear it.

Womenaresofondofusingit.Theyspoileveryromancebytryingtomakeit

last for ever. It is a meaningless word, too. The only difference between a

capriceandalifelongpassionisthatthecapricelastsalittlelonger."

Astheyenteredthestudio,DorianGray put his hand upon LordHenry's

arm."Inthatcase,letourfriendshipbeacaprice,"hemurmured,flushingat

hisownboldness,thensteppedupontheplatformandresumedhispose.

LordHenryflunghimselfintoalargewickerarm-chairandwatchedhim.

The sweep and dash of the brush on the canvas made the only sound that

brokethestillness,exceptwhen,nowandthen,Hallwardsteppedbacktolook

athisworkfromadistance.Intheslantingbeamsthatstreamedthroughthe

opendoorwaythedustdancedandwasgolden.Theheavyscentoftheroses

seemedtobroodovereverything.

Afteraboutaquarterofan hour Hallward stopped painting, looked for a

longtimeatDorianGray,andthenforalongtimeatthepicture,bitingtheend

ofoneofhishugebrushesandfrowning."Itisquitefinished,"hecriedatlast,

and stooping down he wrote his name in long vermilion letters on the left-

handcornerofthecanvas.

Lord Henry came over and examined the picture. It was certainly a

wonderfulworkofart,andawonderfullikenessaswell.

"Mydearfellow,Icongratulateyoumostwarmly,"hesaid."Itisthefinest

portraitofmoderntimes.Mr.Gray,comeoverandlookatyourself."

Theladstarted,asifawakenedfromsomedream.

"Isitreallyfinished?"hemurmured,steppingdownfromtheplatform.

"Quitefinished," said thepainter. "Andyouhave sat splendidlyto-day. I

amawfullyobligedtoyou."

"Thatisentirelyduetome,"brokeinLordHenry."Isn'tit,Mr.Gray?"

Dorian made no answer, but passed listlessly in front of his picture and

turnedtowardsit.Whenhesawithedrewback,andhischeeksflushedfora

moment with pleasure. A look of joy came into his eyes, as if he had

recognizedhimselfforthefirsttime.Hestoodtheremotionlessandinwonder,

dimly conscious that Hallward was speaking to him, but not catching the

meaning of his words. The sense of his own beauty came on him like a

revelation. He had never felt it before. Basil Hallward's compliments had

seemedtohimtobemerelythecharmingexaggerationoffriendship.Hehad

listenedtothem,laughedatthem,forgottenthem.Theyhadnotinfluencedhis

nature. Then had come Lord Henry Wotton with his strange panegyric on

youth,histerriblewarningofitsbrevity.Thathadstirredhimatthetime,and

now,ashestoodgazingattheshadowofhisownloveliness,thefullrealityof

thedescriptionflashed across him. Yes, there would beadaywhen his face

would be wrinkled andwizen, hiseyes dimand colourless, the grace of his

figure broken anddeformed.The scarletwouldpass away fromhis lips and

thegoldstealfromhishair.Thelifethatwastomakehissoulwouldmarhis

body.Hewouldbecomedreadful,hideous,anduncouth.

Ashethoughtofit,asharppangofpainstruckthroughhimlikeaknife

and made each delicate fibre of his nature quiver. His eyes deepened into

amethyst,andacrossthemcameamistoftears.Hefeltasifahandoficehad

beenlaiduponhisheart.

"Don'tyoulikeit?"criedHallwardatlast,stungalittlebythelad'ssilence,

notunderstandingwhatitmeant.

"Ofcoursehelikesit,"saidLordHenry."Whowouldn'tlikeit?Itisoneof

thegreatestthingsinmodernart.Iwillgiveyouanythingyouliketoaskforit.

Imusthaveit."

"Itisnotmyproperty,Harry."

"Whosepropertyisit?"

"Dorian's,ofcourse,"answeredthepainter.

"Heisaveryluckyfellow."

"Howsaditis!"murmuredDorianGraywithhiseyesstillfixeduponhis

ownportrait."Howsaditis!Ishallgrowold,andhorrible,anddreadful.But

this picture will remain always young. It will never be older than this

particulardayofJune....Ifitwereonlytheotherway!IfitwereIwhowasto

bealwaysyoung,andthepicturethatwastogrowold!Forthat—forthat—I

wouldgiveeverything!Yes,thereisnothinginthewholeworldIwouldnot

give!Iwouldgivemysoulforthat!"

"Youwouldhardlycareforsuchanarrangement,Basil,"criedLordHenry,

laughing."Itwouldberatherhardlinesonyourwork."

"Ishouldobjectverystrongly,Harry,"saidHallward.

DorianGray turned and lookedathim. "I believe youwould,Basil.You

likeyourartbetterthanyourfriends.Iamnomoretoyouthanagreenbronze

figure.Hardlyasmuch,Idaresay."

Thepainterstaredinamazement.ItwassounlikeDoriantospeaklikethat.

What had happened? He seemed quite angry. His face was flushed and his

cheeksburning.

"Yes," he continued, "I am less to you than your ivory Hermes or your

silverFaun.Youwilllikethemalways.Howlongwillyoulikeme?TillIhave

my first wrinkle, I suppose. I know, now, that when one loses one's good

looks,whatevertheymaybe,oneloseseverything.Yourpicturehastaughtme

that. Lord Henry Wotton is perfectly right. Youth is the only thing worth

having.WhenIfindthatIamgrowingold,Ishallkillmyself."

Hallward turned pale and caught his hand. "Dorian! Dorian!" he cried,

"don'ttalklikethat.Ihaveneverhadsuchafriendasyou,andIshallnever

havesuchanother.Youarenotjealousofmaterialthings,areyou?—youwho

arefinerthananyofthem!"

"Iamjealousofeverythingwhosebeautydoesnotdie.Iamjealousofthe

portraityouhavepaintedofme.WhyshoulditkeepwhatImustlose?Every

momentthatpassestakessomethingfrommeandgivessomethingtoit.Oh,if

itwereonlytheotherway!Ifthepicturecouldchange,andIcouldbealways

whatIamnow!Whydidyoupaintit?Itwillmockmesomeday—mockme

horribly!" The hot tears welled into his eyes; he tore his hand away and,

flinginghimselfonthedivan,heburiedhisfaceinthecushions,asthoughhe

waspraying.

"Thisisyourdoing,Harry,"saidthepainterbitterly.

Lord Henry shrugged his shoulders. "It is the real Dorian Gray—that is

all."

"Itisnot."

"Ifitisnot,whathaveItodowithit?"

"YoushouldhavegoneawaywhenIaskedyou,"hemuttered.

"Istayedwhenyouaskedme,"wasLordHenry'sanswer.

"Harry,Ican'tquarrelwithmytwobestfriendsatonce,butbetweenyou

bothyouhavemademehatethefinestpieceofworkIhaveeverdone,andI

willdestroyit.Whatisitbutcanvasandcolour?Iwillnotletitcomeacross

ourthreelivesandmarthem."

Dorian Gray lifted his goldenhead fromthe pillow, and with pallid face

andtear-stainedeyes,looked at himashe walked overto the dealpainting-

table that was set beneath the high curtained window. What was he doing

there? His fingers were straying about among the litter of tin tubes and dry

brushes,seekingforsomething.Yes,itwasforthelongpalette-knife,withits

thinblade of lithesteel.He had founditat last. Hewas going toripup the

canvas.

With a stifled sob the lad leaped from the couch, and, rushing over to

Hallward,toretheknifeoutofhishand,andflungittotheendofthestudio.

"Don't,Basil,don't!"hecried."Itwouldbemurder!"

"Iamgladyouappreciatemyworkatlast,Dorian,"saidthepaintercoldly

whenhehadrecoveredfromhissurprise."Ineverthoughtyouwould."

"Appreciateit?Iaminlovewithit,Basil.Itispartofmyself.Ifeelthat."

"Well,assoonasyouaredry,youshallbevarnished,andframed,andsent

home.Thenyoucandowhatyoulikewithyourself."Andhewalkedacross

theroomandrangthebellfortea."Youwillhavetea,ofcourse,Dorian?And

sowillyou,Harry?Ordoyouobjecttosuchsimplepleasures?"

"Iadoresimplepleasures," said LordHenry."Theyarethelast refuge of

thecomplex.ButIdon'tlikescenes,exceptonthestage.Whatabsurdfellows

youare,bothofyou!Iwonderwhoitwasdefinedmanasarationalanimal.It

wasthemostprematuredefinitionevergiven.Manismanythings,butheis

notrational.Iamgladheisnot,afterall—thoughIwishyouchapswouldnot

squabbleoverthepicture.Youhadmuchbetterletmehaveit,Basil.Thissilly

boydoesn'treallywantit,andIreallydo."

"Ifyouletanyonehaveitbutme,Basil,Ishallneverforgiveyou!"cried

DorianGray;"andIdon'tallowpeopletocallmeasillyboy."

"Youknowthepictureisyours,Dorian.Igaveittoyoubeforeitexisted."

"Andyouknowyouhavebeenalittlesilly,Mr.Gray,andthatyoudon't

reallyobjecttobeingremindedthatyouareextremelyyoung."

"Ishouldhaveobjectedverystronglythismorning,LordHenry."

"Ah!thismorning!Youhavelivedsincethen."

Therecamea knock at thedoor, and thebutlerenteredwithaladen tea-

trayandsetit downuponasmallJapanesetable.There wasarattleofcups

andsaucersandthehissingofaflutedGeorgianurn.Twoglobe-shapedchina

disheswerebroughtinbyapage.DorianGraywentoverandpouredoutthe

tea. The two men sauntered languidly to the table and examined what was

underthecovers.

"Letusgotothetheatreto-night,"saidLordHenry. "There is sure to be

somethingon,somewhere.IhavepromisedtodineatWhite's,butitis only

withanoldfriend,soIcansendhimawiretosaythatIamill,orthatIam

preventedfromcomingin consequence of asubsequent engagement.I think

thatwouldbearatherniceexcuse:itwouldhaveallthesurpriseofcandour."

"Itissuchaboreputtingonone'sdress-clothes,"mutteredHallward."And,

whenonehasthemon,theyaresohorrid."

"Yes," answered Lord Henry dreamily, "the costume of the nineteenth

centuryisdetestable.Itissosombre,sodepressing.Sinistheonlyrealcolour-

elementleftinmodernlife."

"YoureallymustnotsaythingslikethatbeforeDorian,Harry."

"BeforewhichDorian?Theonewhoispouringoutteaforus,ortheonein

thepicture?"

"Beforeeither."

"Ishouldliketocometothetheatrewithyou,LordHenry,"saidthelad.

"Thenyoushallcome;andyouwillcome,too,Basil,won'tyou?"

"Ican't,really.Iwouldsoonernot.Ihavealotofworktodo."

"Well,then,youandIwillgoalone,Mr.Gray."

"Ishouldlikethatawfully."

Thepainterbithislipandwalkedover,cupinhand,tothepicture."Ishall

staywiththerealDorian,"hesaid,sadly.

"IsittherealDorian?"criedtheoriginaloftheportrait,strollingacrossto

him."AmIreallylikethat?"

"Yes;youarejustlikethat."

"Howwonderful,Basil!"

"At least you are like it in appearance. But it will never alter," sighed

Hallward."Thatissomething."

"Whatafuss people make about fidelity!"exclaimed Lord Henry."Why,

eveninloveitispurely aquestionforphysiology.Ithasnothingtodowith

ourownwill.Youngmenwanttobefaithful,andarenot;oldmenwanttobe

faithless,andcannot:thatisallonecansay."

"Don't go tothe theatre to-night,Dorian," said Hallward."Stop and dine

withme."

"Ican't,Basil."

"Why?"

"BecauseIhavepromisedLordHenryWottontogowithhim."

"Hewon'tlikeyouthebetterforkeepingyourpromises.Healwaysbreaks

hisown.Ibegyounottogo."

DorianGraylaughedandshookhishead.

"Ientreatyou."

Theladhesitated,andlookedoveratLordHenry,whowaswatchingthem

fromthetea-tablewithanamusedsmile.

"Imustgo,Basil,"heanswered.

"Verywell,"saidHallward,andhewentoverandlaiddownhiscuponthe

tray."Itisratherlate,and,asyouhavetodress,youhadbetterlosenotime.

Good-bye, Harry. Good-bye, Dorian. Come and see me soon. Come to-

morrow."

"Certainly."

"Youwon'tforget?"

"No,ofcoursenot,"criedDorian.

"And...Harry!"

"Yes,Basil?"

"RememberwhatIaskedyou,whenwewereinthegardenthismorning."

"Ihaveforgottenit."

"Itrustyou."

"IwishIcouldtrustmyself,"saidLordHenry,laughing."Come,Mr.Gray,

myhansomisoutside,andIcandropyouatyourownplace.Good-bye,Basil.

Ithasbeenamostinterestingafternoon."

Asthedoorclosedbehindthem,thepainterflunghimselfdownonasofa,

andalookofpaincameintohisface.



CHAPTER3



At half-past twelve next day Lord Henry Wotton strolled from Curzon

Street over to the Albany to call on his uncle, Lord Fermor, a genial if

somewhat rough-mannered old bachelor, whom the outside world called

selfish because it derived no particular benefit from him, but who was

considered generous by Society as he fed the people who amused him. His

fatherhadbeenourambassadoratMadridwhenIsabellawasyoungandPrim

unthought of, but had retired from the diplomatic service in a capricious

moment of annoyance on not being offered the Embassy at Paris, a post to

which he considered that he was fully entitled by reason of his birth, his

indolence,thegoodEnglishof his dispatches,andhisinordinatepassionfor

pleasure.Theson,whohadbeenhisfather'ssecretary,hadresignedalongwith

hischief,somewhatfoolishly as wasthoughtatthetime,andonsucceeding

somemonthslatertothetitle,hadsethimselftotheseriousstudyofthegreat

aristocraticartofdoingabsolutelynothing.Hehadtwolargetownhouses,but

preferredtoliveinchambersasitwaslesstrouble,andtookmostofhismeals

athisclub.Hepaidsomeattentiontothemanagementofhiscollieriesinthe

Midlandcounties,excusinghimselfforthistaintofindustryonthegroundthat

theoneadvantageofhavingcoalwasthatitenabledagentlemantoaffordthe

decencyofburningwoodonhisownhearth.InpoliticshewasaTory,except

whentheTorieswereinoffice,duringwhichperiodheroundlyabusedthem

forbeingapackofRadicals.Hewasaherotohisvalet,whobulliedhim,and

aterrortomostofhisrelations,whomhebulliedinturn.OnlyEnglandcould

haveproducedhim,andhealwayssaidthatthecountrywasgoingtothedogs.

Hisprincipleswereoutofdate,buttherewasagooddealtobesaidforhis

prejudices.

WhenLordHenryenteredtheroom,hefoundhisunclesittinginarough

shooting-coat, smoking a cheroot and grumbling over The Times. "Well,

Harry,"saidtheoldgentleman,"whatbringsyououtsoearly?Ithoughtyou

dandiesnevergotuptilltwo,andwerenotvisibletillfive."

"Pure family affection, I assure you, Uncle George. I want to get

somethingoutofyou."

"Money,Isuppose,"saidLordFermor,makingawryface."Well,sitdown

and tell me all about it. Young people, nowadays, imagine that money is

everything."

"Yes," murmured Lord Henry, settling his button-hole in his coat; "and

whentheygrowoldertheyknowit.ButIdon'twantmoney.Itisonlypeople

whopaytheirbillswhowantthat,UncleGeorge,andIneverpaymine.Credit

isthecapitalofayoungerson,andonelivescharminglyuponit.Besides,I

always deal with Dartmoor's tradesmen, and consequently they never bother

me. What I want is information: not useful information, of course; useless

information."

"Well, I can tell you anything that is in an English Blue Book, Harry,

althoughthosefellowsnowadayswritealotofnonsense.WhenIwasinthe

Diplomatic, things were much better. But I hear they let them in now by

examination.Whatcanyouexpect?Examinations,sir,arepurehumbugfrom

beginningtoend.Ifamanisagentleman,heknowsquiteenough,andifheis

notagentleman,whateverheknowsisbadforhim."

"Mr. Dorian Gray does not belong to Blue Books, Uncle George," said

LordHenrylanguidly.

"Mr. Dorian Gray? Who is he?" asked Lord Fermor, knitting his bushy

whiteeyebrows.

"ThatiswhatIhavecometolearn,UncleGeorge.Orrather,Iknowwho

heis.HeisthelastLordKelso'sgrandson.HismotherwasaDevereux,Lady

Margaret Devereux. I want you to tell me about his mother. What was she

like?Whomdidshemarry?Youhaveknownnearlyeverybodyinyourtime,

so you might have known her. I am very much interested in Mr. Gray at

present.Ihaveonlyjustmethim."

"Kelso's grandson!" echoed the old gentleman. "Kelso's grandson! ... Of

course....Iknewhismotherintimately.IbelieveIwasatherchristening.She

was an extraordinarily beautiful girl, Margaret Devereux, and made all the

menfranticbyrunningawaywithapennilessyoungfellow—amerenobody,

sir, a subaltern in a foot regiment, or something of that kind. Certainly. I

remember the whole thing as if it happened yesterday. The poor chap was

killed in a duel at Spa a few months after the marriage. There was an ugly

story about it. They said Kelso got some rascally adventurer, some Belgian

brute,toinsulthisson-in-lawinpublic—paidhim,sir,todoit,paidhim—and

that the fellow spitted his man as if he had been a pigeon. The thing was

hushed up, but, egad, Kelso ate his chop alone at the club for some time

afterwards.Hebroughthisdaughterbackwithhim,Iwastold,andshenever

spoke to him again.Oh, yes;it was a bad business. The girldied, too,died

withinayear.Sosheleftason,didshe?Ihadforgottenthat.Whatsortofboy

ishe?Ifheislikehismother,hemustbeagood-lookingchap."

"Heisverygood-looking,"assentedLordHenry.

"Ihopehewillfallintoproperhands,"continuedtheoldman."Heshould

haveapotofmoneywaitingforhimifKelsodidtherightthingbyhim.His

mother had money, too. All the Selby property came to her, through her

grandfather.Her grandfather hatedKelso,thought him a meandog.He was,

too.CametoMadridoncewhenIwasthere.Egad,Iwasashamedofhim.The

Queen used to ask me about the English noble who was always quarrelling

withthecabmenabouttheirfares.Theymadequiteastoryofit.Ididn'tdare

showmyfaceatCourtforamonth.Ihopehetreatedhisgrandsonbetterthan

hedidthejarvies."

"I don't know," answered LordHenry. "I fancythat theboy will be well

off. He is not of age yet. He has Selby, I know. He told me so. And ... his

motherwasverybeautiful?"

"MargaretDevereuxwasoneof the loveliestcreaturesIeversaw, Harry.

Whatonearthinducedhertobehaveasshedid,Inevercouldunderstand.She

couldhavemarriedanybodyshechose.Carlingtonwasmadafterher.Shewas

romantic,though.All the women ofthatfamilywere.The men were apoor

lot, but, egad! the women were wonderful. Carlington went on his knees to

her.Toldmesohimself.Shelaughedathim,andtherewasn'tagirlinLondon

atthetimewho wasn'tafterhim.Andbytheway,Harry, talkingaboutsilly

marriages,whatisthishumbugyourfathertellsmeaboutDartmoorwanting

tomarryanAmerican?Ain'tEnglishgirlsgoodenoughforhim?"

"ItisratherfashionabletomarryAmericansjustnow,UncleGeorge."

"I'll back English women against the world, Harry," said Lord Fermor,

strikingthetablewithhisfist.

"ThebettingisontheAmericans."

"Theydon'tlast,Iamtold,"mutteredhisuncle.

"Alongengagementexhauststhem,buttheyarecapitalatasteeplechase.

Theytakethingsflying.Idon'tthinkDartmoorhasachance."

"Whoareherpeople?"grumbledtheoldgentleman."Hasshegotany?"

Lord Henry shook his head. "American girls are as clever at concealing

theirparents,asEnglishwomenareatconcealingtheirpast,"hesaid,risingto

go.

"Theyarepork-packers,Isuppose?"

"Ihopeso,UncleGeorge,forDartmoor'ssake.Iamtoldthatpork-packing

isthemostlucrativeprofessioninAmerica,afterpolitics."

"Isshepretty?"

"Shebehavesasifshewasbeautiful.MostAmericanwomendo.Itisthe

secretoftheircharm."

"Why can't these American women stay in their own country? They are

alwaystellingusthatitistheparadiseforwomen."

"Itis.Thatisthereasonwhy,likeEve,theyaresoexcessivelyanxiousto

getoutofit,"saidLordHenry."Good-bye,UncleGeorge.Ishallbelatefor

lunch,ifIstopanylonger.ThanksforgivingmetheinformationIwanted.I

alwaysliketoknoweverythingaboutmynewfriends,andnothingaboutmy

oldones."

"Whereareyoulunching,Harry?"

"At Aunt Agatha's. I have asked myself and Mr. Gray. He is her latest

protege."

"Humph!tellyourAuntAgatha,Harry,nottobothermeanymorewithher

charityappeals.Iamsickofthem.Why,thegoodwomanthinksthatIhave

nothingtodobuttowritechequesforhersillyfads."

"All right, Uncle George, I'll tell her, but it won't have any effect.

Philanthropic people lose all sense of humanity. It is their distinguishing

characteristic."

Theoldgentlemangrowledapprovinglyandrangthebellforhisservant.

Lord Henry passed up the low arcade into Burlington Street and turned his

stepsinthedirectionofBerkeleySquare.

Sothatwasthe story ofDorianGray'sparentage.Crudelyasithad been

toldtohim,ithadyetstirredhimbyitssuggestionofastrange,almostmodern

romance.Abeautifulwomanriskingeverythingforamadpassion.Afewwild

weeks of happiness cut short by a hideous, treacherous crime. Months of

voicelessagony,andthenachildborninpain.Themothersnatchedawayby

death,theboylefttosolitudeandthetyrannyofanoldandlovelessman.Yes;

itwasaninterestingbackground.Itposedthelad,madehimmoreperfect,asit

were. Behind every exquisite thing that existed, there was something tragic.

Worlds had tobe in travail,that the meanest flower might blow....And how

charminghehadbeenatdinnerthenightbefore,aswithstartledeyesandlips

parted infrightened pleasure he had sat opposite to him at the club, thered

candleshades staining to a richer rose the wakening wonder of his face.

Talking to him was like playing upon an exquisite violin. He answered to

everytouchandthrillofthebow....Therewassomethingterriblyenthralling

intheexerciseofinfluence.Nootheractivitywaslikeit.Toprojectone'ssoul

intosomegraciousform,andletittarrythereforamoment;tohearone'sown

intellectualviewsechoedbacktoonewithalltheaddedmusicofpassionand

youth; to convey one's temperament into another as though it were a subtle

fluid or a strange perfume: there was a real joy in that—perhaps the most

satisfying joy left to us in an age so limited and vulgar as our own, an age

grossly carnal in its pleasures, and grossly common in its aims.... He was a

marvellous type, too, this lad, whom by so curious a chance he had met in

Basil'sstudio,orcouldbefashionedintoamarvelloustype,atanyrate.Grace

was his, and the white purity of boyhood, and beauty such as old Greek

marbles kept for us. There was nothingthat one could not do with him. He

could be made a Titan or a toy. What a pity it was that such beauty was

destined to fade! ... And Basil? From a psychological point of view, how

interestinghewas!Thenewmannerinart,thefreshmodeoflookingatlife,

suggested so strangely by the merely visible presence of one who was

unconsciousofitall;thesilentspiritthatdweltindimwoodland,andwalked

unseen in open field, suddenly showing herself, Dryadlike and not afraid,

becauseinhissoulwhosoughtforhertherehadbeenwakenedthatwonderful

vision to which alone are wonderful things revealed; the mere shapes and

patterns of things becoming, as it were, refined, and gaining a kind of

symbolicalvalue,asthoughtheywerethemselvespatternsofsomeotherand

moreperfectformwhoseshadowtheymadereal:howstrangeitallwas!He

remembered something like it in history. Was it not Plato, that artist in

thought,whohadfirstanalyzedit?WasitnotBuonarottiwhohadcarveditin

the coloured marbles of a sonnet-sequence? But in our own century it was

strange....Yes;hewouldtrytobetoDorianGray what,withoutknowingit,

theladwastothepainterwhohadfashionedthewonderfulportrait.Hewould

seektodominatehim—hadalready,indeed,halfdoneso.Hewouldmakethat

wonderfulspirithisown.Therewassomethingfascinatinginthissonoflove

anddeath.

Suddenlyhestoppedandglancedupatthehouses.Hefoundthathehad

passedhisaunt'ssomedistance,and,smilingtohimself,turnedback.Whenhe

enteredthesomewhatsombrehall,thebutlertoldhimthattheyhadgoneinto

lunch.Hegaveoneofthefootmenhishatandstickandpassedintothedining-

room.

"Lateasusual,Harry,"criedhisaunt,shakingherheadathim.

Heinventedafacileexcuse,andhavingtakenthevacantseatnexttoher,

lookedroundtoseewhowasthere.Dorianbowedtohimshylyfromtheend

of the table, a flush of pleasure stealing into his cheek. Opposite was the

Duchessof Harley, a ladyofadmirable good-nature and goodtemper,much

likedbyeveryonewhoknewher,andofthoseamplearchitecturalproportions

that in women who are not duchesses are described by contemporary

historians as stoutness. Next to her sat, on her right, Sir Thomas Burdon, a

RadicalmemberofParliament,whofollowedhisleaderinpubliclifeandin

privatelifefollowedthebestcooks,diningwiththeToriesandthinkingwith

theLiberals,inaccordancewithawiseandwell-knownrule.Thepostonher

left was occupied by Mr. Erskine of Treadley, an old gentleman of

considerablecharm and culture,whohadfallen, however, intobadhabits of

silence,having,asheexplainedoncetoLadyAgatha,saideverythingthathe

hadtosaybeforehewasthirty.HisownneighbourwasMrs.Vandeleur,oneof

his aunt's oldest friends, a perfect saint amongst women, but so dreadfully

dowdy that she reminded one of a badly bound hymn-book. Fortunately for

him she had on the other side Lord Faudel, a most intelligent middle-aged

mediocrity,asbaldasaministerialstatementintheHouseofCommons,with

whomshewasconversinginthat intensely earnest manner which is the one

unpardonableerror,asheremarkedoncehimself,thatallreallygoodpeople

fallinto,andfromwhichnoneofthemeverquiteescape.

"We are talking about poor Dartmoor, Lord Henry," cried the duchess,

noddingpleasantlytohimacrossthetable."Doyouthinkhewillreallymarry

thisfascinatingyoungperson?"

"Ibelieveshehasmadeuphermindtoproposetohim,Duchess."

"How dreadful!" exclaimed Lady Agatha. "Really, some one should

interfere."

"Iamtold,onexcellentauthority,thatherfatherkeepsanAmericandry-

goodsstore,"saidSirThomasBurdon,lookingsupercilious.

"Myunclehasalreadysuggestedpork-packing,SirThomas."

"Dry-goods! What are American dry-goods?" asked the duchess, raising

herlargehandsinwonderandaccentuatingtheverb.

"Americannovels,"answeredLordHenry,helpinghimselftosomequail.

Theduchesslookedpuzzled.

"Don't mind him, my dear," whispered Lady Agatha. "He never means

anythingthathesays."

"WhenAmericawasdiscovered,"saidtheRadicalmember—andhebegan

togivesomewearisomefacts.Likeallpeoplewhotrytoexhaustasubject,he

exhausted his listeners. The duchess sighed and exercised her privilege of

interruption. "I wish to goodness it never had been discovered at all!" she

exclaimed."Really,ourgirlshavenochancenowadays.Itismostunfair."

"Perhaps,afterall,Americaneverhasbeendiscovered,"saidMr.Erskine;

"Imyselfwouldsaythatithadmerelybeendetected."

"Oh!butIhaveseenspecimensoftheinhabitants,"answeredtheduchess

vaguely. "I must confess that most of them are extremely pretty. And they

dresswell,too.TheygetalltheirdressesinParis.IwishIcouldaffordtodo

thesame."

"Theysaythatwhen good Americans dietheygotoParis,"chuckledSir

Thomas,whohadalargewardrobeofHumour'scast-offclothes.

"Really!AndwheredobadAmericansgotowhentheydie?"inquiredthe

duchess.

"TheygotoAmerica,"murmuredLordHenry.

SirThomasfrowned."Iamafraidthatyournephewisprejudicedagainst

thatgreatcountry,"hesaidtoLadyAgatha."Ihavetravelledalloveritincars

providedbythedirectors,who,in suchmatters,areextremelycivil.Iassure

youthatitisaneducationtovisitit."

"But must we really see Chicago in order to be educated?" asked Mr.

Erskineplaintively."Idon'tfeeluptothejourney."

SirThomaswavedhishand."Mr.ErskineofTreadleyhastheworldonhis

shelves. We practical men like to see things, not to read about them. The

Americans are an extremely interesting people. They are absolutely

reasonable.Ithinkthatistheirdistinguishingcharacteristic.Yes,Mr.Erskine,

anabsolutelyreasonablepeople. I assureyouthereisnononsenseaboutthe

Americans."

"How dreadful!" cried Lord Henry. "I can stand brute force, but brute

reasonisquiteunbearable.Thereissomethingunfairaboutitsuse.Itishitting

belowtheintellect."

"Idonotunderstandyou,"saidSirThomas,growingratherred.

"Ido,LordHenry,"murmuredMr.Erskine,withasmile.

"Paradoxesareallverywellintheirway...."rejoinedthebaronet.

"Was that aparadox?" askedMr. Erskine. "I did not think so. Perhaps it

was.Well,thewayofparadoxesisthewayoftruth.Totestrealitywemustsee

itonthetightrope.Whentheveritiesbecomeacrobats,wecanjudgethem."

"Dearme!"saidLadyAgatha,"howyoumenargue!IamsureInevercan

makeoutwhatyouaretalkingabout.Oh!Harry,Iamquitevexedwithyou.

WhydoyoutrytopersuadeourniceMr.DorianGraytogiveuptheEastEnd?

Iassureyouhewouldbequiteinvaluable.Theywouldlovehisplaying."

"Iwanthimtoplaytome,"criedLordHenry,smiling,andhelookeddown

thetableandcaughtabrightansweringglance.

"ButtheyaresounhappyinWhitechapel,"continuedLadyAgatha.

"I can sympathize with everything except suffering," said Lord Henry,

shrugging his shoulders. "I cannot sympathize with that. It is too ugly, too

horrible, too distressing. There is something terribly morbid in the modern

sympathywith pain. Oneshouldsympathizewith the colour, the beauty, the

joyoflife.Thelesssaidaboutlife'ssores,thebetter."

"Still, the East End is a very important problem," remarked Sir Thomas

withagraveshakeofthehead.

"Quiteso,"answeredtheyounglord."Itistheproblemofslavery,andwe

trytosolveitbyamusingtheslaves."

Thepoliticianlookedathimkeenly."Whatchangedoyoupropose,then?"

heasked.

LordHenrylaughed."Idon'tdesiretochangeanythinginEnglandexcept

the weather," he answered. "I am quite content with philosophic

contemplation. But, as the nineteenth century has gone bankrupt through an

over-expenditure of sympathy, I would suggest that we should appeal to

sciencetoputusstraight.Theadvantageoftheemotionsisthattheyleadus

astray,andtheadvantageofscienceisthatitisnotemotional."

"But we have such grave responsibilities," ventured Mrs. Vandeleur

timidly.

"Terriblygrave,"echoedLadyAgatha.

Lord Henry looked over at Mr. Erskine. "Humanity takes itself too

seriously. It is the world's original sin. If the caveman had known how to

laugh,historywouldhavebeendifferent."

"Youarereallyverycomforting,"warbledtheduchess."Ihavealwaysfelt

ratherguiltywhenIcametoseeyourdearaunt,forItakenointerestatallin

theEastEnd.ForthefutureIshallbeabletolookherinthefacewithouta

blush."

"Ablushisverybecoming,Duchess,"remarkedLordHenry.

"Only when one is young," she answered. "When an old woman like

myselfblushes,itisaverybadsign.Ah!LordHenry,Iwishyouwouldtell

mehowtobecomeyoungagain."

He thought for a moment. "Can you remember any great error that you

committedinyourearlydays,Duchess?"heasked,lookingatheracrossthe

table.

"Agreatmany,Ifear,"shecried.

"Thencommitthemoveragain,"hesaidgravely."Togetbackone'syouth,

onehasmerelytorepeatone'sfollies."

"Adelightfultheory!"sheexclaimed."Imustputitintopractice."

"A dangerous theory!" came from Sir Thomas's tight lips. Lady Agatha

shookherhead,butcouldnothelpbeingamused.Mr.Erskinelistened.

"Yes," he continued, "that is one of the great secrets of life. Nowadays

mostpeopledieofasortofcreepingcommonsense,anddiscoverwhenitis

toolatethattheonlythingsoneneverregretsareone'smistakes."

Alaughranroundthetable.

He played with the idea and grew wilful; tossed it into the air and

transformed it; let it escape and recaptured it; made it iridescent with fancy

andwingeditwithparadox.Thepraiseoffolly,ashewenton,soaredintoa

philosophy, and philosophy herself became young, and catching the mad

musicofpleasure,wearing,onemightfancy,herwine-stainedrobeandwreath

of ivy, danced like a Bacchante over the hills of life, and mocked the slow

Silenusforbeingsober.Factsfledbeforeherlikefrightenedforestthings.Her

whitefeettrodthehugepressatwhichwiseOmarsits,tilltheseethinggrape-

juiceroseroundherbarelimbsinwavesofpurplebubbles,orcrawledinred

foam over the vat's black, dripping, sloping sides. It was an extraordinary

improvisation.HefeltthattheeyesofDorianGraywerefixedonhim,andthe

consciousnessthatamongsthisaudiencetherewasonewhosetemperamenthe

wishedtofascinateseemedtogivehiswitkeennessandtolendcolourtohis

imagination.Hewasbrilliant,fantastic,irresponsible.Hecharmedhislisteners

out of themselves, and they followed his pipe, laughing. Dorian Gray never

tookhisgazeoffhim,butsatlikeoneunderaspell,smileschasingeachother

overhislipsandwondergrowinggraveinhisdarkeningeyes.

Atlast,liveriedinthecostumeoftheage,realityenteredtheroominthe

shapeofaservanttotelltheduchessthathercarriagewaswaiting.Shewrung

herhandsinmockdespair."Howannoying!"shecried."Imustgo.Ihaveto

callformyhusbandattheclub,totakehimtosomeabsurdmeetingatWillis's

Rooms, where he is going to be in the chair. If I am late he is sure to be

furious,andIcouldn'thaveasceneinthisbonnet.Itisfartoofragile.Aharsh

wordwouldruinit.No,Imustgo,dearAgatha.Good-bye,LordHenry,you

arequitedelightfulanddreadfullydemoralizing.IamsureIdon'tknowwhat

to say about your views. You must come and dine with us some night.

Tuesday?AreyoudisengagedTuesday?"

"ForyouIwouldthrowoveranybody,Duchess,"saidLordHenrywitha

bow.

"Ah! that isvery nice, andvery wrongof you," shecried; "so mindyou

come";andshesweptoutoftheroom,followedbyLadyAgathaandtheother

ladies.

When Lord Henry had sat down again, Mr. Erskine moved round, and

takingachairclosetohim,placedhishanduponhisarm.

"Youtalkbooksaway,"hesaid;"whydon'tyouwriteone?"

"I am too fond of reading books to care to write them, Mr. Erskine. I

should like to write a novel certainly, a novel that would be as lovely as a

Persian carpet and as unreal. But there is no literary public in England for

anythingexceptnewspapers,primers,andencyclopaedias.Ofallpeopleinthe

worldtheEnglishhavetheleastsenseofthebeautyofliterature."

"Ifearyouareright,"answeredMr.Erskine."Imyselfusedtohaveliterary

ambitions,butI gave them uplongago.Andnow,mydear young friend, if

youwillallow metocallyouso,mayI ask ifyoureallymeantallthat you

saidtousatlunch?"

"IquiteforgetwhatIsaid,"smiledLordHenry."Wasitallverybad?"

"Very bad indeed. In fact I consider you extremely dangerous, and if

anything happens to our good duchess, we shall all look on you as being

primarily responsible. But I should like to talk to you about life. The

generationintowhichIwasbornwastedious.Someday,whenyouaretiredof

London, come down to Treadley and expound to me your philosophy of

pleasureoversomeadmirableBurgundyIamfortunateenoughtopossess."

"Ishallbecharmed.AvisittoTreadleywouldbeagreatprivilege.Ithasa

perfecthost,andaperfectlibrary."

"Youwillcompleteit,"answeredtheoldgentlemanwithacourteousbow.

"And now I must bid good-bye to your excellent aunt. I am due at the

Athenaeum.Itisthehourwhenwesleepthere."

"Allofyou,Mr.Erskine?"

"Forty of us, in forty arm-chairs. We are practising for an English

AcademyofLetters."

LordHenrylaughedandrose."Iamgoingtothepark,"hecried.

Ashewaspassingoutofthedoor,DorianGraytouchedhimonthearm.

"Letmecomewithyou,"hemurmured.

"But I thought you had promised Basil Hallward to go and see him,"

answeredLordHenry.

"Iwouldsoonercomewithyou;yes,IfeelImustcomewithyou.Dolet

me. And you will promise to talk to me all the time? No one talks so

wonderfullyasyoudo."

"Ah!Ihavetalkedquiteenoughforto-day,"saidLordHenry,smiling."All

Iwantnowistolookatlife.Youmaycomeandlookatitwithme,ifyoucare

to."



CHAPTER4



One afternoon, a month later, Dorian Gray was reclining in a luxurious

arm-chair,inthelittlelibraryofLordHenry'shouseinMayfair.Itwas,inits

way, a very charming room, with its high panelled wainscoting of olive-

stainedoak,itscream-colouredfriezeandceilingofraisedplasterwork,andits

brickdust felt carpet strewn with silk, long-fringed Persian rugs. On a tiny

satinwoodtablestoodastatuettebyClodion,andbesideitlayacopyofLes

Cent Nouvelles, bound for Margaret of Valois by Clovis Eve and powdered

withthegiltdaisiesthatQueenhadselectedforherdevice.Somelargeblue

chinajars and parrot-tulipswererangedon the mantelshelf,andthrough the

small leaded panes of the window streamed the apricot-coloured light of a

summerdayinLondon.

Lord Henry had not yet come in. He was always late on principle, his

principle being that punctuality is the thief of time. So the lad was looking

rathersulky,aswithlistlessfingersheturnedoverthepagesofanelaborately

illustrated edition of Manon Lescaut that he had found in one of the book-

cases. Theformal monotonous ticking of the Louis Quatorzeclock annoyed

him.Onceortwicehethoughtofgoingaway.

Atlasthe heard a stepoutside,andthedoor opened. "How lateyou are,

Harry!"hemurmured.

"IamafraiditisnotHarry,Mr.Gray,"answeredashrillvoice.

He glanced quickly round and rose to his feet. "I beg your pardon. I

thought—"

"You thought it was my husband. It is only his wife. You must let me

introduce myself. I know you quite well by your photographs. I think my

husbandhasgotseventeenofthem."

"Notseventeen,LadyHenry?"

"Well, eighteen, then. And I saw you with him the other night at the

opera."Shelaughednervouslyasshespoke,andwatchedhimwithhervague

forget-me-noteyes.Shewasacuriouswoman,whosedressesalwayslooked

asiftheyhadbeendesignedinarageandputoninatempest.Shewasusually

inlovewithsomebody,and,asherpassionwasneverreturned,shehadkept

all her illusions. She tried to look picturesque, but only succeeded in being

untidy. Her name was Victoria, and she had a perfect mania for going to

church.

"ThatwasatLohengrin,LadyHenry,Ithink?"

"Yes; it was at dear Lohengrin. I like Wagner's music better than

anybody's.Itissoloudthatonecantalkthewholetimewithoutotherpeople

hearing what one says. That is a great advantage, don't you think so, Mr.

Gray?"

Thesamenervousstaccatolaughbrokefromherthinlips,andherfingers

begantoplaywithalongtortoise-shellpaper-knife.

Dorian smiled and shook his head: "I am afraid I don't think so, Lady

Henry. I never talk during music—at least, during good music. If one hears

badmusic,itisone'sdutytodrownitinconversation."

"Ah!thatisoneofHarry'sviews,isn'tit,Mr.Gray?IalwayshearHarry's

viewsfromhisfriends.ItistheonlywayIgettoknowofthem.Butyoumust

notthinkIdon'tlikegoodmusic.Iadoreit,butIamafraidofit.Itmakesme

tooromantic.Ihave simply worshipped pianists—two ata time,sometimes,

Harrytellsme.Idon'tknowwhatitisaboutthem.Perhapsitisthattheyare

foreigners. They all are, ain't they? Even those that are born in England

becomeforeignersafteratime,don'tthey?Itissocleverofthem,andsucha

compliment to art. Makes it quite cosmopolitan, doesn't it? You have never

beentoanyofmyparties,haveyou,Mr.Gray?Youmustcome.Ican'tafford

orchids,butIsparenoexpenseinforeigners.Theymakeone'sroomslookso

picturesque.Buthereis Harry! Harry, I came into lookforyou,toaskyou

something—I forget what it was—and I found Mr. Grayhere. We have had

suchapleasantchataboutmusic.Wehavequitethesameideas.No;Ithink

ourideasarequitedifferent.Buthehasbeenmostpleasant.IamsogladI've

seenhim."

"I am charmed, my love, quitecharmed," saidLord Henry, elevatinghis

dark, crescent-shaped eyebrows and looking at them both with an amused

smile."SosorryIamlate,Dorian.Iwenttolookafterapieceofoldbrocade

inWardourStreetandhadtobargainforhoursforit.Nowadayspeopleknow

thepriceofeverythingandthevalueofnothing."

"I am afraid I must be going," exclaimed Lady Henry, breaking an

awkwardsilencewithhersillysuddenlaugh."Ihavepromisedtodrivewith

the duchess. Good-bye, Mr. Gray. Good-bye, Harry. You are dining out, I

suppose?SoamI.PerhapsIshallseeyouatLadyThornbury's."

"I dare say, my dear," said Lord Henry, shutting the door behind her as,

lookinglikeabirdofparadisethathadbeenoutallnightintherain,sheflitted

outoftheroom, leavingafaintodouroffrangipanni.Thenhe litacigarette

andflunghimselfdownonthesofa.

"Nevermarryawomanwithstraw-colouredhair,Dorian,"hesaidaftera

fewpuffs.

"Why,Harry?"

"Becausetheyaresosentimental."

"ButIlikesentimentalpeople."

"Never marry at all, Dorian. Men marry because they are tired; women,

becausetheyarecurious:botharedisappointed."

"Idon'tthinkIamlikelytomarry,Harry.Iamtoomuchinlove.Thatis

oneofyouraphorisms.Iamputtingitintopractice,asIdoeverythingthatyou

say."

"Whoareyouinlovewith?"askedLordHenryafterapause.

"Withanactress,"saidDorianGray,blushing.

LordHenryshruggedhisshoulders."Thatisarathercommonplacedebut."

"Youwouldnotsaysoifyousawher,Harry."

"Whoisshe?"

"HernameisSibylVane."

"Neverheardofher."

"Noonehas.Peoplewillsomeday,however.Sheisagenius."

"Mydearboy,nowomanisagenius.Womenareadecorativesex.They

neverhaveanythingtosay,buttheysayitcharmingly.Womenrepresentthe

triumphofmatterovermind,justasmenrepresentthetriumphofmindover

morals."

"Harry,howcanyou?"

"My dear Dorian, it is quite true. I am analysing womenat present,so I

oughttoknow.ThesubjectisnotsoabstruseasIthoughtitwas.Ifindthat,

ultimately,thereareonlytwokindsofwomen,theplainandthecoloured.The

plain women are very useful. If you want to gain a reputation for

respectability,youhavemerelytotakethemdowntosupper.Theotherwomen

areverycharming.Theycommitonemistake,however.Theypaintinorderto

try and look young. Our grandmothers painted in order to try and talk

brilliantly.Rougeandespritusedtogotogether.Thatisallovernow.Aslong

asawomancanlooktenyearsyoungerthanherowndaughter,sheisperfectly

satisfied. As for conversation, there are only five women in London worth

talkingto,andtwoofthesecan'tbeadmittedintodecentsociety.However,tell

meaboutyourgenius.Howlonghaveyouknownher?"

"Ah!Harry,yourviewsterrifyme."

"Nevermindthat.Howlonghaveyouknownher?"

"Aboutthreeweeks."

"Andwheredidyoucomeacrossher?"

"Iwilltellyou,Harry,butyoumustn'tbeunsympatheticaboutit.Afterall,

itneverwouldhavehappenedifIhadnotmetyou.Youfilledmewithawild

desire to know everything about life. For days after I met you, something

seemed to throb in my veins. As I lounged in the park, or strolled down

Piccadilly,Iusedtolookateveryonewhopassedmeandwonder,withamad

curiosity, what sort of lives they led. Some of them fascinated me. Others

filledmewithterror.Therewasanexquisitepoisonintheair.Ihadapassion

forsensations....Well,oneeveningaboutseveno'clock,Ideterminedtogoout

insearchofsomeadventure.IfeltthatthisgreymonstrousLondon of ours,

withitsmyriadsofpeople,itssordidsinners,anditssplendidsins,asyouonce

phrasedit,musthavesomethinginstoreforme.Ifanciedathousandthings.

Themeredangergavemeasenseofdelight.Irememberedwhatyouhadsaid

to me on that wonderful evening when we first dined together, about the

searchforbeautybeingthereal secretoflife.Idon'tknowwhatIexpected,

butIwentoutandwanderedeastward,soonlosingmywayinalabyrinthof

grimystreetsandblackgrasslesssquares.Abouthalf-pasteightIpassedbyan

absurdlittletheatre,withgreatflaringgas-jetsandgaudyplay-bills.Ahideous

Jew,inthemostamazingwaistcoatIeverbeheldinmylife,wasstandingat

theentrance, smoking a vilecigar.He had greasy ringlets,andan enormous

diamondblazedinthecentreofasoiledshirt.'Haveabox,myLord?'hesaid,

when he saw me, and he took off his hat with an air of gorgeous servility.

There was something about him, Harry, that amused me. He was such a

monster.Youwilllaughatme,Iknow,butIreallywentinandpaidawhole

guineaforthestage-box.TothepresentdayIcan'tmakeoutwhyIdidso;and

yetifIhadn't—mydearHarry,ifIhadn't—Ishouldhavemissedthegreatest

romanceofmylife.Iseeyouarelaughing.Itishorridofyou!"

"I am not laughing, Dorian; at least I am not laughing at you. But you

should not say the greatest romance of your life. You should say the first

romanceofyourlife.Youwillalwaysbeloved,andyouwillalwaysbeinlove

withlove.Agrandepassionistheprivilegeofpeoplewhohavenothingtodo.

Thatistheoneuseoftheidleclassesofacountry.Don'tbeafraid.Thereare

exquisitethingsinstoreforyou.Thisismerelythebeginning."

"Doyouthinkmynaturesoshallow?"criedDorianGrayangrily.

"No;Ithinkyournaturesodeep."

"Howdoyoumean?"

"Mydearboy,thepeoplewholoveonlyonceintheirlivesarereallythe

shallowpeople.Whattheycalltheirloyalty,andtheirfidelity,Icalleitherthe

lethargy of custom or their lack of imagination. Faithfulness is to the

emotional life what consistency is to the life of the intellect—simply a

confessionoffailure.Faithfulness!Imustanalyseitsomeday.Thepassionfor

propertyisinit.Therearemanythingsthatwewouldthrowawayifwewere

notafraidthatothersmightpickthemup.ButIdon'twanttointerruptyou.Go

onwithyourstory."

"Well, I found myself seated in a horrid little private box, with a vulgar

drop-scene staringme in theface. I lookedout from behindthe curtain and

surveyedthehouse.Itwasatawdryaffair,allCupidsandcornucopias,likea

third-ratewedding-cake.Thegalleryandpitwerefairlyfull,butthetworows

of dingy stalls were quite empty, and there was hardly a person in what I

suppose they called the dress-circle. Women went about with oranges and

ginger-beer,andtherewasaterribleconsumptionofnutsgoingon."

"ItmusthavebeenjustlikethepalmydaysoftheBritishdrama."

"Justlike,Ishouldfancy,andverydepressing.Ibegantowonderwhaton

earthIshoulddowhenIcaughtsightoftheplay-bill.Whatdoyouthinkthe

playwas,Harry?"

"Ishouldthink'TheIdiotBoy',or'DumbbutInnocent'.Ourfathersusedto

likethatsortofpiece,Ibelieve.ThelongerIlive,Dorian,themorekeenlyI

feelthatwhateverwasgoodenoughforourfathersisnotgoodenoughforus.

Inart,asinpolitics,lesgrandperesonttoujourstort."

"Thisplaywasgoodenoughforus,Harry.ItwasRomeoandJuliet.Imust

admitthatIwasratherannoyedattheideaofseeingShakespearedoneinsuch

awretchedholeofaplace.Still,Ifeltinterested,inasortofway.Atanyrate,

Ideterminedtowaitforthefirstact.Therewasadreadfulorchestra,presided

over by a young Hebrew who sat at a cracked piano, that nearly drove me

away,butatlastthedrop-scenewasdrawnupandtheplaybegan.Romeowas

astoutelderlygentleman,withcorkedeyebrows,ahuskytragedyvoice,anda

figurelikeabeer-barrel.Mercutio was almostasbad.Hewasplayedbythe

low-comedian,whohadintroducedgagsofhisownandwasonmostfriendly

termswiththepit.Theywerebothasgrotesqueasthescenery,andthatlooked

as if it had come out of a country-booth. But Juliet! Harry, imagine a girl,

hardlyseventeenyearsofage,withalittle,flowerlikeface,asmallGreekhead

withplaitedcoilsof dark-brown hair,eyesthatwerevioletwellsof passion,

lipsthatwerelikethepetalsofarose.ShewastheloveliestthingIhadever

seeninmylife.You said to me once that pathos left you unmoved, but that

beauty,merebeauty,couldfillyoureyeswithtears.Itellyou,Harry,Icould

hardlyseethisgirlforthemistoftearsthatcameacrossme.Andhervoice—I

neverheardsuchavoice.Itwasverylowatfirst,withdeepmellownotesthat

seemed to fall singly upon one's ear. Then it became a little louder, and

sounded like a flute or a distant hautboy. In the garden-scene it had all the

tremulous ecstasy that one hears just before dawn when nightingales are

singing. There were moments, later on, when it had the wild passion of

violins.Youknowhowavoicecanstirone.YourvoiceandthevoiceofSibyl

Vane are two things that I shall never forget. When I close my eyes, I hear

them, and each of them says something different. I don't know which to

follow.WhyshouldInotloveher?Harry,Idoloveher.Sheiseverythingto

meinlife.NightafternightIgotoseeherplay.OneeveningsheisRosalind,

and the nextevening sheis Imogen. Ihave seenher die inthe gloomof an

Italian tomb, sucking the poison from her lover's lips. I have watched her

wanderingthroughtheforestofArden,disguisedasaprettyboyinhoseand

doubletanddaintycap.Shehasbeenmad,andhascomeintothepresenceofa

guilty king, and given him rue to wear and bitter herbs to taste of. She has

been innocent, and the black hands of jealousy have crushed her reedlike

throat.I have seenher in everyage and ineverycostume. Ordinary women

never appeal to one's imagination. They are limited to their century. No

glamour ever transfigures them. One knows their minds as easily as one

knowstheirbonnets.Onecanalwaysfindthem.Thereisnomysteryinanyof

them. They ride in the park in the morning and chatter at tea-parties in the

afternoon. They have their stereotyped smile and their fashionable manner.

They are quite obvious. But an actress! How different an actress is! Harry!

whydidn'tyoutellmethattheonlythingworthlovingisanactress?"

"BecauseIhavelovedsomanyofthem,Dorian."

"Oh,yes,horridpeoplewithdyedhairandpaintedfaces."

"Don't run down dyed hair and painted faces. There is an extraordinary

charminthem,sometimes,"saidLordHenry.

"IwishnowIhadnottoldyouaboutSibylVane."

"Youcouldnothavehelpedtellingme,Dorian.Allthroughyourlifeyou

willtellmeeverythingyoudo."

"Yes, Harry, I believe that is true. I cannot help telling you things. You

have a curious influence over me. If I ever did a crime, I would come and

confessittoyou.Youwouldunderstandme."

"People like you—the wilful sunbeams of life—don't commit crimes,

Dorian.ButIammuchobligedforthecompliment,allthesame.Andnowtell

me—reach me the matches, like a good boy—thanks—what are your actual

relationswithSibylVane?"

Dorian Gray leaped to his feet, with flushed cheeks and burning eyes.

"Harry!SibylVaneissacred!"

"It is only the sacred things that are worth touching, Dorian," said Lord

Henry, withastrange touch ofpathosin his voice."Butwhy should yoube

annoyed?Isupposeshewillbelongtoyousomeday.Whenoneisinlove,one

always begins by deceiving one's self, and one always ends by deceiving

others.Thatiswhattheworldcallsaromance.You know her, at any rate, I

suppose?"

"OfcourseIknowher.OnthefirstnightIwasatthetheatre,thehorridold

Jewcameroundtotheboxaftertheperformancewasoverandofferedtotake

mebehindthescenesandintroducemetoher.Iwasfuriouswithhim,andtold

him that Juliet had been dead for hundreds of years and that her body was

lyinginamarbletombinVerona.Ithink,fromhisblanklookofamazement,

that he was under the impression that I had taken too much champagne, or

something."

"Iamnotsurprised."

"ThenheaskedmeifIwroteforanyofthenewspapers.ItoldhimInever

evenreadthem.Heseemedterriblydisappointedatthat,andconfidedtome

that all the dramatic critics were in a conspiracy against him, and that they

wereeveryoneofthemtobebought."

"Ishould not wonderifhe was quiterightthere. But, ontheother hand,

judgingfromtheirappearance,mostofthemcannotbeatallexpensive."

"Well,heseemedtothinktheywerebeyondhismeans,"laughedDorian.

"Bythistime,however,thelightswerebeingputoutinthetheatre,andIhad

to go. He wanted me to try some cigars that he strongly recommended. I

declined.Thenextnight,ofcourse,Iarrivedattheplaceagain.Whenhesaw

me,hemademealowbowandassuredmethatIwasamunificentpatronof

art.Hewasamostoffensivebrute,thoughhehadanextraordinarypassionfor

Shakespeare.Hetoldmeonce,withanairofpride,thathisfivebankruptcies

wereentirelydue to 'TheBard,'asheinsistedoncalling him.Heseemedto

thinkitadistinction."

"It was a distinction, my dear Dorian—a great distinction. Most people

becomebankruptthroughhavinginvestedtooheavilyintheproseoflife.To

haveruinedone'sselfoverpoetryisanhonour.Butwhendidyoufirstspeak

toMissSibylVane?"

"The third night. She had been playing Rosalind. I could not help going

round.Ihadthrownhersomeflowers,andshehadlookedatme—atleastI

fancied that she had. The old Jew was persistent. He seemed determined to

takemebehind,soIconsented.Itwascuriousmy notwantingtoknowher,

wasn'tit?"

"No;Idon'tthinkso."

"MydearHarry,why?"

"Iwilltellyousomeothertime.NowIwanttoknowaboutthegirl."

"Sibyl?Oh, she wassoshy and sogentle.There is somethingofa child

abouther.HereyesopenedwideinexquisitewonderwhenItoldherwhatI

thoughtofherperformance,andsheseemedquiteunconsciousofherpower.I

thinkwewerebothrathernervous.TheoldJewstoodgrinningatthedoorway

of the dustygreenroom, making elaboratespeeches about us both, whilewe

stoodlookingateachotherlikechildren.Hewouldinsistoncallingme'My

Lord,'so I hadtoassureSibyl that I wasnotanythingof the kind.Shesaid

quite simply to me, 'You look more like a prince. I must call you Prince

Charming.'"

"Uponmyword,Dorian,MissSibylknowshowtopaycompliments."

"Youdon'tunderstandher,Harry.Sheregardedmemerelyasapersonina

play. She knows nothing of life. She lives with her mother, a faded tired

womanwhoplayedLadyCapuletinasortofmagentadressing-wrapperonthe

firstnight,andlooksasifshehadseenbetterdays."

"Iknowthatlook.Itdepressesme,"murmuredLordHenry,examininghis

rings.

"TheJewwantedtotellmeherhistory,butIsaiditdidnotinterestme."

"You were quite right. There is always something infinitely mean about

otherpeople'stragedies."

"Sibyl is the only thing I care about. What is it to me where she came

from? From her little head to her little feet, she is absolutely and entirely

divine.EverynightofmylifeIgotoseeheract,andeverynightsheismore

marvellous."

"Thatisthereason,Isuppose,thatyouneverdinewithmenow.Ithought

youmusthavesomecuriousromanceonhand.Youhave;butitisnotquite

whatIexpected."

"MydearHarry,weeitherlunchorsuptogethereveryday,andIhavebeen

to the opera with you several times," said Dorian, opening his blue eyes in

wonder.

"Youalwayscomedreadfullylate."

"Well,Ican'thelpgoingtoseeSibylplay,"hecried,"evenifitisonlyfora

singleact.Igethungryforherpresence;andwhenIthinkofthewonderful

soulthatishiddenawayinthatlittleivorybody,Iamfilledwithawe."

"Youcandinewithmeto-night,Dorian,can'tyou?"

He shook his head. "To-night she is Imogen," he answered, "and to-

morrownightshewillbeJuliet."

"WhenissheSibylVane?"

"Never."

"Icongratulateyou."

"Howhorridyouare!Sheisallthegreatheroinesoftheworldinone.She

ismorethananindividual.Youlaugh,butItellyoushehasgenius.Iloveher,

andImustmakeherloveme.You,whoknowallthesecretsoflife,tellme

howtocharmSibylVanetoloveme!IwanttomakeRomeojealous.Iwant

thedeadloversoftheworldtohearourlaughterandgrowsad.Iwantabreath

of our passion to stir their dust into consciousness, to wake their ashes into

pain.MyGod,Harry,howIworshipher!"Hewaswalkingupanddownthe

roomashespoke.Hecticspotsofredburnedonhischeeks.Hewasterribly

excited.

LordHenrywatchedhimwithasubtlesenseofpleasure.Howdifferenthe

wasnowfromtheshyfrightenedboyhehadmetinBasilHallward'sstudio!

Hisnaturehaddevelopedlikeaflower,hadborneblossomsofscarletflame.

Outofitssecrethiding-placehadcrepthissoul,anddesirehadcometomeetit

ontheway.

"Andwhatdoyouproposetodo?"saidLordHenryatlast.

"IwantyouandBasiltocomewithmesomenightandseeheract.Ihave

nottheslightestfearoftheresult.Youarecertaintoacknowledgehergenius.

ThenwemustgetheroutoftheJew'shands.Sheisboundtohimforthree

years—atleastfortwoyearsandeightmonths—fromthepresenttime.Ishall

havetopayhimsomething,ofcourse.Whenallthatissettled,Ishalltakea

WestEndtheatreandbringheroutproperly.Shewillmaketheworldasmad

asshehasmademe."

"Thatwouldbeimpossible,mydearboy."

"Yes,shewill.Shehasnotmerelyart,consummateart-instinct,inher,but

shehaspersonalityalso;andyouhaveoftentoldmethatitispersonalities,not

principles,thatmovetheage."

"Well,whatnightshallwego?"

"Letmesee.To-dayisTuesday.Letusfixto-morrow.SheplaysJulietto-

morrow."

"Allright.TheBristolateighto'clock;andIwillgetBasil."

"Not eight, Harry, please. Half-past six. We must be there before the

curtainrises.Youmustseeherinthefirstact,whereshemeetsRomeo."

"Half-pastsix!Whatanhour!Itwillbelikehavingameat-tea,orreading

an English novel. It mustbe seven.No gentlemandines before seven. Shall

youseeBasilbetweenthisandthen?OrshallIwritetohim?"

"DearBasil!Ihavenotlaideyesonhimforaweek.Itisratherhorridof

me, as he has sent me my portrait in the most wonderful frame, specially

designedbyhimself,and,thoughIamalittlejealousofthepictureforbeinga

wholemonthyoungerthanIam,ImustadmitthatIdelightinit.Perhapsyou

had better write to him. I don't want to see him alone. He says things that

annoyme.Hegivesmegoodadvice."

LordHenrysmiled."Peopleareveryfondofgivingawaywhattheyneed

mostthemselves.ItiswhatIcallthedepthofgenerosity."

"Oh,Basilisthebestoffellows,butheseemstometobejustabitofa

Philistine.SinceIhaveknownyou,Harry,Ihavediscoveredthat."

"Basil,mydearboy,putseverythingthatischarminginhimintohiswork.

The consequence is that he has nothing left for life but his prejudices, his

principles,andhiscommonsense.TheonlyartistsIhaveeverknownwhoare

personally delightful are bad artists. Good artists exist simply in what they

make,andconsequentlyareperfectly uninterestinginwhattheyare.Agreat

poet, a reallygreat poet,is the mostunpoetical of all creatures. Butinferior

poets are absolutely fascinating. The worse their rhymes are, the more

picturesquethey look. The merefactofhaving published abookofsecond-

ratesonnetsmakesamanquiteirresistible.Helivesthepoetrythathecannot

write.Theotherswritethepoetrythattheydarenotrealize."

"I wonder is that really so, Harry?" said Dorian Gray, putting some

perfumeonhishandkerchiefoutof a large,gold-toppedbottlethatstoodon

thetable."Itmustbe,ifyousayit.AndnowIamoff.Imogeniswaitingfor

me.Don'tforgetaboutto-morrow.Good-bye."

Ashelefttheroom,LordHenry'sheavyeyelidsdrooped,andhebeganto

think.CertainlyfewpeoplehadeverinterestedhimsomuchasDorianGray,

andyetthelad'smadadorationofsomeoneelsecausedhimnottheslightest

pang of annoyance or jealousy. He was pleased by it. It made him a more

interesting study. He had been always enthralled by the methods of natural

science, but the ordinary subject-matter of that science had seemed to him

trivialand ofno import. Andso he had begun byvivisecting himself, ashe

had ended by vivisecting others. Human life—that appeared to him the one

thingworthinvestigating.Comparedtoittherewasnothingelseofanyvalue.

Itwastruethatasonewatchedlifeinitscuriouscrucibleofpainandpleasure,

onecouldnotwearoverone'sfaceamaskofglass,norkeepthesulphurous

fumes from troubling the brain and making the imagination turbid with

monstrousfanciesandmisshapendreams.Therewerepoisonssosubtlethatto

know their properties one had to sicken of them. There were maladies so

strange that one had to pass through them if one sought to understand their

nature.And,yet,whatagreatrewardonereceived!Howwonderfulthewhole

world became to one! To note the curious hard logic of passion, and the

emotionalcolouredlifeoftheintellect—toobservewheretheymet,andwhere

theyseparated,atwhatpointtheywereinunison,andatwhatpointtheywere

atdiscord—therewasadelightinthat!Whatmatterwhatthecostwas?One

couldneverpaytoohighapriceforanysensation.

Hewasconscious—andthethought brought a gleamofpleasureintohis

brown agate eyes—that it was through certain words of his, musical words

saidwithmusicalutterance,thatDorianGray'ssoulhadturnedtothiswhite

girlandbowedinworshipbeforeher.Toalargeextenttheladwashisown

creation.Hehadmadehimpremature.Thatwassomething.Ordinarypeople

waited till life disclosed to them its secrets, but to the few, to the elect, the

mysteries of life were revealed before the veil was drawn away. Sometimes

this was the effect of art, and chiefly of the art of literature, which dealt

immediatelywiththepassionsandtheintellect.Butnowandthenacomplex

personality took the place and assumed the office of art, was indeed, in its

way, arealworkofart, life having itselaboratemasterpieces,justas poetry

has,orsculpture,orpainting.

Yes,theladwaspremature.Hewasgatheringhisharvestwhileitwasyet

spring.Thepulseandpassionofyouthwereinhim,buthewasbecomingself-

conscious. It was delightful to watch him. With his beautiful face, and his

beautifulsoul,hewasathingtowonderat.Itwasnomatterhowitallended,

orwasdestinedtoend.Hewaslikeoneofthosegraciousfiguresinapageant

or a play, whose joys seem to be remote from one, but whose sorrows stir

one'ssenseofbeauty,andwhosewoundsarelikeredroses.

Soul and body, body and soul—how mysterious they were! There was

animalisminthesoul,andthebodyhaditsmomentsofspirituality.Thesenses

couldrefine,andtheintellectcoulddegrade.Whocouldsaywherethefleshly

impulse ceased, or the psychical impulse began? How shallow were the

arbitrarydefinitionsofordinarypsychologists!Andyethowdifficulttodecide

betweentheclaimsofthevariousschools!Wasthesoulashadowseatedinthe

houseofsin?Orwasthebodyreallyinthesoul,asGiordanoBrunothought?

Theseparationofspiritfrommatterwasamystery,andtheunionofspiritwith

matterwasamysteryalso.

Hebegantowonderwhetherwecouldevermakepsychologysoabsolutea

sciencethat each littlespring oflifewould be revealedtous.As it was,we

alwaysmisunderstoodourselvesandrarelyunderstoodothers.Experiencewas

of no ethical value. It was merely the name men gave to their mistakes.

Moralistshad,asarule,regardeditasamodeofwarning,hadclaimedforita

certain ethical efficacy in the formation of character, had praised it as

something that taught us what to follow and showed us what to avoid. But

therewasnomotivepowerinexperience.Itwasaslittleofanactivecauseas

conscienceitself.Allthatitreallydemonstratedwasthatourfuturewouldbe

thesameasourpast,andthatthesinwehaddoneonce,andwithloathing,we

woulddomanytimes,andwithjoy.

Itwascleartohimthattheexperimentalmethodwastheonlymethodby

whichonecouldarriveatanyscientificanalysisofthepassions;andcertainly

DorianGraywasasubjectmadetohishand,andseemedtopromiserichand

fruitful results. His sudden mad love for Sibyl Vane was a psychological

phenomenonofnosmallinterest.Therewasnodoubtthatcuriosityhadmuch

to do with it, curiosity and the desire for new experiences, yet it was not a

simple,butratheraverycomplexpassion.Whattherewasinitofthepurely

sensuous instinct of boyhood had been transformed by the workings of the

imagination, changed into something that seemed to the lad himself to be

remotefromsense,andwasforthatveryreasonallthemoredangerous.Itwas

thepassions about whoseorigin we deceivedourselvesthat tyrannized most

stronglyover us.Our weakest motiveswerethose of whosenature we were

conscious.Itoftenhappenedthatwhenwethoughtwewereexperimentingon

otherswewerereallyexperimentingonourselves.

WhileLordHenrysatdreamingonthesethings,aknockcametothedoor,

andhisvaletenteredandremindedhimitwastimetodressfordinner.Hegot

upandlookedoutintothestreet.Thesunsethadsmittenintoscarletgoldthe

upperwindowsofthehousesopposite.Thepanesglowedlikeplatesofheated

metal.Theskyabovewaslikeafadedrose.Hethoughtofhisfriend'syoung

fiery-colouredlifeandwonderedhowitwasallgoingtoend.

Whenhearrivedhome,abouthalf-pasttwelveo'clock,hesawatelegram

lyingonthehalltable.HeopeneditandfounditwasfromDorianGray.Itwas

totellhimthathewasengagedtobemarriedtoSibylVane.



CHAPTER5



"Mother,Mother,Iamsohappy!"whisperedthegirl,buryingherfacein

thelapofthefaded,tired-lookingwomanwho,withbackturnedtotheshrill

intrusive light, wassitting in theone arm-chair thattheir dingy sitting-room

contained."Iamsohappy!"sherepeated,"andyoumustbehappy,too!"

Mrs. Vane winced and put her thin, bismuth-whitened hands on her

daughter's head. "Happy!" she echoed, "I am only happy, Sibyl, when I see

youact.Youmustnotthinkofanythingbutyouracting.Mr.Isaacshasbeen

verygoodtous,andweowehimmoney."

The girl looked up and pouted."Money, Mother?" she cried, "what does

moneymatter?Loveismorethanmoney."

"Mr.Isaacshasadvancedusfiftypoundstopayoffourdebtsandtogeta

properoutfitforJames.Youmustnotforgetthat,Sibyl.Fiftypoundsisavery

largesum.Mr.Isaacshasbeenmostconsiderate."

"Heisnotagentleman,Mother,andIhatethewayhetalkstome,"saidthe

girl,risingtoherfeetandgoingovertothewindow.

"I don't know how we could manage without him," answered the elder

womanquerulously.

Sibyl Vane tossed her head and laughed. "We don't want him any more,

Mother. Prince Charming rules life for us now." Then she paused. A rose

shookinherbloodandshadowedhercheeks.Quickbreathpartedthepetalsof

herlips. They trembled. Somesouthernwindof passion sweptoverherand

stirredthedaintyfoldsofherdress."Ilovehim,"shesaidsimply.

"Foolishchild!foolishchild!"wastheparrot-phraseflunginanswer.The

wavingofcrooked,false-jewelledfingersgavegrotesquenesstothewords.

Thegirllaughedagain.Thejoyofacagedbirdwasinhervoice.Hereyes

caught the melody and echoed it in radiance, then closed for a moment, as

thoughtohidetheirsecret.Whentheyopened,themistofadreamhadpassed

acrossthem.

Thin-lippedwisdomspokeatherfromthewornchair,hintedatprudence,

quotedfromthatbookofcowardicewhoseauthorapesthenameofcommon

sense. She did not listen. She was free in her prisonof passion.Her prince,

PrinceCharming,waswithher.Shehadcalledonmemorytoremakehim.She

had sent her soul to search for him, and it had brought him back. His kiss

burnedagainuponhermouth.Hereyelidswerewarmwithhisbreath.

Then wisdom alteredits method andspoke of espialand discovery. This

young man might berich. Ifso, marriageshould be thought of. Against the

shellofherearbrokethewavesofworldlycunning.Thearrowsofcraftshot

byher.Shesawthethinlipsmoving,andsmiled.

Suddenly she felt the need to speak. The wordy silence troubled her.

"Mother,Mother,"shecried,"whydoeshelovemesomuch?IknowwhyI

lovehim.Ilovehimbecauseheislikewhatlovehimselfshouldbe.Butwhat

does he see in me?I am notworthy of him.And yet—why, I cannot tell—

thoughIfeelsomuchbeneathhim,Idon'tfeelhumble.Ifeelproud,terribly

proud.Mother,didyoulovemyfatherasIlovePrinceCharming?"

The elder woman grew pale beneath the coarse powder that daubed her

cheeks,and her drylipstwitched with aspasmof pain. Sybilrushedto her,

flungherarmsroundherneck,andkissedher."Forgiveme,Mother.Iknowit

painsyoutotalkaboutourfather.Butitonlypainsyoubecauseyoulovedhim

somuch.Don'tlook so sad.Iamashappyto-dayas you weretwentyyears

ago.Ah!letmebehappyforever!"

"Mychild,youarefartooyoungtothinkoffallinginlove.Besides,what

doyouknowofthisyoungman?Youdon'tevenknowhisname.Thewhole

thingismostinconvenient,andreally,whenJamesisgoingawaytoAustralia,

andIhavesomuchtothinkof,Imustsaythatyoushouldhaveshownmore

consideration.However,asIsaidbefore,ifheisrich..."

"Ah!Mother,Mother,letmebehappy!"

Mrs. Vane glanced at her, and with one of thosefalse theatricalgestures

thatsooftenbecomeamodeofsecondnaturetoastage-player,claspedherin

herarms.Atthismoment,thedooropenedandayoungladwithroughbrown

hair cameinto the room. He was thick-set of figure, and his hands and feet

werelargeandsomewhatclumsyinmovement.Hewasnotsofinelybredas

hissister. One wouldhardlyhave guessed thecloserelationshipthat existed

betweenthem.Mrs.Vanefixedhereyesonhimandintensifiedhersmile.She

mentallyelevatedhersontothedignityofanaudience.Shefeltsurethatthe

tableauwasinteresting.

"Youmightkeepsomeofyourkissesforme,Sibyl,Ithink,"saidthelad

withagood-naturedgrumble.

"Ah!butyoudon'tlikebeingkissed,Jim,"shecried."Youareadreadful

oldbear."Andsheranacrosstheroomandhuggedhim.

James Vane looked into his sister's face with tenderness. "I want you to

comeoutwithmeforawalk,Sibyl.Idon'tsupposeIshalleverseethishorrid

Londonagain.IamsureIdon'twantto."

"Myson,don'tsaysuchdreadfulthings,"murmuredMrs.Vane,takingup

atawdrytheatricaldress,withasigh,andbeginningtopatchit.Shefeltalittle

disappointed that he had not joined the group. It would have increased the

theatricalpicturesquenessofthesituation.

"Whynot,Mother?Imeanit."

"Youpainme,myson.ItrustyouwillreturnfromAustraliainaposition

ofaffluence.IbelievethereisnosocietyofanykindintheColonies—nothing

that I would call society—so when you have made your fortune, you must

comebackandassertyourselfinLondon."

"Society!"mutteredthe lad. "Idon'twantto know anythingaboutthat.I

shouldliketomakesomemoneytotakeyouandSibyloffthestage.Ihateit."

"Oh, Jim!" saidSibyl,laughing, "how unkindof you! Butare you really

goingforawalkwithme?Thatwillbenice!Iwasafraidyouweregoingto

say good-bye to some of your friends—to Tom Hardy, who gave you that

hideouspipe,orNedLangton,whomakesfunofyouforsmokingit.Itisvery

sweetofyoutoletmehaveyourlastafternoon.Whereshallwego?Letusgo

tothepark."

"I am too shabby," heanswered, frowning."Only swell people go to the

park."

"Nonsense,Jim,"shewhispered,strokingthesleeveofhiscoat.

Hehesitatedforamoment."Verywell,"hesaidatlast,"butdon'tbetoo

longdressing."Shedancedoutofthedoor.Onecouldhearhersingingasshe

ranupstairs.Herlittlefeetpatteredoverhead.

Hewalkedupanddowntheroomtwoorthreetimes.Thenheturnedtothe

stillfigureinthechair."Mother,aremythingsready?"heasked.

"Quite ready, James," she answered, keeping her eyes on her work. For

somemonthspastshehadfeltillateasewhenshewasalonewiththisrough

sternsonofhers.Hershallowsecretnaturewastroubledwhentheireyesmet.

She used to wonder if he suspected anything. The silence, for he made no

otherobservation,becameintolerabletoher.Shebegantocomplain.Women

defend themselves by attacking, just as they attack by sudden and strange

surrenders. "I hopeyou will becontented, James,with your sea-faringlife,"

she said. "You must remember that it is your own choice. You might have

entereda solicitor'soffice.Solicitors are avery respectable class,and in the

countryoftendinewiththebestfamilies."

"I hate offices, and I hate clerks," he replied. "But you are quite right. I

havechosenmyownlife.AllIsayis,watchoverSibyl.Don'tlethercometo

anyharm.Mother,youmustwatchoverher."

"James,youreallytalkverystrangely.OfcourseIwatchoverSibyl."

"I hear agentleman comesevery night tothe theatreand goes behindto

talktoher.Isthatright?Whataboutthat?"

"You are speaking about things you don't understand, James. In the

profession we are accustomed to receive a great deal of most gratifying

attention.Imyselfusedtoreceivemanybouquetsatonetime.Thatwaswhen

actingwasreallyunderstood.AsforSibyl,Idonotknowatpresentwhether

herattachmentisseriousornot.Butthereisnodoubtthattheyoungmanin

questionisaperfectgentleman.Heisalwaysmostpolitetome.Besides,he

hastheappearanceofbeingrich,andtheflowershesendsarelovely."

"Youdon'tknowhisname,though,"saidtheladharshly.

"No,"answeredhismotherwithaplacidexpression in her face. "He has

not yet revealed his real name. I think it is quite romantic of him. He is

probablyamemberofthearistocracy."

JamesVanebithislip."WatchoverSibyl,Mother,"hecried,"watchover

her."

"My son, you distress me very much. Sibyl is always under my special

care.Ofcourse,ifthisgentlemaniswealthy,thereisnoreasonwhysheshould

notcontractanalliancewithhim.Itrustheisoneofthearistocracy.Hehasall

theappearanceofit,Imustsay.ItmightbeamostbrilliantmarriageforSibyl.

They would make a charming couple. His good looks are really quite

remarkable;everybodynoticesthem."

Theladmutteredsomethingtohimselfanddrummedonthewindow-pane

withhiscoarsefingers.Hehadjustturnedroundtosaysomethingwhenthe

dooropenedandSibylranin.

"Howseriousyoubothare!"shecried."Whatisthematter?"

"Nothing,"heanswered."Isupposeonemustbeserioussometimes.Good-

bye, Mother; I will have my dinner at five o'clock. Everything is packed,

exceptmyshirts,soyouneednottrouble."

"Good-bye,myson,"sheansweredwithabowofstrainedstateliness.

Shewasextremelyannoyedatthetonehehadadoptedwithher,andthere

wassomethinginhislookthathadmadeherfeelafraid.

"Kissme,Mother,"saidthegirl.Herflowerlikelipstouchedthewithered

cheekandwarmeditsfrost.

"Mychild!mychild!"criedMrs.Vane,lookinguptotheceilinginsearch

ofanimaginarygallery.

"Come, Sibyl," said her brother impatiently. He hated his mother's

affectations.

Theywentoutintotheflickering,wind-blownsunlightandstrolleddown

thedrearyEustonRoad.Thepassersbyglancedinwonderatthesullenheavy

youth who, in coarse, ill-fitting clothes, was in the company of such a

graceful,refined-lookinggirl.Hewaslikeacommongardenerwalkingwitha

rose.

Jim frowned from time totime whenhe caughtthe inquisitive glance of

somestranger.Hehadthatdislikeofbeingstaredat,whichcomesongeniuses

late in life and never leaves the commonplace. Sibyl, however, was quite

unconscious of the effect she was producing. Her love was trembling in

laughteronherlips.ShewasthinkingofPrinceCharming,and,thatshemight

thinkof him all themore,shedid not talkofhim,but prattled on aboutthe

ship in which Jim was going to sail, about the gold he was certain to find,

aboutthewonderfulheiresswhoselifehewastosavefromthewicked,red-

shirted bushrangers. For he was not to remain a sailor, or a supercargo, or

whateverhewasgoingtobe.Oh,no!Asailor'sexistencewasdreadful.Fancy

beingcoopedupinahorridship,withthehoarse,hump-backedwavestrying

togetin,andablackwindblowingthemastsdownandtearingthesailsinto

longscreamingribands!HewastoleavethevesselatMelbourne,bidapolite

good-byetothecaptain,andgooffatoncetothegold-fields.Beforeaweek

wasoverhewastocomeacrossalargenuggetofpuregold,thelargestnugget

that had ever been discovered, and bring it down to the coast in a waggon

guardedbysixmountedpolicemen.Thebushrangersweretoattackthemthree

times,andbedefeatedwithimmenseslaughter.Or,no.Hewasnottogotothe

gold-fields at all. They were horrid places, where men got intoxicated, and

shot each other in bar-rooms, and used bad language. He was to be a nice

sheep-farmer, and one evening, as he was riding home, he was to see the

beautiful heiress being carried off by a robber on a black horse, and give

chase,andrescueher.Ofcourse,shewouldfallinlovewithhim,andhewith

her, and they would get married, and come home, and live in an immense

house in London. Yes, there were delightful things in store for him. But he

mustbeverygood,andnotlosehistemper,orspendhismoneyfoolishly.She

was only a year older than he was, but she knew so much more of life. He

mustbesure,also,towritetoherbyeverymail,andtosayhisprayerseach

nightbeforehewenttosleep.Godwasverygood,andwouldwatchoverhim.

Shewouldprayforhim,too,andinafewyearshewouldcomebackquiterich

andhappy.

Theladlistenedsulkilytoherandmadenoanswer.Hewasheart-sickat

leavinghome.

Yetitwasnotthisalonethatmadehimgloomyandmorose.Inexperienced

though he was, he had still a strong sense of the danger of Sibyl's position.

Thisyoungdandywhowasmakinglovetohercouldmeanhernogood.He

wasagentleman,andhehatedhimforthat,hatedhimthroughsomecurious

race-instinctforwhichhecouldnotaccount,andwhichforthatreasonwasall

themoredominantwithinhim.Hewasconsciousalsooftheshallownessand

vanityofhismother'snature,andinthatsawinfiniteperilforSibylandSibyl's

happiness. Children begin by loving their parents; as they grow older they

judgethem;sometimestheyforgivethem.

Hismother!Hehadsomethingonhismindtoaskofher,somethingthathe

hadbroodedonformanymonthsofsilence.Achancephrasethathehadheard

at the theatre, a whispered sneer that had reached his ears one night as he

waited at the stage-door, had set loose a train of horrible thoughts. He

remembereditasifithadbeenthelashofahunting-cropacrosshisface.His

browsknittogetherintoawedge-likefurrow,andwithatwitchofpainhebit

hisunderlip.

"YouarenotlisteningtoawordIamsaying,Jim,"criedSibyl,"andIam

makingthemostdelightfulplansforyourfuture.Dosaysomething."

"Whatdoyouwantmetosay?"

"Oh!thatyouwillbeagoodboyandnotforgetus,"sheanswered,smiling

athim.

Heshruggedhisshoulders."YouaremorelikelytoforgetmethanIamto

forgetyou,Sibyl."

Sheflushed."Whatdoyoumean,Jim?"sheasked.

"You have a new friend, I hear. Who is he? Why have you not told me

abouthim?Hemeansyounogood."

"Stop,Jim!"sheexclaimed."Youmustnotsayanythingagainsthim.Ilove

him."

"Why, you don't even know his name," answered the lad. "Who is he? I

havearighttoknow."

"HeiscalledPrinceCharming.Don'tyoulikethename.Oh!yousillyboy!

youshouldneverforgetit.Ifyouonlysawhim,youwouldthinkhimthemost

wonderfulpersonintheworld.Somedayyouwillmeethim—whenyoucome

backfromAustralia.Youwilllikehimsomuch.Everybodylikeshim,andI...

love him. I wish you could come to the theatre to-night. He is going to be

there,andIamtoplayJuliet.Oh!howIshallplayit!Fancy,Jim,tobeinlove

andplayJuliet!Tohavehimsittingthere!Toplayforhisdelight!IamafraidI

may frighten the company, frighten or enthrall them. To be in love is to

surpass one's self. Poor dreadful Mr. Isaacs will be shouting 'genius' to his

loafersatthebar.Hehaspreachedmeasadogma;to-nighthewillannounce

measarevelation. Ifeelit.Anditis all his,hisonly, PrinceCharming,my

wonderful lover, my god of graces. But I am poor beside him. Poor? What

doesthatmatter?Whenpovertycreepsinatthedoor,lovefliesinthroughthe

window. Our proverbs want rewriting. They were made in winter, and it is

summer now; spring-time for me, I think, avery danceof blossoms in blue

skies."

"Heisagentleman,"saidtheladsullenly.

"Aprince!"shecriedmusically."Whatmoredoyouwant?"

"Hewantstoenslaveyou."

"Ishudderatthethoughtofbeingfree."

"Iwantyoutobewareofhim."

"Toseehimistoworshiphim;toknowhimistotrusthim."

"Sibyl,youaremadabouthim."

Shelaughedandtookhisarm."YoudearoldJim,youtalkasifyouwerea

hundred.Somedayyouwillbeinloveyourself.Thenyouwillknowwhatit

is.Don'tlooksosulky.Surelyyoushouldbegladtothinkthat,thoughyouare

goingaway,youleavemehappierthanIhaveeverbeenbefore.Lifehasbeen

hardforusboth,terriblyhardanddifficult.Butitwillbedifferentnow.You

aregoingtoanewworld,andIhavefoundone.Herearetwochairs;letussit

downandseethesmartpeoplegoby."

Theytooktheirseatsamidstacrowdofwatchers.Thetulip-bedsacrossthe

road flamed like throbbing rings of fire. A white dust—tremulous cloud of

orris-rootitseemed—hunginthepantingair.Thebrightlycolouredparasols

dancedanddippedlikemonstrousbutterflies.

Shemade her brother talkofhimself,his hopes, hisprospects.Hespoke

slowlyandwitheffort.Theypassedwordstoeachotherasplayersatagame

pass counters. Sibyl felt oppressed. She could not communicate her joy. A

faint smile curving that sullen mouth was all the echo she could win. After

some time shebecamesilent. Suddenly shecaught a glimpseof golden hair

andlaughinglips,andinanopencarriagewithtwoladiesDorianGraydrove

past.

Shestartedtoherfeet."Thereheis!"shecried.

"Who?"saidJimVane.

"PrinceCharming,"sheanswered,lookingafterthevictoria.

Hejumpedupandseizedherroughlybythearm."Showhimtome.Which

ishe?Pointhimout.Imustseehim!"heexclaimed;butatthatmomentthe

DukeofBerwick'sfour-in-handcamebetween,andwhenithadleftthespace

clear,thecarriagehadsweptoutofthepark.

"Heisgone,"murmuredSibylsadly."Iwishyouhadseenhim."

"IwishIhad,forassureasthereisaGodinheaven,ifheeverdoesyou

anywrong,Ishallkillhim."

Shelookedathiminhorror.Herepeatedhiswords.Theycuttheairlikea

dagger.Thepeopleroundbegantogape.Aladystandingclosetohertittered.

"Comeaway,Jim;comeaway,"shewhispered.Hefollowedherdoggedly

asshepassedthroughthecrowd.Hefeltgladatwhathehadsaid.

WhentheyreachedtheAchillesStatue,sheturnedround.Therewaspity

inhereyesthatbecamelaughteronherlips.Sheshookherheadathim."You

arefoolish,Jim,utterlyfoolish;abad-temperedboy,thatisall.Howcanyou

saysuchhorriblethings?Youdon'tknowwhatyouaretalkingabout.Youare

simply jealous and unkind. Ah! I wish you would fall in love. Love makes

peoplegood,andwhatyousaidwaswicked."

"Iamsixteen,"heanswered,"andIknowwhatIamabout.Motherisno

helptoyou.Shedoesn'tunderstandhowtolookafteryou.IwishnowthatI

wasnotgoingtoAustraliaatall.Ihaveagreatmindtochuckthewholething

up.Iwould,ifmyarticleshadn'tbeensigned."

"Oh,don'tbesoserious,Jim.Youarelikeoneoftheheroesofthosesilly

melodramasMotherusedtobesofondofactingin.Iamnotgoingtoquarrel

withyou.Ihaveseenhim,andoh!toseehimisperfecthappiness.Wewon't

quarrel.IknowyouwouldneverharmanyoneIlove,wouldyou?"

"Notaslongasyoulovehim,Isuppose,"wasthesullenanswer.

"Ishalllovehimforever!"shecried.

"Andhe?"

"Forever,too!"

"Hehadbetter."

Sheshrankfromhim.Thenshelaughedandputherhandonhisarm.He

wasmerelyaboy.

AttheMarbleArchtheyhailedanomnibus,whichleftthemclosetotheir

shabbyhomeintheEustonRoad.Itwasafterfiveo'clock,andSibylhadtolie

downforacoupleofhoursbeforeacting.Jiminsistedthatsheshoulddoso.

Hesaidthathewouldsoonerpartwithherwhentheirmotherwasnotpresent.

Shewouldbesuretomakeascene,andhedetestedscenesofeverykind.

InSybil'sownroomtheyparted.Therewasjealousyinthelad'sheart,and

afiercemurderoushatredofthestrangerwho,asitseemedtohim,hadcome

betweenthem.Yet,whenherarmswereflungroundhisneck,andherfingers

strayedthroughhishair,hesoftenedandkissedherwithrealaffection.There

weretearsinhiseyesashewentdownstairs.

Hismotherwaswaitingforhimbelow.Shegrumbledathisunpunctuality,

asheentered.Hemadenoanswer,butsatdowntohismeagremeal.Theflies

buzzedroundthetableandcrawledoverthestainedcloth.Throughtherumble

ofomnibuses,andtheclatterofstreet-cabs,he could hear the droning voice

devouringeachminutethatwaslefttohim.

Aftersometime,hethrustawayhisplateandputhisheadinhishands.He

feltthathehadaright toknow. Itshouldhavebeen toldtohimbefore,ifit

was as he suspected. Leaden with fear, his mother watched him. Words

droppedmechanicallyfromherlips.Atatteredlacehandkerchieftwitchedin

herfingers.Whentheclockstrucksix,hegotupandwenttothedoor.Thenhe

turnedbackandlookedather.Theireyesmet.Inhershesawawildappealfor

mercy.Itenragedhim.

"Mother, I have something to ask you," he said. Her eyes wandered

vaguelyabouttheroom.Shemadenoanswer."Tellmethetruth.Ihavearight

toknow.Wereyoumarriedtomyfather?"

Sheheavedadeep sigh. Itwasasighofrelief.Theterriblemoment,the

momentthatnightandday,forweeksandmonths,shehaddreaded,hadcome

at last, and yet she felt no terror. Indeed, in some measure it was a

disappointmenttoher.Thevulgardirectnessofthequestioncalledforadirect

answer. The situation had not been gradually led up to. It was crude. It

remindedherofabadrehearsal.

"No,"sheanswered,wonderingattheharshsimplicityoflife.

"Myfatherwasascoundrelthen!"criedthelad,clenchinghisfists.

She shook her head. "I knew he was not free. We loved each other very

much. If he had lived, he would have made provision for us. Don't speak

against him, my son. He was your father, and a gentleman. Indeed, he was

highlyconnected."

Anoathbrokefromhislips."Idon'tcareformyself,"heexclaimed,"but

don'tletSibyl....Itisagentleman,isn'tit,whoisinlovewithher,orsayshe

is?Highlyconnected,too,Isuppose."

Foramomentahideoussenseofhumiliationcameoverthewoman.Her

headdrooped.Shewipedhereyeswithshakinghands."Sibylhasamother,"

shemurmured;"Ihadnone."

Theladwastouched.Hewenttowardsher,andstoopingdown,hekissed

her."IamsorryifIhavepainedyoubyaskingaboutmyfather,"hesaid,"but

Icouldnothelpit.Imustgonow.Good-bye.Don'tforgetthatyouwillhave

onlyonechildnowtolookafter,andbelievemethatifthismanwrongsmy

sister, I will find out who he is, track him down, and kill him like a dog. I

swearit."

The exaggerated folly of the threat, the passionate gesture that

accompaniedit,themadmelodramaticwords,made life seem more vivid to

her.Shewasfamiliarwiththeatmosphere.Shebreathedmorefreely,andfor

the first time for many months she really admired her son. She would have

likedtohavecontinuedthesceneonthesameemotionalscale,buthecuther

short. Trunks had to be carried down and mufflers looked for. The lodging-

housedrudgebustledinandout.Therewasthebargainingwiththecabman.

The moment was lost in vulgar details. It was with a renewed feeling of

disappointment that she waved the tattered lace handkerchief from the

window, as herson drove away. She was conscious thata great opportunity

hadbeenwasted.SheconsoledherselfbytellingSibylhowdesolateshefelt

her life would be, now that she had only one child to look after. She

rememberedthe phrase.Ithadpleasedher.Ofthethreatshesaidnothing.It

wasvividlyanddramaticallyexpressed.Shefeltthattheywouldalllaughatit

someday.



CHAPTER6



"Isupposeyouhaveheardthenews,Basil?"saidLordHenrythatevening

asHallwardwasshownintoalittleprivateroomattheBristolwheredinner

hadbeenlaidforthree.

"No, Harry," answered the artist, giving his hat and coat to the bowing

waiter. "What is it? Nothing about politics, I hope! They don't interest me.

There is hardly a single person in the House of Commons worth painting,

thoughmanyofthemwouldbethebetterforalittlewhitewashing."

"DorianGrayisengagedtobemarried,"saidLordHenry,watchinghimas

hespoke.

Hallward started and then frowned. "Dorian engaged to be married!" he

cried."Impossible!"

"Itisperfectlytrue."

"Towhom?"

"Tosomelittleactressorother."

"Ican'tbelieveit.Dorianisfartoosensible."

"Dorian is far too wise not to do foolish things now and then, my dear

Basil."

"Marriageishardlyathingthatonecandonowandthen,Harry."

"ExceptinAmerica,"rejoinedLordHenrylanguidly."ButIdidn'tsayhe

wasmarried.Isaidhewasengagedtobemarried.Thereisagreatdifference.I

haveadistinctremembranceofbeingmarried,butIhavenorecollectionatall

ofbeingengaged.IaminclinedtothinkthatIneverwasengaged."

"ButthinkofDorian'sbirth,andposition,andwealth.Itwouldbeabsurd

forhimtomarrysomuchbeneathhim."

"Ifyouwanttomakehimmarrythisgirl,tellhimthat,Basil.Heissureto

doit,then.Wheneveramandoesathoroughlystupidthing,itisalwaysfrom

thenoblestmotives."

"Ihopethegirlisgood,Harry.Idon'twanttoseeDoriantiedtosomevile

creature,whomightdegradehisnatureandruinhisintellect."

"Oh, she is better than good—she is beautiful," murmured Lord Henry,

sippingaglassofvermouthandorange-bitters."Doriansayssheisbeautiful,

andheisnotoftenwrongaboutthingsofthatkind.Yourportraitofhimhas

quickenedhisappreciationofthepersonalappearanceofotherpeople.Ithas

hadthatexcellenteffect,amongstothers.Wearetoseeherto-night,ifthatboy

doesn'tforgethisappointment."

"Areyouserious?"

"Quiteserious,Basil.IshouldbemiserableifIthoughtIshouldever be

moreseriousthanIamatthepresentmoment."

"Butdoyouapproveofit,Harry?"askedthepainter,walkingupanddown

theroomandbitinghislip."Youcan'tapproveofit,possibly.Itissomesilly

infatuation."

"Ineverapprove,ordisapprove,ofanythingnow.Itisanabsurdattitudeto

taketowardslife.Wearenotsentintotheworldtoairourmoralprejudices.I

nevertakeanynoticeofwhatcommonpeoplesay,andIneverinterferewith

what charming people do. If a personality fascinates me, whatever mode of

expressionthatpersonalityselectsisabsolutelydelightfultome.DorianGray

fallsinlovewithabeautifulgirlwhoactsJuliet,andproposestomarryher.

Whynot?IfheweddedMessalina,hewouldbenonethelessinteresting.You

knowIamnotachampionofmarriage.Therealdrawbacktomarriageisthat

it makes one unselfish. And unselfish people are colourless. They lack

individuality.Still,therearecertaintemperamentsthatmarriagemakesmore

complex.Theyretaintheiregotism,andaddtoitmanyotheregos.Theyare

forcedtohavemorethanonelife.Theybecomemorehighlyorganized,andto

behighlyorganizedis,Ishouldfancy,theobjectofman'sexistence.Besides,

everyexperienceisofvalue,andwhateveronemaysayagainstmarriage,itis

certainlyanexperience.IhopethatDorianGraywillmakethisgirlhiswife,

passionately adore herfor sixmonths, and then suddenly become fascinated

bysomeoneelse.Hewouldbeawonderfulstudy."

"Youdon'tmeanasinglewordofallthat,Harry;youknowyoudon't.If

DorianGray'slifewerespoiled,noonewouldbesorrierthanyourself.Youare

muchbetterthanyoupretendtobe."

LordHenrylaughed."Thereasonweallliketothinksowellofothersis

thatweareallafraidforourselves.Thebasisofoptimismissheerterror.We

think that we are generous because we credit our neighbour with the

possessionofthosevirtuesthatarelikelytobeabenefittous.Wepraisethe

banker that we may overdraw our account, and find good qualities in the

highwaymaninthehopethathemayspareourpockets.Imeaneverythingthat

Ihavesaid.Ihavethegreatestcontemptforoptimism.Asforaspoiledlife,no

lifeisspoiledbutonewhosegrowthisarrested.Ifyouwanttomaranature,

youhavemerelytoreformit.Asformarriage,ofcoursethatwouldbesilly,

butthereareotherandmoreinterestingbondsbetweenmenandwomen.Iwill

certainlyencouragethem.Theyhavethecharmofbeingfashionable.Buthere

isDorianhimself.HewilltellyoumorethanIcan."

"MydearHarry,mydearBasil,youmustbothcongratulateme!"saidthe

lad,throwingoffhiseveningcapewithitssatin-linedwingsandshakingeach

ofhisfriendsbythehandinturn."Ihaveneverbeensohappy.Ofcourse,itis

sudden—allreallydelightfulthingsare.Andyetitseemstometobetheone

thingIhavebeenlookingforallmylife."Hewasflushedwithexcitementand

pleasure,andlookedextraordinarilyhandsome.

"Ihopeyouwillalwaysbeveryhappy,Dorian,"saidHallward,"butIdon't

quite forgive you for not having let me know of your engagement. You let

Harryknow."

"AndIdon'tforgiveyouforbeinglatefordinner," brokeinLordHenry,

puttinghishandonthelad'sshoulderandsmilingashespoke."Come,letus

sitdownandtrywhatthenewchefhereislike,andthenyouwilltellushowit

allcameabout."

"Thereisreallynotmuchtotell,"criedDorianastheytooktheirseatsat

the small round table. "What happened was simply this. After I left you

yesterday evening, Harry, I dressed, had some dinner at that little Italian

restaurant in Rupert Street you introduced me to, and went down at eight

o'clocktothetheatre.SibylwasplayingRosalind.Ofcourse,thescenerywas

dreadfulandtheOrlandoabsurd.ButSibyl!Youshouldhaveseenher!When

she came on in her boy's clothes, she was perfectly wonderful. She wore a

moss-coloured velvet jerkin with cinnamon sleeves, slim, brown, cross-

garteredhose,adaintylittlegreencapwithahawk'sfeathercaughtinajewel,

and a hooded cloak lined with dull red. She had never seemed to me more

exquisite.ShehadallthedelicategraceofthatTanagrafigurinethatyouhave

inyourstudio,Basil.Herhairclusteredroundherfacelikedarkleavesrounda

palerose.Asforheracting—well,youshallseeherto-night.Sheissimplya

bornartist.Isatinthedingyboxabsolutelyenthralled.IforgotthatIwasin

Londonandinthenineteenthcentury.Iwasawaywithmyloveinaforestthat

no man had ever seen. After the performance was over, I went behind and

spoketoher.Asweweresittingtogether,suddenlytherecameintohereyesa

look that I had never seen there before. My lips moved towards hers. We

kissedeachother.Ican'tdescribetoyouwhatIfeltatthatmoment.Itseemed

tomethatallmylifehadbeennarrowedtooneperfectpointofrose-coloured

joy. She trembled all over and shook like a white narcissus. Then she flung

herselfonherkneesandkissedmyhands.IfeelthatIshouldnottellyouall

this,butIcan'thelpit.Ofcourse,ourengagementisadeadsecret.Shehasnot

even told her own mother. I don't know what my guardians will say. Lord

Radleyissuretobefurious.Idon'tcare.Ishallbeofageinlessthanayear,

andthenIcandowhatIlike.Ihavebeenright,Basil,haven'tI,totakemy

love out of poetry and to find my wife in Shakespeare's plays? Lips that

Shakespearetaughttospeakhavewhisperedtheirsecretinmyear.Ihavehad

thearmsofRosalindaroundme,andkissedJulietonthemouth."

"Yes,Dorian,Isupposeyouwereright,"saidHallwardslowly.

"Haveyouseenherto-day?"askedLordHenry.

DorianGrayshookhishead."IleftherintheforestofArden;Ishallfind

herinanorchardinVerona."

Lord Henry sipped his champagne in a meditative manner. "At what

particularpointdidyoumentionthewordmarriage,Dorian?Andwhatdidshe

sayinanswer?Perhapsyouforgotallaboutit."

"MydearHarry,Ididnottreatit asabusinesstransaction,andIdid not

makeanyformalproposal.ItoldherthatIlovedher,andshesaidshewasnot

worthy to be my wife. Not worthy! Why, thewhole worldis nothingto me

comparedwithher."

"Women are wonderfully practical," murmured Lord Henry, "much more

practicalthanweare.Insituationsofthatkindweoftenforgettosayanything

aboutmarriage,andtheyalwaysremindus."

Hallward laid his hand upon his arm. "Don't, Harry. You have annoyed

Dorian.Heisnotlikeothermen.Hewouldneverbringmiseryuponanyone.

Hisnatureistoofineforthat."

LordHenrylookedacrossthetable."Dorianisneverannoyedwithme,"he

answered. "I asked the question for the best reason possible, for the only

reason,indeed,thatexcusesoneforaskinganyquestion—simplecuriosity.I

haveatheorythatitisalwaysthewomenwhoproposetous,andnotwewho

propose to the women. Except, of course, in middle-class life. But then the

middleclassesarenotmodern."

Dorian Gray laughed, and tossed his head. "You are quite incorrigible,

Harry;butIdon'tmind.Itisimpossibletobeangrywithyou.Whenyousee

SibylVane,youwillfeelthatthemanwhocouldwrongherwouldbeabeast,

abeastwithoutaheart.Icannotunderstandhowanyonecanwishtoshame

thethingheloves.IloveSibylVane.Iwanttoplaceheronapedestalofgold

andtoseetheworldworshipthewomanwhoismine.Whatismarriage?An

irrevocablevow.Youmockatitforthat.Ah!don'tmock.Itisanirrevocable

vow that I want to take. Her trust makes me faithful, her belief makes me

good. When I am with her, I regret all that you have taught me. I become

differentfrom whatyou have knownme to be.I amchanged, and themere

touch of Sibyl Vane's hand makes me forget you and all your wrong,

fascinating,poisonous,delightfultheories."

"Andthoseare...?"askedLordHenry,helpinghimselftosomesalad.

"Oh,yourtheoriesaboutlife,yourtheoriesaboutlove,yourtheoriesabout

pleasure.Allyourtheories,infact,Harry."

"Pleasureistheonly thing worthhavingatheoryabout,"heansweredin

hisslowmelodious voice. "But Iam afraidIcannotclaimmytheory as my

own. It belongs to Nature, not to me. Pleasure is Nature's test, her sign of

approval.Whenwearehappy,wearealwaysgood,butwhenwearegood,we

arenotalwayshappy."

"Ah!butwhatdoyoumeanbygood?"criedBasilHallward.

"Yes,"echoedDorian,leaningbackinhischairandlookingatLordHenry

overtheheavyclustersofpurple-lippedirisesthatstoodinthecentreofthe

table,"whatdoyoumeanbygood,Harry?"

"Tobegoodistobeinharmonywithone'sself,"hereplied,touchingthe

thin stem of his glass with his pale, fine-pointed fingers. "Discord is to be

forced to be in harmony with others. One's own life—that is the important

thing. As for the lives of one's neighbours, if one wishes to be a prig or a

Puritan,onecanflaunt one's moralviewsaboutthem,buttheyare not one's

concern. Besides, individualism has really the higher aim. Modern morality

consistsinacceptingthestandardofone'sage.Iconsiderthatforanymanof

culturetoacceptthestandardofhisageisaformofthegrossestimmorality."

"But,surely, if onelivesmerely for one'sself,Harry, one paysaterrible

pricefordoingso?"suggestedthepainter.

"Yes,weareoverchargedforeverythingnowadays.Ishouldfancythatthe

real tragedy of the poor is that they can afford nothing but self-denial.

Beautifulsins,likebeautifulthings,aretheprivilegeoftherich."

"Onehastopayinotherwaysbutmoney."

"Whatsortofways,Basil?"

"Oh! I should fancy in remorse, in suffering, in ... well, in the

consciousnessofdegradation."

Lord Henry shrugged his shoulders. "My dear fellow, mediaeval art is

charming,butmediaevalemotionsareoutofdate.Onecanusetheminfiction,

ofcourse.Butthentheonlythingsthatonecanuseinfictionarethethings

thatonehasceasedtouseinfact.Believeme,nocivilizedmaneverregretsa

pleasure,andnouncivilizedmaneverknowswhatapleasureis."

"Iknowwhatpleasureis,"criedDorianGray."Itistoadoresomeone."

"Thatiscertainlybetterthanbeingadored,"heanswered,toyingwithsome

fruits."Beingadoredisanuisance.Womentreatusjustashumanitytreatsits

gods. They worship us, and are always bothering us to do something for

them."

"Ishouldhavesaidthatwhatevertheyaskfortheyhadfirstgiventous,"

murmuredtheladgravely."Theycreateloveinournatures.Theyhavearight

todemanditback."

"Thatisquitetrue,Dorian,"criedHallward.

"Nothingiseverquitetrue,"saidLordHenry.

"Thisis,"interruptedDorian."Youmustadmit,Harry,thatwomengiveto

mentheverygoldoftheirlives."

"Possibly,"hesighed,"buttheyinvariablywantitbackinsuchverysmall

change. That is the worry. Women, as some witty Frenchman once put it,

inspire us with the desire to do masterpieces and always prevent us from

carryingthemout."

"Harry,youaredreadful!Idon'tknowwhyIlikeyousomuch."

"Youwillalwayslikeme,Dorian,"hereplied."Willyouhavesomecoffee,

youfellows?Waiter, bring coffee,andfine-champagne,and some cigarettes.

No,don'tmindthecigarettes—Ihavesome.Basil,Ican'tallowyoutosmoke

cigars.Youmusthaveacigarette.Acigaretteistheperfecttypeofaperfect

pleasure. It is exquisite, and it leaves one unsatisfied. What more can one

want?Yes,Dorian,youwillalwaysbefondofme.Irepresenttoyouallthe

sinsyouhaveneverhadthecouragetocommit."

"Whatnonsenseyoutalk,Harry!"criedthelad,takingalightfromafire-

breathing silver dragon that the waiter had placed on the table. "Let us go

downtothetheatre.WhenSibylcomesonthestageyouwillhaveanewideal

oflife.Shewillrepresentsomethingtoyouthatyouhaveneverknown."

"Ihaveknowneverything,"saidLordHenry,withatiredlookinhiseyes,

"butIamalwaysreadyforanewemotion.Iamafraid,however,that,forme

atanyrate,thereisnosuchthing.Still,yourwonderfulgirlmaythrillme.I

loveacting.Itissomuchmorerealthanlife.Letusgo.Dorian,youwillcome

withme.Iamsosorry,Basil,butthereisonlyroomfortwointhebrougham.

Youmustfollowusinahansom."

They got up and put on their coats, sipping their coffee standing. The

painterwassilentandpreoccupied.Therewasagloomoverhim.Hecouldnot

bear this marriage, and yet it seemed to him to be better than many other

things that might have happened. After a few minutes, they all passed

downstairs.Hedroveoff by himself,ashadbeenarranged,andwatchedthe

flashinglightsofthelittlebroughaminfrontofhim.Astrangesenseofloss

cameoverhim.HefeltthatDorianGraywouldneveragainbetohimallthat

hehad beeninthe past. Lifehadcome between them....His eyes darkened,

andthecrowdedflaringstreetsbecameblurredtohiseyes.Whenthecabdrew

upatthetheatre,itseemedtohimthathehadgrownyearsolder.



CHAPTER7



For some reason or other, the housewas crowded thatnight, and thefat

Jewmanagerwhometthematthedoorwasbeamingfromeartoearwithan

oily tremulous smile.He escorted themto theirbox with a sort ofpompous

humility, waving his fat jewelled hands and talking at the top of his voice.

DorianGrayloathedhimmorethanever.Hefeltasifhehadcometolookfor

Miranda and had been met by Caliban. Lord Henry, upon the other hand,

ratherlikedhim.Atleasthedeclaredhedid,andinsistedonshakinghimby

the hand and assuring him that he was proud to meet a man who had

discovered a real genius and gone bankrupt over a poet. Hallward amused

himselfwithwatchingthefacesinthepit.The heat was terribly oppressive,

and the huge sunlight flamed like a monstrous dahlia with petals of yellow

fire. The youths in the gallery had taken off their coats and waistcoats and

hung them over the side. They talked to each other across the theatre and

sharedtheirorangeswiththetawdrygirlswhosatbesidethem.Somewomen

werelaughinginthepit.Theirvoiceswerehorriblyshrillanddiscordant.The

soundofthepoppingofcorkscamefromthebar.

"Whataplacetofindone'sdivinityin!"saidLordHenry.

"Yes!"answeredDorianGray."ItwashereIfoundher,andsheisdivine

beyond all living things. When she acts, you will forget everything. These

common rough people, with their coarse faces and brutal gestures, become

quitedifferentwhensheisonthestage.Theysitsilentlyandwatchher.They

weepandlaughasshewillsthemtodo.She makesthemasresponsiveasa

violin.Shespiritualizesthem,andonefeelsthattheyareofthesamefleshand

bloodasone'sself."

"Thesamefleshandbloodasone'sself!Oh,Ihopenot!"exclaimedLord

Henry,whowasscanningtheoccupantsofthegallerythroughhisopera-glass.

"Don't pay any attention to him, Dorian," said the painter. "I understand

what you mean, and I believe in this girl. Any one you love must be

marvellous, and any girl who has the effect you describe must be fine and

noble.Tospiritualizeone'sage—thatissomethingworthdoing.Ifthisgirlcan

giveasoultothosewhohavelivedwithoutone,ifshecancreatethesenseof

beautyinpeoplewhoseliveshavebeensordidandugly,ifshecanstripthem

oftheirselfishnessandlendthemtearsforsorrowsthatarenottheirown,she

is worthy of all your adoration, worthy of the adoration of the world. This

marriageisquiteright.Ididnotthinksoatfirst,butIadmititnow.Thegods

madeSibylVaneforyou.Withoutheryouwouldhavebeenincomplete."

"Thanks, Basil," answered Dorian Gray, pressing his hand. "I knew that

youwouldunderstandme.Harryissocynical,heterrifiesme.Buthereisthe

orchestra.Itisquitedreadful,butitonlylastsforaboutfiveminutes.Thenthe

curtainrises,andyouwillseethegirltowhomIamgoingtogiveallmylife,

towhomIhavegiveneverythingthatisgoodinme."

A quarter of an hour afterwards, amidst an extraordinary turmoil of

applause,SibylVanesteppedontothestage.Yes,shewascertainlylovelyto

lookat—oneoftheloveliestcreatures,LordHenrythought,thathehadever

seen.Therewassomethingofthefawninhershygraceandstartledeyes.A

faintblush,liketheshadowofaroseinamirrorofsilver,cametohercheeks

as she glanced at the crowded enthusiastic house. She stepped back a few

paces and her lipsseemed totremble. BasilHallward leapedto hisfeet and

begantoapplaud.Motionless,andasoneinadream,satDorianGray,gazing

at her. Lord Henry peered through his glasses, murmuring, "Charming!

charming!"

The scene was the hall of Capulet's house, and Romeo in his pilgrim's

dress had entered with Mercutio and his other friends. The band, such as it

was,struckupafewbarsofmusic,andthedancebegan.Throughthecrowd

ofungainly,shabbilydressedactors,SibylVanemovedlikeacreaturefroma

finerworld.Herbodyswayed,whileshedanced,asaplantswaysinthewater.

Thecurvesofherthroatwerethecurvesofawhitelily.Herhandsseemedto

bemadeofcoolivory.

Yet shewascuriouslylistless.She showed no signofjoywhen her eyes

restedonRomeo.Thefewwordsshehadtospeak—

Goodpilgrim,youdowrongyourhandtoomuch,

Whichmannerlydevotionshowsinthis;

Forsaintshavehandsthatpilgrims'handsdotouch,

Andpalmtopalmisholypalmers'kiss—

withthebriefdialoguethatfollows,werespokeninathoroughlyartificial

manner. The voice was exquisite, but from the point of view of tone it was

absolutely false. It was wrong in colour. It took away all the life from the

verse.Itmadethepassionunreal.

Dorian Gray grew pale as he watched her. He was puzzled and anxious.

Neitherofhisfriendsdaredtosayanythingtohim.Sheseemedtothemtobe

absolutelyincompetent.Theywerehorriblydisappointed.

Yet they felt that the true test of any Juliet is the balcony scene of the

secondact.Theywaitedforthat.Ifshefailedthere,therewasnothinginher.

Shelookedcharmingasshecameoutinthemoonlight.Thatcouldnotbe

denied.Butthestaginessofheractingwasunbearable,andgrewworseasshe

went on. Her gestures became absurdly artificial. She overemphasized

everythingthatshehadtosay.Thebeautifulpassage—

Thouknowestthemaskofnightisonmyface,

Elsewouldamaidenblushbepaintmycheek

Forthatwhichthouhastheardmespeakto-night—

was declaimed with the painful precision of a schoolgirl who has been

taughttorecitebysomesecond-rateprofessorofelocution.Whensheleaned

overthebalconyandcametothosewonderfullines—

AlthoughIjoyinthee,

Ihavenojoyofthiscontractto-night:

Itistoorash,toounadvised,toosudden;

Toolikethelightning,whichdothceasetobe

Ereonecansay,"Itlightens."Sweet,good-night!

Thisbudoflovebysummer'sripeningbreath

Mayproveabeauteousflowerwhennextwemeet—

shespokethewordsasthoughtheyconveyednomeaningtoher.Itwasnot

nervousness. Indeed, so far from being nervous, she was absolutely self-

contained.Itwassimplybadart.Shewasacompletefailure.

Even the common uneducated audience of the pit and gallery lost their

interestintheplay.Theygotrestless,andbegantotalkloudlyandtowhistle.

TheJewmanager,whowasstandingatthebackofthedress-circle,stamped

andsworewithrage.Theonlypersonunmovedwasthegirlherself.

When the second act was over, there came a storm of hisses, and Lord

Henry got up from his chair and put on his coat. "She is quite beautiful,

Dorian,"hesaid,"butshecan'tact.Letusgo."

"I am going to see the play through," answered the lad, in a hard bitter

voice. "I am awfully sorry that I have madeyou wastean evening,Harry. I

apologizetoyouboth."

"MydearDorian,IshouldthinkMissVanewasill,"interruptedHallward.

"Wewillcomesomeothernight."

"I wish she were ill," he rejoined. "But she seems to me to be simply

callous and cold. She has entirely altered. Last night she was a great artist.

Thiseveningsheismerelyacommonplacemediocreactress."

"Don't talk like that about any one you love, Dorian. Love is a more

wonderfulthingthanart."

"Theyarebothsimplyformsofimitation,"remarkedLordHenry."Butdo

letusgo.Dorian,youmustnotstayhereanylonger.Itisnotgoodforone's

moralstoseebadacting.Besides,Idon'tsupposeyouwillwantyourwifeto

act,sowhatdoesitmatterifsheplaysJulietlikeawoodendoll?Sheisvery

lovely,andifsheknowsaslittleaboutlifeasshedoesaboutacting,shewill

beadelightfulexperience.Thereareonlytwokindsofpeoplewhoarereally

fascinating—peoplewhoknow absolutely everything,andpeoplewho know

absolutely nothing. Good heavens, my dear boy, don't look so tragic! The

secret of remaining young is never to have an emotion that is unbecoming.

CometotheclubwithBasilandmyself.Wewillsmokecigarettesanddrinkto

thebeautyofSibylVane.Sheisbeautiful.Whatmorecanyouwant?"

"Goaway,Harry,"criedthelad."Iwanttobealone.Basil,youmustgo.

Ah!can'tyouseethatmyheartisbreaking?"Thehottearscametohiseyes.

Hislipstrembled,andrushingtothebackofthebox,heleanedupagainstthe

wall,hidinghisfaceinhishands.

"Letusgo,Basil,"saidLordHenrywithastrangetendernessinhisvoice,

andthetwoyoungmenpassedouttogether.

Afewmomentsafterwardsthefootlightsflaredupandthecurtainroseon

thethirdact.DorianGraywentbacktohisseat.Helookedpale,andproud,

and indifferent. The play dragged on, and seemed interminable. Half of the

audience went out, tramping in heavy boots and laughing. The whole thing

was a fiasco. Thelast actwas playedto almostempty benches. The curtain

wentdownonatitterandsomegroans.

As soon as it was over, Dorian Gray rushed behind the scenes into the

greenroom.Thegirlwasstandingtherealone,withalookoftriumphonher

face.Hereyeswerelitwithanexquisitefire.Therewasaradianceabouther.

Herpartedlipsweresmilingoversomesecretoftheirown.

Whenheentered,shelookedathim,andanexpressionofinfinitejoycame

overher."HowbadlyIactedto-night,Dorian!"shecried.

"Horribly!" he answered, gazing at her in amazement. "Horribly! It was

dreadful.Areyouill?Youhavenoideawhatitwas.YouhavenoideawhatI

suffered."

The girl smiled. "Dorian," she answered, lingering over his name with

long-drawnmusicinhervoice,asthoughitweresweeterthanhoneytothered

petalsofhermouth."Dorian,youshouldhaveunderstood.Butyouunderstand

now,don'tyou?"

"Understandwhat?"heasked,angrily.

"WhyIwassobadto-night.WhyIshallalwaysbebad.WhyIshallnever

actwellagain."

Heshruggedhisshoulders."Youareill,Isuppose.Whenyouareillyou

shouldn't act. You make yourself ridiculous. My friends were bored. I was

bored."

Sheseemednottolistentohim.Shewastransfiguredwithjoy.Anecstasy

ofhappinessdominatedher.

"Dorian,Dorian,"shecried,"beforeIknewyou,actingwastheonereality

ofmylife.ItwasonlyinthetheatrethatIlived.Ithoughtthatitwasalltrue.I

wasRosalindonenightandPortiatheother.ThejoyofBeatricewasmyjoy,

and the sorrows of Cordelia were mine also. I believed in everything. The

commonpeoplewhoactedwithmeseemedtometobegodlike.Thepainted

scenesweremyworld.Iknewnothingbutshadows,andIthoughtthemreal.

Youcame—oh,mybeautifullove!—andyoufreedmysoulfromprison.You

taughtmewhatrealityreallyis.To-night,forthefirsttimeinmylife,Isaw

throughthehollowness,thesham,thesillinessoftheemptypageantinwhichI

had always played. To-night, for the first time, I became conscious that the

Romeowashideous,andold,and painted, that the moonlight in the orchard

wasfalse,thatthescenerywasvulgar,andthatthewordsIhadtospeakwere

unreal,werenotmywords,werenotwhatIwantedtosay.Youhadbrought

mesomethinghigher,somethingofwhichallartisbutareflection.Youhad

mademeunderstandwhatlovereallyis.Mylove!Mylove!PrinceCharming!

Princeoflife!Ihavegrownsickofshadows.Youaremoretomethanallart

caneverbe.WhathaveItodowiththepuppetsofaplay?WhenIcameonto-

night,Icouldnotunderstandhowitwasthateverythinghadgonefromme.I

thought that I was going to be wonderful. I found that I could do nothing.

Suddenly it dawned on my soul what it all meant. The knowledge was

exquisitetome.Iheardthemhissing,andIsmiled.Whatcouldtheyknowof

lovesuchasours?Takemeaway,Dorian—takemeawaywithyou,wherewe

canbequitealone.Ihatethestage.ImightmimicapassionthatIdonotfeel,

but I cannot mimic one that burns me like fire. Oh, Dorian, Dorian, you

understandnowwhatitsignifies?EvenifIcoulddoit,itwouldbeprofanation

formetoplayatbeinginlove.Youhavemademeseethat."

Heflung himself down onthesofaandturned away hisface."You have

killedmylove,"hemuttered.

Shelookedathiminwonderandlaughed.Hemadenoanswer.Shecame

acrosstohim,andwithherlittlefingersstrokedhishair.Shekneltdownand

pressedhishandstoherlips.Hedrewthemaway,andashudderranthrough

him.

Thenheleapedupandwenttothedoor."Yes,"hecried,"youhavekilled

my love. You used to stir my imagination. Now you don't even stir my

curiosity. You simply produce no effect. I loved you because you were

marvellous, because you had genius and intellect, because you realized the

dreamsofgreatpoetsandgaveshapeandsubstancetotheshadowsofart.You

havethrownitallaway.Youareshallowandstupid.MyGod!howmadIwas

toloveyou!WhatafoolIhavebeen!Youarenothingtomenow.Iwillnever

seeyouagain.Iwillneverthinkofyou.Iwillnevermentionyourname.You

don'tknowwhatyouweretome,once.Why,once...Oh,Ican'tbeartothink

ofit!IwishIhadneverlaideyesuponyou!Youhavespoiledtheromanceof

mylife.Howlittleyoucanknowoflove,ifyousayitmarsyourart!Without

your art, you are nothing. I would have made you famous, splendid,

magnificent. The world would have worshipped you, and you would have

bornemyname.Whatareyounow?Athird-rateactresswithaprettyface."

Thegirlgrewwhite,and trembled. She clenched her hands together, and

her voice seemed to catch in her throat. "You are not serious, Dorian?" she

murmured."Youareacting."

"Acting!Ileavethattoyou.Youdoitsowell,"heansweredbitterly.

Sherosefromherkneesand,withapiteousexpressionofpaininherface,

cameacrosstheroomtohim.Sheputherhanduponhisarmandlookedinto

hiseyes.Hethrustherback."Don'ttouchme!"hecried.

Alowmoanbrokefromher,andsheflungherselfathisfeetandlaythere

likeatrampledflower."Dorian,Dorian,don'tleaveme!"shewhispered."Iam

sosorryIdidn'tactwell.Iwasthinkingofyouallthetime.ButIwilltry—

indeed,Iwilltry.Itcamesosuddenlyacross me,myloveforyou.Ithink I

shouldneverhaveknownitifyouhadnotkissedme—ifwehadnotkissed

eachother.Kissmeagain,mylove.Don'tgoawayfromme.Icouldn'tbearit.

Oh!don'tgoawayfromme.Mybrother...No;nevermind.Hedidn'tmeanit.

Hewasinjest....Butyou,oh!can'tyouforgivemeforto-night?Iwillworkso

hardandtrytoimprove.Don'tbecrueltome,becauseIloveyoubetterthan

anythingintheworld.Afterall,itisonlyoncethatIhavenotpleasedyou.But

youarequiteright,Dorian.Ishouldhaveshownmyselfmoreofanartist.It

wasfoolishofme,andyetIcouldn'thelpit.Oh,don'tleaveme,don'tleave

me."Afitofpassionatesobbingchokedher.Shecrouchedonthefloorlikea

woundedthing,andDorianGray,withhisbeautifuleyes,lookeddownather,

andhis chiselled lipscurledinexquisite disdain. Thereisalways something

ridiculousabouttheemotionsofpeoplewhomonehasceasedtolove.Sibyl

Vaneseemedtohimtobeabsurdlymelodramatic.Hertearsandsobsannoyed

him.

"I am going," he said at last in his calm clear voice. "I don't wish to be

unkind,butIcan'tseeyouagain.Youhavedisappointedme."

Shewept silently,and made noanswer, butcreptnearer. Her little hands

stretched blindly out, and appeared to be seeking for him. He turned on his

heelandlefttheroom.Inafewmomentshewasoutofthetheatre.

Where he went to he hardly knew. He remembered wandering through

dimly lit streets, past gaunt, black-shadowed archways and evil-looking

houses. Women with hoarse voices and harsh laughter had called after him.

Drunkardshadreeledby,cursingandchatteringtothemselveslikemonstrous

apes. He had seen grotesque children huddled upon door-steps, and heard

shrieksandoathsfromgloomycourts.

Asthedawnwasjustbreaking,hefoundhimselfclosetoCoventGarden.

Thedarknesslifted,and,flushedwithfaintfires,theskyholloweditselfintoa

perfectpearl.Hugecartsfilledwith nodding lilies rumbled slowly down the

polishedemptystreet.Theairwasheavywiththeperfumeoftheflowers,and

theirbeautyseemedtobringhimananodyneforhispain.Hefollowedintothe

market and watched the men unloading their waggons. A white-smocked

carterofferedhimsomecherries.Hethankedhim,wonderedwhyherefused

toacceptanymoneyforthem,andbegantoeatthemlistlessly.Theyhadbeen

pluckedatmidnight,andthecoldnessofthemoonhadenteredintothem.A

longlineofboyscarryingcratesofstripedtulips,andofyellowandredroses,

defiledinfrontofhim,threadingtheirwaythroughthehuge,jade-greenpiles

ofvegetables.Undertheportico,withitsgrey,sun-bleachedpillars,loitereda

troopofdraggledbareheadedgirls,waitingfortheauctiontobeover.Others

crowded round the swinging doors of the coffee-house in the piazza. The

heavy cart-horses slipped and stamped upon the rough stones, shaking their

bellsandtrappings.Someofthedriverswerelyingasleeponapileofsacks.

Iris-neckedandpink-footed,thepigeonsranaboutpickingupseeds.

After a little while, he hailed a hansom and drove home. For a few

moments he loitered upon the doorstep, looking round at the silent square,

with its blank, close-shuttered windows and its staring blinds. The sky was

pureopalnow,andtheroofsofthehousesglistenedlikesilveragainstit.From

somechimneyoppositeathinwreathofsmokewasrising.Itcurled,aviolet

riband,throughthenacre-colouredair.

In the huge gilt Venetian lantern, spoil of some Doge's barge, that hung

from the ceiling of the great, oak-panelled hall of entrance, lights were still

burning from three flickering jets: thin blue petals of flame they seemed,

rimmedwith white fire.He turned themoutand, having thrownhishat and

capeonthetable,passedthroughthelibrarytowardsthedoorofhisbedroom,

alargeoctagonalchamberonthegroundfloorthat,inhisnew-bornfeelingfor

luxury, he had just had decorated for himself and hung with some curious

Renaissance tapestries that had been discovered stored in a disused attic at

SelbyRoyal.Ashewasturningthehandleofthedoor,hiseyefelluponthe

portraitBasilHallwardhadpaintedofhim.Hestartedbackasifinsurprise.

Thenhewentonintohisownroom,lookingsomewhatpuzzled.Afterhehad

takenthebutton-holeoutofhiscoat,heseemedtohesitate.Finally,hecame

back,wentovertothepicture,andexaminedit.Inthedimarrestedlightthat

struggledthroughthecream-colouredsilkblinds,thefaceappearedtohimto

bealittlechanged.Theexpressionlookeddifferent.Onewouldhavesaidthat

therewasatouchofcrueltyinthemouth.Itwascertainlystrange.

Heturnedroundand,walkingtothewindow,drewuptheblind.Thebright

dawn flooded theroom and sweptthe fantasticshadows into duskycorners,

wheretheylayshuddering.Butthestrangeexpressionthathehadnoticedin

thefaceoftheportraitseemedtolingerthere,tobemoreintensifiedeven.The

quiveringardentsunlightshowedhimthelinesofcrueltyroundthemouthas

clearlyasifhehadbeenlookingintoamirrorafterhehaddonesomedreadful

thing.

He winced and, taking up from the table an oval glass framed in ivory

Cupids,oneofLordHenry'smanypresentstohim,glancedhurriedlyintoits

polisheddepths.Nolinelikethatwarpedhisredlips.Whatdiditmean?

Herubbedhiseyes,andcameclosetothepicture,andexamineditagain.

Therewerenosigns of any changewhenhelookedintotheactualpainting,

andyettherewasnodoubtthatthewholeexpressionhadaltered.Itwasnota

merefancyofhisown.Thethingwashorriblyapparent.

Hethrewhimselfintoachairandbegantothink.Suddenlythereflashed

acrosshismindwhathehadsaidinBasilHallward'sstudiothedaythepicture

hadbeenfinished.Yes,heremembereditperfectly.Hehadutteredamadwish

thathehimself might remain young,andtheportraitgrow old; that hisown

beautymightbeuntarnished,andthefaceonthecanvasbeartheburdenofhis

passionsandhissins;thatthepaintedimagemightbesearedwiththelinesof

suffering and thought, and that he might keep all the delicate bloom and

loveliness of his then justconscious boyhood.Surely hiswish had not been

fulfilled?Suchthingswereimpossible.Itseemedmonstrouseventothinkof

them.And,yet,therewasthepicturebeforehim,withthetouchofcrueltyin

themouth.

Cruelty!Hadhebeencruel?Itwasthegirl'sfault,nothis.Hehaddreamed

ofherasagreatartist,hadgivenhislovetoherbecausehehadthoughther

great. Then she had disappointed him. She had been shallow and unworthy.

And,yet,afeelingofinfiniteregretcameoverhim,ashethoughtofherlying

athisfeetsobbinglikealittlechild.Herememberedwithwhatcallousnesshe

hadwatchedher.Whyhadhebeenmadelikethat?Whyhadsuchasoulbeen

giventohim?Buthehadsufferedalso.Duringthethreeterriblehoursthatthe

playhadlasted,hehadlivedcenturiesofpain,aeonuponaeonoftorture.His

life was well worth hers. She had marred him for a moment, if he had

wounded her for an age. Besides, women were better suited to bear sorrow

thanmen.Theylivedontheiremotions.Theyonlythoughtoftheiremotions.

Whentheytooklovers,itwasmerelytohavesomeonewithwhomtheycould

have scenes. Lord Henry had told him that, and Lord Henry knew what

women were. Whyshould he troubleaboutSibyl Vane? She wasnothing to

himnow.

Butthepicture?Whatwashetosayofthat?Itheldthesecretofhislife,

andtoldhisstory.Ithadtaughthimtolovehisownbeauty.Woulditteachhim

toloathehisownsoul?Wouldheeverlookatitagain?

No;itwasmerelyanillusionwroughtonthetroubledsenses.Thehorrible

nightthathehadpassedhadleftphantomsbehindit.Suddenlytherehadfallen

uponhisbrainthattinyscarletspeckthatmakesmenmad.Thepicturehadnot

changed.Itwasfollytothinkso.

Yetitwaswatchinghim,withitsbeautifulmarredfaceanditscruelsmile.

Itsbrighthairgleamedintheearlysunlight.Itsblueeyesmethisown.Asense

of infinite pity, not for himself, but for the painted image of himself, came

overhim.Ithadalteredalready,andwouldaltermore.Itsgoldwouldwither

intogrey.Itsredandwhiteroseswoulddie.Foreverysinthathecommitted,a

stain would fleck and wreck itsfairness. Buthe would not sin. The picture,

changedorunchanged,wouldbetohimthevisibleemblemofconscience.He

wouldresisttemptation.HewouldnotseeLordHenryanymore—wouldnot,

at any rate,listento those subtlepoisonous theories thatin Basil Hallward's

gardenhadfirststirredwithinhimthepassionforimpossiblethings.Hewould

gobacktoSibylVane,makeheramends,marryher,trytoloveheragain.Yes,

itwashisdutytodoso.Shemusthavesufferedmorethanhehad.Poorchild!

He had beenselfish andcruel to her. The fascinationthat she had exercised

overhimwouldreturn.Theywouldbehappytogether.Hislifewithherwould

bebeautifulandpure.

He got up from his chair and drew a large screen right in front of the

portrait, shuddering as he glanced at it. "How horrible!" he murmured to

himself,andhewalkedacrosstothewindowandopenedit.Whenhestepped

outontothegrass,hedrewadeepbreath.Thefreshmorningairseemedto

driveawayallhissombrepassions.HethoughtonlyofSibyl.Afaintechoof

his love cameback to him.He repeated hername overand over again.The

birdsthatweresinginginthedew-drenchedgarden seemed to be telling the

flowersabouther.



CHAPTER8



Itwaslongpastnoonwhenheawoke.Hisvalethadcreptseveraltimeson

tiptoeintotheroomtoseeifhewasstirring,andhadwonderedwhatmadehis

youngmastersleepsolate.Finallyhisbellsounded,andVictorcameinsoftly

withacupoftea,andapileofletters,onasmalltrayofoldSevreschina,and

drew back the olive-satin curtains, with their shimmering blue lining, that

hunginfrontofthethreetallwindows.

"Monsieurhaswellsleptthismorning,"hesaid,smiling.

"Whato'clockisit,Victor?"askedDorianGraydrowsily.

"Onehourandaquarter,Monsieur."

Howlateitwas!Hesatup,andhavingsippedsometea,turnedoverhis

letters.OneofthemwasfromLordHenry,andhadbeenbroughtbyhandthat

morning. He hesitated for a moment, and then put it aside. The others he

openedlistlessly. Theycontained theusual collectionof cards,invitations to

dinner,ticketsforprivateviews,programmesofcharityconcerts,andthelike

thatareshoweredonfashionableyoungmeneverymorningduringtheseason.

TherewasaratherheavybillforachasedsilverLouis-Quinzetoilet-setthat

he had not yet had the courage to send on to his guardians, who were

extremelyold-fashionedpeopleanddidnotrealizethatweliveinanagewhen

unnecessary things are our only necessities; and there were several very

courteously worded communications from Jermyn Street money-lenders

offeringtoadvanceanysumof moneyatamoment'snoticeandatthemost

reasonableratesofinterest.

Afterabouttenminuteshegotup,andthrowingonanelaboratedressing-

gown of silk-embroidered cashmere wool, passed into the onyx-paved

bathroom. The cool water refreshed him after his long sleep. He seemed to

haveforgottenallthathehadgonethrough.Adimsenseofhavingtakenpart

insomestrangetragedycametohimonceortwice,buttherewastheunreality

ofadreamaboutit.

Assoonashewasdressed,hewentintothelibraryandsatdowntoalight

Frenchbreakfastthathadbeenlaidoutforhimonasmallroundtablecloseto

the open window. It wasan exquisiteday. The warm airseemed ladenwith

spices.Abeeflewinandbuzzedroundtheblue-dragonbowlthat,filledwith

sulphur-yellowroses,stoodbeforehim.Hefeltperfectlyhappy.

Suddenly his eye fell on the screen that he had placed in front of the

portrait,andhestarted.

"ToocoldforMonsieur?"askedhisvalet,puttinganomeletteonthetable.

"Ishutthewindow?"

Dorianshookhishead."Iamnotcold,"hemurmured.

Wasitalltrue?Hadtheportraitreallychanged?Orhaditbeensimplyhis

ownimaginationthathadmadehimseealookofevilwheretherehadbeena

lookofjoy?Surelyapaintedcanvascouldnotalter?Thethingwasabsurd.It

wouldserveasataletotellBasilsomeday.Itwouldmakehimsmile.

And, yet, howvivid washis recollection ofthe wholething! First inthe

dim twilight, and then in the bright dawn, he had seen the touch of cruelty

roundthewarpedlips.Healmostdreadedhisvaletleavingtheroom.Heknew

thatwhenhewasalonehewouldhavetoexaminetheportrait.Hewasafraid

of certainty. When the coffee and cigarettes had been brought and the man

turned to go, he felt a wild desire to tell him to remain. As the door was

closingbehindhim,hecalledhimback.Themanstoodwaitingforhisorders.

Dorianlookedathimforamoment."Iamnotathometoanyone,Victor,"he

saidwithasigh.Themanbowedandretired.

Thenherosefrom the table,litacigarette,andflung himselfdownona

luxuriouslycushionedcouchthatstoodfacingthescreen.Thescreenwasan

old one, of gilt Spanish leather, stamped and wrought with a rather florid

Louis-Quatorze pattern. Hescanned itcuriously, wondering if everbefore it

hadconcealedthesecretofaman'slife.

Shouldhemoveitaside,afterall?Whynotletitstaythere?Whatwasthe

useofknowing?Ifthethingwastrue,itwasterrible.Ifitwasnottrue,why

troubleaboutit?Butwhatif,bysomefateordeadlierchance,eyesotherthan

his spied behind and saw the horrible change? What should he do if Basil

Hallwardcameandaskedtolookathisownpicture?Basilwouldbesureto

do that.No; the thing had tobe examined, and at once.Anything would be

betterthanthisdreadfulstateofdoubt.

He got up and locked both doors. At least he would be alone when he

lookeduponthemaskofhisshame.Thenhedrew thescreenasideand saw

himselffacetoface.Itwasperfectlytrue.Theportraithadaltered.

Asheoftenrememberedafterwards,andalwayswithnosmallwonder,he

foundhimselfatfirstgazingattheportraitwithafeelingofalmostscientific

interest. That such a change should have taken place was incredible to him.

And yet it was a fact. Was there some subtle affinity between the chemical

atomsthatshapedthemselvesintoformandcolouronthecanvasandthesoul

thatwaswithinhim?Coulditbethatwhatthatsoulthought,theyrealized?—

thatwhatitdreamed,theymadetrue?Orwastheresomeother,moreterrible

reason?Heshuddered,andfeltafraid,and,goingbacktothecouch,laythere,

gazingatthepictureinsickenedhorror.

One thing, however, he felt that it had done for him. It had made him

conscioushow unjust, howcruel,he had beentoSibyl Vane. It was nottoo

late to make reparation for that. She could still be his wife. His unreal and

selfishlovewouldyieldtosomehigherinfluence,wouldbetransformedinto

somenoblerpassion,andtheportraitthatBasilHallwardhadpaintedofhim

would be a guide to him through life, would be to him what holiness is to

some, and conscience to others, and the fear of God to us all. There were

opiates for remorse, drugs that couldlull themoral senseto sleep. But here

wasavisiblesymbolofthedegradationofsin.Herewasanever-presentsign

oftheruinmenbroughtupontheirsouls.

Threeo'clockstruck,andfour,andthehalf-hourrangitsdoublechime,but

DorianGraydidnotstir.Hewastryingtogatherupthescarletthreadsoflife

and to weave them into a pattern; to find his way through the sanguine

labyrinthofpassionthroughwhichhewaswandering.Hedidnotknowwhat

to do, or what to think. Finally, he went over to the table and wrote a

passionate letter to the girl he had loved, imploring her forgiveness and

accusinghimselfofmadness.Hecoveredpageafterpagewithwildwordsof

sorrowandwilderwordsofpain.Thereisaluxuryinself-reproach.Whenwe

blame ourselves, we feel that no one else has a right to blame us. It is the

confession,notthepriest,thatgivesusabsolution.WhenDorianhadfinished

theletter,hefeltthathehadbeenforgiven.

Suddenlytherecameaknocktothedoor,andheheardLordHenry'svoice

outside. "Mydear boy, I must see you. Let me in at once.I can't bear your

shuttingyourselfuplikethis."

He made no answer at first, but remained quite still. The knocking still

continued and grew louder. Yes, it was better to let Lord Henry in, and to

explain to him the new life he was going to lead, to quarrel with him if it

becamenecessarytoquarrel,topartifpartingwasinevitable.Hejumpedup,

drewthescreenhastilyacrossthepicture,andunlockedthedoor.

"Iamsosorryforitall,Dorian,"saidLordHenryasheentered."Butyou

mustnotthinktoomuchaboutit."

"DoyoumeanaboutSibylVane?"askedthelad.

"Yes, of course," answered Lord Henry, sinking into a chair and slowly

pullingoffhisyellowgloves."Itisdreadful,fromonepointofview,butitwas

not your fault. Tell me, did you go behind and see her, after the play was

over?"

"Yes."

"Ifeltsureyouhad.Didyoumakeascenewithher?"

"I was brutal, Harry—perfectly brutal. But it is all right now. I am not

sorryforanythingthathashappened.Ithastaughtmetoknowmyselfbetter."

"Ah,Dorian,Iamsogladyoutakeitinthatway!IwasafraidIwouldfind

youplungedinremorseandtearingthatnicecurlyhairofyours."

"Ihavegotthroughallthat,"saidDorian,shakinghisheadandsmiling."I

amperfectlyhappy now.I know whatconscience is,tobeginwith.Itis not

whatyoutoldmeitwas.Itisthedivinestthinginus.Don'tsneeratit,Harry,

anymore—atleastnotbeforeme.Iwanttobegood.Ican'tbeartheideaof

mysoulbeinghideous."

"Averycharmingartisticbasisforethics,Dorian!Icongratulateyouonit.

Buthowareyougoingtobegin?"

"BymarryingSibylVane."

"MarryingSibylVane!"criedLordHenry,standingupandlookingathim

inperplexedamazement."But,mydearDorian—"

"Yes,Harry,Iknowwhatyouaregoingtosay.Somethingdreadfulabout

marriage. Don't say it. Don't ever say things of that kind to me again. Two

daysagoIaskedSibyltomarryme.Iamnotgoingtobreakmywordtoher.

Sheistobemywife."

"Your wife! Dorian! ... Didn't you get my letter? I wrote to you this

morning,andsentthenotedownbymyownman."

"Your letter? Oh, yes, I remember. I have not read it yet, Harry. I was

afraidtheremightbesomethinginitthatIwouldn'tlike.Youcutlifetopieces

withyourepigrams."

"Youknownothingthen?"

"Whatdoyoumean?"

Lord Henry walked across the room, and sitting down by Dorian Gray,

tookbothhishandsinhisownandheldthemtightly."Dorian,"hesaid,"my

letter—don'tbefrightened—wastotellyouthatSibylVaneisdead."

Acryofpainbrokefromthelad'slips,andheleapedtohisfeet,tearinghis

handsawayfromLordHenry'sgrasp."Dead!Sibyldead!Itisnottrue!Itisa

horriblelie!Howdareyousayit?"

"Itisquitetrue,Dorian,"saidLordHenry,gravely."Itisinallthemorning

papers.IwrotedowntoyoutoaskyounottoseeanyonetillIcame.There

will have to be an inquest, of course, and you must not be mixed up in it.

ThingslikethatmakeamanfashionableinParis.ButinLondonpeopleareso

prejudiced. Here, one should never make one's debut with a scandal. One

should reserve that to give an interest to one'sold age.I supposethey don't

knowyournameat thetheatre?Iftheydon't,itis allright.Didanyonesee

yougoingroundtoherroom?Thatisanimportantpoint."

Dorian did not answer for a few moments. He was dazed with horror.

Finallyhestammered,inastifledvoice,"Harry,didyousayaninquest?What

didyoumeanbythat?DidSibyl—?Oh,Harry,Ican'tbearit!Butbequick.

Tellmeeverythingatonce."

"Ihavenodoubtitwasnotanaccident,Dorian,thoughitmustbeputin

thatway to thepublic.Itseems that asshewas leaving the theatrewithher

mother, about half-past twelve or so, she said she had forgotten something

upstairs. They waited some time for her, but she did not come down again.

Theyultimatelyfoundherlyingdeadonthefloorofherdressing-room.She

had swallowed something by mistake, some dreadful thing they use at

theatres.Idon'tknowwhatitwas,butithadeitherprussicacidorwhitelead

in it. I should fancy it was prussic acid, as she seems to have died

instantaneously."

"Harry,Harry,itisterrible!"criedthelad.

"Yes;itisverytragic,ofcourse,butyoumustnotgetyourselfmixedupin

it. I see by The Standard that she was seventeen. Ishould havethought she

wasalmostyoungerthanthat.Shelookedsuchachild,andseemedtoknowso

littleaboutacting.Dorian,youmustn'tletthisthinggetonyournerves.You

mustcomeanddinewithme,andafterwardswewilllookinattheopera.Itis

aPattinight,and everybodywillbethere.You cancometomysister'sbox.

Shehasgotsomesmartwomenwithher."

"So I have murdered Sibyl Vane," said Dorian Gray, half to himself,

"murderedher as surelyasifI had cutherlittlethroat with a knife.Yet the

roses are not less lovely for all that. The birds sing just as happily in my

garden.Andto-nightIamtodinewithyou,andthengoontotheopera,and

supsomewhere,Isuppose,afterwards.Howextraordinarilydramaticlifeis!If

I had read all this in a book, Harry, I think I would have wept over it.

Somehow, now that it has happened actually, and to me, it seems far too

wonderfulfortears.Hereisthefirstpassionatelove-letterIhaveeverwritten

in my life. Strange, that my first passionate love-letter should have been

addressedtoadeadgirl.Cantheyfeel,Iwonder,thosewhitesilentpeoplewe

callthedead?Sibyl!Canshefeel,orknow,orlisten?Oh,Harry,howIloved

heronce!Itseemsyearsagotomenow.Shewaseverythingtome.Thencame

thatdreadfulnight—wasitreallyonlylastnight?—whensheplayedsobadly,

andmyheartalmostbroke.Sheexplaineditalltome.Itwasterriblypathetic.

But I was not moved a bit. I thought her shallow. Suddenly something

happenedthatmademeafraid.Ican'ttellyouwhatitwas,butitwasterrible.I

saidIwouldgobacktoher.IfeltIhaddonewrong.Andnowsheisdead.My

God!MyGod!Harry,whatshallIdo?Youdon'tknowthedangerIamin,and

thereisnothingtokeepmestraight.Shewouldhavedonethatforme.Shehad

norighttokillherself.Itwasselfishofher."

"MydearDorian,"answeredLordHenry,takingacigarettefromhiscase

and producing a gold-latten matchbox, "the only way a woman can ever

reformamanisbyboringhimsocompletelythathelosesallpossibleinterest

inlife.Ifyouhadmarriedthisgirl,youwouldhavebeenwretched.Ofcourse,

youwould havetreatedher kindly. One canalways be kindtopeople about

whomonecaresnothing.Butshewouldhavesoon found out that you were

absolutely indifferent to her. And when a woman finds that out about her

husband,sheeither becomes dreadfully dowdy, or wears verysmartbonnets

thatsomeotherwoman'shusbandhastopayfor.Isaynothingaboutthesocial

mistake,whichwouldhavebeenabject—which,ofcourse,Iwouldnothave

allowed—butIassureyouthatinanycasethewholethingwouldhavebeen

anabsolutefailure."

"Isupposeitwould,"mutteredthelad,walkingupanddowntheroomand

lookinghorriblypale."ButIthoughtitwasmyduty.Itisnotmyfaultthatthis

terrible tragedy has prevented my doing what was right. I remember your

saying once that there is a fatality about good resolutions—that they are

alwaysmadetoolate.Minecertainlywere."

"Good resolutions are useless attempts to interfere with scientific laws.

Their origin ispure vanity. Their resultis absolutelynil. They giveus, now

andthen,someofthoseluxurioussterileemotionsthathaveacertaincharm

fortheweak.Thatisall thatcanbesaidforthem.Theyaresimplycheques

thatmendrawonabankwheretheyhavenoaccount."

"Harry," cried Dorian Gray, coming over and sitting down beside him,

"whyisitthatIcannotfeelthistragedyasmuchasIwantto?Idon'tthinkI

amheartless.Doyou?"

"You have done too many foolish things during the last fortnight to be

entitled to give yourself that name, Dorian," answered Lord Henry with his

sweetmelancholysmile.

Theladfrowned."Idon'tlikethatexplanation,Harry,"herejoined,"butI

amgladyoudon'tthinkIamheartless.Iamnothingofthekind.IknowIam

not.AndyetImustadmitthatthisthingthathashappeneddoesnotaffectme

as it should. It seems to me to be simply like a wonderful ending to a

wonderfulplay.IthasalltheterriblebeautyofaGreektragedy,atragedyin

whichItookagreatpart,butbywhichIhavenotbeenwounded."

"It is an interesting question," said Lord Henry, who found an exquisite

pleasureinplayingonthelad'sunconsciousegotism,"anextremelyinteresting

question.Ifancythatthetrueexplanationisthis:Itoftenhappensthatthereal

tragediesoflifeoccurinsuchaninartisticmannerthattheyhurtusbytheir

crudeviolence,theirabsoluteincoherence,theirabsurdwantofmeaning,their

entirelackofstyle.Theyaffectusjustasvulgarityaffectsus.Theygiveusan

impression of sheer brute force, and we revolt against that. Sometimes,

however,atragedythatpossessesartisticelementsofbeautycrossesourlives.

If these elements of beauty are real, the whole thing simply appeals to our

senseof dramaticeffect. Suddenlywe find thatweare no longerthe actors,

butthespectatorsoftheplay.Orratherweareboth.Wewatchourselves,and

themerewonderofthespectacleenthrallsus.Inthepresentcase,whatisit

thathasreallyhappened?Someonehaskilledherselfforloveofyou.Iwish

thatIhadeverhadsuchanexperience.Itwouldhavemademeinlovewith

lovefortherestofmylife.Thepeoplewhohaveadoredme—therehavenot

beenverymany,buttherehavebeensome—havealwaysinsistedonlivingon,

long after I had ceased to care for them, or they to care for me. They have

become stout and tedious, and when I meet them, they go in at once for

reminiscences.Thatawfulmemoryofwoman!Whatafearfulthingitis!And

whatanutterintellectualstagnationitreveals!Oneshouldabsorbthecolourof

life,butoneshouldneverrememberitsdetails.Detailsarealwaysvulgar."

"Imustsowpoppiesinmygarden,"sighedDorian.

"Thereisnonecessity,"rejoinedhiscompanion."Lifehasalwayspoppies

inherhands.Ofcourse,nowandthenthingslinger.Ionceworenothingbut

violetsall through oneseason, as aformof artistic mourningfor a romance

that would not die. Ultimately, however, it did die. I forget what killed it. I

thinkitwasherproposingtosacrificethewholeworldforme.Thatisalways

a dreadfulmoment. It fills one with the terrorof eternity. Well—would you

believeit?—aweekago,atLadyHampshire's,Ifoundmyselfseatedatdinner

nexttheladyinquestion,andsheinsistedongoingoverthewholethingagain,

anddiggingupthepast,andrakingupthefuture.Ihadburiedmyromancein

abedofasphodel.ShedraggeditoutagainandassuredmethatIhadspoiled

herlife.Iamboundtostatethatsheateanenormousdinner,soIdidnotfeel

anyanxiety.Butwhatalackoftastesheshowed!Theonecharmofthepastis

thatitisthepast.Butwomenneverknowwhenthecurtainhasfallen.They

alwayswantasixthact,andassoonastheinterestoftheplayisentirelyover,

theyproposetocontinueit.Iftheywereallowedtheirownway,everycomedy

would have a tragic ending, and every tragedy would culminate in a farce.

They are charmingly artificial, but they have no sense of art. You are more

fortunatethanIam. I assure you,Dorian,thatnotoneofthe women I have

knownwouldhavedoneformewhatSibylVanedidforyou.Ordinarywomen

always console themselves. Some of them do it by going in for sentimental

colours.Nevertrustawomanwhowearsmauve,whateverheragemaybe,or

a woman over thirty-fivewho isfond ofpink ribbons. It always means that

they have a history. Others find a great consolation in suddenly discovering

thegoodqualitiesoftheirhusbands.Theyflaunttheirconjugalfelicityinone's

face, as if it were the most fascinating of sins. Religion consoles some. Its

mysterieshaveallthecharmofaflirtation,awomanoncetoldme,andIcan

quiteunderstandit.Besides,nothingmakesonesovainasbeingtoldthatone

isasinner.Consciencemakesegotistsofusall.Yes;thereisreallynoendto

theconsolationsthatwomenfindinmodernlife.Indeed,Ihavenotmentioned

themostimportantone."

"Whatisthat,Harry?"saidtheladlistlessly.

"Oh, the obvious consolation. Taking some one else's admirer when one

losesone'sown.Ingoodsocietythatalwayswhitewashesawoman.Butreally,

Dorian, how different Sibyl Vane must have been from all the women one

meets!Thereissomethingtomequitebeautifulaboutherdeath.IamgladI

amlivinginacenturywhensuchwondershappen.Theymakeonebelievein

therealityofthethingsweallplaywith,suchasromance,passion,andlove."

"Iwasterriblycrueltoher.Youforgetthat."

"Iamafraidthatwomen appreciate cruelty,downrightcruelty, morethan

anything else. They have wonderfully primitive instincts. We have

emancipated them, but they remain slaves looking for their masters, all the

same.Theylovebeingdominated.Iamsureyouweresplendid.Ihavenever

seen you really and absolutely angry, but I can fancy how delightful you

looked.And,afterall,yousaidsomethingtomethedaybeforeyesterdaythat

seemed to me at the time to be merely fanciful, but that I see now was

absolutelytrue,anditholdsthekeytoeverything."

"Whatwasthat,Harry?"

"You said to me that Sibyl Vane represented to you all the heroines of

romance—thatshe was Desdemonaonenight,and Ophelia theother;that if

shediedasJuliet,shecametolifeasImogen."

"Shewillnevercometolifeagainnow,"mutteredthelad,buryinghisface

inhishands.

"No,shewillnevercometolife.Shehasplayedherlastpart.Butyoumust

think of that lonely death in the tawdry dressing-room simply as a strange

lurid fragment from some Jacobean tragedy, as a wonderful scene from

Webster,orFord,orCyrilTourneur.Thegirlneverreallylived,andsoshehas

never really died. To you at least she was always a dream, a phantom that

flitted through Shakespeare's plays and left them lovelier for its presence, a

reedthroughwhichShakespeare'smusicsoundedricherandmorefullofjoy.

Themomentshetouchedactuallife,shemarredit,anditmarredher,andso

she passed away. Mourn for Ophelia, if you like. Put ashes on your head

becauseCordeliawasstrangled.CryoutagainstHeavenbecausethedaughter

ofBrabantio died. Butdon't waste yourtearsover Sibyl Vane.She was less

realthantheyare."

Therewasasilence.Theeveningdarkenedintheroom.Noiselessly,and

with silver feet, the shadows crept in from the garden. The colours faded

wearilyoutofthings.

After some time Dorian Gray looked up. "You have explained me to

myself,Harry,"hemurmuredwithsomethingofasighofrelief."Ifeltallthat

youhavesaid,but somehow I wasafraid ofit, andI couldnot expressitto

myself. How well you know me! But we will not talk again of what has

happened.Ithasbeenamarvellousexperience.Thatisall.Iwonderiflifehas

stillinstoreformeanythingasmarvellous."

"Life has everything in store for you, Dorian. There is nothing that you,

withyourextraordinarygoodlooks,willnotbeabletodo."

"But suppose, Harry, I became haggard, and old, and wrinkled? What

then?"

"Ah, then," said Lord Henry, rising to go, "then, my dear Dorian, you

wouldhavetofightforyourvictories.Asitis,theyarebroughttoyou.No,

youmustkeepyourgoodlooks.Weliveinanagethatreadstoomuchtobe

wise,andthatthinkstoomuchtobebeautiful.Wecannotspareyou.Andnow

youhadbetterdressanddrivedowntotheclub.Weareratherlate,asitis."

"IthinkIshalljoinyouattheopera,Harry.Ifeeltootiredtoeatanything.

Whatisthenumberofyoursister'sbox?"

"Twenty-seven,Ibelieve.Itisonthegrandtier.Youwillseehernameon

thedoor.ButIamsorryyouwon'tcomeanddine."

"Idon'tfeeluptoit,"saidDorianlistlessly."ButIamawfullyobligedto

youforallthatyouhavesaidtome.Youarecertainlymybestfriend.Noone

haseverunderstoodmeasyouhave."

"We are only atthebeginningofourfriendship,Dorian,"answeredLord

Henry,shakinghimbythehand."Good-bye.Ishallseeyoubeforenine-thirty,

Ihope.Remember,Pattiissinging."

Asheclosedthedoorbehindhim,DorianGraytouchedthebell,andina

few minutes Victor appeared with the lamps and drew the blinds down. He

waited impatiently for him to go. The man seemed to take an interminable

timeovereverything.

Assoonashehadleft,herushedtothescreenanddrewitback.No;there

wasnofurtherchangeinthepicture.IthadreceivedthenewsofSibylVane's

deathbeforehehadknownofithimself.Itwasconsciousoftheeventsoflife

astheyoccurred.Theviciouscrueltythatmarredthefinelinesofthemouth

had,nodoubt,appearedattheverymomentthatthegirlhaddrunkthepoison,

whateveritwas.Orwasitindifferenttoresults?Diditmerelytakecognizance

of what passed within the soul? He wondered, and hoped that some day he

would see the change taking place before his very eyes, shuddering as he

hopedit.

PoorSibyl!Whataromanceithadallbeen!Shehadoftenmimickeddeath

on the stage. Then Death himself had touched her and taken her with him.

Howhadsheplayedthatdreadfullastscene?Hadshecursedhim,asshedied?

No;shehad died for loveof him,and lovewouldalwaysbeasacrament to

himnow.Shehadatonedforeverythingbythesacrificeshehadmadeofher

life.Hewouldnotthinkanymoreofwhatshehadmadehimgothrough,on

that horrible night at the theatre. When he thought of her, it would be as a

wonderful tragic figure sent on to the world's stage to show the supreme

reality of love. A wonderful tragic figure? Tears came to his eyes as he

rememberedherchildlikelook,andwinsomefancifulways,andshytremulous

grace.Hebrushedthemawayhastilyandlookedagainatthepicture.

He felt that the time had really come for making his choice. Or had his

choice already been made? Yes, life had decidedthat for him—life, and his

own infinite curiosity about life. Eternal youth, infinite passion, pleasures

subtleandsecret,wildjoysandwildersins—hewastohaveallthesethings.

Theportraitwastobeartheburdenofhisshame:thatwasall.

Afeelingofpaincreptoverhimashethoughtofthedesecrationthatwas

instoreforthefairfaceonthecanvas.Once,inboyishmockeryofNarcissus,

hehadkissed,orfeignedtokiss,thosepaintedlipsthatnowsmiledsocruelly

athim.Morningaftermorninghehadsatbeforetheportraitwonderingatits

beauty, almost enamoured of it, as it seemed to him attimes.Wasittoalter

nowwitheverymoodtowhichheyielded?Wasittobecomeamonstrousand

loathsomething,tobehiddenawayinalockedroom,tobeshutoutfromthe

sunlightthathadsooftentouchedtobrightergoldthewavingwonder of its

hair?Thepityofit!thepityofit!

For a moment, he thought of praying that the horrible sympathy that

existedbetweenhimandthepicturemightcease.Ithadchangedinanswerto

aprayer;perhapsinanswertoaprayeritmightremainunchanged.Andyet,

who,thatknewanythingaboutlife,wouldsurrenderthechanceofremaining

always young, however fantastic that chance might be, or with what fateful

consequences it might be fraught? Besides, was it really under his control?

Haditindeedbeenprayerthathadproducedthesubstitution?Mighttherenot

be some curious scientific reason for it all? If thought could exercise its

influence upon a living organism, might not thought exercise an influence

upon dead and inorganic things? Nay, without thought or conscious desire,

mightnotthingsexternaltoourselvesvibrateinunison with our moods and

passions,atomcallingtoatominsecretloveorstrangeaffinity?Butthereason

was of noimportance. Hewould never againtempt bya prayer any terrible

power.Ifthepicturewastoalter,itwastoalter.Thatwasall.Whyinquiretoo

closelyintoit?

For there would be a real pleasure in watching it. He would be able to

followhismindintoitssecretplaces.Thisportraitwouldbetohimthemost

magicalofmirrors.Asithadrevealedtohimhisownbody,soitwouldreveal

tohimhisownsoul.Andwhenwintercameuponit,hewouldstillbestanding

wherespringtremblesonthevergeofsummer.Whenthebloodcreptfromits

face,andleftbehindapallidmaskofchalkwithleadeneyes,hewouldkeep

theglamourofboyhood.Notoneblossomofhislovelinesswouldeverfade.

Notonepulseofhislifewouldeverweaken.LikethegodsoftheGreeks,he

wouldbestrong,andfleet,andjoyous.Whatdiditmatterwhathappenedto

thecolouredimageonthecanvas?Hewouldbesafe.Thatwaseverything.

He drew the screen back into its former place in front of the picture,

smilingashedidso,andpassedintohisbedroom,wherehisvaletwasalready

waiting for him. An hour later he was at the opera, and Lord Henry was

leaningoverhischair.



CHAPTER9



As he was sitting at breakfast next morning, Basil Hallward was shown

intotheroom.

"I am so glad I have found you, Dorian," he said gravely. "I called last

night, and they told me you were at the opera. Of course, I knew that was

impossible. But I wish you had left word where you had really gone to. I

passedadreadfulevening,halfafraidthatonetragedymightbefollowedby

another.Ithinkyoumighthavetelegraphedformewhenyouheardofitfirst.I

readofitquitebychanceinalateeditionofTheGlobethatIpickedupatthe

club.Icamehereatonceandwasmiserableatnotfindingyou.Ican'ttellyou

howheart-brokenIamaboutthe wholething.Iknow whatyoumustsuffer.

But where were you? Did you go down and see the girl's mother? For a

momentIthoughtoffollowingyouthere.Theygavetheaddressinthepaper.

SomewhereintheEustonRoad,isn'tit?ButIwasafraidofintrudingupona

sorrowthatIcouldnotlighten.Poorwoman!Whatastateshemustbein!And

heronlychild,too!Whatdidshesayaboutitall?"

"My dear Basil,how do Iknow?" murmuredDorian Gray, sipping some

pale-yellow wine from a delicate, gold-beaded bubble of Venetian glass and

lookingdreadfullybored."Iwasattheopera.Youshouldhavecomeonthere.

ImetLadyGwendolen,Harry'ssister,forthefirsttime.Wewereinherbox.

She is perfectly charming; and Patti sang divinely. Don't talk about horrid

subjects.Ifonedoesn'ttalkaboutathing,ithasneverhappened.Itissimply

expression,asHarrysays,thatgivesrealitytothings.Imaymentionthatshe

wasnotthewoman'sonlychild.Thereisason,acharmingfellow,Ibelieve.

Butheisnotonthestage.Heisasailor,orsomething.Andnow,tellmeabout

yourselfandwhatyouarepainting."

"Youwenttotheopera?"saidHallward,speakingveryslowlyandwitha

strainedtouchofpaininhisvoice."YouwenttotheoperawhileSibylVane

waslyingdeadinsomesordidlodging?Youcantalktomeofotherwomen

being charming, and of Patti singing divinely, before the girl you loved has

eventhequietofagravetosleepin?Why,man,therearehorrorsinstorefor

thatlittlewhitebodyofhers!"

"Stop,Basil!Iwon'thearit!"criedDorian,leapingtohisfeet."Youmust

nottellmeaboutthings.Whatisdoneisdone.Whatispastispast."

"Youcallyesterdaythepast?"

"What has the actual lapse of time got to do with it? It is only shallow

people who requireyears toget ridof an emotion. A man who ismaster of

himselfcanendasorrowaseasilyashecaninventapleasure.Idon'twantto

be at the mercy of my emotions. I want to use them, to enjoy them, and to

dominatethem."

"Dorian,thisishorrible!Somethinghaschangedyoucompletely.Youlook

exactlythesamewonderfulboywho,dayafterday,usedtocomedowntomy

studio to sit for his picture. But you were simple, natural, and affectionate

then.Youwerethemostunspoiledcreatureinthewholeworld.Now,Idon't

knowwhathascomeoveryou.Youtalkasifyouhadnoheart,nopityinyou.

ItisallHarry'sinfluence.Iseethat."

The lad flushed up and, going to the window, looked out for a few

moments on the green, flickering, sun-lashed garden. "I owe a great deal to

Harry,Basil,"hesaidatlast,"morethanIowetoyou.Youonlytaughtmeto

bevain."

"Well,Iampunishedforthat,Dorian—orshallbesomeday."

"Idon'tknowwhatyoumean,Basil,"heexclaimed,turninground."Idon't

knowwhatyouwant.Whatdoyouwant?"

"IwanttheDorianGrayIusedtopaint,"saidtheartistsadly.

"Basil," said the lad, going over to him and putting his hand on his

shoulder, "you have come too late. Yesterday, when I heard that Sibyl Vane

hadkilledherself—"

"Killed herself! Good heavens! is there no doubt about that?" cried

Hallward,lookingupathimwithanexpressionofhorror.

"MydearBasil!Surelyyoudon'tthinkitwasavulgaraccident?Ofcourse

shekilledherself."

The elder man buried his face in his hands. "How fearful," he muttered,

andashudderranthroughhim.

"No,"saidDorianGray,"thereisnothingfearfulaboutit.Itisoneofthe

greatromantictragediesoftheage.Asarule,peoplewhoactleadthemost

commonplacelives.Theyaregoodhusbands,orfaithfulwives,orsomething

tedious. You know what I mean—middle-class virtue and all that kind of

thing.HowdifferentSibylwas!Shelivedherfinesttragedy.Shewasalwaysa

heroine. The lastnight she played—thenight you saw her—she actedbadly

becauseshehadknowntherealityoflove.Whensheknewitsunreality,she

died,asJulietmighthavedied.Shepassedagainintothesphereofart.There

issomethingofthemartyrabouther.Herdeathhasallthepatheticuselessness

ofmartyrdom,allitswastedbeauty.But,asIwassaying,youmustnotthinkI

havenotsuffered.Ifyouhadcomeinyesterdayataparticularmoment—about

half-pastfive,perhaps,oraquartertosix—youwouldhavefoundmeintears.

Even Harry, who was here, who brought me the news, in fact, had no idea

whatIwasgoingthrough.Isufferedimmensely.Thenitpassedaway.Icannot

repeat an emotion.No one can,except sentimentalists. And youare awfully

unjust,Basil.You come down heretoconsoleme.That is charming ofyou.

You findmeconsoled,and you arefurious.Howlike a sympatheticperson!

You remind me of astory Harrytold me about a certain philanthropist who

spent twenty years of his life in trying to get some grievance redressed, or

someunjustlawaltered—Iforgetexactlywhatitwas.Finallyhesucceeded,

and nothing could exceed his disappointment. He had absolutely nothing to

do,almostdiedofennui,andbecameaconfirmedmisanthrope.Andbesides,

mydearoldBasil,ifyoureallywanttoconsoleme,teachmerathertoforget

whathashappened,ortoseeitfromaproperartisticpointofview.Wasitnot

Gautierwhousedtowriteaboutlaconsolationdesarts?Irememberpicking

upalittlevellum-coveredbookinyourstudioonedayandchancingonthat

delightfulphrase.Well,Iamnotlikethatyoungmanyoutoldmeofwhenwe

weredown at Marlow together, the young manwhousedto say that yellow

satincouldconsoleoneforallthemiseriesoflife.Ilovebeautifulthingsthat

onecantouchandhandle.Oldbrocades,greenbronzes,lacquer-work,carved

ivories,exquisite surroundings, luxury, pomp—there ismuchto be gotfrom

allthese.Buttheartistictemperamentthattheycreate,oratanyratereveal,is

stillmoretome.Tobecomethespectatorofone'sownlife,asHarrysays,isto

escapethesufferingoflife.Iknowyouaresurprisedatmytalkingtoyoulike

this.YouhavenotrealizedhowIhavedeveloped.Iwasaschoolboywhenyou

knewme.Iamamannow.Ihavenewpassions,newthoughts,newideas.I

am different, but you must not like me less. I am changed, but you must

alwaysbemyfriend.Ofcourse,IamveryfondofHarry.ButIknowthatyou

arebetterthanheis.Youarenotstronger—youaretoomuchafraidoflife—

but you arebetter. And how happy weused to betogether! Don't leaveme,

Basil,anddon'tquarrelwithme.IamwhatIam.Thereisnothingmoretobe

said."

Thepainterfeltstrangelymoved.Theladwasinfinitelydeartohim,and

hispersonalityhadbeenthegreatturningpointinhisart.Hecouldnotbear

theideaofreproachinghimanymore.Afterall,hisindifferencewasprobably

merely a mood that would pass away. There was so much in him that was

good,somuchinhimthatwasnoble.

"Well,Dorian,"hesaidatlength,withasadsmile,"Iwon'tspeaktoyou

againaboutthis horrible thing, afterto-day. I onlytrustyournamewon't be

mentioned in connectionwith it.The inquestis to take place this afternoon.

Havetheysummonedyou?"

Dorianshookhishead,andalookofannoyancepassedoverhisfaceatthe

mention of the word "inquest." There was something so crude and vulgar

abouteverythingofthekind."Theydon'tknowmyname,"heanswered.

"Butsurelyshedid?"

"OnlymyChristianname,andthatIamquitesureshenevermentionedto

anyone.ShetoldmeoncethattheywereallrathercurioustolearnwhoIwas,

andthatsheinvariablytoldthemmynamewasPrinceCharming.Itwaspretty

of her. You must do me a drawing of Sibyl, Basil. I should like to have

something more of her than the memory of a few kisses and some broken

patheticwords."

"Iwilltryanddosomething,Dorian,ifitwouldpleaseyou.Butyoumust

comeandsittomeyourselfagain.Ican'tgetonwithoutyou."

"I can never sit to you again, Basil. It is impossible!" he exclaimed,

startingback.

The painter stared at him. "My dear boy, what nonsense!" he cried. "Do

youmeantosayyoudon'tlikewhatIdidofyou?Whereisit?Whyhaveyou

pulledthescreeninfrontofit?Letmelookatit.ItisthebestthingIhaveever

done.Dotakethescreenaway,Dorian.Itissimplydisgracefulofyourservant

hidingmyworklikethat.IfelttheroomlookeddifferentasIcamein."

"Myservanthasnothingtodowithit,Basil.Youdon'timagineIlethim

arrangemyroomforme?Hesettlesmyflowersformesometimes—thatisall.

No;Ididitmyself.Thelightwastoostrongontheportrait."

"Toostrong!Surelynot,mydearfellow?Itisanadmirableplaceforit.Let

meseeit."AndHallwardwalkedtowardsthecorneroftheroom.

AcryofterrorbrokefromDorianGray'slips,andherushedbetweenthe

painterandthescreen."Basil,"hesaid,lookingverypale,"youmustnotlook

atit.Idon'twishyouto."

"Notlookatmyownwork!Youarenotserious.Whyshouldn'tIlookat

it?"exclaimedHallward,laughing.

"Ifyoutrytolookatit,Basil,onmywordofhonourIwillneverspeakto

youagainaslongasIlive.Iamquiteserious.Idon'tofferanyexplanation,

and you are not to ask for any. But, remember, if you touch this screen,

everythingisoverbetweenus."

Hallward was thunderstruck. He looked at Dorian Gray in absolute

amazement. He had never seen him like this before. The lad was actually

pallidwithrage.Hishandswereclenched,andthepupilsofhiseyeswerelike

disksofbluefire.Hewastremblingallover.

"Dorian!"

"Don'tspeak!"

"Butwhatisthematter?OfcourseIwon'tlookatitifyoudon'twantme

to," he said, rather coldly, turning on his heel and going over towards the

window."But,really,itseemsratherabsurdthatIshouldn'tseemyownwork,

especiallyasIamgoingtoexhibititinParisintheautumn.Ishallprobably

havetogiveitanothercoatofvarnishbeforethat,soImustseeitsomeday,

andwhynotto-day?"

"Toexhibitit!Youwanttoexhibitit?"exclaimedDorianGray,astrange

senseofterrorcreepingoverhim.Wastheworldgoingtobeshownhissecret?

Were people to gape at the mystery of his life? That was impossible.

Something—hedidnotknowwhat—hadtobedoneatonce.

"Yes; I don't suppose you will object to that. Georges Petit is going to

collectallmybestpicturesforaspecialexhibitionintheRuedeSeze,which

willopenthefirstweekinOctober.Theportraitwillonlybeawayamonth.I

shouldthinkyoucouldeasilyspareitforthattime.Infact,youaresuretobe

outoftown.Andifyoukeepitalwaysbehindascreen,youcan'tcaremuch

aboutit."

Dorian Gray passed his hand over his forehead. There were beads of

perspirationthere.Hefeltthathewasonthebrinkofahorribledanger."You

told me a month ago that you would never exhibit it,"he cried."Why have

youchangedyourmind?Youpeoplewhogoinforbeingconsistenthavejust

as many moods as others have. The only difference is that your moods are

rather meaningless. You can't have forgotten that you assured me most

solemnly that nothing in the world would induce you to send it to any

exhibition.YoutoldHarryexactlythesamething."Hestoppedsuddenly,and

agleamoflightcameintohiseyes.HerememberedthatLordHenryhadsaid

to him once, half seriously and half in jest, "If you want to have a strange

quarterofanhour,getBasiltotellyouwhyhewon'texhibityourpicture.He

toldmewhyhewouldn't,anditwasarevelationtome."Yes,perhapsBasil,

too,hadhissecret.Hewouldaskhimandtry.

"Basil,"he said,comingover quite closeand looking himstraight in the

face, "we have each of us a secret. Let me know yours, and I shall tell you

mine.Whatwasyourreasonforrefusingtoexhibitmypicture?"

Thepaintershudderedinspiteofhimself."Dorian,ifItoldyou,youmight

likemelessthanyoudo,andyouwouldcertainlylaughatme.Icouldnotbear

yourdoing either ofthosetwothings. If youwishme never tolookatyour

pictureagain,Iamcontent.Ihavealwaysyoutolookat.Ifyouwishthebest

work I have ever done to be hidden from the world, I am satisfied. Your

friendshipisdearertomethananyfameorreputation."

"No,Basil,youmusttellme,"insistedDorianGray."IthinkIhavearight

to know." His feeling of terror had passed away, and curiosityhad takenits

place.HewasdeterminedtofindoutBasilHallward'smystery.

"Let us sit down, Dorian," said the painter, looking troubled. "Let us sit

down. And just answer me one question. Have you noticed in the picture

somethingcurious?—something that probablyatfirst did notstrikeyou, but

thatrevealeditselftoyousuddenly?"

"Basil!"criedthelad,clutchingthearmsofhischairwithtremblinghands

andgazingathimwithwildstartledeyes.

"Iseeyoudid.Don'tspeak.WaittillyouhearwhatIhavetosay.Dorian,

from the moment I met you, your personality had the most extraordinary

influence over me. I was dominated, soul, brain, and power, by you. You

became to me the visible incarnation of that unseen ideal whose memory

hauntsusartistslikeanexquisitedream.Iworshippedyou.Igrewjealousof

everyonetowhomyouspoke.Iwantedtohaveyoualltomyself.Iwasonly

happy whenI was with you. Whenyou were away from me,you were still

present in my art.... Of course, I never let you know anything about this. It

would have been impossible. You would not have understood it. I hardly

understooditmyself.IonlyknewthatIhadseenperfectionfacetoface,and

thattheworldhadbecomewonderfultomyeyes—toowonderful,perhaps,for

insuchmadworshipsthereisperil,theperiloflosingthem,nolessthanthe

perilofkeepingthem....Weeksandweekswenton,andIgrewmoreandmore

absorbedinyou.Thencameanewdevelopment.IhaddrawnyouasParisin

daintyarmour,andasAdoniswithhuntsman'scloakandpolishedboar-spear.

Crowned with heavy lotus-blossoms you had sat on the prow of Adrian's

barge,gazingacrossthegreenturbidNile.Youhadleanedoverthestillpool

of some Greek woodland and seen in the water's silent silver the marvel of

your ownface. And it had allbeen what art should be—unconscious,ideal,

and remote. One day, afatal dayI sometimesthink, I determined to paint a

wonderfulportraitofyouasyouactuallyare,notinthecostumeofdeadages,

butinyourowndressandinyourowntime.Whetheritwastherealismofthe

method,orthemerewonderofyourownpersonality,thusdirectlypresented

to me without mist or veil, I cannot tell. But I know that as I worked at it,

everyflakeandfilmofcolourseemedtometorevealmysecret.Igrewafraid

thatotherswouldknowofmyidolatry.Ifelt,Dorian,thatIhadtoldtoomuch,

thatIhadputtoomuchofmyselfintoit.ThenitwasthatIresolvedneverto

allowthepicturetobeexhibited.Youwerealittleannoyed;butthenyoudid

notrealizeallthatitmeanttome.Harry,towhomItalkedaboutit,laughedat

me. But Idid not mindthat.When the picturewas finished, andI sat alone

withit,IfeltthatIwasright....Well,afterafewdaysthethingleftmystudio,

and as soon asI had got rid of the intolerablefascination of its presence,it

seemedtomethatIhadbeenfoolishinimaginingthatIhadseenanythingin

it, more than that you were extremely good-looking and that I could paint.

EvennowIcannothelpfeelingthatitisamistaketothinkthatthepassionone

feelsin creation iseverreally shown inthework one creates.Artis always

moreabstractthanwefancy.Formandcolourtellusofformandcolour—that

isall.Itoftenseemstomethatartconcealstheartistfarmorecompletelythan

iteverrevealshim.AndsowhenIgotthisofferfromParis,Ideterminedto

makeyour portrait the principalthinginmy exhibition. It neveroccurredto

methatyouwouldrefuse.Iseenowthatyouwereright.Thepicturecannotbe

shown.Youmustnotbeangrywithme,Dorian,forwhatIhavetoldyou.AsI

saidtoHarry,once,youaremadetobeworshipped."

DorianGraydrewalongbreath.Thecolourcamebacktohischeeks,anda

smileplayedabouthislips.Theperilwasover.Hewassafeforthetime.Yet

hecouldnothelpfeelinginfinitepityforthepainterwhohadjustmadethis

strange confession to him, and wondered if he himself would ever be so

dominatedbythepersonalityofafriend.LordHenryhadthecharmofbeing

very dangerous. But that was all. He was too clever and too cynical to be

really fond of. Would there ever be some one who would fill him with a

strangeidolatry?Wasthatoneofthethingsthatlifehadinstore?

"Itisextraordinaryto me, Dorian," saidHallward,"thatyoushouldhave

seenthisintheportrait.Didyoureallyseeit?"

"Isawsomethinginit,"heanswered,"somethingthatseemedtomevery

curious."

"Well,youdon'tmindmylookingatthethingnow?"

Dorian shook his head. "You must not ask me that, Basil. I could not

possiblyletyoustandinfrontofthatpicture."

"Youwillsomeday,surely?"

"Never."

"Well,perhapsyouareright.Andnowgood-bye,Dorian.Youhavebeen

theonepersoninmylifewhohasreallyinfluencedmyart.WhateverIhave

donethatisgood,Iowetoyou.Ah!youdon'tknowwhatitcostmetotellyou

allthatIhavetoldyou."

"My dear Basil," said Dorian,"what haveyou toldme? Simply that you

feltthatyouadmiredmetoomuch.Thatisnotevenacompliment."

"Itwasnotintendedasacompliment.Itwasaconfession.NowthatIhave

madeit,somethingseemstohavegoneoutofme.Perhapsoneshouldnever

putone'sworshipintowords."

"Itwasaverydisappointingconfession."

"Why, what did you expect, Dorian? You didn't see anything else in the

picture,didyou?Therewasnothingelsetosee?"

"No;therewasnothingelsetosee.Whydoyouask?Butyoumustn'ttalk

aboutworship.Itisfoolish.YouandIarefriends,Basil,andwemustalways

remainso."

"YouhavegotHarry,"saidthepaintersadly.

"Oh, Harry!" cried the lad, with a ripple of laughter. "Harry spends his

days in saying what is incredible and his evenings in doing what is

improbable.JustthesortoflifeIwouldliketolead.Butstill I don't think I

wouldgotoHarryifIwereintrouble.Iwouldsoonergotoyou,Basil."

"Youwillsittomeagain?"

"Impossible!"

"Youspoilmylifeasanartistbyrefusing,Dorian.Nomancomesacross

twoidealthings.Fewcomeacrossone."

"Ican'texplainittoyou,Basil,butImustneversittoyouagain.Thereis

somethingfatalaboutaportrait.Ithasalifeofitsown.Iwillcomeandhave

teawithyou.Thatwillbejustaspleasant."

"Pleasanter for you, I am afraid," murmured Hallward regretfully. "And

nowgood-bye.Iamsorryyouwon'tletmelookatthepictureonceagain.But

thatcan'tbehelped.Iquiteunderstandwhatyoufeelaboutit."

Ashelefttheroom,DorianGraysmiledtohimself.PoorBasil!Howlittle

he knew of the true reason! And how strange it was that, instead of having

beenforcedtorevealhisownsecret,hehadsucceeded,almostbychance,in

wrestingasecretfromhisfriend!Howmuchthatstrangeconfessionexplained

tohim!Thepainter'sabsurdfitsofjealousy,hiswilddevotion,hisextravagant

panegyrics, his curious reticences—he understood them all now, and he felt

sorry.Thereseemedtohimtobesomethingtragicinafriendshipsocoloured

byromance.

He sighed and touched the bell. The portraitmust be hidden away at all

costs.Hecouldnotrunsuchariskofdiscoveryagain.Ithadbeenmadofhim

tohaveallowedthethingtoremain,evenforanhour,inaroomtowhichany

ofhisfriendshadaccess.



CHAPTER10



Whenhisservantentered,helookedathimsteadfastlyandwonderedifhe

hadthoughtofpeeringbehind the screen.Themanwasquiteimpassiveand

waitedforhisorders.Dorianlitacigaretteandwalkedovertotheglassand

glanced into it. He could see the reflection of Victor's face perfectly. It was

likeaplacidmaskofservility.Therewasnothingtobeafraidof,there.Yethe

thoughtitbesttobeonhisguard.

Speakingveryslowly,hetoldhimtotellthehouse-keeperthathewanted

toseeher,andthentogototheframe-makerandaskhimtosendtwoofhis

menround atonce.It seemed tohim that astheman left theroom his eyes

wanderedinthedirectionofthescreen.Orwasthatmerelyhisownfancy?

After a few moments, in her black silk dress, with old-fashioned thread

mittensonherwrinkledhands,Mrs.Leafbustledintothelibrary.Heaskedher

forthekeyoftheschoolroom.

"Theoldschoolroom,Mr.Dorian?"sheexclaimed."Why,itisfullofdust.

Imustgetitarrangedandputstraightbeforeyougointoit.Itisnotfitforyou

tosee,sir.Itisnot,indeed."

"Idon'twantitputstraight,Leaf.Ionlywantthekey."

"Well,sir,you'llbecoveredwithcobwebsifyougointoit.Why,ithasn't

beenopenedfornearlyfiveyears—notsincehislordshipdied."

Hewincedatthementionofhisgrandfather.Hehadhatefulmemoriesof

him."Thatdoesnotmatter,"heanswered."Isimplywanttoseetheplace—

thatisall.Givemethekey."

"Andhereisthekey,sir,"saidtheoldlady,goingoverthecontentsofher

bunchwithtremulouslyuncertainhands."Hereisthekey.I'llhaveitoffthe

bunch in a moment. But you don't think of living up there, sir, and you so

comfortablehere?"

"No,no,"hecriedpetulantly."Thankyou,Leaf.Thatwilldo."

Shelingeredforafewmoments,andwasgarrulousoversomedetailofthe

household.Hesighedandtoldhertomanagethingsasshethoughtbest.She

lefttheroom,wreathedinsmiles.

Asthedoorclosed,Dorianputthekeyinhispocketandlookedroundthe

room.Hiseyefellonalarge,purplesatincoverletheavilyembroideredwith

gold, a splendid piece of late seventeenth-century Venetian work that his

grandfather had found in a convent near Bologna. Yes, that would serve to

wrapthedreadfulthingin.Ithadperhapsservedoftenasapallforthedead.

Nowitwastohidesomethingthathadacorruptionofitsown,worsethanthe

corruptionofdeathitself—somethingthatwouldbreedhorrorsandyetwould

neverdie.Whatthewormwastothecorpse,hissinswouldbetothepainted

imageonthecanvas.Theywouldmaritsbeautyandeatawayitsgrace.They

woulddefileitandmakeitshameful.Andyetthethingwouldstillliveon.It

wouldbealwaysalive.

Heshuddered,andforamomentheregrettedthathehadnottoldBasilthe

true reason why he had wished to hide the picture away. Basil would have

helped him to resist Lord Henry's influence, and the still more poisonous

influencesthatcamefromhisowntemperament.Thelovethatheborehim—

foritwasreallylove—hadnothinginitthatwasnotnobleandintellectual.It

wasnotthatmerephysicaladmirationofbeautythatisbornofthesensesand

thatdieswhenthesensestire.ItwassuchloveasMichelangelohadknown,

andMontaigne,andWinckelmann,andShakespearehimself.Yes,Basilcould

havesavedhim.Butitwastoolatenow.Thepastcouldalwaysbeannihilated.

Regret, denial,or forgetfulness coulddo that. Butthe future wasinevitable.

Therewere passions in himthatwouldfind their terribleoutlet, dreamsthat

wouldmaketheshadowoftheirevilreal.

Hetookupfromthecouchthegreatpurple-and-goldtexturethatcovered

it,and,holdingitinhishands,passedbehindthescreen.Wasthefaceonthe

canvasvilerthanbefore?Itseemedtohimthatitwasunchanged,andyethis

loathingofitwasintensified.Goldhair,blueeyes,androse-redlips—theyall

werethere.Itwassimplytheexpressionthathadaltered.Thatwashorriblein

itscruelty.Comparedtowhathesawinitofcensureorrebuke,howshallow

Basil's reproaches about Sibyl Vane had been!—how shallow, and of what

little account! His own soul was looking out at him from the canvas and

callinghimto judgement.Alookofpaincameacrosshim,and he flungthe

richpalloverthepicture.Ashedidso,aknockcametothedoor.Hepassed

outashisservantentered.

"Thepersonsarehere,Monsieur."

Hefeltthatthemanmustbegotridofatonce.Hemustnotbeallowedto

know wherethe picture was being takento. There was something sly about

him,andhehadthoughtful,treacherouseyes.Sittingdownatthewriting-table

hescribbledanotetoLordHenry,askinghimtosendhimroundsomethingto

readandremindinghimthattheyweretomeetateight-fifteenthatevening.

"Wait for an answer," he said, handing it to him, "and show the men in

here."

Intwoorthreeminutestherewasanotherknock,andMr.Hubbardhimself,

thecelebratedframe-makerofSouthAudleyStreet,cameinwithasomewhat

rough-lookingyoungassistant.Mr.Hubbardwasaflorid,red-whiskeredlittle

man, whose admiration for art was considerably tempered by the inveterate

impecuniosityofmost of theartistswhodealtwithhim.As arule,henever

lefthis shop.He waited forpeopleto cometohim. But healways made an

exceptioninfavourofDorian Gray.Therewas something about Dorian that

charmedeverybody.Itwasapleasureeventoseehim.

"WhatcanIdoforyou,Mr.Gray?"hesaid,rubbinghisfatfreckledhands.

"Ithought I woulddomyself the honourofcoming round inperson.I have

justgotabeautyofaframe,sir.Pickeditupatasale.OldFlorentine.Came

fromFonthill,Ibelieve.Admirablysuitedforareligioussubject,Mr.Gray."

"Iamsosorryyouhavegivenyourselfthetroubleofcominground,Mr.

Hubbard.Ishallcertainlydropinandlookattheframe—thoughIdon'tgoin

muchatpresentforreligiousart—butto-dayIonlywantapicturecarriedto

thetopofthehouseforme.Itisratherheavy,soIthoughtIwouldaskyouto

lendmeacoupleofyourmen."

"No trouble atall,Mr. Gray. I amdelighted to beof any serviceto you.

Whichistheworkofart,sir?"

"This," replied Dorian, moving the screen back. "Can you move it,

coveringandall,justasitis?Idon'twantittogetscratchedgoingupstairs."

"Therewillbenodifficulty, sir,"saidthegenialframe-maker, beginning,

withtheaidofhisassistant,tounhookthepicturefromthelongbrasschains

bywhichitwassuspended."And,now,whereshallwecarryitto,Mr.Gray?"

"Iwillshowyoutheway,Mr.Hubbard,ifyouwillkindlyfollowme.Or

perhaps you had better go in front. I am afraid it is right at the top of the

house.Wewillgoupbythefrontstaircase,asitiswider."

He held the door open for them, and they passed out into the hall and

beganthe ascent. The elaboratecharacterofthe frame had madethepicture

extremelybulky,andnowandthen,inspiteoftheobsequiousprotestsofMr.

Hubbard,whohadthetruetradesman'sspiriteddislikeofseeingagentleman

doinganythinguseful,Dorianputhishandtoitsoastohelpthem.

"Somethingofaloadtocarry,sir,"gaspedthelittlemanwhentheyreached

thetoplanding.Andhewipedhisshinyforehead.

"Iamafraiditisratherheavy,"murmuredDorianasheunlockedthedoor

thatopenedintotheroomthatwastokeepforhimthecurioussecretofhislife

andhidehissoulfromtheeyesofmen.

Hehadnotenteredtheplaceformorethanfouryears—not,indeed,since

hehaduseditfirstasaplay-roomwhenhewasachild,andthenasastudy

whenhegrewsomewhatolder.Itwasalarge,well-proportionedroom,which

had been specially built by the last Lord Kelso for the use of the little

grandson whom, for his strange likeness to his mother, and also for other

reasons,hehadalwayshatedanddesiredtokeepatadistance.Itappearedto

Doriantohavebutlittlechanged.TherewasthehugeItaliancassone,withits

fantasticallypaintedpanelsanditstarnishedgiltmouldings,inwhichhehad

sooften hidden himselfas aboy. Therethesatinwoodbook-case filled with

his dog-eared schoolbooks. On the wall behind it was hanging the same

raggedFlemishtapestrywhereafadedkingandqueenwereplayingchessina

garden,whileacompanyofhawkersrodeby,carryinghoodedbirdsontheir

gauntletedwrists.Howwellheremembereditall!Everymomentofhislonely

childhood came back to him as he looked round. He recalled the stainless

purityofhisboyishlife,anditseemedhorribletohimthatitwasherethefatal

portraitwastobehiddenaway.Howlittlehehadthought,inthosedeaddays,

ofallthatwasinstoreforhim!

Butthere was nootherplace in thehouseso secure frompryingeyes as

this.Hehadthekey,andnooneelsecouldenterit.Beneathitspurplepall,the

facepaintedonthecanvascouldgrowbestial,sodden,andunclean.Whatdid

it matter? No onecould see it.He himself wouldnot see it.Why should he

watchthehideouscorruptionofhissoul?Hekepthisyouth—thatwasenough.

And,besides,mightnothisnaturegrowfiner,afterall?Therewasnoreason

thatthefutureshouldbesofullofshame.Somelovemightcomeacrosshis

life,andpurifyhim,andshieldhimfromthosesinsthatseemedtobealready

stirring in spirit and in flesh—those curious unpictured sins whose very

mysterylentthemtheirsubtletyandtheircharm.Perhaps,someday,thecruel

lookwouldhavepassedawayfromthescarletsensitivemouth,andhemight

showtotheworldBasilHallward'smasterpiece.

No;thatwasimpossible.Hourbyhour,andweekbyweek,thethingupon

the canvas wasgrowing old.It might escapethe hideousnessof sin, but the

hideousness of agewas instore for it.The cheekswould become hollow or

flaccid.Yellowcrow'sfeetwouldcreeproundthefadingeyesandmakethem

horrible.Thehairwouldloseitsbrightness,themouthwouldgapeordroop,

wouldbefoolishorgross,asthemouthsofoldmenare.Therewouldbethe

wrinkled throat, the cold, blue-veined hands, the twisted body, that he

rememberedinthegrandfatherwhohadbeensosterntohiminhisboyhood.

Thepicturehadtobeconcealed.Therewasnohelpforit.

"Bringitin,Mr.Hubbard,please,"hesaid,wearily,turninground."Iam

sorryIkeptyousolong.Iwasthinkingofsomethingelse."

"Always glad to have a rest,Mr. Gray," answeredthe frame-maker, who

wasstillgaspingforbreath."Whereshallweputit,sir?"

"Oh,anywhere.Here:thiswilldo.Idon'twanttohaveithungup.Justlean

itagainstthewall.Thanks."

"Mightonelookattheworkofart,sir?"

Dorianstarted."Itwouldnotinterestyou,Mr.Hubbard,"hesaid,keeping

hiseyeontheman.Hefeltreadytoleapuponhimandflinghimtotheground

ifhedaredtoliftthegorgeoushangingthatconcealedthesecretofhislife."I

shan't trouble you any more now. I am much obliged for your kindness in

cominground."

"Not at all,not atall, Mr. Gray. Everready todo anything for you, sir."

AndMr.Hubbardtrampeddownstairs,followedbytheassistant,whoglanced

backatDorianwithalookofshywonderinhisroughuncomelyface.Hehad

neverseenanyonesomarvellous.

Whenthesoundoftheirfootstepshaddiedaway,Dorianlockedthedoor

andputthekeyinhispocket.Hefeltsafenow.Noonewouldeverlookupon

thehorriblething.Noeyebuthiswouldeverseehisshame.

Onreachingthelibrary,hefoundthatitwasjustafterfiveo'clockandthat

theteahadbeenalreadybroughtup.Onalittletableofdarkperfumedwood

thicklyincrustedwithnacre,apresentfromLadyRadley,hisguardian'swife,

aprettyprofessionalinvalidwhohadspenttheprecedingwinterinCairo,was

lyinganotefromLordHenry,andbesideitwasabookboundinyellowpaper,

thecoverslightlytornandtheedgessoiled.AcopyofthethirdeditionofThe

St.James'sGazettehadbeenplacedonthetea-tray.ItwasevidentthatVictor

had returned. He wondered if he had met the men in the hall as they were

leavingthehouseandhadwormedoutofthemwhattheyhadbeendoing.He

wouldbesuretomissthepicture—hadnodoubtmisseditalready,whilehe

hadbeenlayingthetea-things.Thescreenhadnotbeensetback,andablank

spacewasvisibleonthewall.Perhapssomenighthemightfindhimcreeping

upstairs and trying to force the door of the room. It was a horrible thing to

have a spy in one's house. He had heard of rich men who had been

blackmailedalltheirlivesbysomeservantwhohadreadaletter,oroverheard

aconversation,orpickedupacardwithanaddress,orfoundbeneathapillow

awitheredflowerorashredofcrumpledlace.

Hesighed,andhavingpouredhimselfoutsometea,openedLordHenry's

note. It was simply to say that he sent him round the evening paper, and a

bookthatmightinteresthim,andthathewouldbeattheclubateight-fifteen.

HeopenedTheSt.James'slanguidly,andlookedthroughit.Aredpencil-mark

onthefifthpagecaughthiseye.Itdrewattentiontothefollowingparagraph:

INQUESTONANACTRESS.—Aninquestwasheldthismorningatthe

BellTavern,HoxtonRoad,byMr.Danby,theDistrictCoroner,onthebodyof

SibylVane,ayoungactressrecentlyengagedattheRoyalTheatre,Holborn.A

verdict of death by misadventure was returned. Considerable sympathy was

expressedforthemotherofthedeceased,whowasgreatlyaffectedduringthe

givingofherown evidence, andthatofDr.Birrell,whohadmade the post-

mortemexaminationofthedeceased.

Hefrowned,andtearingthepaperintwo,wentacrosstheroomandflung

the pieces away. Howugly it allwas! Andhow horribly real ugliness made

things!HefeltalittleannoyedwithLordHenryforhavingsenthimthereport.

Anditwascertainly stupidofhimtohavemarkedit with redpencil.Victor

mighthavereadit.ThemanknewmorethanenoughEnglishforthat.

Perhapshehadreaditandhadbeguntosuspectsomething.And,yet,what

diditmatter?WhathadDorianGraytodowithSibylVane'sdeath?Therewas

nothingtofear.DorianGrayhadnotkilledher.

HiseyefellontheyellowbookthatLordHenryhadsenthim.Whatwasit,

hewondered.Hewenttowardsthe little, pearl-colouredoctagonalstandthat

had always lookedto himlike the workof somestrange Egyptian beesthat

wroughtinsilver,andtakingupthevolume,flunghimselfintoanarm-chair

andbegantoturnovertheleaves.Afterafewminuteshebecameabsorbed.It

wasthestrangestbookthathehadeverread.Itseemedtohimthatinexquisite

raiment,andtothedelicatesoundofflutes,thesinsoftheworldwerepassing

indumbshowbeforehim.Thingsthathehaddimlydreamedofweresuddenly

made real to him. Things of which he had never dreamed were gradually

revealed.

Itwasanovel without aplotandwithonlyonecharacter,being,indeed,

simply a psychological study of a certain young Parisian who spent his life

trying to realize in the nineteenth century all the passions and modes of

thoughtthat belonged toeverycentury except hisown,and to sumup,as it

were, in himself the various moods through whichthe world-spirithad ever

passed, loving for their mere artificiality those renunciations that men have

unwiselycalledvirtue,asmuchasthosenaturalrebellionsthatwisemenstill

callsin.Thestyleinwhichitwaswrittenwasthatcuriousjewelledstyle,vivid

andobscureatonce,fullof argotandofarchaisms,oftechnicalexpressions

andofelaborateparaphrases,thatcharacterizestheworkofsomeofthefinest

artists of the French school of Symbolistes. There were in it metaphors as

monstrous as orchids and as subtle in colour. The life of the senses was

described in the terms of mystical philosophy. One hardly knew at times

whetheronewasreadingthespiritualecstasiesofsomemediaevalsaintorthe

morbidconfessionsofamodernsinner.Itwasapoisonousbook.Theheavy

odourofincenseseemedtoclingaboutitspagesandtotroublethebrain.The

merecadenceofthesentences,thesubtlemonotonyoftheirmusic,sofullasit

wasofcomplexrefrainsandmovementselaboratelyrepeated,producedinthe

mind of the lad, as he passed from chapter to chapter, a form of reverie, a

malady of dreaming, that made him unconscious of the falling day and

creepingshadows.

Cloudless, and pierced by one solitary star, a copper-green sky gleamed

throughthewindows.Hereadonbyitswanlighttillhecouldreadnomore.

Then, after his valet had reminded him several times of the lateness of the

hour, he got up,and going into the next room, placed the bookon thelittle

Florentinetablethatalwaysstoodathisbedsideandbegantodressfordinner.

Itwasalmostnineo'clockbeforehereachedtheclub,wherehefoundLord

Henrysittingalone,inthemorning-room,lookingverymuchbored.

"Iamsosorry, Harry," he cried, "but really it is entirely your fault. That

bookyousentmesofascinatedmethatIforgothowthetimewasgoing."

"Yes,Ithoughtyouwouldlikeit,"repliedhishost,risingfromhischair.

"I didn't say I liked it, Harry. I said it fascinated me. There is a great

difference."

"Ah,youhavediscoveredthat?"murmuredLordHenry.Andtheypassed

intothedining-room.



CHAPTER11



For years, Dorian Gray could not freehimself fromthe influence of this

book.Orperhapsitwouldbemoreaccuratetosaythatheneversoughttofree

himselffromit.HeprocuredfromParisnolessthanninelarge-papercopiesof

thefirstedition,andhadthemboundindifferentcolours,sothattheymight

suit his various moods and the changing fancies of a nature over which he

seemed,attimes,tohavealmostentirelylostcontrol.Thehero,thewonderful

youngParisianinwhomtheromanticandthescientifictemperamentswereso

strangelyblended,becametohimakindofprefiguringtypeofhimself.And,

indeed, the whole book seemed to him to contain the story of his own life,

writtenbeforehehadlivedit.

In one point he was more fortunate than the novel's fantastic hero. He

neverknew—never,indeed,hadanycausetoknow—thatsomewhatgrotesque

dreadofmirrors,andpolishedmetalsurfaces,andstillwaterwhichcameupon

the young Parisian so early in his life, and was occasioned by the sudden

decayofabeauthathadonce,apparently,beensoremarkable.Itwaswithan

almost cruel joy—and perhaps in nearly every joy, as certainly in every

pleasure,crueltyhasitsplace—thatheusedtoreadthelatterpartofthebook,

withitsreallytragic,ifsomewhatoveremphasized,accountofthesorrowand

despairofonewhohadhimselflostwhatinothers,andtheworld,hehadmost

dearlyvalued.

ForthewonderfulbeautythathadsofascinatedBasilHallward,andmany

othersbesideshim,seemednevertoleavehim.Eventhosewhohadheardthe

mostevilthingsagainsthim—andfromtimetotimestrangerumoursabouthis

modeoflifecreptthroughLondonandbecamethechatteroftheclubs—could

notbelieveanythingtohisdishonourwhentheysawhim.Hehadalwaysthe

lookofonewhohadkepthimselfunspottedfromtheworld.Menwhotalked

grossly became silent when Dorian Gray entered the room. There was

something in the purity of his face that rebuked them. His mere presence

seemedtorecalltothemthememoryoftheinnocencethattheyhadtarnished.

They wondered how one so charming and graceful as he was could have

escapedthestainofanagethatwasatoncesordidandsensual.

Often, on returning home from one of those mysterious and prolonged

absencesthatgaverisetosuchstrangeconjectureamongthosewhowerehis

friends,orthoughtthattheywereso,hehimselfwouldcreepupstairs to the

lockedroom,openthedoorwiththekeythatneverlefthimnow,andstand,

withamirror,infrontoftheportraitthatBasilHallwardhadpaintedofhim,

looking now at the evil and aging face on the canvas, and now at the fair

young face that laughed back at him from the polished glass. The very

sharpnessofthecontrastusedtoquickenhissenseofpleasure.Hegrewmore

and more enamoured of his own beauty, more and more interested in the

corruption of his own soul. He would examine with minute care, and

sometimeswithamonstrousandterribledelight,thehideouslinesthatseared

thewrinklingforeheadorcrawledaroundtheheavysensualmouth,wondering

sometimeswhichwerethemorehorrible,thesignsofsinorthesignsofage.

Hewouldplacehiswhitehandsbesidethecoarsebloatedhandsofthepicture,

andsmile.Hemockedthemisshapenbodyandthefailinglimbs.

There were moments, indeed, at night, when, lying sleepless in his own

delicatelyscentedchamber,orinthesordidroomofthelittleill-famedtavern

nearthedockswhich,underanassumednameandindisguise,itwashishabit

to frequent, hewouldthink oftheruin hehadbrought uponhissoul witha

pitythatwasallthemorepoignantbecauseitwaspurelyselfish.Butmoments

suchasthesewererare.ThatcuriosityaboutlifewhichLordHenryhadfirst

stirred in him, as they sat together in the garden of their friend, seemed to

increasewithgratification.Themoreheknew,themorehedesiredto know.

Hehadmadhungersthatgrewmoreravenousashefedthem.

Yethewasnotreallyreckless,atanyrateinhisrelationstosociety.Once

or twice every month during the winter, and on each Wednesday evening

whiletheseasonlasted,hewouldthrowopentotheworldhisbeautifulhouse

andhavethemostcelebratedmusiciansofthedaytocharmhisguestswiththe

wonders of their art. His little dinners, in the settling of which Lord Henry

alwaysassistedhim,werenotedasmuchforthecarefulselectionandplacing

ofthoseinvited,asfortheexquisitetasteshowninthedecorationofthetable,

with its subtle symphonic arrangements of exotic flowers, and embroidered

cloths, and antique plate of gold and silver. Indeed, there were many,

especiallyamongtheveryyoungmen,whosaw,orfanciedthattheysaw,in

DorianGraythetruerealizationofatypeofwhichtheyhadoftendreamedin

EtonorOxforddays,atypethatwastocombinesomethingoftherealculture

ofthescholarwithallthegraceanddistinctionandperfectmannerofacitizen

oftheworld.TothemheseemedtobeofthecompanyofthosewhomDante

describes as having sought to "make themselves perfect by the worship of

beauty."LikeGautier,hewasoneforwhom"thevisibleworldexisted."

And,certainly,tohimlifeitselfwasthefirst,thegreatest,ofthearts,and

foritalltheotherartsseemedtobebutapreparation.Fashion,bywhichwhat

isreallyfantasticbecomes for amomentuniversal,anddandyism,which,in

itsownway,isanattempttoasserttheabsolutemodernityofbeauty,had,of

course, their fascination for him. His mode of dressing, and the particular

styles thatfrom time to time he affected, had their marked influence on the

youngexquisitesoftheMayfairballsandPallMallclubwindows,whocopied

himineverythingthathedid,andtriedtoreproducetheaccidentalcharmof

hisgraceful,thoughtohimonlyhalf-serious,fopperies.

For, while he was but too ready to accept the position that was almost

immediatelyofferedtohimonhiscomingofage,andfound,indeed,asubtle

pleasureinthethoughtthathemightreallybecometotheLondonofhisown

day what to imperial Neronian Rome the author of the Satyricon once had

been, yet in his inmost heart he desired to be something more than a mere

arbiterelegantiarum,tobeconsultedonthewearingofajewel,ortheknotting

of a necktie, or the conduct of a cane. He sought to elaborate some new

scheme of life that would have its reasoned philosophy and its ordered

principles,andfindinthespiritualizingofthesensesitshighestrealization.

Theworshipofthesenseshasoften,andwithmuchjustice,beendecried,

menfeelinganaturalinstinctofterroraboutpassionsandsensationsthatseem

strongerthanthemselves,andthattheyareconsciousofsharingwiththeless

highlyorganizedformsofexistence.ButitappearedtoDorianGraythatthe

true nature of the senses had never been understood, and that they had

remained savage and animal merely because the world had sought to starve

them into submission or to kill them by pain, instead of aiming at making

themelementsofanewspirituality,ofwhichafineinstinctforbeautywasto

bethedominantcharacteristic.Ashelookedbackuponmanmovingthrough

history,hewashauntedbyafeelingofloss.Somuchhadbeensurrendered!

and to such littlepurpose! Therehad beenmad wilfulrejections, monstrous

formsofself-tortureandself-denial,whoseoriginwasfearandwhoseresult

wasadegradationinfinitelymoreterriblethanthatfancieddegradationfrom

which,intheirignorance,theyhadsoughttoescape;Nature,inherwonderful

irony,drivingouttheanchoritetofeedwiththewildanimalsofthedesertand

givingtothehermitthebeastsofthefieldashiscompanions.

Yes:therewastobe,asLordHenryhadprophesied,anewHedonismthat

wastorecreatelifeandtosaveitfromthatharshuncomelypuritanismthatis

having, in our own day, itscurious revival. It was tohave itsservice of the

intellect,certainly,yetitwasnevertoacceptanytheoryorsystemthatwould

involve the sacrifice of any mode of passionate experience. Its aim, indeed,

wastobeexperienceitself,andnotthefruitsofexperience,sweetorbitteras

they might be. Of the asceticism that deadens the senses, as of the vulgar

profligacythatdullsthem,itwastoknownothing.Butitwastoteachmanto

concentratehimselfuponthemomentsofalifethatisitselfbutamoment.

Therearefewofuswhohavenotsometimeswakenedbeforedawn,either

afteroneofthosedreamlessnightsthatmakeusalmostenamouredofdeath,

or one of those nights of horror and misshapen joy, when through the

chambers of the brain sweep phantoms more terrible than reality itself, and

instinctwiththatvividlifethatlurksinallgrotesques,andthatlendstoGothic

artits enduring vitality, this artbeing,one mightfancy, especially theart of

thosewhosemindshavebeentroubledwiththemaladyofreverie.Gradually

whitefingerscreepthroughthecurtains,andtheyappeartotremble.Inblack

fantasticshapes,dumbshadowscrawlintothecornersoftheroomandcrouch

there.Outside,thereisthestirringofbirdsamongtheleaves,orthesoundof

mengoingforthtotheirwork,orthesighandsobofthewindcomingdown

from the hills and wandering round the silent house, as though it feared to

wake the sleepers andyet mustneeds callforth sleepfrom her purple cave.

Veil after veil of thin dusky gauze is lifted, and by degrees the forms and

coloursofthingsarerestoredtothem,andwewatchthedawnremakingthe

worldin its antiquepattern. The wanmirrorsget back theirmimiclife. The

flamelesstapersstandwherewehadleftthem,andbesidethemliesthehalf-

cutbookthatwehadbeenstudying,orthewiredflowerthatwehadwornat

theball,ortheletterthatwehadbeenafraidtoread,orthatwehadreadtoo

often.Nothingseems to uschanged.Outofthe unreal shadows ofthenight

comesbackthereallifethatwehadknown.Wehavetoresumeitwherewe

had left off, andthere steals overus a terriblesenseof thenecessityfor the

continuanceofenergyinthesamewearisomeroundofstereotypedhabits,ora

wild longing, it may be, that our eyelids might open some morning upon a

worldthathadbeenrefashionedanewinthedarknessforourpleasure,aworld

inwhichthingswouldhavefreshshapesandcolours,andbechanged,orhave

other secrets, a world in which the past would have little or no place, or

survive, at any rate, in no conscious form of obligation or regret, the

remembranceeven ofjoyhavingitsbitternessandthememoriesofpleasure

theirpain.

ItwasthecreationofsuchworldsasthesethatseemedtoDorianGrayto

be the trueobject, oramongst the true objects, oflife; andin his search for

sensationsthatwouldbeatoncenewanddelightful,andpossessthatelement

of strangeness that is so essential to romance, he would often adopt certain

modes of thought that he knew to be really alien to his nature, abandon

himself to their subtle influences, and then, having, as it were, caught their

colour and satisfied his intellectual curiosity, leave them with that curious

indifference that isnot incompatible witha real ardourof temperament, and

that,indeed,accordingtocertainmodernpsychologists,isoftenaconditionof

it.

ItwasrumouredofhimoncethathewasabouttojointheRomanCatholic

communion,andcertainlytheRomanritualhadalwaysagreatattractionfor

him.Thedailysacrifice,moreawfulreallythanallthesacrificesoftheantique

world,stirredhimasmuchbyitssuperbrejectionoftheevidenceofthesenses

as by the primitive simplicity of its elements and the eternal pathos of the

humantragedythatitsoughttosymbolize.Helovedtokneeldownonthecold

marblepavementandwatchthe priest, in his stiffflowereddalmatic,slowly

andwithwhitehandsmovingasidetheveilofthetabernacle,orraisingaloft

the jewelled,lantern-shaped monstrancewith that pallid wafer that at times,

onewouldfainthink,isindeed the"paniscaelestis,"thebreadofangels,or,

robed in the garments of the Passion of Christ, breaking the Host into the

chaliceandsmitinghisbreastforhissins.Thefumingcensersthatthegrave

boys, in their lace and scarlet, tossed into the air like great gilt flowers had

theirsubtlefascinationforhim.Ashepassedout,heusedtolookwithwonder

attheblackconfessionalsandlongtositinthedimshadowofoneofthemand

listentomenandwomenwhisperingthroughtheworngratingthetruestoryof

theirlives.

Butheneverfellintotheerrorofarrestinghisintellectualdevelopmentby

any formal acceptance of creed or system, or of mistaking, for a house in

whichtolive,aninnthatisbutsuitableforthesojournofanight,orforafew

hours of a night in which there are no stars and the moon is in travail.

Mysticism,withitsmarvellouspowerofmakingcommonthingsstrangetous,

andthesubtleantinomianismthatalwaysseemstoaccompanyit,movedhim

foraseason;andforaseasonheinclinedtothematerialisticdoctrinesofthe

DarwinismusmovementinGermany,andfoundacuriouspleasureintracing

the thoughts and passions of men to some pearly cell in the brain, or some

white nerve in the body, delighting in the conception of the absolute

dependence of the spirit on certain physical conditions, morbid or healthy,

normal or diseased. Yet, as has been said of him before, no theory of life

seemed to him to be of any importance compared with life itself. He felt

keenlyconsciousofhowbarrenallintellectualspeculationiswhenseparated

from action andexperiment. He knew that thesenses, noless than thesoul,

havetheirspiritualmysteriestoreveal.

Andsohewouldnowstudyperfumesandthesecretsoftheirmanufacture,

distilling heavily scented oils and burning odorous gums from the East. He

saw that there was no mood of the mind that had not its counterpart in the

sensuouslife,andsethimselftodiscovertheirtruerelations,wonderingwhat

therewasinfrankincensethatmadeonemystical,andinambergristhatstirred

one'spassions,andinvioletsthatwokethememoryofdeadromances,andin

muskthattroubledthebrain,andinchampakthatstainedtheimagination;and

seekingoftentoelaboratearealpsychologyofperfumes,andtoestimatethe

severalinfluencesofsweet-smellingrootsandscented,pollen-ladenflowers;

ofaromaticbalmsandofdarkandfragrantwoods;ofspikenard,thatsickens;

ofhovenia,thatmakesmenmad;andofaloes,thataresaidtobeabletoexpel

melancholyfromthesoul.

Atanothertimehedevotedhimselfentirelytomusic,andinalonglatticed

room,withavermilion-and-goldceilingandwallsofolive-greenlacquer,he

usedtogivecuriousconcertsinwhichmadgipsiestorewildmusicfromlittle

zithers,orgrave,yellow-shawledTunisianspluckedatthestrainedstringsof

monstrous lutes, while grinning Negroes beat monotonously upon copper

drumsand,crouchinguponscarletmats,slimturbanedIndiansblewthrough

longpipesofreedorbrassandcharmed—orfeignedtocharm—greathooded

snakesandhorriblehornedadders.Theharshintervalsandshrilldiscordsof

barbaric music stirred him at times when Schubert's grace, and Chopin's

beautiful sorrows, and the mighty harmonies of Beethoven himself, fell

unheeded on his ear. He collected together from all parts of the world the

strangestinstrumentsthatcouldbefound,eitherinthetombsofdeadnations

or among the few savage tribes that have survived contact with Western

civilizations,andlovedtotouchandtrythem.Hehadthemysteriousjuruparis

oftheRioNegroIndians,thatwomenarenotallowedtolookatandthateven

youthsmaynotseetilltheyhavebeensubjectedtofastingandscourging,and

theearthenjarsofthePeruviansthathavetheshrillcriesofbirds,andflutesof

human bones such as Alfonso de Ovalle heard in Chile, and the sonorous

green jaspers that are found near Cuzco and give forth a note of singular

sweetness. He had painted gourds filled with pebbles that rattled when they

wereshaken;thelongclarinoftheMexicans,intowhichtheperformerdoes

notblow,butthroughwhichheinhalestheair;theharshtureoftheAmazon

tribes,thatissoundedbythesentinelswhositalldaylonginhightrees,and

canbeheard,itissaid,atadistanceofthreeleagues;theteponaztli,thathas

twovibratingtonguesofwoodandisbeatenwithsticksthataresmearedwith

an elastic gum obtained from themilky juiceof plants;the yotl-bellsof the

Aztecs, that are hung in clusters like grapes; and a huge cylindrical drum,

covered with the skins of great serpents, like the one that Bernal Diaz saw

when he went with Cortes into the Mexican temple, and of whose doleful

sound he has left us so vivid a description. The fantastic character of these

instrumentsfascinatedhim,andhefeltacuriousdelightinthethoughtthatart,

likeNature,hashermonsters,thingsofbestialshapeandwithhideousvoices.

Yet,aftersometime,heweariedofthem,andwouldsitinhisboxattheopera,

eitheraloneorwithLordHenry,listeninginraptpleasureto"Tannhauser"and

seeinginthepreludetothatgreatworkofartapresentationofthetragedyof

hisownsoul.

Ononeoccasionhetookupthestudyofjewels,andappearedatacostume

ball as Anne de Joyeuse, Admiral of France, in a dress covered with five

hundredandsixtypearls.Thistasteenthralledhimforyears,and,indeed,may

besaidnevertohavelefthim.Hewouldoftenspendawholedaysettlingand

resettling in their cases the various stones thathe hadcollected, suchas the

olive-green chrysoberyl that turns red by lamplight, the cymophane with its

wirelike line of silver, the pistachio-coloured peridot, rose-pink and wine-

yellow topazes, carbuncles of fiery scarlet with tremulous, four-rayed stars,

flame-red cinnamon-stones, orange and violet spinels, and amethysts with

their alternate layers of ruby and sapphire. He loved the red gold of the

sunstone,andthemoonstone'spearlywhiteness,andthebrokenrainbowofthe

milkyopal.HeprocuredfromAmsterdamthreeemeraldsofextraordinarysize

and richness of colour, and had a turquoise de la vieille roche that was the

envyofalltheconnoisseurs.

He discovered wonderful stories, also, about jewels. In Alphonso's

ClericalisDisciplinaaserpentwasmentionedwitheyesofrealjacinth,andin

theromantichistoryofAlexander,theConquerorofEmathiawassaidtohave

foundinthevaleofJordansnakes"withcollarsofrealemeraldsgrowingon

theirbacks."Therewasageminthebrainofthedragon,Philostratustoldus,

and"bytheexhibitionofgoldenlettersandascarletrobe"themonstercould

be thrown into a magical sleep and slain. According to the great alchemist,

Pierre de Boniface, the diamond rendered a man invisible, and the agate of

India made him eloquent. The cornelian appeased anger, and the hyacinth

provokedsleep,andtheamethystdroveawaythefumesofwine.Thegarnet

cast out demons, and the hydropicus deprived the moon of her colour. The

selenite waxed and waned with the moon, and the meloceus, that discovers

thieves,couldbeaffectedonlybythebloodofkids.LeonardusCamillushad

seen a white stone taken from the brain of a newly killed toad, that was a

certainantidoteagainstpoison.Thebezoar,thatwasfoundintheheartofthe

Arabiandeer,wasacharmthatcouldcuretheplague.InthenestsofArabian

birds was the aspilates,that, according to Democritus, kept the wearer from

anydangerbyfire.

TheKingofCeilanrodethroughhiscitywithalargerubyinhishand,as

theceremonyofhiscoronation.ThegatesofthepalaceofJohnthePriestwere

"madeofsardius,withthehornofthehornedsnakeinwrought,sothatnoman

mightbringpoisonwithin."Overthegablewere"twogoldenapples,inwhich

weretwocarbuncles,"sothatthegoldmightshinebydayandthecarbuncles

bynight.InLodge'sstrangeromance'AMargariteofAmerica',itwasstated

thatinthechamberofthequeenonecouldbehold"allthechasteladiesofthe

world, inchased out of silver, looking through fair mirrours of chrysolites,

carbuncles, sapphires, and greene emeraults." Marco Polo had seen the

inhabitantsofZipanguplacerose-colouredpearlsinthemouthsofthedead.A

sea-monsterhadbeenenamoured of the pearlthatthediverbroughttoKing

Perozes,andhadslainthethief,andmournedforsevenmoonsoveritsloss.

WhentheHunsluredthekingintothegreatpit,heflungitaway—Procopius

tellsthestory—norwasit ever found again, thoughthe Emperor Anastasius

offered five hundred-weight of gold pieces for it. The King of Malabar had

showntoacertainVenetianarosaryofthreehundredandfourpearls,onefor

everygodthatheworshipped.

WhentheDukedeValentinois,sonofAlexanderVI,visitedLouisXIIof

France,hishorsewasloadedwithgoldleaves,accordingtoBrantome,andhis

caphaddoublerowsofrubiesthatthrewoutagreatlight.CharlesofEngland

had ridden in stirrups hung with four hundred and twenty-one diamonds.

Richard II had a coat, valued at thirty thousand marks, which was covered

with balas rubies. Hall described Henry VIII, on his way to the Tower

previous to his coronation, as wearing "a jacket of raised gold, the placard

embroideredwithdiamondsandotherrichstones,andagreatbauderikeabout

his neck of large balasses." The favourites of James I wore ear-rings of

emeraldssetingoldfiligrane.EdwardIIgavetoPiersGavestonasuitofred-

goldarmour studded with jacinths,acollarof gold rosessetwithturquoise-

stones, and a skull-cap parseme with pearls. Henry II wore jewelled gloves

reaching to the elbow, and had a hawk-glove sewn with twelve rubies and

fifty-two great orients. The ducal hat of Charles the Rash, the last Duke of

Burgundy of his race, was hung with pear-shaped pearls and studded with

sapphires.

How exquisite life had once been! How gorgeous in its pomp and

decoration!Eventoreadoftheluxuryofthedeadwaswonderful.

Then he turned his attention to embroideries and to the tapestries that

performedtheofficeoffrescoesinthechillroomsofthenorthernnationsof

Europe.Asheinvestigatedthe subject—and he alwayshadanextraordinary

facultyofbecomingabsolutelyabsorbedforthemomentinwhateverhetook

up—hewasalmostsaddenedbythereflectionoftheruinthattimebroughton

beautiful and wonderful things. He, at any rate, had escaped that. Summer

followedsummer,andtheyellowjonquilsbloomedanddiedmanytimes,and

nightsofhorrorrepeatedthestoryoftheirshame,buthewasunchanged.No

wintermarredhisfaceorstainedhisflowerlikebloom.Howdifferentitwas

withmaterialthings!Wherehadtheypassedto?Wherewasthegreatcrocus-

coloured robe, on which the gods fought against the giants, that had been

workedbybrowngirlsforthepleasureofAthena?Wherethehugevelarium

that Nero had stretched across the Colosseum at Rome, that Titan sail of

purpleonwhichwasrepresentedthestarrysky,andApollodrivingachariot

drawnbywhite,gilt-reinedsteeds?Helongedtoseethecurioustable-napkins

wroughtforthePriestoftheSun,onwhichweredisplayedallthedaintiesand

viandsthatcouldbewantedforafeast;themortuaryclothofKingChilperic,

with its three hundred golden bees; the fantastic robes that excited the

indignation of the Bishop of Pontus and were figured with "lions, panthers,

bears,dogs,forests,rocks,hunters—all,infact,thatapaintercancopyfrom

nature"; and the coat that Charles of Orleans once wore, on the sleeves of

whichwereembroideredtheversesofasongbeginning"Madame,jesuistout

joyeux," the musical accompaniment of the words being wrought in gold

thread,andeachnote,ofsquareshapeinthosedays,formedwithfourpearls.

HereadoftheroomthatwaspreparedatthepalaceatRheimsfortheuseof

Queen Joan of Burgundy and was decorated with "thirteen hundred and

twenty-oneparrots,madeinbroidery,andblazonedwiththeking'sarms,and

five hundred and sixty-one butterflies, whose wings were similarly

ornamentedwiththearmsofthequeen,thewholeworkedingold."Catherine

deMedicishadamourning-bedmadeforherofblackvelvetpowderedwith

crescents and suns. Its curtains were of damask, with leafy wreaths and

garlands,figureduponagoldandsilverground,andfringedalongtheedges

withbroideriesofpearls,anditstoodinaroomhungwithrowsofthequeen's

devices in cut black velvet upon cloth of silver. Louis XIV had gold

embroidered caryatides fifteen feet high in his apartment. The state bed of

Sobieski,KingofPoland,wasmadeofSmyrnagoldbrocadeembroideredin

turquoises with verses from the Koran. Its supports were of silver gilt,

beautifullychased,andprofuselysetwithenamelledandjewelledmedallions.

IthadbeentakenfromtheTurkishcampbeforeVienna,andthestandardof

Mohammedhadstoodbeneaththetremulousgiltofitscanopy.

And so, for a whole year, he sought to accumulate the most exquisite

specimens that he could find of textile and embroidered work, getting the

dainty Delhi muslins, finely wrought with gold-thread palmates and stitched

over with iridescent beetles' wings; the Dacca gauzes, that from their

transparencyareknownintheEastas"wovenair,"and"runningwater,"and

"evening dew"; strange figured cloths from Java; elaborate yellow Chinese

hangings; books bound in tawny satins or fair blue silks and wrought with

fleurs-de-lis,birdsandimages;veilsoflacisworkedinHungarypoint;Sicilian

brocades and stiff Spanish velvets; Georgian work, with its gilt coins, and

Japanese Foukousas, with their green-toned golds and their marvellously

plumagedbirds.

He had a specialpassion, also,for ecclesiasticalvestments, as indeed he

hadforeverythingconnectedwiththeserviceoftheChurch.Inthelongcedar

cheststhatlinedthewestgalleryofhishouse,hehadstoredawaymanyrare

andbeautifulspecimensof whatisreallytheraimentoftheBride ofChrist,

whomustwearpurpleandjewelsandfinelinenthatshemayhidethepallid

maceratedbodythatiswornbythesufferingthatsheseeksforandwounded

byself-inflictedpain.Hepossessedagorgeouscopeofcrimsonsilkandgold-

threaddamask,figuredwitharepeatingpatternofgoldenpomegranatessetin

six-petalledformalblossoms,beyondwhichoneithersidewasthepine-apple

device wrought in seed-pearls. The orphreys were divided into panels

representing scenes from the life of the Virgin, and the coronation of the

Virginwasfiguredincolouredsilksuponthehood.ThiswasItalianworkof

the fifteenth century. Another cope was of green velvet, embroidered with

heart-shaped groups of acanthus-leaves, from which spread long-stemmed

white blossoms, the details ofwhich werepicked outwith silver thread and

colouredcrystals.Themorseboreaseraph'sheadingold-threadraisedwork.

Theorphreyswere woven in adiaperofredand gold silk, andwerestarred

withmedallionsofmanysaintsandmartyrs,amongwhomwasSt.Sebastian.

He had chasubles, also, of amber-coloured silk, and blue silk and gold

brocade, and yellow silk damask and cloth of gold, figured with

representationsofthePassionandCrucifixionofChrist,andembroideredwith

lionsandpeacocksandotheremblems;dalmaticsofwhitesatinandpinksilk

damask,decoratedwithtulipsanddolphinsandfleurs-de-lis;altarfrontalsof

crimsonvelvetandbluelinen;andmanycorporals,chalice-veils,andsudaria.

Inthemysticofficestowhichsuchthingswereput,therewassomethingthat

quickenedhisimagination.

For these treasures, and everything that he collectedin his lovelyhouse,

weretobeto him meansofforgetfulness,modesbywhichhecouldescape,

foraseason,fromthefearthatseemedtohimattimestobealmosttoogreat

tobeborne.Uponthewallsofthelonelylockedroomwherehehadspentso

much of his boyhood, he had hung with his own hands the terrible portrait

whosechanging features showed himtherealdegradation of hislife,andin

front of it had draped the purple-and-gold pall as a curtain. For weeks he

wouldnotgothere,wouldforgetthehideouspaintedthing,andgetbackhis

light heart, his wonderful joyousness, his passionate absorption in mere

existence. Then, suddenly, some night he would creep out of the house, go

downtodreadfulplacesnearBlueGateFields,andstaythere,dayafterday,

untilhe was drivenaway. On hisreturnhe would sitinfrontof the picture,

sometimesloathingitandhimself,butfilled,atothertimes,withthatprideof

individualism that is half the fascination of sin, and smiling with secret

pleasureatthemisshapenshadowthathadtobeartheburdenthatshouldhave

beenhisown.

AfterafewyearshecouldnotenduretobelongoutofEngland,andgave

up the villa that he had shared at Trouville with LordHenry, as well as the

littlewhitewalled-in house atAlgierswherethey had more thanoncespent

thewinter.Hehatedtobeseparatedfromthepicturethatwassuchapartof

his life, and was also afraid that during his absence some one might gain

access to the room, in spite of the elaborate bars that he had caused to be

placeduponthedoor.

Hewasquiteconsciousthatthiswouldtellthemnothing.Itwastruethat

theportraitstillpreserved,underallthefoulnessanduglinessoftheface,its

marked likeness to himself; but what could they learn from that? He would

laughatanyonewhotriedtotaunthim.Hehadnotpaintedit.Whatwasitto

himhowvileandfullof shameitlooked?Evenifhetoldthem,wouldthey

believeit?

Yet he was afraid. Sometimes when he was down at his great house in

Nottinghamshire,entertainingthefashionableyoungmenofhisownrankwho

werehischiefcompanions,andastounding thecountybythewantonluxury

and gorgeous splendour of his mode of life, he would suddenly leave his

guestsandrushbacktotowntoseethatthedoorhadnotbeentamperedwith

and that the picture was still there. What if it should be stolen? The mere

thoughtmadehimcold with horror. Surelytheworldwouldknowhissecret

then.Perhapstheworldalreadysuspectedit.

For, while hefascinatedmany, there werenot a fewwho distrusted him.

He was very nearly blackballed at a West End club of which his birth and

socialpositionfullyentitledhimtobecomeamember,anditwassaidthaton

oneoccasion,whenhewasbroughtbyafriendintothesmoking-roomofthe

Churchill, the Duke of Berwick and another gentleman got up in a marked

mannerandwentout.Curiousstoriesbecamecurrentabouthimafterhehad

passedhistwenty-fifthyear.Itwasrumouredthathehadbeenseenbrawling

withforeignsailorsinalowdeninthedistantpartsofWhitechapel,andthat

heconsortedwiththieves and coinersandknewthemysteriesoftheirtrade.

Hisextraordinaryabsencesbecamenotorious,and,whenheusedtoreappear

againinsociety,menwouldwhispertoeachotherincorners,orpasshimwith

a sneer, or look at him with cold searching eyes, as though they were

determinedtodiscoverhissecret.

Ofsuchinsolencesandattemptedslightshe,ofcourse,tooknonotice,and

intheopinionofmostpeoplehisfrankdebonairmanner,hischarmingboyish

smile, and the infinite grace of that wonderful youth that seemed never to

leavehim,wereinthemselvesasufficientanswertothecalumnies,forsothey

termedthem,thatwerecirculatedabouthim.Itwasremarked,however,that

someofthosewhohadbeenmostintimatewithhimappeared,afteratime,to

shunhim.Womenwhohadwildlyadoredhim,andforhissakehadbravedall

socialcensureandset convention atdefiance,wereseentogrowpallidwith

shameorhorrorifDorianGrayenteredtheroom.

Yet these whispered scandals only increased in the eyes of many his

strange and dangerous charm. His great wealth was a certain element of

security. Society—civilized society, at least—is never very ready to believe

anythingtothedetrimentofthosewhoarebothrichandfascinating.Itfeels

instinctively that manners are of more importance than morals, and, in its

opinion,thehighestrespectabilityisofmuchlessvaluethanthepossessionof

agoodchef.And,afterall,itisaverypoorconsolationtobetoldthattheman

whohasgivenoneabaddinner,orpoorwine,isirreproachableinhisprivate

life. Even the cardinal virtues cannot atone for half-cold entrees, as Lord

Henryremarkedonce,in a discussiononthesubject,andthereispossibly a

gooddealtobesaidforhisview.Forthecanonsofgoodsocietyare,orshould

be,thesameasthecanonsofart.Formisabsolutelyessentialtoit.Itshould

havethedignityof a ceremony,aswellasitsunreality,andshouldcombine

theinsincerecharacterofaromanticplaywiththewitandbeautythatmake

suchplaysdelightfultous.Isinsinceritysuchaterriblething?Ithinknot.Itis

merelyamethodbywhichwecanmultiplyourpersonalities.

Such, at any rate, was Dorian Gray's opinion. He used to wonder at the

shallowpsychologyofthosewhoconceivetheegoinmanasathingsimple,

permanent,reliable,andofoneessence.Tohim,manwasabeingwithmyriad

lives and myriad sensations, a complex multiform creature that bore within

itself strange legacies of thought and passion, and whose very flesh was

taintedwiththemonstrousmaladiesofthedead.Helovedtostrollthroughthe

gaunt cold picture-gallery of his country house and look at the various

portraitsof thosewhosebloodflowed inhisveins.HerewasPhilipHerbert,

described by Francis Osborne, in his Memoires on the Reigns of Queen

Elizabeth and King James, as one who was "caressed by the Court for his

handsome face, which kept him not long company." Was it young Herbert's

lifethathesometimesled?Hadsomestrangepoisonousgermcreptfrombody

tobodytillithadreachedhisown?Wasitsomedimsenseofthatruinedgrace

thathadmadehimsosuddenly,andalmostwithoutcause,giveutterance,in

BasilHallward'sstudio,tothemadprayerthathadsochangedhislife?Here,

in gold-embroidered red doublet, jewelled surcoat, and gilt-edged ruff and

wristbands,stoodSirAnthonySherard,withhissilver-and-blackarmourpiled

at his feet.What had thisman's legacy been?Had thelover of Giovannaof

Naples bequeathed him some inheritance of sin and shame? Were his own

actionsmerelythedreamsthatthedeadmanhadnotdaredtorealize?Here,

fromthefadingcanvas,smiledLadyElizabethDevereux,inhergauzehood,

pearlstomacher,andpinkslashedsleeves.Aflowerwasinherrighthand,and

herleftclaspedanenamelledcollarofwhiteanddamaskroses.Onatableby

hersidelayamandolinandanapple.Therewerelargegreenrosettesuponher

little pointed shoes. He knew her life, and the strange stories that were told

aboutherlovers.Hadhesomethingofhertemperamentinhim?Theseoval,

heavy-lidded eyes seemed to look curiously at him. What of George

Willoughby, with his powdered hair and fantastic patches? How evil he

looked!Thefacewassaturnineandswarthy,andthesensuallipsseemedtobe

twistedwithdisdain.Delicatelacerufflesfellovertheleanyellowhandsthat

were so overladen with rings. He had been a macaroni of the eighteenth

century,andthefriend,inhisyouth,ofLordFerrars.WhatofthesecondLord

Beckenham,thecompanionofthePrinceRegentinhiswildestdays,andone

ofthewitnessesatthesecretmarriagewithMrs.Fitzherbert?Howproudand

handsome he was, with his chestnut curls and insolent pose! What passions

hadhebequeathed?Theworldhadlookeduponhimasinfamous.Hehadled

theorgiesatCarltonHouse.ThestaroftheGarterglittereduponhisbreast.

Besidehimhungtheportraitofhiswife,apallid,thin-lippedwomaninblack.

Herblood,also,stirredwithinhim.Howcuriousitallseemed!Andhismother

withherLadyHamiltonfaceandhermoist,wine-dashedlips—heknewwhat

hehadgotfromher.Hehadgotfromherhisbeauty,andhispassionforthe

beautyofothers.ShelaughedathiminherlooseBacchantedress.Therewere

vineleavesinherhair.Thepurplespilledfromthecupshewasholding.The

carnationsof the painting hadwithered,butthe eyes werestillwonderfulin

theirdepthandbrilliancyofcolour.Theyseemedtofollowhimwhereverhe

went.

Yet one had ancestors in literature as well as in one's own race, nearer

perhaps in type and temperament, many of them, and certainly with an

influence of which one was more absolutely conscious. There were times

when it appeared to Dorian Gray that the whole of history was merely the

recordofhisownlife,notashehadliveditinactandcircumstance,butashis

imagination had created it for him, as it had been in his brain and in his

passions.Hefeltthathehadknownthemall,thosestrangeterriblefiguresthat

hadpassedacrossthestageoftheworldandmadesinsomarvellousandevil

sofullofsubtlety. It seemed to him that in some mysterious way their lives

hadbeenhisown.

Theheroofthewonderfulnovelthathadsoinfluencedhislifehadhimself

knownthiscuriousfancy.Intheseventhchapterhetellshow,crownedwith

laurel,lestlightningmightstrikehim,hehadsat,asTiberius,inagardenat

Capri,readingtheshamefulbooksof Elephantis,whiledwarfsandpeacocks

struttedroundhimandtheflute-playermockedtheswingerofthecenser;and,

asCaligula, had carousedwiththegreen-shirted jockeys intheirstables and

supped in an ivory manger with a jewel-frontleted horse; and, as Domitian,

had wandered through a corridor lined with marble mirrors, looking round

withhaggardeyesforthereflectionofthedaggerthatwastoendhisdays,and

sickwiththatennui,thatterribletaediumvitae,thatcomesonthosetowhom

life denies nothing; and had peered through a clear emerald at the red

shamblesofthecircusandthen,inalitterofpearlandpurpledrawnbysilver-

shod mules, been carried through the Street of Pomegranates to a House of

GoldandheardmencryonNeroCaesarashepassedby;and,asElagabalus,

hadpaintedhisfacewithcolours,andpliedthedistaffamongthewomen,and

broughttheMoonfromCarthageandgivenherinmysticmarriagetotheSun.

OverandoveragainDorianusedtoreadthisfantasticchapter,andthetwo

chapters immediately following, in which, as in some curious tapestries or

cunningly wrought enamels, were pictured the awful and beautiful forms of

those whom vice and blood and weariness had made monstrous or mad:

Filippo,DukeofMilan,whoslewhiswifeandpaintedherlipswithascarlet

poisonthatherlovermightsuckdeathfromthedeadthinghefondled;Pietro

Barbi, the Venetian,known asPaul the Second, who soughtin hisvanity to

assumethetitleofFormosus,andwhosetiara,valuedattwohundredthousand

florins, was bought at the price of a terrible sin; Gian Maria Visconti, who

usedhoundstochaselivingmenandwhosemurderedbodywascoveredwith

roses by a harlot who had loved him; the Borgia on his white horse, with

FratricideridingbesidehimandhismantlestainedwiththebloodofPerotto;

PietroRiario,theyoungCardinalArchbishopofFlorence,childandminionof

Sixtus IV, whose beauty was equalled only by his debauchery, and who

receivedLeonoraofAragoninapavilionofwhiteandcrimsonsilk,filledwith

nymphs and centaurs, and gilded a boy that he might serve at the feast as

GanymedeorHylas;Ezzelin,whose melancholycould be cured only bythe

spectacleofdeath,andwhohadapassionforredblood,asothermenhavefor

redwine—thesonoftheFiend,aswasreported,andonewhohadcheatedhis

fatheratdicewhengamblingwithhimfor his own soul; Giambattista Cibo,

who in mockerytook thename of Innocentand intowhose torpid veins the

bloodofthreeladswasinfusedbyaJewishdoctor;SigismondoMalatesta,the

loverofIsottaandthelordofRimini,whoseeffigywasburnedatRomeasthe

enemy of God and man, who strangled Polyssena with a napkin, and gave

poison to Ginevra d'Este in a cup of emerald, and in honour of a shameful

passion built a pagan church for Christianworship; CharlesVI, who had so

wildly adored hisbrother's wifethat a leperhad warnedhim of theinsanity

that was coming on him, and who, when his brain had sickened and grown

strange, couldonly be soothed by Saracencards painted with the images of

loveanddeathandmadness;and,inhistrimmedjerkinandjewelledcapand

acanthuslikecurls,GrifonettoBaglioni,whoslewAstorrewithhisbride,and

Simonettowithhispage,andwhosecomelinesswassuchthat,ashelaydying

intheyellowpiazzaofPerugia,thosewhohadhatedhimcouldnotchoosebut

weep,andAtalanta,whohadcursedhim,blessedhim.

There was a horrible fascination in them all. He saw them at night, and

they troubled his imagination in the day. The Renaissance knew of strange

manners of poisoning—poisoning by a helmet and a lighted torch, by an

embroideredgloveandajewelledfan,byagildedpomanderandbyanamber

chain.DorianGrayhadbeenpoisonedbyabook.Thereweremomentswhen

he looked on evil simply as a mode through which he could realize his

conceptionofthebeautiful.



CHAPTER12



ItwasontheninthofNovember,theeveofhisownthirty-eighthbirthday,

asheoftenrememberedafterwards.

Hewaswalkinghomeabouteleveno'clockfromLordHenry's,wherehe

had been dining, and was wrapped in heavy furs, as the night was cold and

foggy. At the corner of Grosvenor Square and South Audley Street, a man

passedhiminthemist,walkingveryfastandwiththecollarofhisgreyulster

turned up. He had a bag in his hand. Dorian recognized him. It was Basil

Hallward.Astrangesenseoffear,forwhichhecouldnotaccount,cameover

him.Hemadenosignofrecognitionandwentonquicklyinthedirectionof

hisownhouse.

But Hallward had seen him. Dorian heard him first stopping on the

pavementandthenhurryingafterhim.Inafewmoments,hishandwasonhis

arm.

"Dorian!Whatanextraordinarypieceofluck!Ihavebeenwaitingforyou

inyourlibraryeversincenineo'clock.FinallyItookpityonyourtiredservant

andtoldhimtogotobed,asheletmeout.IamofftoParisbythemidnight

train,andIparticularlywantedtoseeyoubeforeIleft.Ithoughtitwasyou,or

rather your fur coat, as you passed me. But I wasn't quite sure. Didn't you

recognizeme?"

"Inthisfog,mydearBasil?Why,Ican'tevenrecognizeGrosvenorSquare.

I believe my house is somewhere about here, but I don't feel at all certain

aboutit.Iamsorryyouaregoingaway,asIhavenotseenyouforages.ButI

supposeyouwillbebacksoon?"

"No: I am going to be out of England for six months. I intend to take a

studioinParisandshutmyselfuptillIhavefinishedagreatpictureIhavein

my head. However, it wasn't about myself I wanted to talk. Here we are at

yourdoor.Letmecomeinforamoment.Ihavesomethingtosaytoyou."

"I shall be charmed. But won't you miss your train?" said Dorian Gray

languidlyashepassedupthestepsandopenedthedoorwithhislatch-key.

The lamplight struggled out through the fog, and Hallward looked at his

watch."Ihaveheapsoftime,"heanswered."Thetraindoesn'tgotilltwelve-

fifteen,anditisonlyjusteleven.Infact,Iwasonmywaytotheclubtolook

foryou,whenImetyou.Yousee,Ishan'thaveanydelayaboutluggage,asI

have sent on my heavy things. All I have with me is in this bag, and I can

easilygettoVictoriaintwentyminutes."

Dorianlookedathimandsmiled."Whatawayforafashionablepainterto

travel!A Gladstonebag and anulster! Come in,or the fogwillget intothe

house. And mind you don't talk about anything serious. Nothing is serious

nowadays.Atleastnothingshouldbe."

Hallward shook his head, as he entered, and followed Dorian into the

library. There was a bright wood fire blazing in the large open hearth. The

lampswerelit,andanopenDutchsilverspirit-casestood,withsomesiphons

ofsoda-waterandlargecut-glasstumblers,onalittlemarqueterietable.

"You see your servant made me quite at home, Dorian. He gave me

everythingIwanted,includingyourbestgold-tippedcigarettes.Heisamost

hospitable creature. I like him much better than the Frenchman you used to

have.WhathasbecomeoftheFrenchman,bythebye?"

Dorianshruggedhisshoulders."IbelievehemarriedLadyRadley'smaid,

andhasestablishedherinParisasanEnglishdressmaker.Anglomaniaisvery

fashionableovertherenow,Ihear.ItseemssillyoftheFrench,doesn'tit?But

—doyouknow?—hewasnotatallabadservant.Ineverlikedhim,butIhad

nothingtocomplainabout.Oneoftenimaginesthingsthatarequiteabsurd.He

was really very devoted to me and seemed quite sorry when he went away.

Haveanotherbrandy-and-soda?Orwouldyoulikehock-and-seltzer?Ialways

takehock-and-seltzermyself.Thereissuretobesomeinthenextroom."

"Thanks,Iwon'thaveanythingmore,"saidthepainter,takinghiscapand

coatoffandthrowingthemonthebagthathehadplacedinthecorner."And

now,mydearfellow,Iwanttospeaktoyouseriously.Don'tfrownlikethat.

Youmakeitsomuchmoredifficultforme."

"Whatis it all about?"criedDorianin his petulantway, flinging himself

downonthesofa."Ihopeitisnotaboutmyself.Iamtiredofmyselfto-night.

Ishouldliketobesomebodyelse."

"Itisaboutyourself,"answeredHallwardinhisgravedeepvoice,"andI

mustsayittoyou.Ishallonlykeepyouhalfanhour."

Doriansighedandlitacigarette."Halfanhour!"hemurmured.

"Itisnotmuchtoaskofyou,Dorian,anditisentirelyforyourownsake

thatIamspeaking.Ithinkitrightthatyoushouldknowthatthemostdreadful

thingsarebeingsaidagainstyouinLondon."

"I don't wish to know anything about them. I love scandals about other

people, but scandals about myself don't interest me. They have not got the

charmofnovelty."

"Theymustinterestyou,Dorian.Everygentlemanisinterestedinhisgood

name.Youdon'twantpeopletotalkofyouassomethingvileanddegraded.

Ofcourse,youhaveyourposition,andyourwealth,andallthatkindofthing.

But position and wealth are not everything. Mind you, I don't believe these

rumoursatall.Atleast,Ican'tbelievethemwhenIseeyou.Sinisathingthat

writesitselfacrossaman'sface.Itcannotbeconcealed.Peopletalksometimes

of secret vices. There are no such things. If a wretched man has a vice, it

showsitselfinthelinesofhismouth,thedroopofhiseyelids,themouldingof

hishandseven.Somebody—Iwon'tmentionhisname,butyouknowhim—

cametomelastyearto havehisportraitdone.Ihadneverseenhimbefore,

and had never heard anything about him at the time, though I have heard a

good deal since. He offered an extravagant price. I refused him. There was

somethingintheshapeofhisfingersthatIhated.IknownowthatIwasquite

rightinwhatIfanciedabouthim.Hislifeisdreadful.Butyou,Dorian,with

your pure, bright, innocent face, and your marvellous untroubled youth—I

can't believe anything against you. Andyet Isee you very seldom, and you

nevercomedowntothestudionow,andwhenIamawayfromyou,andIhear

all these hideous things that people are whispering about you, I don't know

whattosay.Whyisit,Dorian,thatamanliketheDukeofBerwickleavesthe

roomofaclubwhenyouenterit?WhyisitthatsomanygentlemeninLondon

willneithergotoyourhouseorinviteyoutotheirs?Youusedtobeafriendof

LordStaveley.Imethimatdinnerlastweek.Yournamehappenedtocomeup

in conversation, in connection with the miniatures you have lent to the

exhibitionattheDudley.Staveleycurledhislipandsaidthatyoumighthave

the most artistic tastes, but that you werea manwhom no pure-minded girl

shouldbeallowedtoknow,andwhomnochastewomanshouldsitinthesame

roomwith.IremindedhimthatIwasafriendofyours,andaskedhimwhathe

meant. He told me. He told me right out before everybody. It was horrible!

Whyisyourfriendshipsofataltoyoungmen?Therewasthatwretchedboyin

theGuardswhocommittedsuicide.Youwerehisgreatfriend.TherewasSir

HenryAshton,whohadtoleaveEnglandwithatarnishedname.Youandhe

were inseparable. What about Adrian Singleton and his dreadful end? What

about Lord Kent's only son and his career? I met hisfather yesterdayin St.

James's Street. He seemed broken with shame and sorrow. What about the

young Duke of Perth? What sort of life has he got now? What gentleman

wouldassociatewithhim?"

"Stop, Basil. You are talking about things of which you know nothing,"

said Dorian Gray, biting his lip, and with a note of infinite contempt in his

voice."YouaskmewhyBerwickleavesaroomwhenIenterit.ItisbecauseI

know everything about his life, not because he knows anything about mine.

Withsuchbloodashehasinhisveins,howcouldhisrecordbeclean?Youask

meaboutHenryAshtonandyoungPerth.DidIteach theonehisvices,and

the other his debauchery?If Kent'ssilly sontakes his wife from the streets,

whatisthattome?IfAdrianSingletonwriteshisfriend'snameacrossabill,

amIhiskeeper?IknowhowpeoplechatterinEngland.Themiddleclassesair

theirmoralprejudicesovertheirgrossdinner-tables,andwhisperaboutwhat

theycalltheprofligaciesoftheirbettersinordertotryandpretendthatthey

areinsmartsocietyandonintimatetermswiththepeopletheyslander.Inthis

country, it is enough for a man to have distinction and brains for every

commontonguetowagagainsthim.Andwhatsortoflivesdothesepeople,

whoposeasbeingmoral,leadthemselves?Mydearfellow,youforgetthatwe

areinthenativelandofthehypocrite."

"Dorian,"criedHallward,"thatisnotthequestion.Englandisbadenough

Iknow,andEnglishsocietyisallwrong.ThatisthereasonwhyIwantyouto

befine.Youhavenotbeenfine.Onehasarighttojudgeofamanbytheeffect

hehasoverhisfriends.Yoursseemtoloseallsenseofhonour,ofgoodness,of

purity. You have filled them with a madness for pleasure. They have gone

downintothedepths.Youledthemthere.Yes:youledthemthere,andyetyou

cansmile,asyouaresmilingnow.Andthereisworsebehind.Iknowyouand

Harryareinseparable.Surelyforthatreason,iffornoneother,youshouldnot

havemadehissister'snameaby-word."

"Takecare,Basil.Yougotoofar."

"Imustspeak,andyoumustlisten.Youshalllisten.WhenyoumetLady

Gwendolen, not a breath of scandal had ever touched her. Is there a single

decentwoman in Londonnow who woulddrivewith her inthe park? Why,

evenherchildrenarenotallowedtolivewithher.Thenthereareotherstories

—storiesthatyouhavebeenseencreepingatdawnoutofdreadfulhousesand

slinkingindisguiseintothefoulestdensinLondon.Aretheytrue?Canthey

betrue?WhenIfirstheardthem,Ilaughed.Ihearthemnow,andtheymake

me shudder. What about your country-house and the life that is led there?

Dorian, you don't knowwhat issaid about you. I won't tell you that Idon't

want to preach to you. I remember Harry saying once that every man who

turnedhimselfintoanamateurcurateforthemomentalwaysbeganbysaying

that,andthenproceededtobreakhisword.Idowanttopreachtoyou.Iwant

youtoleadsuchalifeaswillmaketheworldrespectyou.Iwantyoutohave

acleannameandafairrecord.Iwantyoutogetridofthedreadfulpeopleyou

associate with.Don't shrug your shoulders like that.Don't be so indifferent.

Youhaveawonderfulinfluence.Letitbeforgood,notforevil.Theysaythat

you corrupt every one with whom you become intimate, and that it is quite

sufficientforyouto enter a housefor shameofsomekindtofollow after. I

don'tknowwhetheritissoornot.HowshouldIknow?Butitissaidofyou.I

amtoldthingsthatitseemsimpossibletodoubt.LordGloucesterwasoneof

mygreatestfriendsatOxford.Heshowedmealetterthathiswifehadwritten

to him when she was dying alone in her villa at Mentone. Your name was

implicated in the most terribleconfession Iever read.I toldhim thatit was

absurd—thatIknewyouthoroughlyandthatyouwereincapableofanything

ofthekind.Knowyou?IwonderdoIknowyou?BeforeIcouldanswerthat,I

shouldhavetoseeyoursoul."

"To see my soul!" muttered Dorian Gray, starting up from the sofa and

turningalmostwhitefromfear.

"Yes," answered Hallward gravely, and with deep-toned sorrow in his

voice,"toseeyoursoul.ButonlyGodcandothat."

Abitterlaughofmockerybrokefromthe lips of the younger man. "You

shallseeityourself,to-night!"hecried,seizingalampfromthetable."Come:

itisyourownhandiwork.Whyshouldn'tyoulookatit?Youcantelltheworld

allaboutitafterwards,ifyouchoose.Nobodywouldbelieveyou.Iftheydid

believeyou,theywouldlikemeallthebetterforit.Iknowtheagebetterthan

youdo,thoughyouwillprateaboutitsotediously.Come,Itellyou.Youhave

chatteredenoughaboutcorruption.Nowyoushalllookonitfacetoface."

Therewasthemadnessofprideineverywordheuttered.Hestampedhis

footuponthegroundinhisboyishinsolentmanner.Hefeltaterriblejoyatthe

thoughtthatsomeoneelsewastosharehissecret,andthatthemanwhohad

paintedtheportraitthatwastheoriginofallhisshamewastobeburdenedfor

therestofhislifewiththehideousmemoryofwhathehaddone.

"Yes,"hecontinued,comingclosertohimandlookingsteadfastlyintohis

sterneyes,"Ishallshowyoumysoul.Youshallseethethingthatyoufancy

onlyGodcansee."

Hallwardstartedback."This is blasphemy,Dorian!" he cried. "Youmust

notsaythingslikethat.Theyarehorrible,andtheydon'tmeananything."

"Youthinkso?"Helaughedagain.

"Iknowso.AsforwhatIsaidtoyouto-night,Isaiditforyourgood.You

knowIhavebeenalwaysastanchfriendtoyou."

"Don'ttouchme.Finishwhatyouhavetosay."

A twisted flash of pain shot across the painter's face. He paused for a

moment,andawildfeelingofpitycameoverhim.Afterall,whatrighthadhe

to pry into the life of Dorian Gray? If he had done a tithe of what was

rumouredabouthim,howmuchhemusthavesuffered!Thenhestraightened

himselfup,andwalkedovertothefire-place,andstoodthere,lookingatthe

burninglogswiththeirfrostlikeashesandtheirthrobbingcoresofflame.

"Iamwaiting,Basil,"saidtheyoungmaninahardclearvoice.

Heturnedround."WhatIhavetosayisthis,"hecried."Youmustgiveme

someanswertothesehorriblechargesthataremadeagainstyou.Ifyoutellme

that they are absolutely untrue from beginning to end, I shall believe you.

Denythem,Dorian,denythem!Can'tyouseewhatIamgoingthrough?My

God!don'ttellmethatyouarebad,andcorrupt,andshameful."

Dorian Gray smiled. There was a curl of contempt in his lips. "Come

upstairs,Basil,"hesaidquietly."Ikeepadiaryofmylifefromdaytoday,and

itnever leaves theroomin which itiswritten. I shallshow it to youif you

comewithme."

"Ishallcomewithyou,Dorian,ifyouwishit.IseeIhavemissedmytrain.

Thatmakesnomatter.Icangoto-morrow.Butdon'taskmetoreadanything

to-night.AllIwantisaplainanswertomyquestion."

"Thatshallbegiventoyouupstairs.Icouldnotgiveithere.Youwillnot

havetoreadlong."



CHAPTER13



Hepassedoutoftheroomandbegantheascent,BasilHallwardfollowing

closebehind.Theywalkedsoftly,asmendoinstinctivelyatnight.Thelamp

castfantasticshadowsonthewallandstaircase.Arisingwindmadesomeof

thewindowsrattle.

Whentheyreachedthetoplanding,Doriansetthelampdownonthefloor,

andtakingoutthekey,turneditinthelock."Youinsistonknowing,Basil?"

heaskedinalowvoice.

"Yes."

"Iamdelighted,"heanswered,smiling.Thenheadded,somewhatharshly,

"Youaretheonemanintheworldwhoisentitledtoknoweverythingabout

me.Youhavehadmoretodowithmylifethanyouthink";and,takingupthe

lamp,heopenedthedoorandwentin.Acoldcurrentofairpassedthem,and

the light shot up for a moment in a flame of murky orange. He shuddered.

"Shutthedoorbehindyou,"hewhispered,asheplacedthelamponthetable.

Hallwardglancedroundhimwithapuzzledexpression.Theroomlooked

asifithadnotbeenlivedinforyears.AfadedFlemishtapestry,acurtained

picture,anoldItaliancassone,andanalmostemptybook-case—thatwasall

that it seemed to contain, besides a chair and a table. As Dorian Gray was

lightingahalf-burnedcandlethatwasstandingonthemantelshelf,hesawthat

the whole place was covered with dust and that the carpet was in holes. A

mouse ran scuffling behind the wainscoting. There was a damp odour of

mildew.

"So you think that it is only God who sees the soul, Basil? Draw that

curtainback,andyouwillseemine."

Thevoicethatspokewascoldandcruel."Youaremad,Dorian,orplaying

apart,"mutteredHallward,frowning.

"Youwon't?ThenImustdoitmyself,"saidtheyoungman,andhetorethe

curtainfromitsrodandflungitontheground.

Anexclamationofhorrorbrokefromthepainter'slipsashesawinthedim

lightthehideousfaceonthecanvasgrinningathim.Therewassomethingin

itsexpressionthatfilledhimwithdisgustandloathing.Goodheavens!itwas

DorianGray'sownfacethathewaslookingat!Thehorror,whateveritwas,

hadnotyetentirelyspoiledthatmarvellousbeauty.Therewasstillsomegold

inthethinninghairandsomescarletonthesensualmouth.Thesoddeneyes

hadkeptsomethingofthelovelinessoftheirblue,thenoblecurveshadnotyet

completelypassedawayfromchisellednostrilsandfromplasticthroat.Yes,it

wasDorian himself. Butwho had doneit?He seemed torecognize his own

brushwork,andtheframewashisowndesign.Theideawasmonstrous,yethe

feltafraid.Heseizedthelightedcandle,andheldittothepicture.Intheleft-

handcornerwashisownname,tracedinlonglettersofbrightvermilion.

Itwassomefoulparody,someinfamousignoblesatire.Hehadneverdone

that.Still,itwashisownpicture.Heknewit,andhefeltasifhisbloodhad

changedinamomentfromfiretosluggishice.Hisownpicture!Whatdidit

mean?Whyhaditaltered?HeturnedandlookedatDorianGraywiththeeyes

ofasickman.Hismouthtwitched,andhisparchedtongueseemedunableto

articulate.Hepassedhishandacrosshisforehead.Itwasdankwithclammy

sweat.

The young man was leaning against the mantelshelf, watching him with

thatstrangeexpressionthatoneseesonthefacesofthosewhoareabsorbedin

aplaywhensomegreatartistisacting.Therewasneitherrealsorrowinitnor

realjoy.Therewassimplythepassionofthespectator,withperhapsaflicker

of triumph in his eyes. He had taken the flower out of his coat, and was

smellingit,orpretendingtodoso.

"What does this mean?" cried Hallward, at last. His own voice sounded

shrillandcuriousinhisears.

"Years ago, when Iwas a boy,"saidDorianGray, crushingthe flower in

his hand, "you met me, flattered me, and taught me to be vain of my good

looks.Onedayyouintroducedmetoafriendofyours,whoexplainedtome

thewonderofyouth,andyoufinishedaportraitofmethatrevealedtomethe

wonderofbeauty. In a mad moment that, even now, I don't know whether I

regretornot,Imadeawish,perhapsyouwouldcallitaprayer...."

"Irememberit!Oh,howwellIrememberit!No!thethingisimpossible.

The room is damp. Mildew has got into the canvas. The paints I used had

somewretchedmineralpoisoninthem.Itellyouthethingisimpossible."

"Ah, what is impossible?" murmured the young man, going over to the

windowandleaninghisforeheadagainstthecold,mist-stainedglass.

"Youtoldmeyouhaddestroyedit."

"Iwaswrong.Ithasdestroyedme."

"Idon'tbelieveitismypicture."

"Can'tyouseeyouridealinit?"saidDorianbitterly.

"Myideal,asyoucallit..."

"Asyoucalledit."

"Therewasnothingevilinit,nothingshameful.Youweretomesuchan

idealasIshallnevermeetagain.Thisisthefaceofasatyr."

"Itisthefaceofmysoul."

"Christ!whatathingImusthaveworshipped!Ithastheeyesofadevil."

"Eachofushasheavenandhellinhim,Basil,"criedDorianwithawild

gestureofdespair.

Hallward turned again to the portrait and gazed at it. "My God! If it is

true,"heexclaimed,"andthisiswhatyouhavedonewithyourlife,why,you

mustbeworseeventhanthosewhotalkagainstyoufancyyoutobe!"Heheld

the light up again to the canvas and examined it. The surface seemed to be

quiteundisturbedandashehadleftit.Itwasfromwithin,apparently,thatthe

foulnessandhorrorhadcome.Throughsomestrangequickeningofinnerlife

theleprosiesofsinwereslowlyeatingthethingaway.Therottingofacorpse

inawaterygravewasnotsofearful.

His hand shook, and the candle fell from its socket on the floor and lay

theresputtering.Heplacedhisfootonitandputitout.Thenheflunghimself

intothericketychairthatwasstandingbythetableandburiedhisfaceinhis

hands.

"GoodGod,Dorian,whatalesson!Whatanawfullesson!"Therewasno

answer, but he could hear the young man sobbing at the window. "Pray,

Dorian, pray," he murmured."What is itthat onewas taught tosay in one's

boyhood? 'Lead us not into temptation. Forgive us our sins.Wash awayour

iniquities.' Let us say that together. The prayer of your pride has been

answered.Theprayerofyourrepentancewillbeansweredalso.Iworshipped

youtoomuch.I am punishedforit.Youworshippedyourselftoo much. We

arebothpunished."

Dorian Gray turned slowly around and looked at him with tear-dimmed

eyes."Itistoolate,Basil,"hefaltered.

"It is never too late, Dorian. Let us kneel down and try if we cannot

remember a prayer. Isn't there a verse somewhere, 'Though your sins be as

scarlet,yetIwillmakethemaswhiteassnow'?"

"Thosewordsmeannothingtomenow."

"Hush!Don'tsaythat.Youhavedoneenoughevilinyourlife.MyGod!

Don'tyouseethataccursedthingleeringatus?"

DorianGrayglancedatthepicture,andsuddenlyanuncontrollablefeeling

ofhatredforBasilHallwardcameoverhim,asthoughithadbeensuggested

tohimbytheimageonthecanvas,whisperedintohisearbythosegrinning

lips.Themadpassionsofahuntedanimalstirredwithinhim,andheloathed

themanwhowasseatedatthetable,morethaninhiswholelifehehadever

loathedanything.Heglancedwildlyaround.Somethingglimmeredonthetop

ofthepaintedchestthatfacedhim.Hiseyefellonit.Heknewwhatitwas.It

wasaknifethathehadbroughtup,somedaysbefore,tocutapieceofcord,

andhadforgottentotakeawaywithhim.Hemovedslowlytowardsit,passing

Hallwardashedidso.Assoonashegotbehindhim,heseizeditandturned

round.Hallwardstirredinhischairasifhewasgoingtorise.Herushedathim

anddugtheknifeintothegreatveinthatisbehindtheear,crushingtheman's

headdownonthetableandstabbingagainandagain.

Therewasastifledgroanandthehorriblesoundofsomeonechokingwith

blood. Three times the outstretched arms shot up convulsively, waving

grotesque,stiff-fingeredhandsintheair.Hestabbedhimtwicemore,butthe

mandidnotmove.Somethingbegantotrickleonthefloor.Hewaitedfora

moment,stillpressing the head down.Thenhethrew the knife onthetable,

andlistened.

He could hear nothing, but the drip, drip on the threadbare carpet. He

openedthedoorandwentoutonthelanding.Thehousewasabsolutelyquiet.

Noonewasabout.Forafewsecondshestoodbendingoverthebalustradeand

peeringdownintotheblackseethingwellofdarkness.Thenhetookoutthe

keyandreturnedtotheroom,lockinghimselfinashedidso.

Thethingwasstillseatedinthechair,strainingoverthetablewithbowed

head,andhumpedback,andlongfantasticarms.Haditnotbeenforthered

jaggedtearintheneckandtheclottedblackpoolthatwasslowlywideningon

thetable,onewouldhavesaidthatthemanwassimplyasleep.

Howquicklyithadallbeendone!Hefeltstrangelycalm,andwalkingover

tothewindow,openeditandsteppedoutonthebalcony.Thewindhadblown

the fog away, and the sky was like a monstrous peacock's tail, starred with

myriads of golden eyes. He looked down and saw the policeman going his

rounds and flashing the long beam of his lantern on the doors of the silent

houses. The crimson spot of a prowling hansom gleamed at the corner and

then vanished. A woman in a fluttering shawl was creeping slowly by the

railings,staggeringasshewent.Nowandthenshestoppedandpeeredback.

Once, she began tosing ina hoarse voice. The policeman strolled over and

said something to her. She stumbled away, laughing. A bitter blast swept

acrossthesquare.Thegas-lampsflickeredandbecameblue,andtheleafless

treesshooktheirblackironbranchestoandfro.Heshiveredandwentback,

closingthewindowbehindhim.

Havingreachedthedoor,heturnedthekeyandopenedit.Hedidnoteven

glanceatthemurderedman.Hefeltthatthesecretofthewholethingwasnot

torealizethesituation.Thefriendwhohadpaintedthefatalportraittowhich

allhismiseryhadbeenduehadgoneoutofhislife.Thatwasenough.

Then he remembered the lamp. It was a rather curious one of Moorish

workmanship, made of dull silver inlaid with arabesques of burnished steel,

andstuddedwithcoarseturquoises.Perhapsitmightbemissedbyhisservant,

andquestionswouldbeasked.Hehesitatedforamoment,thenheturnedback

andtookitfromthetable.Hecouldnothelpseeingthedeadthing.Howstillit

was! How horriblywhite thelong hands looked!It waslike a dreadfulwax

image.

Having locked the door behind him, he crept quietly downstairs. The

woodwork creaked and seemed to cry out as if in pain. He stopped several

timesandwaited.No:everythingwasstill.Itwasmerelythesoundofhisown

footsteps.

Whenhereachedthelibrary,hesawthebagandcoatinthecorner.They

mustbehiddenawaysomewhere.Heunlockedasecretpressthatwasinthe

wainscoting,apressinwhichhekepthisowncuriousdisguises,andputthem

intoit.Hecouldeasilyburnthemafterwards.Thenhepulledouthiswatch.It

wastwentyminutestotwo.

Hesatdownandbegantothink.Everyyear—everymonth,almost—men

werestrangledinEnglandforwhathehaddone.Therehadbeenamadnessof

murderintheair. Some redstarhadcometoocloseto theearth....Andyet,

what evidence was there against him? Basil Hallward had left the house at

eleven. No one had seen him come in again. Most of the servants were at

SelbyRoyal.Hisvalethadgonetobed....Paris!Yes.ItwastoParisthatBasil

had gone, and by the midnight train, as he had intended. With his curious

reserved habits, it would be monthsbefore anysuspicions wouldbe roused.

Months!Everythingcouldbedestroyedlongbeforethen.

Asuddenthoughtstruckhim.Heputonhisfurcoatandhatandwentout

intothehall.Therehepaused,hearingtheslowheavytreadofthepoliceman

onthepavementoutsideandseeingtheflashofthebull's-eyereflectedinthe

window.Hewaitedandheldhisbreath.

Afterafewmomentshedrewbackthelatchandslippedout,shuttingthe

door very gently behind him. Then he began ringing the bell. In about five

minuteshisvaletappeared,half-dressedandlookingverydrowsy.

"Iamsorrytohavehadtowakeyouup,Francis,"hesaid,steppingin;"but

Ihadforgottenmylatch-key.Whattimeisit?"

"Ten minutes past two, sir," answered the man, looking at the clock and

blinking.

"Tenminutespasttwo?Howhorriblylate!Youmustwakemeatnineto-

morrow.Ihavesomeworktodo."

"Allright,sir."

"Didanyonecallthisevening?"

"Mr. Hallward,sir. He stayed here till eleven, and then he went away to

catchhistrain."

"Oh!IamsorryIdidn'tseehim.Didheleaveanymessage?"

"No,sir, exceptthathewouldwritetoyou fromParis,ifhedidnotfind

youattheclub."

"Thatwilldo,Francis.Don'tforgettocallmeatnineto-morrow."

"No,sir."

Themanshambleddownthepassageinhisslippers.

Dorian Gray threw his hat and coat upon the table and passed into the

library.Foraquarterofanhourhewalkedupanddowntheroom,bitinghis

lipandthinking.ThenhetookdowntheBlueBookfromoneoftheshelves

and began to turn over the leaves. "Alan Campbell, 152, Hertford Street,

Mayfair."Yes;thatwasthemanhewanted.



CHAPTER14



At nine o'clock the next morning his servant came in with a cup of

chocolate on a tray and opened the shutters. Dorian was sleeping quite

peacefully, lying on his right side, with one hand underneath his cheek. He

lookedlikeaboywhohadbeentiredoutwithplay,orstudy.

Themanhadtotouchhimtwiceontheshoulderbeforehewoke,andashe

openedhiseyesafaintsmilepassedacrosshislips,asthoughhehadbeenlost

insomedelightfuldream.Yethehadnotdreamedatall.Hisnighthadbeen

untroubledbyanyimagesofpleasureorofpain.Butyouthsmileswithoutany

reason.Itisoneofitschiefestcharms.

Heturnedround,andleaninguponhiselbow,begantosiphischocolate.

ThemellowNovembersuncamestreamingintotheroom.Theskywasbright,

andtherewasagenialwarmthintheair.ItwasalmostlikeamorninginMay.

Graduallytheeventsoftheprecedingnightcreptwithsilent,blood-stained

feet into his brain and reconstructed themselves there with terrible

distinctness.Hewinced at the memory ofallthathehad suffered,andfora

momentthesamecuriousfeelingofloathingforBasilHallwardthathadmade

himkillhimashesatinthechaircamebacktohim,andhegrewcoldwith

passion. The dead man was still sitting there, too, and in the sunlight now.

Howhorriblethatwas!Suchhideousthingswereforthedarkness,notforthe

day.

Hefeltthatifhebroodedonwhathehadgonethroughhewouldsickenor

growmad.Thereweresinswhosefascinationwasmoreinthememorythanin

the doing of them, strange triumphs that gratified the pride more than the

passions,andgavetotheintellectaquickenedsenseofjoy,greaterthanany

joytheybrought,or couldeverbring,tothesenses.Butthis wasnotoneof

them.Itwasathingtobedrivenoutofthemind,tobedruggedwithpoppies,

tobestrangledlestitmightstrangleoneitself.

When the half-hour struck, he passed his hand across his forehead, and

then got up hastilyand dressedhimself witheven morethan his usual care,

givingagooddealofattentiontothechoiceofhisnecktieandscarf-pinand

changinghisringsmorethanonce.Hespentalongtimealsooverbreakfast,

tastingthevariousdishes,talkingtohisvaletaboutsomenewliveriesthathe

wasthinkingofgettingmadefortheservantsatSelby,andgoingthroughhis

correspondence.Atsomeoftheletters,hesmiled.Threeofthemboredhim.

One he read several times over and then tore up with a slight look of

annoyanceinhisface."Thatawfulthing,awoman'smemory!"asLordHenry

hadoncesaid.

Afterhehaddrunkhiscupofblackcoffee,hewipedhislipsslowlywitha

napkin,motionedtohisservanttowait,andgoingovertothetable,satdown

and wrote two letters. One he put in his pocket, the other he handed to the

valet.

"Takethis round to 152, Hertford Street, Francis, andif Mr.Campbellis

outoftown,gethisaddress."

As soon as he was alone, he lit a cigarette and began sketching upon a

pieceofpaper,drawingfirstflowersandbitsofarchitecture,andthenhuman

faces. Suddenly he remarkedthat everyface thathe drewseemed to have a

fantasticlikenesstoBasilHallward.Hefrowned,andgettingup,wentoverto

the book-case and took out a volume at hazard. He was determined that he

wouldnotthinkaboutwhathadhappeneduntilitbecameabsolutelynecessary

thatheshoulddoso.

Whenhehadstretchedhimselfonthesofa,helookedatthetitle-pageof

the book. It was Gautier's Emaux et Camees, Charpentier's Japanese-paper

edition,withtheJacquemartetching.Thebindingwasofcitron-greenleather,

withadesignofgilttrellis-workanddottedpomegranates.Ithadbeengivento

him by Adrian Singleton. As he turned over the pages, his eye fell on the

poemaboutthehandofLacenaire,thecoldyellowhand"dusuppliceencore

mallavee,"withitsdownyredhairsandits"doigtsdefaune."Heglancedat

hisownwhitetaperfingers,shudderingslightlyinspiteofhimself,andpassed

on,tillhecametothoselovelystanzasuponVenice:

Surunegammechromatique,

Leseindeperiesruisselant,

LaVenusdel'Adriatique

Sortdel'eausoncorpsroseetblanc.

Lesdomes,surl'azurdesondes

Suivantlaphraseaupurcontour,

S'enflentcommedesgorgesrondes

Quesouleveunsoupird'amour.

L'esquifabordeetmedepose,

Jetantsonamarreaupilier,

Devantunefacaderose,

Surlemarbred'unescalier.

How exquisite they were! As one read them, one seemed to be floating

down the green water-ways of the pink and pearl city, seated in a black

gondolawithsilverprowandtrailingcurtains.Themerelineslookedtohim

likethosestraightlinesofturquoise-bluethatfollowoneasonepushesoutto

theLido.Thesuddenflashesofcolourremindedhimofthegleamoftheopal-

and-iris-throatedbirdsthatflutterroundthetallhoneycombedCampanile,or

stalk,withsuchstatelygrace,throughthedim,dust-stainedarcades.Leaning

backwithhalf-closedeyes,hekeptsayingoverandovertohimself:

"Devantunefacaderose,

Surlemarbred'unescalier."

ThewholeofVenicewasinthosetwolines.Herememberedtheautumn

that he had passed there, and a wonderful love that had stirred him to mad

delightfulfollies.Therewasromanceineveryplace.ButVenice,likeOxford,

hadkeptthebackgroundforromance,and,tothetrue romantic,background

was everything, or almost everything. Basil had been with him part of the

time,andhadgonewildoverTintoret.PoorBasil!Whatahorriblewayfora

mantodie!

Hesighed,andtookupthevolumeagain,andtried toforget.Hereadof

theswallowsthatflyinandoutofthelittlecafeatSmyrnawheretheHadjis

sit counting theiramber beads andthe turbaned merchantssmoke theirlong

tasselled pipes and talk gravely to each other; he read of the Obelisk in the

PlacedelaConcordethatweepstearsofgraniteinitslonelysunlessexileand

longstobebackbythehot,lotus-coveredNile,wherethereareSphinxes,and

rose-red ibises, and white vultures with gilded claws, and crocodiles with

smallberyleyesthatcrawloverthegreensteamingmud;hebegantobrood

overthoseverseswhich,drawingmusicfromkiss-stainedmarble,tellofthat

curious statue that Gautier compares to a contralto voice, the "monstre

charmant"thatcouchesintheporphyry-roomoftheLouvre.Butafteratime

thebookfellfromhishand.Hegrewnervous,andahorriblefitofterrorcame

over him. What if Alan Campbell should be out of England? Days would

elapse before he could come back. Perhaps he might refuse to come. What

couldhedothen?Everymomentwasofvitalimportance.

Theyhadbeengreatfriendsonce,fiveyears before—almost inseparable,

indeed. Then the intimacy had comesuddenly toan end. When they met in

societynow,itwasonlyDorianGraywhosmiled:AlanCampbellneverdid.

Hewasanextremelycleveryoungman,thoughhehadnorealappreciation

of the visible arts, and whatever little sense of the beauty of poetry he

possessed he had gained entirely from Dorian. His dominant intellectual

passionwasforscience.AtCambridgehehadspentagreatdealofhistime

workinginthelaboratory,andhadtakenagoodclassintheNaturalScience

Triposofhisyear.Indeed,hewasstilldevotedtothestudyofchemistry,and

hadalaboratoryofhisowninwhichheusedtoshuthimselfupalldaylong,

greatlytotheannoyanceofhismother,whohadsetherheartonhisstanding

forParliamentandhadavagueideathatachemistwasapersonwhomadeup

prescriptions. He was an excellent musician, however, as well, and played

boththeviolinandthepianobetterthanmostamateurs.Infact,itwasmusic

that had first brought him and Dorian Gray together—music and that

indefinableattractionthatDorianseemedtobeabletoexercisewheneverhe

wished—and,indeed,exercisedoftenwithoutbeingconsciousofit.Theyhad

metatLadyBerkshire'sthenightthatRubinsteinplayedthere,andafterthat

used to be always seen together at the opera and wherever good music was

going on. For eighteen months their intimacy lasted. Campbell was always

either at Selby Royal or in Grosvenor Square. To him, as to many others,

DorianGraywasthetypeof everything that is wonderful and fascinating in

life.Whetherornotaquarrelhadtakenplacebetweenthemnooneeverknew.

But suddenly people remarked that they scarcely spoke when they met and

that Campbell seemed always to go away early from any party at which

DorianGraywaspresent.Hehadchanged,too—wasstrangelymelancholyat

times,appearedalmosttodislikehearingmusic,andwouldneverhimselfplay,

giving as his excuse, when he was called upon, that he was so absorbed in

sciencethathe had no timeleftinwhichtopractise. And this wascertainly

true.Everydayheseemedtobecomemoreinterestedinbiology,andhisname

appeared once or twice insome ofthe scientificreviews in connection with

certaincuriousexperiments.

This was the man Dorian Gray was waiting for. Every second he kept

glancingattheclock.Astheminuteswentbyhebecamehorriblyagitated.At

last he got up and began to pace up and down the room, looking like a

beautifulcagedthing.Hetooklongstealthystrides.Hishandswerecuriously

cold.

Thesuspensebecameunbearable.Timeseemedtohimtobecrawlingwith

feetoflead,whilehebymonstrouswindswasbeingswepttowardsthejagged

edge of some black cleft of precipice. He knew what was waiting for him

there; saw it, indeed, and, shuddering, crushed with dank hands his burning

lids as though he would have robbed the very brain of sight and driven the

eyeballs back intotheir cave. Itwas useless. Thebrain had itsown foodon

whichitbattened,andtheimagination,madegrotesquebyterror,twistedand

distortedas a livingthingby pain, dancedlikesome foul puppetona stand

and grinned through moving masks. Then, suddenly, time stopped for him.

Yes:thatblind,slow-breathingthingcrawlednomore,andhorriblethoughts,

timebeingdead,racednimblyoninfront,anddraggedahideousfuturefrom

itsgrave,andshowedittohim.Hestaredatit.Itsveryhorrormadehimstone.

At last the door opened and his servant entered. He turned glazed eyes

uponhim.

"Mr.Campbell,sir,"saidtheman.

Asighofreliefbrokefromhisparchedlips,andthecolourcamebackto

hischeeks.

"Askhimtocomeinatonce,Francis."Hefeltthathewashimselfagain.

Hismoodofcowardicehadpassedaway.

Themanbowedandretired.Inafewmoments,AlanCampbellwalkedin,

looking very stern and rather pale, his pallor being intensified by his coal-

blackhairanddarkeyebrows.

"Alan!Thisiskindofyou.Ithankyouforcoming."

"Ihadintendednevertoenteryourhouseagain,Gray.Butyousaiditwas

amatteroflifeanddeath."Hisvoicewashardandcold.Hespokewithslow

deliberation.Therewasalookofcontemptinthesteadysearchinggazethathe

turnedonDorian.HekepthishandsinthepocketsofhisAstrakhancoat,and

seemednottohavenoticedthegesturewithwhichhehadbeengreeted.

"Yes:itisamatteroflifeanddeath,Alan,andtomorethanoneperson.Sit

down."

Campbell took achair by the table, andDorian satopposite to him.The

twomen'seyesmet.InDorian'stherewasinfinitepity.Heknewthatwhathe

wasgoingtodowasdreadful.

Afterastrainedmomentofsilence,heleanedacrossandsaid,veryquietly,

but watching the effect of each word upon the face of him he had sent for,

"Alan,inalockedroomatthetopofthishouse,aroomtowhichnobodybut

myselfhasaccess,adeadmanisseatedatatable.Hehasbeendeadtenhours

now.Don'tstir,anddon'tlookatmelikethat.Whothemanis,whyhedied,

howhedied,aremattersthatdonotconcernyou.Whatyouhavetodoisthis

—"

"Stop,Gray.Idon'twanttoknowanythingfurther.Whetherwhatyouhave

toldmeistrueornottruedoesn'tconcernme.Ientirelydeclinetobemixedup

inyourlife.Keepyourhorriblesecretstoyourself.Theydon'tinterestmeany

more."

"Alan,theywillhavetointerestyou.Thisonewillhavetointerestyou.I

amawfullysorryforyou,Alan.ButIcan'thelpmyself.Youaretheoneman

who is ableto save me.I am forcedto bringyou into thematter. I haveno

option.Alan,youarescientific.Youknowaboutchemistryandthingsofthat

kind.Youhavemadeexperiments.Whatyouhavegottodoistodestroythe

thing that is upstairs—to destroy it so that not a vestige of it will be left.

Nobodysawthispersoncomeintothehouse.Indeed,atthepresentmoment

heissupposedtobeinParis.Hewillnotbemissedformonths.Whenheis

missed,theremustbenotraceofhimfoundhere.You,Alan,youmustchange

him, andeverything that belongs to him, into a handful of ashes that I may

scatterintheair."

"Youaremad,Dorian."

"Ah!IwaswaitingforyoutocallmeDorian."

"You are mad, I tell you—mad to imagine that I would raise a finger to

helpyou, mad to makethismonstrousconfession.I will have nothingtodo

withthismatter,whateveritis.DoyouthinkIamgoingtoperilmyreputation

foryou?Whatisittomewhatdevil'sworkyouareupto?"

"Itwassuicide,Alan."

"Iamgladofthat.Butwhodrovehimtoit?You,Ishouldfancy."

"Doyoustillrefusetodothisforme?"

"OfcourseIrefuse.Iwillhaveabsolutelynothingtodowithit.Idon'tcare

whatshamecomesonyou.Youdeserveitall.Ishouldnotbesorrytoseeyou

disgraced,publiclydisgraced.Howdareyouaskme,ofallmenintheworld,

tomixmyselfupinthishorror?Ishouldhavethoughtyouknewmoreabout

people's characters. Your friend Lord Henry Wotton can't have taught you

muchaboutpsychology,whateverelsehehastaughtyou.Nothingwillinduce

metostirasteptohelpyou.Youhavecometothewrongman.Gotosomeof

yourfriends.Don'tcometome."

"Alan,itwasmurder.Ikilledhim.Youdon'tknowwhathehadmademe

suffer.Whatevermylifeis,hehadmoretodowiththemakingorthemarring

ofitthanpoorHarryhashad.Hemaynothaveintendedit,theresultwasthe

same."

"Murder! Good God, Dorian,is thatwhat you have come to? I shall not

inform upon you. It is not my business. Besides, without my stirring in the

matter,youarecertaintobearrested.Nobodyevercommitsacrimewithout

doingsomethingstupid.ButIwillhavenothingtodowithit."

"Youmusthavesomethingtodowithit.Wait,waitamoment;listentome.

Only listen, Alan. All I ask of you is to perform a certain scientific

experiment.Yougotohospitalsanddead-houses,andthehorrorsthatyoudo

theredon'taffectyou.Ifinsomehideousdissecting-roomorfetidlaboratory

youfoundthismanlyingonaleadentablewithredguttersscoopedoutinit

for the blood to flow through, you would simply look upon him as an

admirablesubject.Youwouldnotturnahair.Youwouldnotbelievethatyou

weredoinganythingwrong.Onthecontrary,youwouldprobablyfeelthatyou

were benefiting the human race, or increasing the sum of knowledge in the

world, or gratifying intellectual curiosity, or something of that kind. What I

wantyoutodoismerelywhatyouhaveoftendonebefore.Indeed,todestroy

a body must be far less horrible than what you are accustomed to work at.

And,remember,itistheonlypieceofevidenceagainstme.Ifitisdiscovered,

Iamlost;anditissuretobediscoveredunlessyouhelpme."

"Ihavenodesiretohelpyou.Youforgetthat.Iamsimplyindifferentto

thewholething.Ithasnothingtodowithme."

"Alan,Ientreatyou.ThinkofthepositionIamin.JustbeforeyoucameI

almostfaintedwithterror.Youmayknowterroryourselfsomeday.No!don't

thinkofthat.Lookatthematterpurelyfromthescientificpointofview.You

don't inquire where the dead things on which you experiment come from.

Don'tinquirenow.Ihavetoldyoutoomuchasitis.ButIbegofyoutodo

this.Wewerefriendsonce,Alan."

"Don'tspeakaboutthosedays,Dorian—theyaredead."

"The dead linger sometimes. The man upstairs will not go away. He is

sittingatthetablewithbowedheadandoutstretchedarms.Alan!Alan!Ifyou

don'tcometomyassistance,Iamruined.Why,theywillhangme,Alan!Don't

youunderstand?TheywillhangmeforwhatIhavedone."

"There is no good in prolonging this scene. I absolutely refuse to do

anythinginthematter.Itisinsaneofyoutoaskme."

"Yourefuse?"

"Yes."

"Ientreatyou,Alan."

"Itisuseless."

ThesamelookofpitycameintoDorianGray'seyes.Thenhestretchedout

his hand, took a piece of paper, and wrote something on it. He read it over

twice,foldeditcarefully,andpusheditacrossthetable.Havingdonethis,he

gotupandwentovertothewindow.

Campbell looked at him in surprise, and then took up the paper, and

openedit.Ashereadit,hisfacebecameghastlypaleandhefellbackinhis

chair.Ahorriblesenseofsicknesscameoverhim.Hefeltasifhisheartwas

beatingitselftodeathinsomeemptyhollow.

After two or three minutes of terrible silence, Dorian turned round and

cameandstoodbehindhim,puttinghishanduponhisshoulder.

"I am so sorry for you, Alan," he murmured, "but you leave me no

alternative.Ihavealetterwrittenalready. Here it is. Yousee the address. If

you don't help me, I must send it. If you don't help me, I will send it. You

knowwhattheresultwillbe.Butyouaregoingtohelpme.Itisimpossiblefor

you to refusenow. Itriedto spare you.You will domethe justice toadmit

that. You were stern, harsh, offensive. You treated me as no man has ever

daredtotreatme—nolivingman,atanyrate.Iboreitall.Nowitisformeto

dictateterms."

Campbellburiedhisfaceinhishands,andashudderpassedthroughhim.

"Yes, it is my turn to dictate terms, Alan. You know what they are. The

thingisquitesimple.Come,don'tworkyourselfintothisfever.Thethinghas

tobedone.Faceit,anddoit."

AgroanbrokefromCampbell'slipsandheshiveredallover.Theticking

of the clock on the mantelpiece seemed to him to be dividing time into

separateatomsofagony,eachofwhichwastooterribletobeborne.Hefeltas

if an iron ring was being slowly tightened round his forehead, as if the

disgracewithwhichhewasthreatenedhadalreadycomeuponhim.Thehand

uponhisshoulderweighedlikeahandoflead.Itwasintolerable.Itseemedto

crushhim.

"Come,Alan,youmustdecideatonce."

"Icannotdoit,"hesaid,mechanically,asthoughwordscouldalterthings.

"Youmust.Youhavenochoice.Don'tdelay."

Hehesitatedamoment."Isthereafireintheroomupstairs?"

"Yes,thereisagas-firewithasbestos."

"Ishallhavetogohomeandgetsomethingsfromthelaboratory."

"No,Alan,youmustnotleavethehouse.Writeoutonasheetofnotepaper

what you want and myservant will take a cab and bring the things back to

you."

Campbellscrawledafewlines,blottedthem,andaddressedanenvelopeto

hisassistant.Doriantookthenoteupandreaditcarefully.Thenherangthe

bellandgaveittohisvalet,withorderstoreturnassoonaspossibleandto

bringthethingswithhim.

Asthehalldoorshut,Campbellstartednervously,andhavinggotupfrom

the chair, went over to the chimney-piece. He was shivering with a kind of

ague. For nearly twenty minutes, neither of the men spoke. A fly buzzed

noisily about the room, and the ticking of the clock was like the beat of a

hammer.

As the chime struck one, Campbell turned round, and looking at Dorian

Gray, saw that his eyes were filled with tears. There was something in the

purity and refinement of that sad face that seemed to enrage him. "You are

infamous,absolutelyinfamous!"hemuttered.

"Hush,Alan.Youhavesavedmylife,"saidDorian.

"Your life? Good heavens! what a life that is! You have gone from

corruption to corruption, and now you have culminated in crime. In doing

whatIamgoingtodo—whatyouforcemetodo—itisnotofyourlifethatI

amthinking."

"Ah,Alan,"murmuredDorianwithasigh,"Iwishyouhadathousandth

partofthepityformethatIhaveforyou."Heturnedawayashespokeand

stoodlookingoutatthegarden.Campbellmadenoanswer.

Afterabouttenminutesaknockcametothedoor,andtheservantentered,

carrying alarge mahogany chest of chemicals, with along coil ofsteel and

platinumwireandtworathercuriouslyshapedironclamps.

"ShallIleavethethingshere,sir?"heaskedCampbell.

"Yes," said Dorian."And I amafraid, Francis, that I haveanother errand

foryou.WhatisthenameofthemanatRichmondwhosuppliesSelbywith

orchids?"

"Harden,sir."

"Yes—Harden. You must go down to Richmond at once, see Harden

personally, and tell him to send twice as many orchids as I ordered, and to

haveasfewwhiteonesaspossible.Infact,Idon'twantanywhiteones.Itisa

lovely day, Francis, and Richmond is a very pretty place—otherwise I

wouldn'tbotheryouaboutit."

"Notrouble,sir.AtwhattimeshallIbeback?"

DorianlookedatCampbell."Howlongwillyourexperimenttake,Alan?"

hesaidinacalmindifferentvoice.Thepresenceofathirdpersonintheroom

seemedtogivehimextraordinarycourage.

Campbell frowned and bit his lip. "It will take about five hours," he

answered.

"Itwillbetimeenough,then,ifyouarebackathalf-pastseven,Francis.Or

stay: just leave my things out for dressing. You can have the evening to

yourself.Iamnotdiningathome,soIshallnotwantyou."

"Thankyou,sir,"saidtheman,leavingtheroom.

"Now,Alan,thereisnotamomenttobelost.Howheavythischestis!I'll

take it for you. You bring the other things." He spoke rapidly and in an

authoritative manner. Campbell felt dominated by him. They left the room

together.

Whentheyreachedthetoplanding,Doriantookoutthekeyandturnedit

in the lock. Then he stopped, and a troubled look came into his eyes. He

shuddered."Idon'tthinkIcangoin,Alan,"hemurmured.

"Itisnothingtome.Idon'trequireyou,"saidCampbellcoldly.

Dorianhalfopenedthedoor.Ashedidso,hesawthefaceofhisportrait

leeringinthesunlight.Onthefloorinfrontofitthetorncurtainwaslying.He

rememberedthatthenightbeforehehadforgotten,forthefirsttimeinhislife,

tohidethefatalcanvas,andwasabouttorushforward,whenhedrewback

withashudder.

Whatwasthatloathsomereddewthatgleamed,wetandglistening,onone

ofthehands,asthoughthecanvashadsweatedblood?Howhorribleitwas!—

morehorrible,itseemedtohimforthemoment,thanthesilentthingthathe

knew was stretched across the table, the thing whose grotesque misshapen

shadowonthespottedcarpetshowedhimthatithadnotstirred,butwasstill

there,ashehadleftit.

He heaved a deep breath, opened the door a little wider, and with half-

closedeyesandavertedhead,walkedquicklyin,determinedthathewouldnot

look even onceupon thedead man. Then, stooping downand taking up the

gold-and-purplehanging,heflungitrightoverthepicture.

There he stopped, feeling afraid to turn round, and his eyes fixed

themselves on the intricacies of the pattern before him. He heard Campbell

bringing in the heavy chest, and the irons, and the other things that he had

requiredforhisdreadfulwork.HebegantowonderifheandBasilHallward

hadevermet,and,ifso,whattheyhadthoughtofeachother.

"Leavemenow,"saidasternvoicebehindhim.

Heturnedandhurriedout,justconsciousthatthedeadmanhadbeenthrust

backintothechairandthatCampbellwasgazingintoaglisteningyellowface.

Ashewasgoingdownstairs,heheardthekeybeingturnedinthelock.

ItwaslongaftersevenwhenCampbellcamebackintothelibrary.Hewas

pale, but absolutely calm. "I have done what you asked me to do," he

muttered."Andnow,good-bye.Letusneverseeeachotheragain."

"You have saved me from ruin, Alan. I cannot forget that," said Dorian

simply.

AssoonasCampbellhadleft,hewentupstairs.Therewasahorriblesmell

ofnitricacidintheroom.Butthethingthathadbeensittingatthetablewas

gone.



CHAPTER15



That evening, at eight-thirty, exquisitely dressed and wearing a large

button-hole of Parma violets, Dorian Gray was ushered into Lady

Narborough'sdrawing-roombybowingservants.Hisforeheadwasthrobbing

withmaddenednerves,andhefeltwildlyexcited,buthismannerashebent

overhis hostess'shandwas as easyand graceful asever.Perhaps onenever

seemssomuchatone'seaseaswhenonehastoplayapart.Certainlynoone

looking at Dorian Gray that night could have believed that he had passed

throughatragedyashorribleasanytragedyofourage.Thosefinelyshaped

fingerscouldneverhaveclutchedaknifeforsin,northosesmilinglipshave

criedoutonGodandgoodness.Hehimselfcouldnot helpwonderingatthe

calmofhisdemeanour,andforamomentfeltkeenlytheterriblepleasureofa

doublelife.

Itwasasmallparty,gotupratherinahurrybyLadyNarborough,whowas

averycleverwomanwithwhatLordHenryusedtodescribeastheremainsof

really remarkable ugliness. She had proved an excellent wife to one of our

most tedious ambassadors, and having buried her husband properly in a

marble mausoleum, which she had herself designed, and married off her

daughters to some rich, rather elderly men, she devoted herself now to the

pleasuresofFrenchfiction,Frenchcookery,andFrenchespritwhenshecould

getit.

Dorianwasoneofherespecialfavourites,andshealwaystoldhimthatshe

was extremely glad she had not met him in early life. "I know, my dear, I

shouldhavefallenmadlyinlovewithyou,"sheusedtosay,"andthrownmy

bonnetrightoverthemillsforyoursake.Itismostfortunatethatyouwerenot

thoughtof at thetime.As it was,ourbonnets were sounbecoming,and the

mills were so occupied in trying to raise the wind, that I never had even a

flirtation with anybody. However, that was all Narborough's fault. He was

dreadfullyshort-sighted,andthereisnopleasureintakinginahusbandwho

neverseesanything."

Hergueststhiseveningwererathertedious.Thefactwas,assheexplained

toDorian,behindaveryshabbyfan,oneofhermarrieddaughtershadcome

upquitesuddenlytostaywithher,and,tomakemattersworse,hadactually

broughtherhusbandwithher."Ithinkitismostunkindofher,mydear,"she

whispered. "Of course I go and stay with them every summer after I come

fromHomburg,butthenanoldwomanlikememusthavefreshairsometimes,

and besides, I reallywake themup. You don't know what an existence they

lead down there. It is pure unadulterated country life. They get up early,

becausetheyhavesomuchtodo,andgotobedearly,becausetheyhaveso

littletothinkabout.Therehasnotbeenascandalintheneighbourhoodsince

thetimeofQueenElizabeth,andconsequentlytheyallfallasleepafterdinner.

Youshan'tsitnexteitherofthem.Youshallsitbymeandamuseme."

Dorianmurmuredagracefulcomplimentandlookedroundtheroom.Yes:

itwascertainlyatediousparty.Twoofthepeoplehehadneverseenbefore,

and the others consisted of Ernest Harrowden, one of those middle-aged

mediocrities so common in London clubs who have no enemies, but are

thoroughlydislikedbytheirfriends;LadyRuxton,anoverdressedwomanof

forty-seven, with a hooked nose, who was always trying to get herself

compromised,butwassopeculiarlyplainthattohergreatdisappointmentno

onewouldeverbelieveanythingagainsther;Mrs.Erlynne,apushingnobody,

with a delightful lisp and Venetian-red hair; Lady Alice Chapman, his

hostess'sdaughter,adowdydullgirl,withoneofthosecharacteristicBritish

facesthat,onceseen,areneverremembered;andherhusband,ared-cheeked,

white-whiskered creature who, like so many of his class, was under the

impressionthatinordinatejovialitycanatoneforanentirelackofideas.

He was rather sorry he had come, till Lady Narborough, looking at the

great ormolu gilt clock that sprawled in gaudy curves on the mauve-draped

mantelshelf, exclaimed: "How horrid of Henry Wotton to be so late! I sent

round to him this morning on chance and he promised faithfully not to

disappointme."

It was some consolation that Harry was to be there, and when the door

openedandheheardhisslowmusicalvoicelendingcharmtosomeinsincere

apology,heceasedtofeelbored.

But at dinner he could not eat anything. Plate after plate went away

untasted.LadyNarboroughkeptscoldinghimforwhatshecalled"aninsultto

poorAdolphe,whoinventedthe menu speciallyforyou,"andnowandthen

Lord Henry looked across at him, wondering at his silence and abstracted

manner. From time to time the butler filled his glass with champagne. He

drankeagerly,andhisthirstseemedtoincrease.

"Dorian," said Lord Henry at last, as the chaud-froid was being handed

round,"whatisthematterwithyouto-night?Youarequiteoutofsorts."

"Ibelieveheisinlove,"criedLadyNarborough,"andthatheisafraidto

tellmeforfearIshouldbejealous.Heisquiteright.Icertainlyshould."

"DearLadyNarborough,"murmuredDorian,smiling,"Ihavenotbeenin

loveforawholeweek—not,infact,sinceMadamedeFerrollefttown."

"Howyoumencanfallinlovewiththatwoman!"exclaimedtheoldlady.

"Ireallycannotunderstandit."

"Itissimplybecausesheremembersyouwhenyouwerealittlegirl,Lady

Narborough,"saidLordHenry."Sheistheonelinkbetweenusandyourshort

frocks."

"She does not remember my short frocks at all, Lord Henry. But I

remember her very well at Vienna thirty years ago, and how decolletee she

wasthen."

"Sheisstilldecolletee,"heanswered,takinganoliveinhislongfingers;

"andwhensheisinaverysmartgownshelookslikeaneditiondeluxeofa

badFrenchnovel.Sheisreallywonderful,andfullofsurprises.Hercapacity

for family affection is extraordinary. When her third husband died, her hair

turnedquitegoldfromgrief."

"Howcanyou,Harry!"criedDorian.

"It is a most romantic explanation," laughed the hostess. "But her third

husband,LordHenry!Youdon'tmeantosayFerrolisthefourth?"

"Certainly,LadyNarborough."

"Idon'tbelieveawordofit."

"Well,askMr.Gray.Heisoneofhermostintimatefriends."

"Isittrue,Mr.Gray?"

"Sheassuresmeso,LadyNarborough,"saidDorian."Iaskedherwhether,

like Marguerite de Navarre, she had their hearts embalmed and hung at her

girdle.Shetoldmeshedidn't,becausenoneofthemhadhadanyheartsatall."

"Fourhusbands!Uponmywordthatistropdezele."

"Tropd'audace,Itellher,"saidDorian.

"Oh! she isaudacious enough foranything, my dear. Andwhat is Ferrol

like?Idon'tknowhim."

"The husbands of very beautiful women belong to the criminal classes,"

saidLordHenry,sippinghiswine.

Lady Narborough hit him with her fan. "Lord Henry, I am not at all

surprisedthattheworldsaysthatyouareextremelywicked."

"Butwhatworldsaysthat?"askedLordHenry,elevatinghiseyebrows."It

canonlybethenextworld.ThisworldandIareonexcellentterms."

"EverybodyIknowsaysyouareverywicked,"criedtheoldlady,shaking

herhead.

LordHenrylookedseriousforsomemoments."Itisperfectlymonstrous,"

hesaid,atlast,"thewaypeoplegoaboutnowadayssayingthingsagainstone

behindone'sbackthatareabsolutelyandentirelytrue."

"Isn'theincorrigible?"criedDorian,leaningforwardinhischair.

"I hope so," said his hostess, laughing. "But really, if you all worship

MadamedeFerrolinthisridiculousway,Ishallhavetomarryagainsoasto

beinthefashion."

"You will never marry again, Lady Narborough," broke in Lord Henry.

"You were far too happy. When a woman marries again, it is because she

detestedherfirsthusband.Whenamanmarriesagain,itisbecauseheadored

hisfirstwife.Womentrytheirluck;menrisktheirs."

"Narboroughwasn'tperfect,"criedtheoldlady.

"If he had been, you would not have loved him, my dear lady," was the

rejoinder."Womenloveusforourdefects.Ifwe have enough of them, they

willforgiveuseverything,evenourintellects.Youwillneveraskmetodinner

againaftersayingthis,Iamafraid,LadyNarborough,butitisquitetrue."

"Ofcourseitistrue,LordHenry.Ifwewomendidnotloveyouforyour

defects,wherewouldyouallbe?Notoneofyouwouldeverbemarried.You

would be aset of unfortunatebachelors.Not, however, that thatwould alter

you much. Nowadays all the married men live like bachelors, and all the

bachelorslikemarriedmen."

"Findesiecle,"murmuredLordHenry.

"Finduglobe,"answeredhishostess.

"I wish it were fin du globe," said Dorian with a sigh. "Life is a great

disappointment."

"Ah,mydear,"cried Lady Narborough, putting on hergloves, "don'ttell

methatyouhaveexhaustedlife.Whenamansaysthatoneknowsthatlifehas

exhaustedhim.LordHenryisvery wicked,andIsometimeswishthatIhad

been;butyouaremadetobegood—youlooksogood.Imustfindyouanice

wife.LordHenry,don'tyouthinkthatMr.Grayshouldgetmarried?"

"I am alwaystellinghim so, LadyNarborough," said LordHenry with a

bow.

"Well, wemustlookoutfor a suitable match forhim.Ishallgo through

Debrettcarefullyto-nightanddrawoutalistofalltheeligibleyoungladies."

"Withtheirages,LadyNarborough?"askedDorian.

"Ofcourse,withtheirages,slightlyedited.Butnothingmustbedoneina

hurry. Iwantit to be whatTheMorning Post callsasuitablealliance, and I

wantyoubothtobehappy."

"What nonsense people talk about happy marriages!" exclaimed Lord

Henry. "A man can be happy with any woman, as long as he does not love

her."

"Ah!whatacynicyouare!"criedtheoldlady,pushingbackherchairand

noddingtoLadyRuxton."Youmustcomeanddinewithmesoonagain.You

arereallyanadmirabletonic,muchbetterthanwhatSirAndrewprescribesfor

me.Youmusttellmewhatpeopleyouwouldliketomeet,though.Iwantitto

beadelightfulgathering."

"Ilikemenwhohaveafutureandwomenwhohaveapast,"heanswered.

"Ordoyouthinkthatwouldmakeitapetticoatparty?"

"Ifearso,"shesaid,laughing,asshestoodup."Athousandpardons,my

dear Lady Ruxton," she added, "I didn't see you hadn't finished your

cigarette."

"Nevermind,LadyNarborough.Ismokeagreatdealtoomuch.Iamgoing

tolimitmyself,forthefuture."

"Praydon't,LadyRuxton,"saidLordHenry."Moderationisafatalthing.

Enoughisasbadasameal.Morethanenoughisasgoodasafeast."

LadyRuxtonglancedathimcuriously."Youmustcomeandexplainthatto

me some afternoon, Lord Henry. It sounds a fascinating theory," she

murmured,asshesweptoutoftheroom.

"Now,mindyoudon'tstaytoolongoveryourpoliticsandscandal,"cried

LadyNarboroughfromthedoor."Ifyoudo,wearesuretosquabbleupstairs."

Themenlaughed,andMr.Chapmangotupsolemnlyfromthefootofthe

tableandcameuptothetop.DorianGraychangedhisseatandwentandsat

byLordHenry.Mr.Chapmanbegantotalkinaloudvoiceaboutthesituation

in the House of Commons. He guffawed at his adversaries. The word

doctrinaire—wordfullofterrortotheBritishmind—reappearedfromtimeto

timebetweenhisexplosions. An alliterativeprefixservedasanornamentof

oratory.HehoistedtheUnionJackonthepinnaclesofthought.Theinherited

stupidity of the race—sound English common sense he jovially termed it—

wasshowntobetheproperbulwarkforsociety.

A smile curved Lord Henry's lips, and he turned round and looked at

Dorian.

"Are you better, my dear fellow?" he asked. "You seemed rather out of

sortsatdinner."

"Iamquitewell,Harry.Iamtired.Thatisall."

"Youwerecharminglastnight.Thelittleduchessisquitedevotedtoyou.

ShetellsmesheisgoingdowntoSelby."

"Shehaspromisedtocomeonthetwentieth."

"IsMonmouthtobethere,too?"

"Oh,yes,Harry."

"He bores me dreadfully, almost as much as he bores her. She is very

clever,toocleverforawoman.Shelackstheindefinablecharmofweakness.

Itisthefeetofclaythatmakethegoldoftheimageprecious.Herfeetarevery

pretty, but they are not feet of clay. White porcelain feet, if you like. They

havebeenthroughthefire,andwhatfiredoesnotdestroy,ithardens.Shehas

hadexperiences."

"Howlonghasshebeenmarried?"askedDorian.

"An eternity, she tells me. I believe, according to the peerage, it is ten

years, but tenyears with Monmouthmusthave been likeeternity, withtime

thrownin.Whoelseiscoming?"

"Oh, the Willoughbys, Lord Rugby and his wife, our hostess, Geoffrey

Clouston,theusualset.IhaveaskedLordGrotrian."

"Ilikehim,"saidLordHenry."Agreatmanypeopledon't,butIfindhim

charming. He atones for being occasionally somewhat overdressed by being

alwaysabsolutelyover-educated.Heisaverymoderntype."

"I don't know if he will be able to come, Harry. He may have to go to

MonteCarlowithhisfather."

"Ah!whatanuisancepeople'speopleare!Tryandmakehimcome.Bythe

way,Dorian,youranoffveryearlylastnight.Youleftbeforeeleven.Whatdid

youdoafterwards?Didyougostraighthome?"

Dorianglancedathimhurriedlyandfrowned.

"No,Harry,"hesaidatlast,"Ididnotgethometillnearlythree."

"Didyougototheclub?"

"Yes,"heanswered.Thenhebithislip."No,Idon'tmeanthat.Ididn'tgo

to the club. I walked about. I forget what I did.... How inquisitive you are,

Harry!Youalwayswanttoknowwhatonehasbeendoing.Ialwayswantto

forgetwhatIhavebeendoing.Icameinathalf-pasttwo,ifyouwishtoknow

theexacttime.Ihadleftmylatch-keyathome,andmyservanthadtoletme

in.Ifyouwantanycorroborativeevidenceonthesubject,youcanaskhim."

LordHenryshruggedhisshoulders."Mydearfellow,asifIcared!Letus

gouptothedrawing-room.No sherry,thankyou,Mr.Chapman.Something

has happened to you, Dorian. Tell me what it is. You are not yourself to-

night."

"Don't mind me, Harry. I am irritable, and out of temper. I shall come

round and see you to-morrow, or next day. Make my excuses to Lady

Narborough.Ishan'tgoupstairs.Ishallgohome.Imustgohome."

"All right, Dorian. I dare sayI shallsee you to-morrow at tea-time. The

duchessiscoming."

"Iwilltrytobethere,Harry,"hesaid,leavingtheroom.Ashedroveback

tohisownhouse,hewasconsciousthatthesenseofterrorhethoughthehad

strangled had comeback to him.Lord Henry's casual questioning hadmade

himlosehisnerveforthemoment,andhewantedhisnervestill.Thingsthat

were dangerous had to be destroyed. He winced. He hated the idea of even

touchingthem.

Yetithadtobedone.Herealizedthat,andwhenhehadlockedthedoorof

his library, he opened the secret press into which he had thrust Basil

Hallward'scoatandbag.Ahugefirewasblazing.Hepiledanotherlogonit.

Thesmellofthesingeingclothesandburningleatherwashorrible.Ittookhim

three-quartersofanhourtoconsumeeverything.Attheendhefeltfaintand

sick, and having lit some Algerian pastilles in a pierced copper brazier, he

bathedhishandsandforeheadwithacoolmusk-scentedvinegar.

Suddenly he started. His eyes grew strangely bright, and he gnawed

nervously at his underlip. Between two of the windows stood a large

Florentinecabinet,madeoutofebonyandinlaidwithivoryandbluelapis.He

watcheditasthoughitwereathingthatcouldfascinateandmakeafraid,as

thoughitheldsomethingthathelongedforandyetalmostloathed.Hisbreath

quickened.Amadcravingcameoverhim.Helitacigaretteandthenthrewit

away. His eyelids drooped till the long fringed lashes almost touched his

cheek. But he still watched the cabinet. At last he got up from the sofa on

which he had been lying, went over to it, and having unlocked it, touched

somehiddenspring.Atriangulardrawerpassedslowlyout.Hisfingersmoved

instinctively towards it, dipped in, and closed on something. It was a small

Chinese box of black and gold-dust lacquer, elaborately wrought, the sides

patterned with curved waves, and the silken cords hung with round crystals

andtasselledinplaitedmetalthreads.Heopenedit.Insidewasagreenpaste,

waxyinlustre,theodourcuriouslyheavyandpersistent.

Hehesitatedforsomemoments,withastrangelyimmobilesmileuponhis

face.Thenshivering,thoughtheatmosphereoftheroomwasterriblyhot,he

drewhimselfupandglancedattheclock.Itwastwentyminutestotwelve.He

put the box back,shutting thecabinet doors as he did so, andwent intohis

bedroom.

Asmidnightwasstrikingbronze blows upontheduskyair,DorianGray,

dressedcommonly,andwithamufflerwrappedroundhisthroat,creptquietly

out of his house. In Bond Street he found a hansom with a good horse. He

haileditandinalowvoicegavethedriveranaddress.

Themanshookhishead."Itistoofarforme,"hemuttered.

"Hereisasovereignforyou,"saidDorian."Youshallhaveanotherifyou

drivefast."

"Allright,sir,"answeredtheman,"youwillbethereinanhour,"andafter

his farehad got in he turnedhis horse round and drove rapidly towards the

river.



CHAPTER16



Acoldrainbegantofall,andtheblurredstreet-lampslookedghastlyinthe

drippingmist.Thepublic-houseswerejustclosing,anddimmenandwomen

were clustering in broken groups round their doors. From some of the bars

came the sound of horrible laughter. In others, drunkards brawled and

screamed.

Lying back in the hansom, with hishat pulledover hisforehead, Dorian

Gray watched withlistless eyes the sordid shameof thegreat city, andnow

andthenherepeatedtohimselfthewordsthatLordHenryhadsaidtohimon

thefirstdaytheyhadmet,"Tocurethesoulbymeansofthesenses,andthe

sensesbymeansofthesoul."Yes,thatwasthesecret.Hehadoftentriedit,

and would try it again now. There were opium dens where one could buy

oblivion,densofhorrorwherethememoryofoldsinscouldbedestroyedby

themadnessofsinsthatwerenew.

The moonhung low inthe sky likea yellow skull. From time to time a

hugemisshapencloudstretchedalong armacrossandhidit.Thegas-lamps

grewfewer,andthestreetsmorenarrowandgloomy.Oncethemanlosthis

way and had to drive back half a mile. A steam rose from the horse as it

splashedupthepuddles.Thesidewindowsofthehansomwerecloggedwitha

grey-flannelmist.

"Tocurethesoulbymeansofthesenses,andthesensesbymeansofthe

soul!"Howthewordsranginhisears!Hissoul,certainly,wassicktodeath.

Was it true that the senses could cure it? Innocent blood had been spilled.

Whatcouldatoneforthat?Ah!forthattherewasno atonement;but though

forgiveness was impossible, forgetfulness was possible still, and he was

determinedtoforget,tostampthethingout,tocrushitasonewouldcrushthe

adderthathadstungone.Indeed,whatrighthadBasiltohavespokentohim

ashehaddone?Whohadmadehimajudgeoverothers?Hehadsaidthings

thatweredreadful,horrible,nottobeendured.

On and on ploddedthe hansom,going slower, it seemed to him, at each

step.Hethrustupthetrapandcalledtothemantodrivefaster.Thehideous

hunger for opium began to gnaw at him. His throat burned and his delicate

handstwitchednervouslytogether.Hestruckatthehorsemadlywithhisstick.

Thedriverlaughedandwhippedup.Helaughedinanswer,andthemanwas

silent.

Thewayseemedinterminable,andthestreetsliketheblackwebofsome

sprawling spider. The monotony became unbearable, and as the mist

thickened,hefeltafraid.

Thentheypassedbylonelybrickfields.Thefog was lighter here, and he

couldseethestrange,bottle-shapedkilnswiththeirorange,fanliketonguesof

fire. A dog barked as they went by, and far away in the darkness some

wanderingsea-gullscreamed.Thehorsestumbledinarut,thenswervedaside

andbrokeintoagallop.

Aftersometimetheylefttheclayroadandrattledagainoverrough-paven

streets.Mostofthewindowsweredark,butnowandthenfantasticshadows

weresilhouettedagainstsomelamplitblind.Hewatchedthemcuriously.They

moved like monstrous marionettes and made gestures like live things. He

hated them. A dullrage was inhis heart. Asthey turned acorner, a woman

yelled something at them from an open door, and two men ran after the

hansomforaboutahundredyards.Thedriverbeatatthemwithhiswhip.

Itissaidthatpassionmakesonethinkinacircle.Certainlywithhideous

iterationthebittenlipsofDorianGrayshapedandreshapedthosesubtlewords

thatdealtwithsoulandsense,tillhehadfoundinthemthefullexpression,as

it were, of his mood, and justified, by intellectual approval, passions that

withoutsuchjustificationwouldstillhavedominatedhistemper.Fromcellto

cellofhisbraincrepttheonethought;andthewilddesiretolive,mostterrible

of all man's appetites, quickened into force each trembling nerve and fibre.

Ugliness that had once been hateful to him because it made things real,

became dear to him now for that very reason. Ugliness was the one reality.

Thecoarsebrawl,theloathsomeden,thecrudeviolenceofdisorderedlife,the

veryvilenessofthiefandoutcast,weremorevivid,intheirintenseactualityof

impression,thanallthegraciousshapesofart,thedreamyshadowsofsong.

Theywerewhatheneededforforgetfulness.Inthreedayshewouldbefree.

Suddenlythemandrewupwithajerkatthetopofadarklane.Overthe

low roofs and jagged chimney-stacks of the houses rose the black masts of

ships.Wreathsofwhitemistclunglikeghostlysailstotheyards.

"Somewhereabouthere,sir,ain'tit?"heaskedhuskilythroughthetrap.

Dorianstartedandpeeredround."Thiswilldo,"heanswered,andhaving

got out hastily and given the driver the extra fare he had promised him, he

walkedquicklyinthedirectionofthequay.Hereandtherealanterngleamed

atthesternofsomehugemerchantman.Thelightshookandsplinteredinthe

puddles.Aredglarecamefromanoutward-boundsteamerthatwascoaling.

Theslimypavementlookedlikeawetmackintosh.

Hehurriedontowardstheleft,glancingbacknowandthentoseeifhewas

being followed. In about seven or eight minutes he reached a small shabby

house that was wedged in between two gaunt factories. In one of the top-

windowsstoodalamp.Hestoppedandgaveapeculiarknock.

After a little time he heard steps in the passage and the chain being

unhooked.Thedooropenedquietly,andhewentinwithoutsayingawordto

thesquatmisshapenfigurethatflatteneditselfintotheshadowashepassed.

Attheendofthehallhungatatteredgreencurtainthatswayedandshookin

thegustywindwhichhadfollowedhiminfromthestreet.Hedraggeditaside

andenteredalonglowroomwhichlookedasifithadoncebeenathird-rate

dancing-saloon. Shrill flaring gas-jets, dulled and distorted in the fly-blown

mirrors that faced them, were ranged round the walls. Greasy reflectors of

ribbed tin backed them, making quivering disks of light. The floor was

coveredwithochre-colouredsawdust,trampledhereandthereintomud,and

stained with dark rings of spilled liquor. SomeMalays were crouching by a

littlecharcoalstove,playingwithbonecountersandshowingtheirwhiteteeth

as they chattered. In one corner, with his head buried in his arms, a sailor

sprawled over a table, and by the tawdrily painted bar that ran across one

complete side stood two haggard women, mocking an old man who was

brushingthesleevesofhiscoatwithanexpressionofdisgust."Hethinkshe's

got red ants on him," laughed one of them, as Dorian passed by. The man

lookedatherinterrorandbegantowhimper.

Attheendoftheroomtherewasalittlestaircase,leadingtoadarkened

chamber. As Dorian hurried up its three rickety steps, the heavy odour of

opium met him. He heaved a deep breath, and his nostrils quivered with

pleasure.When he entered,ayoungman with smooth yellowhair, whowas

bendingoveralamplightingalongthinpipe,lookedupathimandnoddedin

ahesitatingmanner.

"Youhere,Adrian?"mutteredDorian.

"WhereelseshouldIbe?"heanswered,listlessly."Noneofthechapswill

speaktomenow."

"IthoughtyouhadleftEngland."

"Darlington is notgoing todo anything. Mybrother paidthe bill atlast.

Georgedoesn'tspeaktomeeither....Idon'tcare,"headdedwithasigh."As

long as one has this stuff, one doesn't want friends. I think I have had too

manyfriends."

Dorian winced andlookedround atthegrotesque thingsthatlay in such

fantastic postures on the ragged mattresses. The twisted limbs, the gaping

mouths,thestaringlustreless eyes, fascinatedhim.Heknewinwhatstrange

heavenstheyweresuffering,andwhatdullhellswereteachingthemthesecret

of some new joy. They were better off than he was. He was prisoned in

thought.Memory,likeahorriblemalady,waseatinghissoulaway.Fromtime

totimeheseemedtoseetheeyesofBasilHallwardlookingathim.Yethefelt

hecouldnotstay.ThepresenceofAdrianSingletontroubledhim.Hewanted

to be where no one would know who he was. He wanted to escape from

himself.

"Iamgoingontotheotherplace,"hesaidafterapause.

"Onthewharf?"

"Yes."

"Thatmad-catissuretobethere.Theywon'thaveherinthisplacenow."

Dorian shrugged his shoulders. "I am sick of women who love one.

Womenwhohateonearemuchmoreinteresting.Besides,thestuffisbetter."

"Muchthesame."

"I like it better. Come and have something to drink. I must have

something."

"Idon'twantanything,"murmuredtheyoungman.

"Nevermind."

AdrianSingletonroseupwearilyandfollowedDoriantothebar.Ahalf-

caste,inaraggedturbanandashabbyulster,grinnedahideousgreetingashe

thrustabottleofbrandyandtwotumblersinfrontofthem.Thewomensidled

upandbegantochatter.Dorianturnedhisbackonthemandsaidsomethingin

alowvoicetoAdrianSingleton.

Acrookedsmile,likeaMalaycrease,writhedacrossthefaceofoneofthe

women."Weareveryproudto-night,"shesneered.

"ForGod'ssakedon'ttalktome,"criedDorian,stampinghisfootonthe

ground."Whatdoyouwant?Money?Hereitis.Don'tevertalktomeagain."

Two red sparks flashed for a moment in the woman's sodden eyes, then

flickeredoutandleftthemdullandglazed.Shetossedherheadandrakedthe

coins off the counter with greedy fingers. Her companion watched her

enviously.

"It'snouse,"sighedAdrianSingleton."Idon'tcaretogoback.Whatdoes

itmatter?Iamquitehappyhere."

"Youwillwritetomeifyouwantanything,won'tyou?"saidDorian,after

apause.

"Perhaps."

"Goodnight,then."

"Goodnight,"answeredtheyoung man, passing up thesteps andwiping

hisparchedmouthwithahandkerchief.

Dorianwalkedtothedoorwithalookofpaininhisface.Ashedrewthe

curtainaside,ahideouslaughbrokefromthepaintedlipsofthewomanwho

had taken hismoney. "Theregoes the devil'sbargain!" she hiccoughed,ina

hoarsevoice.

"Curseyou!"heanswered,"don'tcallmethat."

Shesnappedherfingers."PrinceCharmingiswhatyouliketobecalled,

ain'tit?"sheyelledafterhim.

Thedrowsysailorleapedtohisfeetasshespoke,andlookedwildlyround.

Thesoundoftheshuttingofthehalldoorfellonhisear.Herushedoutasifin

pursuit.

DorianGrayhurriedalongthequaythroughthedrizzlingrain.Hismeeting

withAdrianSingletonhadstrangelymovedhim,andhewonderediftheruin

ofthatyounglifewasreallytobelaidathisdoor,asBasilHallwardhadsaid

to him withsuch infamy of insult. Hebit his lip,and fora few seconds his

eyesgrewsad.Yet,afterall,whatdiditmattertohim?One'sdaysweretoo

brieftotaketheburdenofanother'serrorsonone'sshoulders.Eachmanlived

hisownlifeandpaidhisownpriceforlivingit.Theonlypitywasonehadto

paysooftenforasinglefault.Onehadtopayoverandoveragain,indeed.In

herdealingswithman,destinyneverclosedheraccounts.

Therearemoments,psychologiststellus,whenthepassionforsin,orfor

whattheworldcallssin,sodominatesanaturethateveryfibreofthebody,as

every cell of the brain, seems to be instinct with fearful impulses. Men and

women atsuch moments losethe freedom of their will. They move to their

terribleendasautomatonsmove.Choiceistakenfromthem,andconscienceis

eitherkilled,or,ifitlivesatall,livesbuttogiverebellionitsfascinationand

disobedienceitscharm.Forallsins,astheologianswearynotofremindingus,

aresinsofdisobedience.Whenthathighspirit,thatmorningstarofevil,fell

fromheaven,itwasasarebelthathefell.

Callous, concentrated on evil, with stained mind, and soul hungry for

rebellion,DorianGrayhastenedon,quickeninghisstepashewent,butashe

dartedasideintoadimarchway,thathadservedhimoftenasashortcuttothe

ill-famed place where he was going, he felt himself suddenly seized from

behind,andbeforehehadtimetodefendhimself,hewasthrustbackagainst

thewall,withabrutalhandroundhisthroat.

He struggled madly for life, and by a terrible effort wrenched the

tighteningfingersaway.Inasecondheheardtheclickofarevolver,andsaw

the gleam of a polished barrel, pointing straight at his head, and the dusky

formofashort,thick-setmanfacinghim.

"Whatdoyouwant?"hegasped.

"Keepquiet,"saidtheman."Ifyoustir,Ishootyou."

"Youaremad.WhathaveIdonetoyou?"

"YouwreckedthelifeofSibylVane,"wastheanswer,"andSibylVanewas

my sister. She killed herself. I know it. Her death is at your door. I swore I

wouldkillyouinreturn.ForyearsIhavesoughtyou.Ihadnoclue,notrace.

Thetwopeoplewhocouldhavedescribedyouweredead.Iknewnothingof

youbutthepetnamesheusedtocallyou.Ihearditto-nightbychance.Make

yourpeacewithGod,forto-nightyouaregoingtodie."

Dorian Gray grew sick with fear. "I never knew her," he stammered. "I

neverheardofher.Youaremad."

"Youhadbetterconfessyoursin,forassureasIamJamesVane,youare

goingtodie."Therewasahorriblemoment.Doriandidnotknowwhattosay

or do. "Down on your knees!" growled the man. "I give you one minute to

makeyourpeace—nomore.Igoonboardto-nightforIndia,andImustdomy

jobfirst.Oneminute.That'sall."

Dorian'sarmsfelltohisside.Paralysedwithterror,hedidnotknowwhat

todo.Suddenlyawildhopeflashedacrosshisbrain."Stop,"hecried."How

longagoisitsinceyoursisterdied?Quick,tellme!"

"Eighteen years," said the man. "Why do you ask me? What do years

matter?"

"Eighteen years," laughed Dorian Gray, with a touch of triumph in his

voice."Eighteenyears!Setmeunderthelampandlookatmyface!"

James Vane hesitated for a moment, not understanding what was meant.

ThenheseizedDorianGrayanddraggedhimfromthearchway.

Dimandwaveringaswasthewind-blownlight,yetitservedtoshowhim

thehideous error, asitseemed,into which hehadfallen, for the faceofthe

man he had sought to kill had all the bloom of boyhood, all the unstained

purityofyouth.Heseemedlittlemorethanaladoftwentysummers,hardly

older,ifolderindeedatall,thanhissisterhadbeenwhentheyhadpartedso

manyyearsago.Itwasobviousthatthiswasnotthemanwhohaddestroyed

herlife.

Heloosenedhisholdandreeledback."MyGod!myGod!"hecried,"andI

wouldhavemurderedyou!"

Dorian Gray drew a long breath. "You have been on the brink of

committingaterriblecrime,myman,"hesaid,lookingathimsternly."Letthis

beawarningtoyounottotakevengeanceintoyourownhands."

"Forgiveme,sir,"mutteredJamesVane."Iwasdeceived.AchancewordI

heardinthatdamneddensetmeonthewrongtrack."

"You had better go home and put that pistol away, or you may get into

trouble,"saidDorian,turningonhisheelandgoingslowlydownthestreet.

JamesVanestoodonthepavementinhorror.Hewastremblingfromhead

tofoot.Afteralittlewhile,ablackshadowthathadbeencreepingalongthe

dripping wall moved out into the light and came close to him with stealthy

footsteps.Hefeltahandlaidonhisarmandlookedroundwithastart.Itwas

oneofthewomenwhohadbeendrinkingatthebar.

"Whydidn'tyoukillhim?"shehissedout,puttinghaggardfacequiteclose

tohis."IknewyouwerefollowinghimwhenyourushedoutfromDaly's.You

fool! You should have killed him. He has lots of money, and he's as bad as

bad."

"HeisnotthemanIamlookingfor,"heanswered,"andIwantnoman's

money. Iwantaman'slife.Theman whoselifeIwantmustbenearly forty

now.Thisoneislittlemorethanaboy.ThankGod,Ihavenotgothisblood

uponmyhands."

The woman gave a bitter laugh. "Little more than a boy!" she sneered.

"Why,man,it'snighoneighteenyearssincePrinceCharmingmademewhatI

am."

"Youlie!"criedJamesVane.

Sheraisedherhanduptoheaven."BeforeGodIamtellingthetruth,"she

cried.

"BeforeGod?"

"Strikemedumbifitain'tso.Heistheworstonethatcomeshere.They

sayhehassoldhimselftothedevilforaprettyface.It'snighoneighteenyears

since I met him. He hasn't changed much since then. I have, though," she

added,withasicklyleer.

"Youswearthis?"

"Iswearit,"cameinhoarseechofromherflatmouth."Butdon'tgiveme

awaytohim,"shewhined;"Iamafraidofhim.Letmehavesomemoneyfor

mynight'slodging."

Hebrokefromherwithanoathandrushedtothecornerofthestreet,but

DorianGrayhaddisappeared.Whenhelookedback,thewomanhadvanished

also.



CHAPTER17



AweeklaterDorianGraywassittingintheconservatoryatSelbyRoyal,

talkingtothepretty Duchess ofMonmouth,whowithherhusband,ajaded-

lookingmanofsixty,wasamongsthisguests.Itwastea-time,andthemellow

lightofthehuge,lace-coveredlampthatstoodonthetablelitupthedelicate

chinaandhammeredsilveroftheserviceatwhichtheduchesswaspresiding.

Herwhitehandswere moving daintilyamongthecups,andherfullred lips

weresmilingatsomethingthatDorianhadwhisperedtoher.LordHenrywas

lyingbackinasilk-drapedwickerchair,lookingatthem.Onapeach-coloured

divan sat Lady Narborough, pretending to listen to the duke'sdescription of

thelastBrazilianbeetlethathehadaddedtohiscollection.Threeyoungmen

inelaboratesmoking-suitswerehandingtea-cakestosomeofthewomen.The

house-party consisted of twelve people, and there were more expected to

arriveonthenextday.

"Whatareyoutwotalkingabout?"saidLordHenry,strollingovertothe

tableandputtinghiscupdown."IhopeDorianhastoldyouaboutmyplanfor

rechristeningeverything,Gladys.Itisadelightfulidea."

"ButIdon'twanttoberechristened,Harry,"rejoinedtheduchess,looking

upathimwithherwonderfuleyes."Iamquitesatisfiedwithmyownname,

andIamsureMr.Grayshouldbesatisfiedwithhis."

"My dear Gladys, I would not alter either name for the world. They are

bothperfect.Iwasthinkingchieflyofflowers.YesterdayIcutanorchid,for

my button-hole. It was a marvellous spotted thing, as effective as the seven

deadlysins.InathoughtlessmomentIaskedoneofthegardenerswhatitwas

called. He told me it was a fine specimen of Robinsoniana, or something

dreadfulofthatkind.Itisasadtruth,butwehavelostthefacultyofgiving

lovely names to things. Names are everything. I never quarrel with actions.

My one quarrel is with words. That is the reason I hate vulgar realism in

literature.Themanwhocouldcallaspadeaspadeshouldbecompelledtouse

one.Itistheonlythingheisfitfor."

"Thenwhatshouldwecallyou,Harry?"sheasked.

"HisnameisPrinceParadox,"saidDorian.

"Irecognizehiminaflash,"exclaimedtheduchess.

"Iwon'thearofit,"laughedLordHenry,sinkingintoachair."Fromalabel

thereisnoescape!Irefusethetitle."

"Royaltiesmaynotabdicate,"fellasawarningfromprettylips.

"Youwishmetodefendmythrone,then?"

"Yes."

"Igivethetruthsofto-morrow."

"Ipreferthemistakesofto-day,"sheanswered.

"Youdisarmme,Gladys,"hecried,catchingthewilfulnessofhermood.

"Ofyourshield,Harry,notofyourspear."

"Inevertiltagainstbeauty,"hesaid,withawaveofhishand.

"Thatisyourerror,Harry,believeme.Youvaluebeautyfartoomuch."

"Howcanyousaythat?IadmitthatIthinkthatitisbettertobebeautiful

than to be good. But on the other hand, no one is more ready than I am to

acknowledgethatitisbettertobegoodthantobeugly."

"Uglinessisoneofthesevendeadlysins,then?"criedtheduchess."What

becomesofyoursimileabouttheorchid?"

"Uglinessisoneofthesevendeadlyvirtues,Gladys.You,asagoodTory,

must not underratethem.Beer, the Bible,and the sevendeadly virtues have

madeourEnglandwhatsheis."

"Youdon'tlikeyourcountry,then?"sheasked.

"Iliveinit."

"Thatyoumaycensureitthebetter."

"WouldyouhavemetaketheverdictofEuropeonit?"heinquired.

"Whatdotheysayofus?"

"ThatTartuffehasemigratedtoEnglandandopenedashop."

"Isthatyours,Harry?"

"Igiveittoyou."

"Icouldnotuseit.Itistootrue."

"Youneednotbeafraid.Ourcountrymenneverrecognizeadescription."

"Theyarepractical."

"Theyare more cunningthanpractical.When they makeuptheir ledger,

theybalancestupiditybywealth,andvicebyhypocrisy."

"Still,wehavedonegreatthings."

"Greatthingshavebeenthrustonus,Gladys."

"Wehavecarriedtheirburden."

"OnlyasfarastheStockExchange."

Sheshookherhead."Ibelieveintherace,"shecried.

"Itrepresentsthesurvivalofthepushing."

"Ithasdevelopment."

"Decayfascinatesmemore."

"Whatofart?"sheasked.

"Itisamalady."

"Love?"

"Anillusion."

"Religion?"

"Thefashionablesubstituteforbelief."

"Youareasceptic."

"Never!Scepticismisthebeginningoffaith."

"Whatareyou?"

"Todefineistolimit."

"Givemeaclue."

"Threadssnap.Youwouldloseyourwayinthelabyrinth."

"Youbewilderme.Letustalkofsomeoneelse."

"Our host is a delightful topic. Years ago he was christened Prince

Charming."

"Ah!don'tremindmeofthat,"criedDorianGray.

"Ourhostisratherhorridthisevening,"answeredtheduchess,colouring.

"IbelievehethinksthatMonmouthmarriedmeonpurelyscientificprinciples

asthebestspecimenhecouldfindofamodernbutterfly."

"Well,Ihopehewon'tstickpinsintoyou,Duchess,"laughedDorian.

"Oh!mymaiddoesthatalready,Mr.Gray,whensheisannoyedwithme."

"Andwhatdoesshegetannoyedwithyouabout,Duchess?"

"For the most trivial things, Mr. Gray, I assure you. Usually because I

comeinattenminutestonineandtellherthatImustbedressedbyhalf-past

eight."

"Howunreasonableofher!Youshouldgiveherwarning."

"Idaren't,Mr.Gray.Why,sheinventshatsforme.YouremembertheoneI

wore at Lady Hilstone's garden-party? You don't, but it is nice of you to

pretendthatyoudo.Well,shemadeitoutofnothing.Allgoodhatsaremade

outofnothing."

"Likeallgoodreputations,Gladys,"interruptedLordHenry."Everyeffect

that one produces gives one an enemy. To be popular one must be a

mediocrity."

"Notwithwomen,"saidtheduchess,shakingherhead;"andwomenrule

theworld.Iassureyouwecan'tbearmediocrities.Wewomen,assomeone

says,lovewithourears,justasyoumenlovewithyoureyes,ifyoueverlove

atall."

"Itseemstomethatweneverdoanythingelse,"murmuredDorian.

"Ah! then, you never really love, Mr. Gray," answered the duchess with

mocksadness.

"My dear Gladys!" cried Lord Henry. "How can you say that?Romance

lives by repetition, and repetition converts an appetite into an art. Besides,

each time that one loves is the only time one has ever loved. Difference of

object does not alter singleness of passion. It merely intensifies it. We can

have in life but one great experience at best, and the secret of life is to

reproducethatexperienceasoftenaspossible."

"Evenwhenonehasbeenwoundedbyit,Harry?"askedtheduchessaftera

pause.

"Especiallywhenonehasbeenwoundedbyit,"answeredLordHenry.

TheduchessturnedandlookedatDorianGraywithacuriousexpressionin

hereyes."Whatdoyousaytothat,Mr.Gray?"sheinquired.

Dorianhesitatedforamoment.Thenhethrewhisheadbackandlaughed.

"IalwaysagreewithHarry,Duchess."

"Evenwhenheiswrong?"

"Harryisneverwrong,Duchess."

"Anddoeshisphilosophymakeyouhappy?"

"I have never searched for happiness. Who wants happiness? I have

searchedforpleasure."

"Andfoundit,Mr.Gray?"

"Often.Toooften."

Theduchesssighed."Iamsearchingforpeace,"shesaid,"andifIdon'tgo

anddress,Ishallhavenonethisevening."

"Letmegetyousomeorchids,Duchess,"criedDorian,startingtohisfeet

andwalkingdowntheconservatory.

"You are flirting disgracefully with him," said Lord Henry to his cousin.

"Youhadbettertakecare.Heisveryfascinating."

"Ifhewerenot,therewouldbenobattle."

"GreekmeetsGreek,then?"

"IamonthesideoftheTrojans.Theyfoughtforawoman."

"Theyweredefeated."

"Thereareworsethingsthancapture,"sheanswered.

"Yougallopwithalooserein."

"Pacegiveslife,"wastheriposte.

"Ishallwriteitinmydiaryto-night."

"What?"

"Thataburntchildlovesthefire."

"Iamnotevensinged.Mywingsareuntouched."

"Youusethemforeverything,exceptflight."

"Couragehaspassedfrommentowomen.Itisanewexperienceforus."

"Youhavearival."

"Who?"

He laughed. "Lady Narborough," he whispered. "She perfectly adores

him."

"Youfillmewithapprehension.Theappealtoantiquityisfataltouswho

areromanticists."

"Romanticists!Youhaveallthemethodsofscience."

"Menhaveeducatedus."

"Butnotexplainedyou."

"Describeusasasex,"washerchallenge.

"Sphinxeswithoutsecrets."

Shelookedathim,smiling."HowlongMr.Grayis!"shesaid."Letusgo

andhelphim.Ihavenotyettoldhimthecolourofmyfrock."

"Ah!youmustsuityourfrocktohisflowers,Gladys."

"Thatwouldbeaprematuresurrender."

"Romanticartbeginswithitsclimax."

"Imustkeepanopportunityforretreat."

"IntheParthianmanner?"

"Theyfoundsafetyinthedesert.Icouldnotdothat."

"Womenarenotalwaysallowedachoice,"heanswered,buthardlyhadhe

finished the sentence before from the far end of the conservatory came a

stifledgroan,followedbythedullsoundofaheavyfall.Everybodystartedup.

Theduchessstoodmotionlessinhorror.Andwithfearinhiseyes,LordHenry

rushedthroughtheflappingpalmstofindDorianGraylyingfacedownwards

onthetiledfloorinadeathlikeswoon.

Hewascarriedatonceintothebluedrawing-roomandlaidupon one of

the sofas. After a short time, he came to himself and looked round with a

dazedexpression.

"What has happened?" he asked. "Oh! I remember. Am I safe here,

Harry?"Hebegantotremble.

"My dearDorian," answered Lord Henry, "you merelyfainted. That was

all. You must have overtired yourself. You had better not come down to

dinner.Iwilltakeyourplace."

"No, I will come down," he said, struggling to his feet. "I would rather

comedown.Imustnotbealone."

Hewenttohisroomanddressed.Therewasawildrecklessnessofgaiety

inhismannerashesatattable,butnowandthenathrillofterrorranthrough

him when he remembered that, pressed against the window of the

conservatory, likeawhitehandkerchief,hehadseenthe face ofJamesVane

watchinghim.



CHAPTER18



The next day he did not leave the house, and, indeed, spent most of the

timeinhisownroom,sickwithawildterrorofdying,andyetindifferentto

life itself. The consciousness of being hunted, snared, tracked down, had

beguntodominatehim.Ifthetapestrydidbuttrembleinthewind,heshook.

Thedeadleavesthatwereblownagainsttheleadedpanesseemedtohimlike

hisownwastedresolutionsandwildregrets.Whenheclosedhiseyes,hesaw

again the sailor's face peering through the mist-stained glass, and horror

seemedoncemoretolayitshanduponhisheart.

Butperhapsithadbeenonlyhisfancythathadcalledvengeanceoutofthe

night and set the hideous shapes of punishment before him. Actual life was

chaos,buttherewassomethingterriblylogicalintheimagination.Itwasthe

imaginationthatsetremorsetodogthefeetofsin.Itwastheimaginationthat

madeeachcrimebearitsmisshapenbrood.Inthecommonworldoffactthe

wickedwerenotpunished,northegoodrewarded.Successwasgiventothe

strong,failurethrustupon the weak.Thatwasall.Besides,hadanystranger

beenprowlingroundthe house, hewouldhavebeenseenbytheservantsor

thekeepers.Hadanyfoot-marksbeenfoundontheflower-beds,thegardeners

wouldhavereportedit.Yes,ithadbeenmerelyfancy.SibylVane'sbrotherhad

notcomebacktokillhim.Hehadsailedawayinhisshiptofounderinsome

wintersea.Fromhim, at any rate,he wassafe.Why, the man didnotknow

whohewas,couldnotknowwhohewas.Themaskofyouthhadsavedhim.

Andyetifithadbeenmerelyanillusion,howterribleitwastothinkthat

consciencecouldraisesuchfearfulphantoms,andgivethemvisibleform,and

makethemmovebeforeone!Whatsortoflifewouldhisbeif,dayandnight,

shadows of his crime were to peer at him from silent corners, to mock him

fromsecretplaces,towhisperinhisearashesatatthefeast,towakehimwith

icyfingersashelayasleep!Asthethoughtcreptthroughhisbrain,hegrew

palewithterror,andtheairseemedtohimto have becomesuddenlycolder.

Oh!inwhatawildhourofmadnesshehadkilledhisfriend!Howghastlythe

merememoryofthescene!Hesawitallagain.Eachhideousdetailcameback

tohimwithaddedhorror.Outoftheblackcaveoftime,terribleandswathed

inscarlet,rosetheimageofhissin.WhenLordHenrycameinatsixo'clock,

hefoundhimcryingasonewhoseheartwillbreak.

Itwasnottillthethirddaythatheventuredtogoout.Therewassomething

intheclear,pine-scentedairofthatwintermorningthatseemedtobringhim

backhisjoyousnessandhisardourforlife.Butitwasnotmerelythephysical

conditions of environment that had caused the change. His own nature had

revolted against theexcess of anguish that hadsought tomaim and marthe

perfection of its calm. With subtle and finely wrought temperaments it is

alwaysso.Theirstrongpassionsmusteitherbruiseorbend.Theyeitherslay

theman,orthemselvesdie. Shallowsorrowsandshallowlovesliveon.The

lovesandsorrowsthataregreataredestroyedbytheirownplenitude.Besides,

he had convinced himself that he had been the victim of a terror-stricken

imagination,andlookedbacknowonhisfearswithsomethingofpityandnot

alittleofcontempt.

Afterbreakfast,hewalkedwiththeduchessforanhourinthegardenand

thendroveacrosstheparktojointheshooting-party.Thecrispfrostlaylike

saltuponthegrass.Theskywasaninvertedcupofbluemetal.Athinfilmof

iceborderedtheflat,reed-grownlake.

Atthecornerofthepine-woodhecaughtsightofSirGeoffreyClouston,

theduchess'sbrother,jerkingtwospentcartridgesoutofhisgun.Hejumped

fromthecart,andhavingtoldthegroomtotakethemarehome,madehisway

towardshisguestthroughthewitheredbrackenandroughundergrowth.

"Haveyouhadgoodsport,Geoffrey?"heasked.

"Notverygood,Dorian.Ithinkmostofthebirdshavegonetotheopen.I

daresayitwillbebetterafterlunch,whenwegettonewground."

Dorianstrolledalongbyhisside.Thekeenaromaticair,thebrownandred

lightsthatglimmeredinthewood,thehoarsecriesofthebeatersringingout

fromtimeto time, and thesharpsnapsof the guns thatfollowed,fascinated

himandfilledhimwithasenseofdelightfulfreedom.Hewasdominatedby

thecarelessnessofhappiness,bythehighindifferenceofjoy.

Suddenlyfromalumpytussockofoldgrasssometwentyyardsinfrontof

them,withblack-tippedearserectandlonghinderlimbsthrowingitforward,

startedahare.Itboltedforathicketofalders.SirGeoffreyputhisguntohis

shoulder, but there was something in the animal's grace of movement that

strangely charmed Dorian Gray, and he cried out at once, "Don't shoot it,

Geoffrey.Letitlive."

"What nonsense, Dorian!" laughed his companion, and as the hare

bounded into the thicket, he fired. There were two cries heard, the cry of a

hareinpain,whichisdreadful,thecryofamaninagony,whichisworse.

"Goodheavens!Ihavehitabeater!"exclaimedSirGeoffrey."Whatanass

themanwastogetinfrontoftheguns!Stopshootingthere!"hecalledoutat

thetopofhisvoice."Amanishurt."

Thehead-keepercamerunningupwithastickinhishand.

"Where,sir?Whereishe?"heshouted.Atthesametime,thefiringceased

alongtheline.

"Here,"answeredSirGeoffreyangrily,hurryingtowardsthethicket."Why

onearthdon'tyoukeepyourmenback?Spoiledmyshootingfortheday."

Dorian watchedthem as they plunged into the alder-clump, brushing the

lithe swinging branches aside. In a few moments they emerged, dragging a

bodyafterthemintothesunlight.Heturnedawayinhorror.Itseemedtohim

thatmisfortunefollowedwhereverhewent.HeheardSirGeoffreyaskifthe

man was really dead, and the affirmative answer of the keeper. The wood

seemed to him to have become suddenly alive with faces. There was the

tramplingofmyriadfeetandthelowbuzzofvoices.Agreatcopper-breasted

pheasantcamebeatingthroughtheboughsoverhead.

Afterafewmoments—thatweretohim,inhisperturbedstate,likeendless

hours of pain—he felt a hand laid on his shoulder. He started and looked

round.

"Dorian," said Lord Henry, "I had better tell them that the shooting is

stoppedforto-day.Itwouldnotlookwelltogoon."

"Iwishitwerestoppedforever,Harry,"heansweredbitterly."Thewhole

thingishideousandcruel.Istheman...?"

Hecouldnotfinishthesentence.

"Iamafraidso,"rejoinedLordHenry."Hegotthewholechargeofshotin

hischest.Hemusthavediedalmostinstantaneously.Come;letusgohome."

They walked side by side in the direction of the avenue for nearly fifty

yardswithoutspeaking.ThenDorianlookedatLord Henry and said, with a

heavysigh,"Itisabadomen,Harry,averybadomen."

"What is?" asked Lord Henry. "Oh! this accident, I suppose. My dear

fellow,itcan'tbehelped.Itwastheman'sownfault.Whydidhegetinfront

oftheguns?Besides,itisnothingtous.ItisratherawkwardforGeoffrey,of

course. It doesnot do topepper beaters. Itmakespeople thinkthatone is a

wild shot. And Geoffrey is not; he shoots very straight. But there is no use

talkingaboutthematter."

Dorian shook his head. "It is a bad omen, Harry. I feel as if something

horribleweregoingtohappentosomeofus.Tomyself,perhaps,"headded,

passinghishandoverhiseyes,withagestureofpain.

The elder man laughed. "The only horrible thing in the world is ennui,

Dorian.Thatistheonesinforwhichthereisnoforgiveness.Butwearenot

likelytosufferfromitunlessthesefellowskeepchatteringaboutthisthingat

dinner.Imusttellthemthatthesubjectistobetabooed.Asforomens,thereis

nosuchthingasanomen.Destinydoesnotsendusheralds.Sheistoowiseor

toocruelforthat. Besides,whatonearthcouldhappentoyou,Dorian? You

haveeverythingintheworldthatamancanwant.Thereisnoonewhowould

notbedelightedtochangeplaceswithyou."

"ThereisnoonewithwhomIwouldnotchangeplaces,Harry.Don'tlaugh

likethat.Iamtellingyouthetruth.Thewretchedpeasantwhohasjustdiedis

betteroffthanIam.Ihavenoterrorofdeath.Itisthecomingofdeath that

terrifiesme.Itsmonstrouswingsseemtowheelintheleadenairaroundme.

Goodheavens!don'tyouseeamanmovingbehindthetreesthere,watching

me,waitingforme?"

Lord Henry looked in the direction in which the trembling gloved hand

was pointing."Yes," he said, smiling, "I see the gardener waiting for you. I

supposehewantstoaskyouwhatflowersyouwishtohaveonthetableto-

night.Howabsurdlynervousyouare,mydearfellow!Youmustcomeandsee

mydoctor,whenwegetbacktotown."

Dorian heaved a sigh of relief as he saw the gardener approaching. The

man touched his hat, glanced for a moment at Lord Henry in a hesitating

manner,andthenproducedaletter,whichhehandedtohismaster."HerGrace

toldmetowaitforananswer,"hemurmured.

Dorianputtheletterintohispocket."TellherGracethatIamcomingin,"

hesaid,coldly.Themanturnedroundandwentrapidlyinthedirectionofthe

house.

"Howfond women areof doing dangerousthings!"laughed Lord Henry.

"ItisoneofthequalitiesinthemthatIadmiremost.Awomanwillflirtwith

anybodyintheworldaslongasotherpeoplearelookingon."

"How fond you are of saying dangerous things, Harry! In the present

instance,youarequiteastray. I like the duchess very much, but I don'tlove

her."

"Andtheduchesslovesyouverymuch,butshelikesyouless,soyouare

excellentlymatched."

"Youaretalkingscandal,Harry,andthereisneveranybasisforscandal."

"The basis of every scandal is an immoral certainty," said Lord Henry,

lightingacigarette.

"Youwouldsacrificeanybody,Harry,forthesakeofanepigram."

"Theworldgoestothealtarofitsownaccord,"wastheanswer.

"IwishIcouldlove,"criedDorianGraywithadeepnoteofpathosinhis

voice."ButIseemtohavelostthepassionandforgottenthedesire.Iamtoo

much concentrated on myself. My own personality has become a burden to

me.Iwanttoescape,togoaway,toforget.Itwassillyofmetocomedown

hereatall.IthinkIshallsendawiretoHarveytohavetheyachtgotready.On

ayachtoneissafe."

"Safefromwhat,Dorian?Youareinsometrouble.Whynottellmewhatit

is?YouknowIwouldhelpyou."

"I can'ttell you, Harry," he answered sadly. "And I dare say it is only a

fancy of mine. This unfortunate accident has upset me. I have a horrible

presentimentthatsomethingofthekindmayhappentome."

"Whatnonsense!"

"Ihopeitis,butIcan'thelpfeelingit.Ah!hereistheduchess,lookinglike

Artemisinatailor-madegown.Youseewehavecomeback,Duchess."

"I have heard all about it, Mr. Gray," she answered. "Poor Geoffrey is

terribly upset. And it seems that you asked him not to shoot the hare. How

curious!"

"Yes,itwasverycurious.Idon'tknowwhatmademesayit.Somewhim,I

suppose.Itlookedtheloveliestoflittlelivethings.ButIamsorrytheytold

youabouttheman.Itisahideoussubject."

"Itisanannoyingsubject,"brokeinLordHenry."Ithasnopsychological

valueatall.NowifGeoffreyhaddonethethingonpurpose,howinteresting

he would be! I should like to know some one who had committed a real

murder."

"Howhorridofyou,Harry!"criedtheduchess."Isn'tit,Mr.Gray?Harry,

Mr.Grayisillagain.Heisgoingtofaint."

Doriandrewhimselfupwithaneffortandsmiled."Itisnothing,Duchess,"

hemurmured;"mynervesaredreadfullyoutoforder.Thatisall.IamafraidI

walkedtoofarthismorning.I didn'thearwhatHarrysaid.Wasitverybad?

Youmusttellmesomeothertime.IthinkImustgoandliedown.Youwill

excuseme,won'tyou?"

Theyhadreachedthegreatflightofstepsthatledfromtheconservatoryon

totheterrace.AstheglassdoorclosedbehindDorian,LordHenryturnedand

lookedattheduchesswithhisslumberouseyes."Areyouverymuchinlove

withhim?"heasked.

She did not answer for some time, but stood gazing at the landscape. "I

wishIknew,"shesaidatlast.

Heshook his head."Knowledgewouldbe fatal. It istheuncertaintythat

charmsone.Amistmakesthingswonderful."

"Onemayloseone'sway."

"Allwaysendatthesamepoint,mydearGladys."

"Whatisthat?"

"Disillusion."

"Itwasmydebutinlife,"shesighed.

"Itcametoyoucrowned."

"Iamtiredofstrawberryleaves."

"Theybecomeyou."

"Onlyinpublic."

"Youwouldmissthem,"saidLordHenry.

"Iwillnotpartwithapetal."

"Monmouthhasears."

"Oldageisdullofhearing."

"Hasheneverbeenjealous?"

"Iwishhehadbeen."

Heglancedaboutasifinsearchofsomething."Whatareyoulookingfor?"

sheinquired.

"Thebuttonfromyourfoil,"heanswered."Youhavedroppedit."

Shelaughed."Ihavestillthemask."

"Itmakesyoureyeslovelier,"washisreply.

Shelaughedagain.Herteethshowedlikewhiteseedsinascarletfruit.

Upstairs,inhisownroom,DorianGraywaslyingonasofa,withterrorin

every tingling fibre of his body. Life had suddenly become too hideous a

burdenforhimtobear.Thedreadfuldeathoftheunluckybeater,shotinthe

thicketlikeawildanimal,hadseemedtohimtopre-figuredeathforhimself

also.HehadnearlyswoonedatwhatLordHenryhadsaidinachancemoodof

cynicaljesting.

Atfiveo'clockheranghisbellforhisservantandgavehimorderstopack

histhingsforthenight-expresstotown,andtohavethebroughamatthedoor

byeight-thirty.HewasdeterminednottosleepanothernightatSelbyRoyal.It

wasanill-omenedplace.Deathwalkedthereinthesunlight.Thegrassofthe

foresthadbeenspottedwithblood.

ThenhewroteanotetoLordHenry,tellinghimthathewasgoingupto

town to consult his doctor and asking him to entertain his guests in his

absence.Ashewasputtingitintotheenvelope,aknockcametothedoor,and

his valet informed him thatthe head-keeperwished to see him. He frowned

andbithislip."Sendhimin,"hemuttered,aftersomemoments'hesitation.

Assoonasthemanentered,Dorianpulledhischequebookoutofadrawer

andspreaditoutbeforehim.

"Isupposeyouhavecomeabouttheunfortunateaccidentofthismorning,

Thornton?"hesaid,takingupapen.

"Yes,sir,"answeredthegamekeeper.

"Was the poor fellow married? Had he any people dependent on him?"

askedDorian,lookingbored."Ifso,Ishouldnotlikethemtobeleftinwant,

andwillsendthemanysumofmoneyyoumaythinknecessary."

"Wedon'tknowwhoheis,sir.ThatiswhatItookthelibertyofcomingto

youabout."

"Don't know who he is?" said Dorian, listlessly. "What do you mean?

Wasn'theoneofyourmen?"

"No,sir.Neversawhimbefore.Seemslikeasailor,sir."

ThependroppedfromDorianGray'shand,andhefeltasifhishearthad

suddenlystoppedbeating."Asailor?"hecriedout."Didyousayasailor?"

"Yes,sir.Helooksasifhehadbeenasortofsailor;tattooedonbotharms,

andthatkindofthing."

"Was there anything found on him?" said Dorian, leaning forward and

lookingatthemanwithstartledeyes."Anythingthatwouldtellhisname?"

"Some money, sir—not much, and a six-shooter. There was no name of

anykind.Adecent-lookingman,sir,butrough-like.Asortofsailorwethink."

Dorianstartedtohisfeet.Aterriblehopeflutteredpasthim.Heclutchedat

itmadly."Whereisthebody?"heexclaimed."Quick!Imustseeitatonce."

"ItisinanemptystableintheHomeFarm,sir.Thefolkdon'tliketohave

thatsortofthingintheirhouses.Theysayacorpsebringsbadluck."

"TheHomeFarm!Gothereatonceandmeetme.Telloneofthegroomsto

bring my horse round. No. Never mind. I'll go to the stables myself.It will

savetime."

Inlessthanaquarterofanhour,DorianGraywasgallopingdownthelong

avenueashardashecouldgo.Thetreesseemedtosweeppasthiminspectral

procession, and wild shadows to fling themselves across his path. Once the

mareswervedatawhitegate-postandnearlythrewhim.Helashedheracross

theneckwithhiscrop.Sheclefttheduskyairlikeanarrow.Thestonesflew

fromherhoofs.

AtlasthereachedtheHomeFarm.Twomenwereloiteringintheyard.He

leaped from the saddle and threw the reins to one of them. In the farthest

stablealightwasglimmering.Somethingseemedtotellhimthatthebodywas

there,andhehurriedtothedoorandputhishanduponthelatch.

There he paused for a moment, feeling that he was on the brink of a

discoverythatwouldeithermakeormarhislife.Thenhethrustthedooropen

andentered.

Onaheapofsackinginthefarcornerwaslyingthedeadbodyofaman

dressed in a coarseshirt anda pair of blue trousers. A spottedhandkerchief

had been placed over the face. A coarse candle, stuck in a bottle, sputtered

besideit.

DorianGrayshuddered.Hefeltthathiscouldnotbethehandtotakethe

handkerchiefaway,andcalledouttooneofthefarm-servantstocometohim.

"Take that thing off the face. I wish to see it," he said, clutching at the

door-postforsupport.

When the farm-servant had done so, he stepped forward. A cry of joy

broke from his lips. The man who had been shot in the thicket was James

Vane.

He stood there for some minutes looking at the dead body. As he rode

home,hiseyeswerefulloftears,forheknewhewassafe.



CHAPTER19



"Thereisnouseyourtellingmethatyouaregoingtobegood,"criedLord

Henry,dippinghiswhitefingersintoaredcopperbowlfilledwithrose-water.

"Youarequiteperfect.Pray,don'tchange."

DorianGrayshookhishead."No, Harry,Ihave done too many dreadful

things in my life. I am not going to do any more. I began my good actions

yesterday."

"Wherewereyouyesterday?"

"Inthecountry,Harry.Iwasstayingatalittleinnbymyself."

"My dear boy," said Lord Henry, smiling, "anybody can be good in the

country. There are notemptations there.That is the reason why people who

liveoutoftownaresoabsolutelyuncivilized.Civilizationisnotbyanymeans

aneasythingtoattainto.Thereareonlytwowaysbywhichmancanreachit.

Oneisbybeingcultured,theotherbybeingcorrupt.Countrypeoplehaveno

opportunityofbeingeither,sotheystagnate."

"Culture and corruption," echoed Dorian. "I have known something of

both.Itseemsterribletomenowthattheyshouldeverbefoundtogether.ForI

haveanewideal,Harry.Iamgoingtoalter.IthinkIhavealtered."

"Youhavenotyettoldmewhatyourgoodactionwas.Ordidyousayyou

haddonemorethanone?"askedhiscompanionashespilledintohisplatea

littlecrimsonpyramidofseededstrawberriesand,throughaperforated,shell-

shapedspoon,snowedwhitesugaruponthem.

"Icantellyou,Harry.ItisnotastoryIcouldtelltoanyoneelse.Ispared

somebody. It sounds vain, but you understand what I mean. She was quite

beautiful and wonderfully like Sibyl Vane. I think it was that which first

attractedmetoher.YourememberSibyl,don'tyou?Howlongagothatseems!

Well,Hettywasnotoneofourownclass,ofcourse.Shewassimplyagirlina

village.ButIreallylovedher.IamquitesurethatIlovedher.Allduringthis

wonderfulMaythatwehavebeenhaving,Iusedtorundownandseehertwo

or three times a week. Yesterday she met me in a little orchard. The apple-

blossomskepttumblingdownonherhair,andshewaslaughing.Wewereto

have gone away together this morning at dawn. Suddenly I determined to

leaveherasflowerlikeasIhadfoundher."

"Ishouldthinkthenoveltyoftheemotionmusthavegivenyouathrillof

realpleasure,Dorian,"interruptedLordHenry."ButIcanfinishyouridyllfor

you.Yougavehergoodadviceandbrokeherheart.Thatwasthebeginningof

yourreformation."

"Harry, you are horrible! You mustn't say these dreadful things. Hetty's

heartisnotbroken.Ofcourse,shecriedandallthat.Butthereisnodisgrace

uponher.Shecanlive,likePerdita,inhergardenofmintandmarigold."

"And weep over a faithless Florizel," said Lord Henry, laughing, as he

leanedbackinhischair."MydearDorian,youhavethemostcuriouslyboyish

moods.Doyouthinkthisgirlwilleverbereallycontentnowwithanyoneof

herownrank?Isupposeshewillbemarriedsomedaytoaroughcarterora

grinning ploughman. Well, the fact of having met you, and loved you, will

teach her to despise her husband, and she will be wretched. From a moral

pointofview,IcannotsaythatIthinkmuchofyourgreatrenunciation.Even

asabeginning,itispoor.Besides,howdoyouknowthatHettyisn'tfloatingat

the presentmoment in some starlit mill-pond, with lovelywater-lilies round

her,likeOphelia?"

"I can't bear this, Harry! You mock at everything, and then suggest the

mostserioustragedies.IamsorryItoldyounow.Idon'tcarewhatyousayto

me.IknowIwasrightinactingasIdid.PoorHetty!AsIrodepastthefarm

this morning, I saw her white face at the window, like a spray of jasmine.

Don'tletustalkaboutitanymore,anddon'ttrytopersuademethatthefirst

goodactionIhavedoneforyears,thefirstlittlebitofself-sacrificeIhaveever

known,isreallyasortofsin.Iwanttobebetter.Iamgoingtobebetter.Tell

mesomethingaboutyourself.Whatisgoingonintown?Ihavenotbeentothe

clubfordays."

"ThepeoplearestilldiscussingpoorBasil'sdisappearance."

"Ishouldhavethoughttheyhadgottiredofthatbythistime,"saidDorian,

pouringhimselfoutsomewineandfrowningslightly.

"Mydearboy,theyhaveonlybeentalkingaboutitforsixweeks,andthe

Britishpublicarereallynotequaltothementalstrainofhavingmorethanone

topiceverythreemonths.Theyhavebeenveryfortunatelately,however.They

havehadmyowndivorce-caseandAlanCampbell'ssuicide.Nowtheyhave

got the mysterious disappearance of an artist. Scotland Yard still insists that

themaninthegreyulsterwholeftforParisbythemidnighttrainontheninth

ofNovemberwaspoorBasil,and the French police declare that Basil never

arrivedinParisatall.Isupposeinaboutafortnightweshallbetoldthathe

has been seen in San Francisco. It is an odd thing, but every one who

disappearsissaidtobeseenatSanFrancisco.Itmustbeadelightfulcity,and

possessalltheattractionsofthenextworld."

"WhatdoyouthinkhashappenedtoBasil?"askedDorian,holdinguphis

Burgundyagainstthelightandwonderinghowitwasthathecoulddiscussthe

mattersocalmly.

"I have not the slightest idea. If Basil chooses to hide himself, it is no

businessofmine.Ifheisdead,Idon'twanttothinkabouthim.Deathisthe

onlythingthateverterrifiesme.Ihateit."

"Why?"saidtheyoungermanwearily.

"Because,"saidLordHenry,passingbeneathhisnostrilsthegilttrellisof

an open vinaigrette box, "one can survive everything nowadays except that.

Deathandvulgarityaretheonlytwofactsinthenineteenthcenturythatone

cannotexplainaway.Letushaveourcoffeeinthemusic-room,Dorian.You

must play Chopin to me. The man with whom my wife ran away played

Chopinexquisitely.PoorVictoria!Iwasveryfondofher.Thehouseisrather

lonelywithouther.Ofcourse,marriedlifeismerelyahabit,abadhabit.But

thenoneregretsthelossevenofone'sworsthabits.Perhapsoneregretsthem

themost.Theyaresuchanessentialpartofone'spersonality."

Dorian said nothing, but rose from the table, and passing into the next

room,satdowntothepianoandlethisfingersstrayacrossthewhiteandblack

ivory of the keys. After the coffee had been brought in, he stopped, and

lookingoveratLordHenry, said, "Harry, did it ever occur to you that Basil

wasmurdered?"

Lord Henry yawned. "Basil was very popular, and always wore a

Waterbury watch. Why should he have been murdered? He was not clever

enoughtohaveenemies.Ofcourse, he had a wonderful genius forpainting.

ButamancanpaintlikeVelasquezandyetbeasdullaspossible.Basilwas

reallyratherdull.Heonlyinterestedmeonce,andthatwaswhenhetoldme,

yearsago,thathehadawildadorationforyouandthatyouwerethedominant

motiveofhisart."

"IwasveryfondofBasil,"saidDorianwithanoteofsadnessinhisvoice.

"Butdon'tpeoplesaythathewasmurdered?"

"Oh,someofthepapersdo.Itdoesnotseemtometobeatallprobable.I

knowtherearedreadfulplacesinParis,butBasilwasnotthesortofmanto

havegonetothem.Hehadnocuriosity.Itwashischiefdefect."

"Whatwouldyousay,Harry,ifItoldyouthatIhadmurderedBasil?"said

theyoungerman.Hewatchedhimintentlyafterhehadspoken.

"I would say, my dear fellow, that you were posing for a character that

doesn'tsuityou.Allcrimeisvulgar,justasallvulgarityiscrime.Itisnotin

you,Dorian,tocommitamurder.IamsorryifIhurtyourvanitybysayingso,

but I assure you it is true. Crime belongs exclusively to the lower orders. I

don'tblametheminthesmallestdegree.Ishouldfancythatcrimewastothem

whatartistous,simplyamethodofprocuringextraordinarysensations."

"A method of procuring sensations? Do you think, then,that aman who

hasoncecommittedamurdercouldpossiblydothesamecrimeagain?Don't

tellmethat."

"Oh! anything becomes a pleasure if one does it too often," cried Lord

Henry, laughing."That isone of themost importantsecrets of life.I should

fancy, however, that murder is always a mistake. One should never do

anything that one cannot talk about after dinner. But let us pass from poor

Basil.IwishIcouldbelievethathehadcometosuchareallyromanticendas

yousuggest,butIcan't.IdaresayhefellintotheSeineoffanomnibusand

thattheconductorhushedupthescandal.Yes:Ishouldfancythatwashisend.

Iseehimlyingnowonhisbackunderthosedull-greenwaters,withtheheavy

bargesfloatingoverhimandlongweedscatchinginhishair.Doyouknow,I

don't think he would have done much more good work. During the last ten

yearshispaintinghadgoneoffverymuch."

Dorianheavedasigh,andLordHenrystrolledacrosstheroomandbegan

tostroketheheadofacuriousJavaparrot,alarge,grey-plumagedbirdwith

pink crest and tail, that was balancing itself upon a bamboo perch. As his

pointed fingers touched it, it dropped the white scurf of crinkled lids over

black,glasslikeeyesandbegantoswaybackwardsandforwards.

"Yes,"hecontinued,turningroundandtakinghishandkerchiefoutofhis

pocket; "his painting had quite gone off. It seemed to me to have lost

something.Ithadlostanideal.Whenyouandheceasedtobegreatfriends,he

ceasedtobeagreatartist.Whatwasitseparatedyou?Isupposeheboredyou.

If so, he never forgave you. It's a habit bores have. By the way, what has

becomeofthatwonderfulportraithedidofyou?Idon'tthinkIhaveeverseen

itsincehefinishedit.Oh!Irememberyourtellingmeyearsagothatyouhad

sent it downto Selby, and thatit had got mislaid orstolen on the way. You

never got it back? What a pity! it was really a masterpiece. I remember I

wantedtobuy it. I wish Ihadnow. It belongedto Basil'sbest period.Since

then,his work wasthatcuriousmixtureof bad paintingandgoodintentions

thatalwaysentitlesamantobecalledarepresentativeBritishartist.Didyou

advertiseforit?Youshould."

"Iforget,"saidDorian. "IsupposeIdid.ButIneverreally likedit.Iam

sorryIsatforit.Thememoryofthethingishatefultome.Whydoyoutalkof

it?Itusedtoremindmeofthosecuriouslinesinsomeplay—Hamlet,Ithink

—howdotheyrun?—

"Likethepaintingofasorrow,

Afacewithoutaheart."

Yes:thatiswhatitwaslike."

LordHenrylaughed."Ifamantreatslifeartistically,hisbrainishisheart,"

heanswered,sinkingintoanarm-chair.

Dorian Gray shook his head and struck some soft chords on the piano.

"'Likethepaintingofasorrow,'"herepeated,"'afacewithoutaheart.'"

Theeldermanlaybackandlookedathimwithhalf-closedeyes."Bythe

way,Dorian,"hesaidafterapause,"'whatdoesitprofitamanifhegainthe

wholeworldandlose—howdoesthequotationrun?—hisownsoul'?"

Themusicjarred,andDorianGraystartedandstaredathisfriend."Why

doyouaskmethat,Harry?"

"Mydearfellow,"saidLordHenry,elevatinghiseyebrowsinsurprise,"I

askedyoubecauseIthoughtyoumightbeabletogivemeananswer.Thatis

all.IwasgoingthroughtheparklastSunday,andcloseby theMarbleArch

there stood alittle crowd ofshabby-looking people listeningto somevulgar

street-preacher.AsIpassedby,Iheardthemanyellingoutthatquestiontohis

audience.Itstruckmeasbeingratherdramatic.Londonisveryrichincurious

effects of that kind. A wet Sunday, an uncouth Christian in a mackintosh, a

ring of sickly white faces under a broken roof of dripping umbrellas, and a

wonderfulphraseflungintotheairbyshrillhystericallips—itwasreallyvery

goodinitsway,quiteasuggestion.Ithoughtoftellingtheprophetthatarthad

a soul, but that man had not. I am afraid, however, he would not have

understoodme."

"Don't,Harry.Thesoulisaterriblereality.Itcanbebought,andsold,and

barteredaway.Itcanbepoisoned,ormadeperfect.Thereisasoulineachone

ofus.Iknowit."

"Doyoufeelquitesureofthat,Dorian?"

"Quitesure."

"Ah! then it must be an illusion. The things one feels absolutely certain

aboutarenevertrue. Thatisthefatalityoffaith,and thelessonofromance.

Howgraveyou are! Don't be soserious. Whathave youor Itodowiththe

superstitionsofourage?No:wehavegivenupourbeliefinthesoul.Playme

something. Play me a nocturne, Dorian, and, as you play, tell me, in a low

voice,howyouhavekeptyouryouth.Youmusthavesomesecret.Iamonly

tenyearsolderthanyouare,andIamwrinkled,andworn,andyellow.Youare

reallywonderful,Dorian.Youhaveneverlookedmorecharmingthanyoudo

to-night.YouremindmeofthedayIsawyoufirst.Youwererathercheeky,

veryshy,andabsolutelyextraordinary.Youhavechanged,ofcourse,butnotin

appearance. I wish you would tell me your secret. To get back my youth I

would do anything in the world, except take exercise, get up early, or be

respectable.Youth!Thereisnothinglikeit.It'sabsurdtotalkoftheignorance

ofyouth.TheonlypeopletowhoseopinionsIlistennowwithanyrespectare

people much younger than myself. They seem in front of me. Life has

revealed tothem her latestwonder. As for the aged, I always contradict the

aged. I do it on principle. If you ask them their opinion on something that

happened yesterday, they solemnly give you the opinions current in 1820,

when people wore high stocks, believed in everything, and knew absolutely

nothing.Howlovelythatthingyouareplayingis!Iwonder,didChopinwrite

itatMajorca,withtheseaweepingroundthevillaandthesaltspraydashing

againstthepanes?Itismarvellouslyromantic.Whatablessingitisthatthere

isoneartlefttousthatisnotimitative!Don'tstop.Iwantmusicto-night.It

seemstomethatyouaretheyoungApolloandthatIamMarsyaslisteningto

you.Ihavesorrows,Dorian,ofmyown,thatevenyouknownothingof.The

tragedyofoldageisnotthatoneisold,butthatoneisyoung.Iamamazed

sometimes at my own sincerity. Ah, Dorian, how happy you are! What an

exquisitelifeyouhavehad!Youhavedrunkdeeplyofeverything.Youhave

crushed the grapes against your palate. Nothing has been hidden from you.

Andithasallbeentoyounomorethanthesoundofmusic.Ithasnotmarred

you.Youarestillthesame."

"Iamnotthesame,Harry."

"Yes,youarethesame.Iwonderwhattherestofyourlifewillbe.Don't

spoil it by renunciations. At present you are a perfect type. Don't make

yourself incomplete. You are quite flawless now. You need not shake your

head:youknowyouare.Besides,Dorian,don'tdeceiveyourself.Lifeisnot

governed by will or intention. Life is a question of nerves, and fibres, and

slowlybuilt-upcellsinwhichthoughthidesitselfandpassionhasitsdreams.

Youmayfancyyourselfsafeandthinkyourselfstrong.Butachancetoneof

colour in a room or a morning sky, a particular perfume that you had once

loved and thatbrings subtlememories with it,a line from a forgotten poem

thatyouhadcomeacrossagain,acadencefromapieceofmusicthatyouhad

ceasedtoplay—Itellyou,Dorian,thatitisonthingslikethesethatourlives

depend. Browning writes about that somewhere; but our own senses will

imaginethemforus.Therearemomentswhentheodouroflilasblancpasses

suddenly across me, and I have to live the strangest month of my life over

again.IwishIcouldchangeplaceswithyou,Dorian.Theworldhascriedout

againstusboth,butithasalwaysworshippedyou.Italwayswillworshipyou.

Youarethetypeofwhattheageissearchingfor,andwhatitisafraidithas

found.Iamsogladthatyouhaveneverdoneanything,nevercarvedastatue,

orpaintedapicture,orproducedanythingoutsideofyourself!Lifehasbeen

yourart.Youhavesetyourselftomusic.Yourdaysareyoursonnets."

Dorianroseupfromthepianoandpassedhishandthroughhishair."Yes,

lifehasbeenexquisite,"hemurmured,"butIamnotgoingtohavethesame

life,Harry. Andyoumustnot say these extravagantthingstome.You don't

knoweverythingaboutme.Ithinkthatifyoudid,evenyouwouldturnfrom

me.Youlaugh.Don'tlaugh."

"Why have you stopped playing, Dorian? Go back and give me the

nocturne over again. Look at that great, honey-colouredmoon that hangs in

the dusky air. Sheis waitingfor you to charmher, andif youplay shewill

comeclosertotheearth.Youwon't?Letusgototheclub,then.Ithasbeena

charming evening, and we must end it charmingly. There is some one at

White's who wants immensely to know you—young Lord Poole,

Bournemouth's eldest son. He has already copied your neckties, and has

beggedmetointroducehimtoyou.Heisquitedelightfulandratherreminds

meofyou."

"Ihopenot,"saidDorianwithasadlookinhiseyes."ButIamtiredto-

night,Harry.Ishan'tgototheclub.Itisnearlyeleven,andIwanttogotobed

early."

"Dostay.Youhaveneverplayedsowellasto-night.Therewassomething

inyourtouchthatwaswonderful.IthadmoreexpressionthanIhadeverheard

fromitbefore."

"ItisbecauseIamgoingtobegood,"heanswered,smiling."Iamalittle

changedalready."

"You cannot change to me, Dorian," said Lord Henry. "You and I will

alwaysbefriends."

"Yetyoupoisonedmewithabookonce.Ishouldnotforgivethat.Harry,

promisemethatyouwillneverlendthatbooktoanyone.Itdoesharm."

"My dear boy, you are really beginning to moralize. You will soon be

goingaboutliketheconverted,andtherevivalist,warningpeopleagainstall

thesinsofwhichyouhavegrowntired.Youaremuchtoodelightfultodothat.

Besides,itisnouse.YouandIarewhatweare,andwillbewhatwewillbe.

As forbeing poisoned by a book, there is no such thing as that. Art has no

influenceuponaction.Itannihilatesthedesiretoact.Itissuperblysterile.The

books that the world calls immoral are books that show the world its own

shame.Thatisall.Butwewon'tdiscussliterature.Comeroundto-morrow.I

amgoingtorideateleven.Wemightgotogether,andIwilltakeyoutolunch

afterwards with Lady Branksome. She is a charming woman, and wants to

consultyouaboutsometapestriessheisthinkingofbuying.Mindyoucome.

Orshallwelunchwithourlittleduchess?Shesayssheneverseesyounow.

PerhapsyouaretiredofGladys?Ithoughtyouwouldbe.Herclevertongue

getsonone'snerves.Well,inanycase,behereateleven."

"MustIreallycome,Harry?"

"Certainly.Theparkisquitelovelynow.Idon'tthinktherehavebeensuch

lilacssincetheyearImetyou."

"Verywell.Ishallbehereateleven,"saidDorian."Goodnight,Harry."As

hereachedthedoor,hehesitatedforamoment,asifhehadsomethingmoreto

say.Thenhesighedandwentout.



CHAPTER20



Itwasalovelynight,sowarmthathethrewhiscoatoverhisarmanddid

notevenputhis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 lured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dressesandher largehats!She knew nothing, butshehadeverything

thathehadlost.

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LordHenryhadsaidtohim.

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mantoamostjustGod.

The curiously carvedmirrorthat Lord Henryhad given tohim, so many

years ago now, 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mockery.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Vane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marred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.

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.

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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.

He took the lamp from the table and crept upstairs. As he unbarred 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.

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loathsome—moreloathsome,ifpossible,thanbefore—andthescarlet

dewthatspottedthehandseemedbrighter,andmorelikebloodnewlyspilled.

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creptlikeahorribledisease

overthewrinkledfingers.Therewasbloodonthepaintedfeet,asthoughthe

thing had dripped—blood even on the hand that had not held the knife.

Confess?Diditmeanthathewastoconfess?Togivehimselfup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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 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recognized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evidence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ofjoy.Ithadbeenlike

consciencetohim.Yes,ithadbeenconscience.Hewoulddestroyit.

He lookedround and saw the knifethat had stabbed Basil Hallward.He

hadcleanedit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.

"Whosehouseisthat,Constable?"askedtheelderofthetwogentlemen.

"Mr.DorianGray's,sir,"answeredthepoliceman.

Theylookedateachother,astheywalkedaway,andsneered.Oneofthem

wasSirHenryAshton'suncle.

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.

After about a 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,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wasadeadman,ineveningdress,withaknife

inhisheart.Hewaswithered,wrinkled,andloathsomeofvisage.Itwasnot

tilltheyhadexaminedtheringsthattheyrecognizedwhoitwas.



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