Oscar Wilde
The Picture of Dorian Gray
The Preface
The artist is the creator of beautiful things
To reveal art and conceal the artist is arts 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 actors 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
1
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 pinkflowering
thorn
From the corner of the divan of Persian saddlebags on which he was lying
smoking as was his custom innumerable cigarettes Lord Henry Wotton could just
catch the gleam of the honeysweet and honeycoloured 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 tussoresilk curtains that were stretched in front of
the huge window producing a kind of momentary Japanese effect and making him
think of those pallid jadefaced painters of Tokio 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
fulllength 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 dont 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
wont 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 whirls from his heavy
opiumtainted 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 cant 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 didnt know you were so
vain and I really cant see any resemblance between you with your rugged
strong face and your coalblack hair and this young Adonis who looks as if he
was made out of ivory and roseleaves 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 dont 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 Dont flatter yourself
Basil you are not in the least like him«
»You dont understand me Harry« answered the artist »O 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 ones 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 Grays 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 didnt intend to tell it to you«
»But why not«
»Oh I cant 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 ones 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 Dukes 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 wont
exhibit Dorian Grays 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 pinkpetalled daisy from the
grass and examined it »I am quite sure I shall understand it« he replied
gazing intently at the little golden whitefeathered 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 lilacblooms
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 dragonfly
floated past on its brown gauze wings Lord Henry felt as if he could hear Basil
Hallwards 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 Brandons 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 stockbroker can gain a reputation for being civilised 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 halfway 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 dont 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 tradename of the firm That is all«
»I dont believe that Harry and I dont 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 lionise 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 nineteenthcentury 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 précis of all her guests I
remember her bringing me up to a truculent and redfaced 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 doesnt 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 dont 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 dont care for brothers My elder brother wont 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 cant 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 sympathise 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 dont suppose that ten per
cent of the proletariat live correctly«
»I dont agree with a single word that you have said and what is more
Harry I feel sure you dont either«
Lord Henry stroked his pointed brown beard and tapped the toe of his
patentleather 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 dont 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 couldnt be happy if I didnt 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 worlds 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 oilpainting
was to the Venetians the face of Antinoüs 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 wont 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 realise 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 wont 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 wont 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 summers
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 overeducate 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
wellinformed man that is the modern ideal And the mind of the thoroughly
wellinformed man is a dreadful thing It is like a bricàbrac 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 wont 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 dont talk like that As long as I live the personality of Dorian
Gray will dominate me You cant 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 loves
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 cloudshadows chased themselves across
the grass like swallows How pleasant it was in the garden And how delightful
other peoples emotions were much more delightful than their ideas, it seemed
to him Ones own soul and the passions of ones 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 he would have been sure to have met Lord Hoodbody there and
the whole conversation would have been about the feeding of the poor and the
necessity for model lodginghouses 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
»Dont look so angry Basil It was at my aunt Lady Agathas 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 didnt Harry«
»Why«
»I dont want you to meet him«
»You dont 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 Dont spoil him Dont try to influence him Your influence would
be bad The world is wide and has many marvellous people in it Dont 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
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 Schumanns »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 today Dorian«
»Oh I am tired of sitting and I dont want a lifesized portrait of
myself« answered the lad swinging round on the musicstool 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 didnt
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 Agathas 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 dont 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
dont 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 finelycurved 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 youths 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
cigarettecase
The painter had been busy mixing his colours and getting his brushes ready
He was looking worried and when he heard Lord Henrys last remark he glanced at
him hesitated for a moment and then said »Harry I want to finish this
picture today 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« be
asked
»Oh please dont Lord Henry I see that Basil is in one of his sulky
moods and I cant bear him when he sulks Besides I want you to tell me why I
should not go in for philanthropy«
»I dont 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 dont 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
Dorians 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 Goodbye Mr
Gray Come and see me some afternoon in Curzon Street I am nearly always at
home at five oclock 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 dont think there will be any difficulty about that
Sit down again Harry And now Dorian get up on the platform and dont 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 ones 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 elses music an actor of a part that has not been
written for him The aim of life is selfdevelopment To realise ones 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 ones 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 lads 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 mediævalism 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 rosered youth and your rowswhite boyhood you have had
passions that have made you afraid thoughts that have filled you with terror
daydreams and sleeping dreams whose mere memory might stain your cheek with
shame «
»Stop« faltered Dorian Gray »stop you bewilder me I dont know what to
say There is some answer to you but I cannot find it Dont 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 Basils 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 fierycoloured 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 cant think of
anything else But you never sat better You were perfectly still And I have
caught the effect I wanted the halfparted lips and the bright look in the
eyes I dont 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 mustnt believe a word that he says«
»He has certainly not been paying me compliments Perhaps that is the reason
that I dont 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 Dont keep Dorian too long I have never been in better form for
painting than I am today 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 lilacblossoms 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 bare 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
finelychiselled 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 olivecoloured
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 lifes 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 dont feel that Lord Henry«
»No you dont 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 Dont 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 springtime 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 wont 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 hollowcheeked
and dulleyed You will suffer horribly Ah realise your youth while you
have it Dont 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 hillflowers 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 openeyed 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 peartree at the corner of the
garden a thrush began to sing
»You are glad to 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 Henrys 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 armchair 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
lefthand 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 today I
am awfully obliged to you«
»That is entirely due to me« broke in Lord Henry »Isnt 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 recognised
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 Hallwards compliments had seemed to him to be merely the
charming exaggerations 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
»Dont you like it« cried Hallward at last stung a little by the lads
silence not understanding what it meant
»Of course he likes it« said Lord Henry »Who wouldnt 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«
»Dorians 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 ones 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
»dont 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 Henrys answer
»Harry I cant 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
tearstained eyes looked at him as he walked over to the deal paintingtable
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 paletteknife 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
»Dont Basil dont« 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 dont 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 doesnt 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 dont 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 dont
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 teatray
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 globeshaped 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 tonight« said Lord Henry »There is sure to be
something on somewhere I have promised to dine at Whites 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 ones dressclothes« 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
colourelement 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 wont you«
»I cant 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«
»Dont go to the theatre tonight Dorian« said Hallward »Stop and dine
with me«
»I cant Basil«
»Why«
»Because I have promised Lord Henry Wotton to go with him«
»He wont 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 teatable 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 Goodbye Harry Goodbye Dorian Come and see me soon Come tomorrow«
»Certainly«
»You wont 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 Goodbye 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
3
At halfpast 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
roughmannered 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 at 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 despatches and
his inordinate passion for pleasure The son who had been his fathers
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
shootingcoat 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 buttonhole in his coat »and when
they grow older they know it But I dont 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 Dartmoors 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 Bluebook 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 Bluebooks 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 Kelsos 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«
»Kelsos grandson« echoed the old gentleman »Kelsos 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
soninlaw 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 goodlooking 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 didnt dare to show my face
at Court for a month I hope he treated his grandson better than he did the
jarvies«
»I dont 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 wasnt a girl in London at the time
who wasnt 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
Aint English girls good enough for him«
»It is rather fashionable to marry Americans just now Uncle George«
»Ill back English women against the world Harry« said Lord Fermor
striking the table with his fist
»The betting is on the Americans«
»They dont last I am told« muttered his uncle
»A long engagement exhausts them but they are capital at a steeplechase
They take things flying I dont 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 porkpackers I suppose«
»I hope so Uncle George for Dartmoors sake I am told that porkpacking
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 cant 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 »Goodbye 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 Agathas I have asked myself and Mr Gray He is her latest
protégé«
»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 Ill tell her but it wont 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 Grays 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 ones soul into some
gracious form and let it tarry there for a moment to hear ones own
intellectual views echoed back to one with all the added music of passion and
youth to convey ones 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
Basils 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 analysed it Was it not Buonarotti who had
carved it in the coloured marbles of a sonnetsequence 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 aunts 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
diningroom
»Late as usual Harry« cried his aunt shaking her head at him
He invented a facile excuse and having taken the vacant seat next 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 wellknown 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 aunts oldest friends a perfect saint
amongst women but so dreadfully dowdy that she reminded one of a badly bound
hymnbook Fortunately for him she had on the other side Lord Faudel a most
intelligent middleaged 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
drygoods store« said Sir Thomas Burdon looking supercilious
»My uncle has already suggested porkpacking Sir Thomas«
»Dry goods What are American drygoods« 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
»Dont 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 Humours castoff 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 dont 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 tightrope 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 sympathise with everything except suffering« said Lord Henry
shrugging his shoulders »I cannot sympathise with that It is too ugly too
horrible too distressing There is something terribly morbid in the modern
sympathy with pain One should sympathise with the colour the beauty the joy
of life The less said about lifes 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 dont 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 overexpenditure 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 worlds 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 ones youth
one has merely to repeat ones follies«
»A delightful theory« she exclaimed »I must put it into practice«
»A dangerous theory« came from Sir Thomass 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 ones 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 winestained 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 grapejuice rose
round her bare limbs in waves of purple bubbles or crawled in red foam over the
vats back 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 Williss
Rooms where he is going to be in the chair If I am late he is sure to be
furious and I couldnt have a scene in this bonnet It is far too fragile A
harsh word would ruin it No I must go dear Agatha Goodbye Lord Henry you
are quite delightful and dreadfully demoralising I am sure I dont 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 dont 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 encyclopædias 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 goodbye to your excellent aunt I am due at the Athenæum
It is the hour when we sleep there«
»All of you Mr Erskine«
»Forty of us in forty armchairs 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 today« 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«
4
One afternoon a month later Dorian Gray was reclining in a luxurious
armchair in the little library of Lord Henrys house in Mayfair It was in
its way a very charming room with its highpanelled wainscoting of
olivestained oak its creamcoloured frieze and ceiling of raised plasterwork
and its brickdust felt carpet strewn with silk longfringed 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 parrottulips were arranged on the mantelshelf and through the
small leaded panels of the window streamed the apricotcoloured 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
elaboratelyillustrated edition of Manon Lescaut that he had found in one of the
bookcases The formal monotonous ticking of the Louis Quartorze 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 forgetmenot
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 Wagners music better than anybodys
It is so loud that one can talk the whole time without other people hearing what
one says That is a great advantage dont you think so Mr Gray«
The same nervous staccato laugh broke from her thin lips and her fingers
began to play with a long tortoiseshell paperknife
Dorian smiled and shook his head »I am afraid I dont think so Lady
Henry I never talk during music at least during good music If one hears bad
music it is ones duty to drown it in conversation«
»Ah that is one of Harrys views isnt it Mr Gray I always hear Harrys
views from his friends It is the only way I get to know of them But you must
not think I dont 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 dont know what it is about them Perhaps it is that they are
foreigners They all are aint they Even those that are born in England become
foreigners after a time dont they It is so clever of them and such a
compliment to art Makes it quite cosmopolitan doesnt it You have never been
to any of my parties have you Mr Gray You must come I cant afford orchids
but I spare no expense in foreigners They make ones rooms look so picturesque
But here is Harry Harry I came into 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
crescentshaped 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
Goodbye Mr Gray Goodbye Harry You are dining out I suppose So am I
Perhaps I shall see you at Lady Thornburys«
»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 frangipani Then he lit a
cigarette and flung himself down on the sofa
»Never marry a woman with strawcoloured 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 dont think I am likely to marry Henry 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 début«
»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 the 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 cant 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 mustnt 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 oclock 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 dont 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 halfpast eight I passed by an
absurd little theatre with great flaring gasjets and gaudy playbills 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
stagebox To the present day I cant make out why I did so and yet if I hadnt
my dear Harry if I hadnt 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 Dont 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 failures 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 dont want to interrupt you Go
on with your story«
»Well I found myself seated in a horrid little private box with a vulgar
dropscene 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
thirdrate 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 dresscircle Women went about with oranges and
gingerbeer 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 playbill 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 grandpères 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 dropscene 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 beerbarrel Mercutio was almost as bad He was played by the
lowcomedian 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 darkbrown 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 ones ear Then it became a little louder and
sounded like a flute or a distant hautbois 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 violets 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 dont 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 lovers 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 ones 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 teaparties
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 didnt 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«
»Dont 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 dont 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 ones 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 ones self over poetry is an honour But when did you first speak to
Miss Sybil 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 wasnt
it«
»No I dont 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 dont 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 dressingwrapper 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
peoples 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 cant 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 tonight Dorian cant you«
He shook his head »Tonight she is Imogen« he answered »and tomorrow
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 in his checks 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 Hallwards studio His
nature had developed like a flower had borne blossoms of scarlet flame Out of
its secret hidingplace 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 Jews 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 artinstinct 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 Today is Tuesday Let us fix tomorrow She plays Juliet
tomorrow«
»All right The Bristol at eight oclock and I will get Basil«
»Not eight Harry please Halfpast six We must be there before the
curtain rises You must see her in the first act where she meets Romeo«
»Halfpast six What an hour It will be like having a meattea 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 dont 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 had 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 secondrate
sonnets makes a man quite irresistible He lives the poetry that he cannot
write The others write the poetry that they dare not realise«
»I wonder is that really so Harry« said Dorian Gray putting some perfume
on his handkerchief out of a large goldtopped bottle that stood on the table
»It must be if you say it And now I am off Imogen is waiting for me Dont
forget about tomorrow Goodbye«
As he left the room Lord Henrys heavy eyelids drooped and he began to
think Certainly few people had ever interested him so much as Dorian Gray and
yet the lads 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 subjectmatter 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 ones 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 Grays 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
selfconscious 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 ones
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 physical 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 tyrannised 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 friends young
fierycoloured life and wondered how it was all going to end
When he arrived home about halfpast twelve oclock 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 Sybil Vane
5
»Mother mother I am so happy« whispered the girl burying her face in the lap
of the faded tiredlooking woman who with back turned to the shrill intrusive
light was sitting in the one armchair that their dingy sittingroom contained
»I am so happy« she repeated »and you must be happy too«
Mrs Vane winced and put her thin bismuthwhitened hands on her daughters
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 dont know how we could manage without him« answered the elder woman
querulously
Sibyl Vane tossed her head and laughed »We dont 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 parrotphrase flung in answer The
waving of crooked falsejewelled 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
Thinlipped 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 dont 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 Sibyl 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
Dont look so sad I am as happy today 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 dont 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 stageplayer 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 thickset 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 the 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 goodnatured grumble
»Ah but you dont 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 sisters face with tenderness »I want you to
come out with me for a walk Sibyl I dont suppose I shall ever see this horrid
London again I am sure I dont want to«
»My son dont 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 dont 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
goodbye 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 dont 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 seafaring life« she said »You
must remember that it is your own choice You might have entered a solicitors
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 Dont 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 dont 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 dont 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 windowpane 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 Goodbye
mother I will have my dinner at five oclock Everything is packed except my
shirts so you need not trouble«
»Goodbye 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 mothers
affectations
They went out into the flickering windblown sunlight and strolled down the
dreary Euston Road The passersby glanced in wonder at the sullen heavy youth
who in coarse illfitting clothes was in the company of such a graceful
refinedlooking 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 redshirted bushrangers For
he was not to remain a sailor or a supercargo or whatever he was going to be
Oh no A sailors existence was dreadful Fancy being cooped up in a horrid
ship with the hoarse humpbacked 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 goodbye to the captain and
go off at once to the goldfields 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 wagon 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 goldfields at all They were horrid
places where men got intoxicated and shot each other in barrooms and used
bad language He was to be a nice sheepfarmer 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 heartsick 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 Sibyls 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
raceinstinct 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 mothers nature and in that saw infinite peril for Sibyl and
Sibyls 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 stagedoor had set loose a train of horrible thoughts He remembered it
as if it had been the lash of a huntingcrop across his face His brows knit
together into a wedgelike 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 dont even know his name« answered the lad »Who is he I have a
right to know«
»He is called Prince Charming Dont 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 tonight 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
ones self Poor dreadful Mr Isaacs will be shouting genius to his loafers at
the bar He has preached me as a dogma tonight 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 springtime 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
Dont 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 tulipbeds across the
road flamed like throbbing rings of fire A white dust tremulous cloud of
orrisroot 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
Berwicks fourinhand 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 badtempered boy that is all How can you say
such horrible things You dont 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 doesnt 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 hadnt been signed«
»Oh dont 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 wont
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 oclock 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 Sibyls own room they parted There was jealousy in the lads 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 streetcabs 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 Dont speak against him
my son He was your father and a gentleman Indeed he was highly connected«
An oath broke from his lips »I dont care for myself« he exclaimed »but
dont let Sibyl It is a gentleman isnt 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 Goodbye Dont forget that you will only have
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 lodginghouse 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
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 dont 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 cant 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 didnt 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 Dorians 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 dont 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 tonight if that
boy doesnt 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 cant 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 organised
and to be highly organised is I should fancy the object of mans 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 dont mean a single word of all that Harry you know you dont If
Dorian Grays 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 satinlined 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 dont
quite forgive you for not having let me know of your engagement You let Harry
know«
»And I dont forgive you for being late for dinner« broke in Lord Henry
putting his hand on the lads 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 oclock
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 boys clothes she was perfectly wonderful She wore a mosscoloured velvet
jerkin with cinnamon sleeves slim brown crossgartered hose a dainty little
green cap with a hawks 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 tonight 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 cant 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 rosecoloured 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 cant help it Of
course our engagement is a dead secret She has not even told her own mother I
dont know what my guardians will say Lord Radley is sure to be furious I
dont care I shall be of age in less than a year and then I can do what I
like I have been right Basil havent I to take my love out of poetry and to
find my wife in Shakespeares 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 today« 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 »Dont 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 simply 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 middleclass life But then the
middle classes are not modern«
Dorian Gray laughed and tossed his head »You are quite incorrigible Harry
but I dont 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 dont 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 Vanes 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 Natures 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 purplelipped 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 ones self« he replied touching the
thin stem of his glass with his pale finepointed fingers »Discord is to be
forced to be in harmony with others Ones own life that is the important
thing As for the lives of ones neighbours if one wishes to be a prig or a
Puritan one can flaunt ones moral views about them but they are not ones
concern Besides Individualism has really the higher aim Modern morality
consists in accepting the standard of ones 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 ones 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 selfdenial
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 mediæval art is
charming but mediæval 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 civilised man ever regrets a
pleasure and no uncivilised 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 dont 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 finechampagne and some cigarettes
No dont mind the cigarettes I have some Basil I cant 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
firebreathing 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
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 ones 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
spiritualises them and one feels that they are of the same flesh and blood as
ones self«
»The same flesh and blood as ones self Oh I hope not« exclaimed Lord
Henry who was scanning the occupants of the gallery through his operaglass
»Dont 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 that has the effect you describe must be fine and noble To
spiritualise ones 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 Capulets house and Romeo in his pilgrims 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 overemphasised 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 tonight «
was declaimed with the painful precision of a schoolgirl who has been taught to
recite by some secondrate 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 tonight
It is too rash too unadvised too sudden
Too like the lightning which doth cease to be
Ere one can say It lightens Sweet goodnight
This bud of love by summers 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
selfcontained 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 dresscircle
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 cant 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
apologise 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«
»Dont 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 ones
morals to see bad acting Besides I dont 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 dont 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 cant 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 tonight 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
longdrawn 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 dont you«
»Understand what« he asked angrily
»Why I was so bad tonight 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
shouldnt 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 Tonight 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 Tonight 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 tonight 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 dont even stir my curiosity
You simply produce no effect I loved you because you were marvellous because
you had genius and intellect because you realised 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 dont know what you were to me
once Why once Oh I cant 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 thirdrate 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 »Dont 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 dont leave me« she whispered »I am
so sorry I didnt 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 Dont go away from me I couldnt bear it Oh
dont go away from me My brother No never mind He didnt mean it He was
in jest But you oh cant you forgive me for tonight I will work so
hard and try to improve Dont 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 couldnt help it Oh dont leave me dont
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 to him seemed to be absurdly melodramatic Her tears and sobs annoyed
him
»I am going« he said at last in his calm clear voice »I dont wish to be
unkind but I cant 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 dimlylit
streets past gaunt blackshadowed archways and evillooking 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 doorsteps 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 whitesmocked carter
offered him some cherries He thanked him and 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 jadegreen piles of
vegetables Under the portico with its grey sunbleached pillars loitered a
troop of draggled bareheaded girls waiting for the auction to be over Others
crowded round the swinging doors of the coffeehouse in the Plazza The heavy
carthorses slipped and stamped upon the rough stones shaking their bells and
trappings Some of the drivers were lying asleep on a pile of sacks
Irisnecked and pinkfooted 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 closeshuttered 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 nacrecoloured air
In the huge gilt Venetian lantern spoil of some Doges barge that hung
from the ceiling of the great oakpanelled 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 newborn 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 buttonhole 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 creamcoloured 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 Henrys 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 Hallwards 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 girls 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 æon upon æon 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 Hallwards
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 dewdrenched garden seemed to be telling the flowers about her
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 softly in with a
cup of tea and a pile of letters on a small tray of old Sèvres china and drew
back the olivesatin curtains with their shimmering blue lining that hung in
front of the three tall windows
»Monsieur has slept well this morning« he said smiling
»What oclock 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 LouisQuinze toiletset that he had
not yet had the courage to send on to his guardians who were extremely
oldfashioned people and did not realise that we live in an age when unnecessary
things are our only necessities and there were several very courteously worded
communications from Jermyn Street moneylenders offering to advance any sum of
money at a moments notice and at the most reasonable rates of interest
After about ten minutes he got up and throwing on an elaborate
dressinggown of silkembroidered cashmere wool passed into the onyxpaved
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 bluedragon bowl that filled with
sulphuryellow 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
luxuriouslycushioned couch that stood facing the screen The screen was an old
one of gilt Spanish leather stamped and wrought with a rather florid
LouisQuatorze pattern He scanned it curiously wondering if ever before it had
concealed the secret of a mans 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 realised 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 everpresent sign of the ruin men
brought upon their souls
Three oclock struck and four and the halfhour 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 selfreproach 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 Henrys voice
outside »My dear boy I must see you Let me in at once I cant 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. Dont sneer at it
Harry any more at least not before me I want to be good I cant 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 Dont say it Dont 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 Didnt 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 wouldnt 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
dont be frightened was to tell you that Sibyl Vane is dead«
A cry of pain broke from the lads lips and he leaped to his feet tearing
his hands away from Lord Henrys 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 ones début with a scandal One should
reserve that to give an interest to ones old age I suppose they dont know
your name at the theatre If they dont 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 cant 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 halfpast 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 dressingroom She had
swallowed something by mistake some dreadful thing they use at theatres I
dont 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 mustnt 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 sisters 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 tonight 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 loveletter I have ever written in my life
Strange that my first passionate loveletter 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 cant 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 dont 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 goldlatten 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 womans 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 dont 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 dont like that explanation Harry« he rejoined »but I
am glad you dont 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 lads 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 Hampshires 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 thirtyfive
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 ones 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 elses admirer when one loses
ones 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 woman 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 dressingroom 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
Shakespeares plays and left them lovelier for its presence a reed through
which Shakespeares 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
dont 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 sisters box«
»Twentyseven I believe It is on the grand tier You will see her name on
the door But I am sorry you wont come and dine«
»I dont 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 »Goodbye I shall see you before ninethirty 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 Vanes
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 worlds 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 of 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
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 cant tell you how
heartbroken I am about the whole thing I know what you must suffer But where
were you Did you go down and see the girls mother For a moment I thought of
following you there They gave the address in the paper Somewhere in the Euston
Road isnt 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
paleyellow wine from a delicate goldbeaded bubble of Venetian glass and
looking dreadfully bored »I was at the Opera You should have come on there I
met Lady Gwendolen Harrys sister for the first time We were in her box She
is perfectly charming and Patti sang divinely Dont talk about horrid
subjects If one doesnt 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 womans 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 wont 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 dont 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 dont know
what has come over you You talk as if you had no heart no pity in you It is
all Harrys influence I see that«
The lad flushed up and going to the window looked out for a few moments
on the green flickering sunlashed 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 dont know what you mean Basil« he exclaimed turning round »I dont
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 dont 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 middleclass 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 halfpast
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 the proper artistic point of view Was it not Gautier who used to write
about la consolation des arts I remember picking up a little vellumcovered
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 lacquerwork 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 ones 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 realised 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 Dont leave me Basil and dont 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 turningpoint 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 wont speak to you
again about this horrible thing after today I only trust your name wont 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 dont 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 cant 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 dont 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 dont 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 Grays lips and he rushed between the
painter and the screen »Basil« he said looking very pale »you must not look
at it I dont wish you to«
»Not look at my own work You are not serious Why shouldnt 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 dont 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«
»Dont speak«
»But what is the matter Of course I wont look at it if you dont 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 shouldnt 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 today«
»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 dont suppose you will object to that George Petit is going to
collect all my best pictures for a special exhibition in the Rue de Sèze 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 cant 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 cant 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 wont exhibit your picture He told me why he
wouldnt 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
you 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 frame 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 Hallwards 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 Dont 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 huntsmans cloak and
polished boarspear Crowned with heavy lotusblossoms you had sat on the prow
of Adrians barge gazing across the green turbid Nile You had leant over the
still pool of some Greek woodland and seen in the waters 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 realise 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 goodlooking 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 dont 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 goodbye 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 dont 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
ones worship into words«
»It was a very disappointing confession«
»Why what did you expect Dorian You didnt 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 mustnt 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 dont 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 came across two
ideal things Few come across one«
»I cant 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
goodbye I am sorry you wont let me look at the picture once again But that
cant 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
painters 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
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 Victors 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 housekeeper that he wanted to
see her and then to go to the framemaker 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 oldfashioned 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 dont want it put straight Leaf I only want the key«
»Well sir youll be covered with cobwebs if you go into it Why it hasnt
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 Ill have it off
the bunch in a moment But you dont 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 seventeenthcentury 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 Henrys 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 Michael Angelo 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 purpleand 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 rosered 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
Basils 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
judgment 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 writingtable 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 eightfifteen 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 framemaker of South Audley Street came in with a somewhat
roughlooking young assistant Mr Hubbard was a florid redwhiskered 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 dont go in
much at present for religious art but today 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 dont want it to get scratched going upstairs«
»There will be no difficulty sir« said the genial framemaker 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 tradesmans spirited dislike of seeing a gentleman doing anything
useful Dorian put his hand to it so 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 playroom when he was a child and then as a study
when he grew somewhat older It was a large wellproportioned 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
fantasticallypainted panels and its tarnished gilt mouldings in which he had
so often hidden himself as a boy There the satinwood bookcase filled with his
dogeared 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 Hallwards 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 crowsfeet 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 blueveined 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 framemaker who was
still gasping for breath »Where shall we put it sir«
»Oh anywhere Here this will do I dont 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 shant 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 oclock and
that the tea had been already brought up On a little table of dark perfumed
wood thickly encrusted with nacre a present from Lady Radley his guardians
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 Jamess Gazette had been placed on the teatray 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 ones 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 Henrys
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 eightfifteen He
opened The St Jamess languidly and looked through it A red pencilmark 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 postmortem 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 Vanes 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 pearlcoloured 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 armchair 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 exqusite 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 realise 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 worldspirit 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 characterises 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 mediæval 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 coppergreen 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 oclock before he reached the club where he found Lord
Henry sitting alone in the morningroom 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 didnt 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 diningroom
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 novels 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
beauty 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 overemphasised account of the sorrow and
despair of one who had himself lost what in others and in 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 ageing 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
delicatelyscented chamber or in the sordid room of the little illfamed 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
realisation 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 halfserious 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 spiritualising of the senses its highest realisation
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 organised 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 selfdenial 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 halfcut 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 symbolise He loved to kneel down on the cold
marble pavement and watch the priest in his stiff flowered vestment slowly
and with white hands moving aside the veil of the tabernacle or raising aloft
the jewelled lanternshaped monstrance with that pallid wafer that at times one
would fain think is indeed the panis cælestis 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 heavilyscented 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 relation wondering what there was
in frankincense that made one mystical and in ambergris that stirred ones
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 sweetsmelling roots and scented pollenladen flowers or
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 vermilionandgold ceiling and walls of olivegreen lacquer he
used to give curious concerts in which mad gypsies tore wild music from little
zithers or grave yellowshawled 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 Schuberts grace and Chopins 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 civilisations and loved to touch
and try them He had the mysterious furuparis 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 Chili 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 teponazili 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 yotlbells 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 olivegreen
chrysoberyl that turns red by lamplight the cymophane with its wirelike line
of silver the pistachiocoloured peridot rosepink and wineyellow topazes
carbuncles of fiery scarlet with tremulous fourrayed stars flamered
cinnamonstones orange and violet spinels and amethysts with their alternate
layers of ruby and sapphire He loved the red gold of the sunstone and the
moonstones 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 Alphonsos
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 in
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 newlykilled 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 at
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 Lodges 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 mirrors of chrysolites carbuncles
sapphires and greene emeraults« Marco Polo had seen the inhabitants of Zipangu
place rosecoloured pearls in the mouths of the dead A seamonster 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 hundredweight 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 Brantôme 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 twentyone 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 earrings of emeralds set in gold
filigrane Edward II gave to Piers Gaveston a suit of redgold armour studded
with jacinths a collar of gold roses set with turquoisestones and a skullcap
parsemé with pearls Henry II wore jewelled gloves reaching to the elbow and
had a hawkglove sewn with twelve rubies and fiftytwo great orients The ducal
hat of Charles the Rash the last Duke of Burgundy of his race was hung with
pearshaped 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 crocuscoloured
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
giltreined steeds He longed to see the curious tablenapkins 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 twentyone parrots made in broidery
and blazoned with the kings arms and five hundred and sixtyone butterflies
whose wings were similarly ornamented with the arms of the queen the whole
worked in gold« Catherine de Médicis had a mourningbed 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 queens 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 goldthread 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 lys 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 greentoned golds and their marvellouslyplumaged 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
selfinflicted pain He possessed a gorgeous cope of crimson silk and
goldthread damask figured with a repeating pattern of golden pomegranates set
in sixpetalled formal blossoms beyond which on either side was the pineapple
device wrought in seedpearls 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
heartshaped groups of acanthusleaves from which spread longstemmed white
blossoms the details of which were picked out with silver thread and coloured
crystals The morse bore a seraphs head in goldthread 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 ambercoloured 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 lys altar frontals of crimson velvet and blue
linen and many corporals chaliceveils 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 purpleandgold 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 walledin 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 dub 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 smokingroom 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
twentyfifth 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 civilised 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 his 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 halfcold entrées 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 Grays 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 picturegallery 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 Herberts 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 Hallwards studio to the mad
prayer that had so changed his life Here in goldembroidered red doublet
jewelled surcoat and giltedged ruff and wristbands stood Sir Anthony
Sherard with his silverandblack armour piled at his feet What had this mans
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 realise 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 heavylidded 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 thinlipped 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 winedashed 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 ones 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 fluteplayer mocked the swinger of the censer and
as Caligula had caroused with the greenshirted jockeys in their stables and
supped in an ivory manger with a jewelfrontleted 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 tædium vitæ 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 silvershod
mules been carried through the Street of Pomegranates to a House of Gold and
heard men cry on Nero Cæsar 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
cunninglywrought 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 dEste 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 brothers 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 Atlanta 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 realise his conception of the beautiful
12
It was on the ninth of November the eve of his own thirtyeighth birthday as
he often remembered afterwards
He was walking home about eleven oclock from Lord Henrys 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 recognised 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 oclock 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 wasnt quite sure Didnt you
recognise me«
»In this fog my dear Basil Why I cant even recognise Grosvenor Square I
believe my house is somewhere about here but I dont 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 wasnt 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 wont you miss your train« said Dorian Gray
languidly as he passed up the steps and opened the door with his latchkey
The lamplight struggled out through the fog and Hallward looked at his
watch »I have heaps of time« he answered »The train doesnt go till
twelvefifteen 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 shant 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 dont 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 spiritcase stood with some siphons of sodawater
and large cutglass 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 goldtipped 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 by«
Dorian shrugged his shoulders »I believe he married Lady Radleys maid and
has established her in Paris as an English dressmaker Anglomanie is very
fashionable over there now I hear It seems silly of the French doesnt 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 brandyandsoda Or would you like hockandseltzer I always take
hockandseltzer myself There is sure to be some in the next room«
»Thanks I wont 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 Dont 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 tonight
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 dont wish to know anything about them I love scandals about other
people but scandals about myself dont interest me They have not got the charm
of novelty«
»They must interest you Dorian Every gentleman is interested in his good
name You dont 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 dont believe these rumours
at all At least I cant believe them when I see you Sin is a thing that
writes itself across a mans 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 wont 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 cant 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 dont 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 nor 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 pureminded 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 Kents only son and his career I met his
father yesterday in St Jamess 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 Kents silly son takes his wife from the streets what is that to
me If Adrian Singleton writes his friends 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 dinnertables 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 had 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 sisters name a byword«
»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 dont know what is said about you I wont tell you that I dont 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
Dont shrug your shoulders like that Dont 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 dont 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 deeptoned 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 tonight« he cried seizing a lamp from the table »Come it
is your own handiwork Why shouldnt 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 someone 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 dont mean anything«
»You think so« He laughed again
»I know so As for what I said to you tonight I said it for your good You
know I have been always a staunch friend to you«
»Dont touch me Finish what you have to say«
A twisted flash of pain shot across the painters 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 fireplace 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 Cant you see what I am going through My God Dont
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 tomorrow But dont ask me to read
anything tonight 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«
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 bookcase that was all
that it seemed to contain besides a chair and a table As Dorian Gray was
lighting a halfburned 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 wont 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 painters 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 Grays 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 recognise 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
lefthand 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 the portrait of me that revealed to me the wonder of
beauty In a mad moment that even now I dont 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 miststained glass
»You told me you had destroyed it«
»I was wrong It has destroyed me«
»I dont believe it is my picture«
»Cant 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 ones 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 We are both
punished«
Dorian Gray turned slowly around and looked at him with teardimmed 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 Isnt 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 Dont say that You have done enough evil in your life My God Dont
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 mans
head down on the table and stabbing again and again
There was a stifled groan and the horrible sound of someone choking with
blood Three times the outstretched arms shot up convulsively waving grotesque
stifffingered 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 peacocks 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 gaslamps
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 realise 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 aroused 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 bullseye 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 latchkey 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
tomorrow 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 didnt 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 Dont forget to call me at nine tomorrow«
»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
14
At nine oclock 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 awoke 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 bloodstained
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 halfhour 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 scarfpin 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 womans 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 bookcase 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 titlepage of
the book It was Gautiers Emaux et Camées Charpentiers Japanesepaper
edition with the Jacquemart etching The binding was of citrongreen leather
with a design of gilt trelliswork 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 lavée
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 perles ruisselant
La Vénus de lAdriatique
Sort de leau son corps rose et blanc
Les domes sur lazur des ondes
Suivant la phrase au pur contour
Senflent comme des gorges rondes
Que soulève un soupir damour
Lesquif aborde et me dépose
Jetant son amarre au pilier
Devant une façade rose
Sur le marbre dun escalier«
How exquisite they were As one read them one seemed to be floating down the
green waterways 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 turquoiseblue that follow one as one pushes out to the Lido
The sudden flashes of colour reminded him of the gleam of the
opalandiristhroated birds that flutter round the tall honeycombed
Campanile or stalk with such stately grace through the dim duststained
arcades Leaning back with halfclosed eyes he kept saying over and over to
himself
»Devant une façade rose
Sur le marbre dun 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 café at Smyrna where the Jadjis 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 lotuscovered Nile where there are Sphinxes and rosered
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 kissstained marble tell of that curious
statue that Gautier compares to a contralto voice the monstre charmant that
couches in the porphyryroom 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 amateur 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
Berkshires the night that Rubenstein 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
slowbreathing 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
coalblack 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
mens eyes met In Dorians 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 Dont stir and dont 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 dont want to know anything further Whether what you have
told me is true or not true doesnt concern me I entirely decline to be mixed
up in your life Keep your horrible secrets to yourself They dont 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 cant 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 devils 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 dont
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
peoples characters Your friend Lord Henry Wotton cant 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 Dont come to me«
»Alan it was murder I killed him You dont 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 deadhouses and the horrors that you do
there dont affect you If in some hideous dissectingroom 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 dont
think of that Look at the matter purely from the scientific point of view You
dont inquire where the dead things on which you experiment come from Dont
inquire now I have told you too much as it is But I beg of you to do this We
were friends once Alan«
»Dont 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 dont
come to my assistance I am ruined Why they will hang me Alan Dont 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 Grays 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 dont help me I must send it If you dont 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 dont work yourself into this fever The thing has
to be done Face it and do it«
A groan broke from Campbells 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 Dont delay«
He hesitated a moment »Is there a fire in the room upstairs«
»Yes there is a gasfire 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 chimneypiece 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 curiouslyshaped 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 dont want any white ones It is a lovely
day Francis and Richmond is a very pretty place otherwise I wouldnt 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 halfpast 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 Ill
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 dont think I can go in Alan« he murmured
»It is nothing to me I dont 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
halfclosed 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 goodbye 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
15
That evening at eightthirty exquisitely dressed and wearing a large
buttonhole of Parma violets Dorian Gray was ushered into Lady Narboroughs
drawingroom by bowing servants His forehead was throbbing with maddened
nerves and he felt wildly excited but his manner as he bent over his hostesss
hand was as easy and graceful as ever Perhaps one never seems so much at ones
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 finelyshaped 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 special 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 Narboroughs fault He was dreadfully
shortsighted 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 dont 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 shant 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 middleaged mediocrities
so common in London clubs who have no enemies but are thoroughly disliked by
their friends Lady Ruxton an overdressed woman of fortyseven 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
Venetianred hair Lady Alice Chapman his hostesss daughter a dowdy dull
girl with one of those characteristic British faces that once seen are never
remembered and her husband a redcheeked whitewhiskered 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 mauvedraped 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 chaudfroid was being handed round
»what is the matter with you tonight 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 décolletée she was then«
»She is still décolletée« he answered taking an olive in his long fingers
»and when she is in a very smart gown she looks like an édition 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 dont mean to say Ferrol is the fourth«
»Certainly Lady Narborough«
»I dont 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 didnt because none of them had any hearts at all«
»Four husbands Upon my word that is trop de zèle«
»Trop daudace I tell her« said Dorian
»Oh she is audacious enough for anything my dear And what is Ferrol like
I dont 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
ones back that are absolutely and entirely true«
»Isnt 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 wasnt 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 siècle« 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 »dont 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 dont 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 tonight 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 didnt see you hadnt finished your cigarette«
»Never mind Lady Narborough I smoke a great deal too much I am going to
limit myself for the future«
»Pray dont 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 dont 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 Henrys 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 makes 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 dont but I find him
charming He atones for being occasionally somewhat overdressed by being
always absolutely overeducated He is a very modern type«
»I dont know if he will be able to come Harry He may have to go to Monte
Carlo with his father«
»Ah what a nuisance peoples 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 dont mean that I didnt 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 halfpast two if you wish to know the
exact time I had left my latchkey 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 drawingroom No sherry thank you Mr Chapman Something has
happened to you Dorian Tell me what it is You are not yourself tonight«
»Dont mind me Harry I am irritable and out of temper I shall come round
and see you tomorrow or next day Make my excuses to Lady Narborough I shant
go upstairs I shall go home I must go home«
»All right Dorian I daresay I shall see you tomorrow at teatime 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 Henrys casual questioning had made him
lose his nerves 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 realised that and when he had locked the door of
his library he opened the secret press into which he had thrust Basil
Hallwards 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
threequarters 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 muskscented 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
golddust 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 the 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
16
A cold rain began to fall and the blurred streetlamps looked ghastly in the
dipping mist The publichouses 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 opiumdens 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 gaslamps 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 greyflannel 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 spilt 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
seagull 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 roughpaven
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 mans 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 aint 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 outwardbound 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 thirdrate
dancingsaloon Shrill flaring gas jets dulled and distorted in the flyblown
mirrors that faced them were ranged round the walls Greasy reflectors of
ribbed tin backed them making quivering discs of light The floor was covered
with ochrecoloured sawdust trampled here and there into mud and stained with
dark rings of spilt 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 tawdrilypainted 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 hes 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 doesnt speak to me either I dont care« he added with a sigh »As
long as one has this stuff one doesnt 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 man 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 madcat is sure to be there They wont 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 dont want anything« murmured the young man
»Never mind«
Adrian Singleton rose up wearily and followed Dorian to the bar A
halfcaste 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 tonight« she sneered
»For Gods sake dont talk to me« cried Dorian stamping his foot on the
ground »What do you want Money Here it is Dont ever talk to me again«
Two red sparks flashed for a moment in the womans 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
»Its no use« sighed Adrian Singleton »I dont care to go back What does
it matter I am quite happy here«
»You will write to me if you want anything wont you« said Dorian after a
pause
»Perhaps«
»Goodnight then«
»Goodnight« 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 devils bargain« she hiccoughed in a hoarse
voice
»Curse you« he answered »dont call me that«
She snapped her fingers »Prince Charming is what you like to be called
aint it« she yelled after him
The drowsy sailor leapt 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 Ones days were too brief
to take the burden of anothers errors on ones 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
morningstar of evil fell from heaven it was as a rebel that he fell
Callous concentrated on evil with stained mien 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
illfamed 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 thickset 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 tonight by chance Make your
peace with God for tonight 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 tonight for India and I must do my job first
One minute Thats all«
Dorians 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 windblown 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 older 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 didnt you kill him« she hissed out putting her haggard face quite
close to his »I knew you were following him when you rushed out from Dalys
You fool You should have killed him He has lots of money and hes as bad as
bad«
»He is not the man I am looking for« he answered »and I want no mans
money I want a mans 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 its 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 aint so He is the worst one that comes here They
say he has sold himself to the devil for a pretty face Its nigh on eighteen
years since I met him He hasnt 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 dont give me
away to him« she whined »I am afraid of him Let me have some money for my
nights 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
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 jadedlooking man of
sixty was amongst his guests It was teatime and the mellow light of the huge
lacecovered 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 silkdraped
wicker chair looking at them On a peachcoloured divan sat Lady Narborough
pretending to listen to the Dukes description of the last Brazilian beetle that
he had added to his collection Three young men in elaborate smokingsuits were
handing teacakes to some of the women The houseparty 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 dont 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
buttonhole 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 recognise him in a flash« exclaimed the Duchess
»I wont 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 tomorrow«
»I prefer the mistakes of today« 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 dont 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 recognise 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 dont 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 wont 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 halfpast
eight«
»How unreasonable of her You should give her warning«
»I darent Mr Gray Why she invents hats for me You remember the one I
wore at Lady Hilstones gardenparty You dont 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 cant 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 dont 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 tonight«
»What«
»That a burnt child loves the fire«
»I am not even singed My wings are untouched«
»You can 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
»Sphynxes 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 drawingroom 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
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
sailors face peering through the miststained 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 footmarks been found on the flowerbeds the gardeners would have
reported it Yes it had been merely fancy Sibyl Vanes 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 oclock 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 pinescented 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 finelywrought 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 terrorstricken 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 shootingparty 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 reedgrown lake
At the corner of the pinewood he caught sight of Sir Geoffrey Clouston the
Duchesss 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 blacktipped 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 animals grace of movement that
strangely charmed Dorian Gray and he cried out at once »Dont 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 headkeeper 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 dont you keep your men back Spoiled my shooting for the day«
Dorian watched them as they plunged into the alderclump 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 copperbreasted 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 today 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 cant be helped It was the mans own fault Why did he get in front of the
guns Besides its 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 Dont 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 dont 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 tonight
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 dont 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 for 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 cant 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 cant help feeling it Ah here is the Duchess looking
like Artemis in a tailormade 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 dont 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 »Isnt 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 didnt 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 wont 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 ones way«
»All ways end at the same point my dear Gladys«
»What is that«
»Disillusion«
»It was my début 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 the 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 prefigure death for himself also He
had nearly swooned at what Lord Henry had said in a chance mood of cynical
jesting
At five oclock he rang his bell for his servant and gave him orders to pack
his things for the nightexpress to town and to have the brougham at the door
by eightthirty He was determined not to sleep another night at Selby Royal It
was an illomened 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 headkeeper 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 dont know who he is sir That is what I took the liberty of coming to
you about«
»Dont know who he is« said Dorian listlessly »What do you mean Wasnt
he one of your men«
»No sir Never saw him before Seems like a sailor sir«
The pen dropped from Dorian Grays 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 sixshooter There was no name of any
kind A decentlooking man sir but roughlike 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 dont 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 Ill 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 gatepost 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
leapt 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 spluttered
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 farmservants to come to him
»Take that thing off the face I wish to see it« he said clutching at the
doorpost for support
When the farmservant 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
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 rosewater
»Youre quite perfect Pray dont 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 uncivilised Civilisation 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 spilt into his plate a little
crimson pyramid of seeded strawberries and through a perforated shellshaped
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 dont 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
appleblossoms 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 mustnt say these dreadful things Hettys
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 leant
back in his chair »My dear Dorian you have the most curiously boyish moods Do
you think this girl will ever be really contented 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 isnt floating at the present
moment in some starlit millpond with lovely waterlilies round her like
Ophelia«
»I cant bear this Harry You mock at everything and then suggest the most
serious tragedies I am sorry I told you now I dont 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 Dont let
us talk about it any more and dont 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 Basils 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 Campbells 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 dont 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 musicroom 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 ones worst habits Perhaps one regrets them the most They are
such an essential part of ones 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 dont 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
doesnt 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 dont 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 Dont 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 cant 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 dullgreen waters with the heavy barges
floating over him and long weeds catching in his hair Do you know I dont
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 greyplumaged 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 Its a habit bores have By the way what has
become of that wonderful portrait he did of you I dont 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 Basils 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 armchair
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 halfclosed 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
streetpreacher 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«
»Dont 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 Dont 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
tonight 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 Its 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 Dont stop I want music tonight 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 Dont
spoil it by renunciations At present you are a perfect type Dont make
yourself incomplete You are quite flawless now You need not shake your head
you know you are Besides Dorian dont deceive yourself Life is not governed
by will or intention Life is a question of nerves and fibres and slowly
builtup 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 dont know
everything about me I think that if you did even you would turn from me You
laugh Dont laugh«
»Why have you stopped playing Dorian Go back and give me the nocturne over
again Look at that great honeycoloured 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 wont Let us go to the club then It has been a charming evening
and we must end it charmingly There is some one at Whites who wants immensely
to know you young Lord Poole Bournemouths 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
tonight Harry I shant 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 tonight 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 moralise You will soon be going
about 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 wont discuss literature Come round tomorrow 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 ones nerves Well in
any case be here at eleven«
»Must I really come Harry«
»Certainly The Park is quite lovely now I dont think there have been such
lilacs since the year I met you«
»Very well I shall be here at eleven« said Dorian »Goodnight 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
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 dress 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 rosewhite boyhood as Lord Henry had
once called it He knew that he had tarnished himself filled his mind with
corruption and given horror to his fancy that he had been an evil influence to
others and had experienced a terrible joy in being so and that of the lives
that had crossed his own it had been the fairest and the most full of promise
that he had brought to shame But was it all irretrievable Was there no hope
for him
Ah in what a monstrous moment of pride and passion he had prayed that the
portrait should bear the burden of his days and he keep the unsullied splendour
of eternal youth All his failure had been due to that Better for him that each
sin of his life had brought its sure swift penalty along with it There was
purification in punishment Not Forgive us our sins but Smite us for our
iniquities should be the prayer of a man to a most just God
The curiously carved mirror that Lord Henry had given to him so many years
ago now was standing on the table and the whitelimbed 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 teardimmed 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 Hallwards 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 younglooking 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 spilt Then he
trembled Had it been merely vanity that had made him do his one good deed Or
the desire for a new sensation as Lord Henry had hinted with his mocking
laugh Or that passion to act a part that sometimes makes us do things finer
than we are ourselves Or perhaps all these And why was the red stain larger
than it had been It seemed to have 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 belowstairs 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 Merlon 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
curiositys sake he had tried the denial of self. He recognised that now
But this murder was it to dog him all his life Was he always to be
burdened by his past Was he really to confess Never There was only one bit of
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 painters 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 soullife 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 Grays sir« answered the policeman
They looked at each other as they walked away and sneered One of them was
Sir Henry Ashtons uncle
Inside in the servants part of the house the halfclad 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 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 recognised who it was