 of
the English democracy against what they call the vices of the upper orders. The
masses feel that drunkenness, stupidity, and immorality should be their own
special property, and that if any one of us makes an ass of himself he is
poaching on their preserves. When poor Southwark got into the Divorce Court,
their indignation was quite magnificent. And yet I don't suppose that ten per
cent of the proletariat live correctly.«
    »I don't agree with a single word that you have said, and, what is more,
Harry, I feel sure you don't either.«
    Lord Henry stroked his pointed brown beard, and tapped the toe of his
patent-leather boot with a tasselled ebony cane. »How English you are, Basil!
That is the second time you have made that observation. If one puts forward an
idea to a true Englishman - always a rash thing to do - he never dreams of
considering whether the idea is right or wrong. The only thing he considers of
any importance is whether one believes it oneself. Now, the value of an idea has
nothing whatsoever to do with the sincerity of the man who expresses it. Indeed,
the probabilities are that the more insincere the man is, the more purely
intellectual will the idea be, as in that case it will not be coloured by either
his wants, his desires, or his prejudices. However, I don't propose to discuss
politics, sociology, or metaphysics with you. I like persons better than
principles, and I like persons with no principles better than anything else in
the world. Tell me more about Mr. Dorian Gray. How often do you see him?«
    »Every day. I couldn't be happy if I didn't see him every day. He is
absolutely necessary to me.«
    »How extraordinary! I thought you would never care for anything but your
art.«
    »He is all my art to me now,« said the painter, gravely. »I sometimes think,
Harry, that there are only two eras of any importance in the world's history.
The first is the appearance of a new medium for art, and the second is the
appearance of a new personality for art also. What the invention of oil-painting
was to the Venetians, the face of 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.
