| n | CHAPTER I The studio was filled with the rich odor of roses, | n | CHAPTER I The studio was filled with the rich odour of ros |
| and when the light summer wind stirred amidst the trees of | | es, and when the light summer wind stirred amidst the trees |
| the garden there came through the open door the heavy scent | | of the garden there came through the open door the heavy sce |
| of the lilac, or the more delicate perfume of the pink-flowe | | nt of the lilac, or the more delicate perfume of the pink-fl |
| ring thorn. | | owering thorn. |
| From the corner of the divan of Persian saddle-bags on which | | From the corner of the divan of Persian saddle-bags on which |
| he was lying, smoking, as usual, innumerable cigarettes, Lo | | he was lying, smoking, as was his custom, innumerable cigar |
| rd Henry Wotton could just catch the gleam of the honey-swee | | ettes, Lord Henry Wotton could just catch the gleam of the h |
| t and honey-colored blossoms of the laburnum, whose tremulou | | oney-sweet and honey-coloured blossoms of a laburnum, whose |
| s branches seemed hardly able to bear the burden of a beauty | | tremulous branches seemed hardly able to bear the burden of |
| so flame-like as theirs; and now and then the fantastic sha | | a beauty so flamelike as theirs; and now and then the fantas |
| dows of birds in flight flitted across the long tussore-silk | | tic shadows of birds in flight flitted across the long tusso |
| curtains that were stretched in front of the huge window, p | | re-silk curtains that were stretched in front of the huge wi |
| roducing a kind of momentary Japanese effect, and making him | | ndow, producing a kind of momentary Japanese effect, and mak |
| think of those pallid jade-faced painters who, in an art th | | ing him think of those pallid jade-faced painters of Tokio w |
| at is necessarily immobile, seek to convey the sense of swif | | ho, through the medium of an art that is necessarily immobil |
| tness and motion. | | e, seek to convey the sense of swiftness and motion. |
| The sullen murmur of the bees shouldering their way through | | The sullen murmur of the bees shouldering their way through |
| the long unmown grass, or circling with monotonous insistenc | | the long unmown grass, or circling with monotonous insistenc |
| e round the black-crocketed spires of the early June hollyho | | e round the dusty gilt horns of the straggling woodbine, see |
| cks, seemed to make the stillness more oppressive, and the d | | med to make the stillness more oppressive. |
| im roar of London was like the bourdon note of a distant org | | |
| an. | | |
| | | The dim roar of London was like the burdon note of a distant |
| | | organ. |
| In the centre of the room, clamped to an upright easel, stoo | | In the centre of the room, clamped to an upright easel, stoo |
| d the full-length portrait of a young man of extraordinary p | | d the full-length portrait of a young man of extraordinary p |
| ersonal beauty, and in front of it, some little distance awa | | ersonal beauty, and in front of it, some little distance awa |
| y, was sitting the artist himself, Basil Hallward, whose sud | | y, was sitting the artist himself, Basil Hallward, whose sud |
| den disappearance some years ago caused, at the time, such p | | den disappearance some years ago caused, at the time, such p |
| ublic excitement, and gave rise to so many strange conjectur | | ublic excitement, and gave rise to so many strange conjectur |
| es. | | es. |
| n | As he looked at the gracious and comely form he had so skilf | n | As the painter looked at the gracious and comely form he had |
| ully mirrored in his art, a smile of pleasure passed across | | so skilfully mirrored in his art, a smile of pleasure passe |
| his face, and seemed about to linger there. | | d across his face, and seemed about to linger there. |
| But he suddenly started up, and, closing his eyes, placed hi | | But he suddenly started up, and, closing his eyes, placed hi |
| s fingers upon the lids, as though he sought to imprison wit | | s fingers upon the lids, as though he sought to imprison wit |
| hin his brain some curious dream from which he feared he mig | | hin his brain some curious dream from which he feared he mig |
| ht awake. | | ht awake. |
| "It is your best work, Basil, the best thing you have ever d | | "It is your best work, Basil, the best thing you have ever d |
| one," said Lord Henry, languidly. | | one," said Lord Henry, languidly. |
| "You must certainly send it next year to the Grosvenor. | | "You must certainly send it next year to the Grosvenor. |
| The Academy is too large and too vulgar. | | The Academy is too large and too vulgar. |
| n | | n | Whenever I have gone there, there have either been so many p |
| | | eople that I have not been able to see the pictures, which w |
| | | as dreadful, or so many pictures that I have not been able t |
| | | o see the people, which was worse. |
| The Grosvenor is the only place." | | The Grosvenor is really the only place." |
| "I don't think I will send it anywhere," he answered, tossin | | "I don't think I shall send it anywhere," he answered, tossi |
| g his head back in that odd way that used to make his friend | | ng his head back in that odd way that used to make his frien |
| s laugh at him at Oxford. | | ds laugh at him at Oxford. |
| "No: I won't send it anywhere." | | "No; I won't send it anywhere." |
| Lord Henry elevated his eyebrows, and looked at him in amaze | | Lord Henry elevated his eyebrows, and looked at him in amaze |
| ment through the thin blue wreaths of smoke that curled up i | | ment through the thin blue wreaths of smoke that curled up i |
| n such fanciful whorls from his heavy opium-tainted cigarett | | n such fanciful whorls from his heavy opium-tainted cigarett |
| e. | | e. |
| n | "Not send it anywhere? My dear fellow, why? Have you any r | n | "Not send it anywhere? My dear fellow, why? Have you any rea |
| eason? What odd chaps you painters are! You do anything in | | son? What odd chaps you painters are! You do anything in the |
| the world to gain a reputation. | | world to gain a reputation. |
| As soon as you have one, you seem to want to throw it away. | | 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 | | 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 | | worse than being talked about, and that is not being talked |
| about. | | about. |
| A portrait like this would set you far above all the young m | | A portrait like this would set you far above all the young m |
| en in England, and make the old men quite jealous, if old me | | en in England, and make the old men quite jealous, if old me |
| n are ever capable of any emotion." | | n are ever capable of any emotion." |
| "I know you will laugh at me," he replied, "but I really can | | "I know you will laugh at me," he replied, "but I really can |
| 't exhibit it. | | 't exhibit it. |
| I have put too much of myself into it." | | I have put too much of myself into it." |
| n | Lord Henry stretched his long legs out on the divan and shoo | n | Lord Henry stretched himself out on the divan and laughed. |
| k with laughter. | | |
| "Yes, I knew you would laugh; but it is quite true, all the | | "Yes, I knew you would; but it is quite true, all the same." |
| same." | | |
| "Too much of yourself in it! Upon my word, Basil, I didn't | | "Too much of yourself in it! Upon my word, Basil, I didn't k |
| know you were so vain; and I really can't see any resemblanc | | now you were so vain; and I really can't see any resemblance |
| e between you, with your rugged strong face and your coal-bl | | between you, with your rugged strong face and your coal-bla |
| ack hair, and this young Adonis, who looks as if he was made | | ck hair, and this young Adonis, who looks as if he was made |
| of ivory and rose-leaves. | | out of ivory and rose-leaves. |
| Why, my dear Basil, he is a Narcissus, and you--well, of cou | | Why, my dear Basil, he is a Narcissus, and you- well, of cou |
| rse you have an intellectual expression, and all that. | | rse you have an intellectual expression, and all that. |
| But beauty, real beauty, ends where an intellectual expressi | | But beauty, real beauty, ends where an intellectual expressi |
| on begins. | | on begins. |
| n | Intellect is in itself an exaggeration, and destroys the har | n | Intellect is in itself a mode of exaggeration, and destroys |
| mony of any face. | | the harmony of any face. |
| The moment one sits down to think, one becomes all nose, or | | The moment one sits down to think, one becomes all nose, or |
| all forehead, or something horrid. | | all forehead, or something horrid. |
| Look at the successful men in any of the learned professions | | Look at the successful men in any of the learned professions |
| . | | . |
| n | How perfectly hideous they are! Except, of course, in the C | n | How perfectly hideous they are! Except, of course, in the ch |
| hurch. | | urch. |
| But then in the Church they don't think. | | But then in the church they don't think. |
| A bishop keeps on saying at the age of eighty what he was to | | A bishop keeps on saying at the age of eighty what he was to |
| ld to say when he was a boy of eighteen, and consequently he | | ld to say when he was a boy of eighteen, and as a natural co |
| always looks absolutely delightful. | | nsequence he always looks absolutely delightful. |
| Your mysterious young friend, whose name you have never told | | Your mysterious young friend, whose name you have never told |
| me, but whose picture really fascinates me, never thinks. | | me, but whose picture really fascinates me, never thinks. |
| I feel quite sure of that. | | I feel quite sure of that. |
| n | He is a brainless, beautiful thing, who should be always her | n | He is some brainless, beautiful creature, who should always |
| e in winter when we have no flowers to look at, and always h | | be here in winter when we have no flowers to look at, and al |
| ere in summer when we want something to chill our intelligen | | ways here in summer when we want something to chill our inte |
| ce. | | lligence. |
| Don't flatter yourself, Basil: you are not in the least like | | Don't flatter yourself, Basil, you are not in the least like |
| him." | | him." |
| "You don't understand me, Harry. | | "You don't understand me, Harry," answered the artist. |
| Of course I am not like him. | | "Of course I am not like him. |
| I know that perfectly well. | | I know that perfectly well. |
| Indeed, I should be sorry to look like him. | | Indeed, I should be sorry to look like him. |
| n | You shrug your shoulders? I am telling you the truth. | n | You shrug your shoulders? I am telling you the truth. |
| There is a fatality about all physical and intellectual dist | | There is a fatality about all physical and intellectual dist |
| inction, the sort of fatality that seems to dog through hist | | inction, the sort of fatality that seems to dog through hist |
| ory the faltering steps of kings. | | ory the faltering steps of kings. |
| It is better not to be different from one's fellows. | | It is better not to be different from one's fellows. |
| The ugly and the stupid have the best of it in this world. | | The ugly and the stupid have the best of it in this world. |
| n | They can sit quietly and gape at the play. | n | They can sit at their ease and gape at the play. |
| If they know nothing of victory, they are at least spared th | | If they know nothing of victory, they are at least spared th |
| e knowledge of defeat. | | e knowledge of defeat. |
| They live as we all should live, undisturbed, indifferent, a | | They live as we all should live, undisturbed, indifferent, a |
| nd without disquiet. | | nd without disquiet. |
| n | They neither bring ruin upon others nor ever receive it from | n | They neither bring ruin upon others, nor ever receive it, fr |
| alien hands. | | om alien hands. |
| Your rank and wealth, Harry; my brains, such as they are,--m | | Your rank and wealth, Harry; my brains, such as they are- my |
| y fame, whatever it may be worth; Dorian Gray's good looks,- | | art, whatever it may be worth; Dorian Gray's good looks- we |
| -we will all suffer for what the gods have given us, suffer | | shall all suffer for what the gods have given us, suffer te |
| terribly." | | rribly." |
| "Dorian Gray? is that his name?" said Lord Henry, walking ac | | "Dorian Gray? Is that his name?" asked Lord Henry, walking a |
| ross the studio towards Basil Hallward. | | cross the studio towards Basil Hallward. |
| "Yes; that is his name. | | "Yes, that is his name. |
| I didn't intend to tell it to you." | | I didn't intend to tell it to you." |
| n | "But why not?" "Oh, I can't explain. | n | "But why not?" "Oh, I can't explain. |
| When I like people immensely I never tell their names to any | | When I like people immensely I never tell their names to any |
| one. | | one. |
| n | It seems like surrendering a part of them. | n | It is like surrendering a part of them. |
| You know how I love secrecy. | | I have grown to love secrecy. |
| It is the only thing that can make modern life wonderful or | | It seems to be the one thing that can make modern life myste |
| mysterious to us. | | rious or marvellous to us. |
| The commonest thing is delightful if one only hides it. | | The commonest thing is delightful if one only hides it. |
| n | When I leave town I never tell my people where I am going. | n | When I leave town now I never tell my people where I am goin |
| | | g. |
| If I did, I would lose all my pleasure. | | If I did, I would lose all my pleasure. |
| It is a silly habit, I dare say, but somehow it seems to bri | | It is a silly habit, I dare say, but somehow it seems to bri |
| ng a great deal of romance into one's life. | | ng a great deal of romance into one's life. |
| n | I suppose you think me awfully foolish about it?" "Not at al | n | I suppose you think me awfully foolish about it?" "Not at |
| l," answered Lord Henry, laying his hand upon his shoulder; | | all," answered Lord Henry, "not at all, my dear Basil. |
| "not at all, my dear Basil. | | |
| You seem to forget that I am married, and the one charm of m | | You seem to forget that I am married, and the one charm of m |
| arriage is that it makes a life of deception necessary for b | | arriage is that it makes a life of deception absolutely nece |
| oth parties. | | ssary for both parties. |
| I never know where my wife is, and my wife never knows what | | I never know where my wife is, and my wife never knows what |
| I am doing. | | I am doing. |
| n | When we meet,--we do meet occasionally, when we dine out tog | n | When we meet- we do meet occasionally, when we dine out toge |
| ether, or go down to the duke's,-- we tell each other the mo | | ther, or go down to the Duke's- we tell each other the most |
| st absurd stories with the most serious faces. | | absurd stories with the most serious faces. |
| My wife is very good at it,--much better, in fact, than I am | | 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. | | She never gets confused over her dates, and I always do. |
| But when she does find me out, she makes no row at all. | | 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 sometimes wish she would; but she merely laughs at me." |
| n | "I hate the way you talk about your married life, Harry," sa | n | "I hate the way you talk about your married life, Harry," sa |
| id Basil Hallward, shaking his hand off, and strolling towar | | id Basil Hallward, strolling towards the door that led into |
| ds the door that led into the garden. | | the garden. |
| "I believe that you are really a very good husband, but that | | "I believe that you are really a very good husband, but that |
| you are thoroughly ashamed of your own virtues. | | you are thoroughly ashamed of your own virtues. |
| You are an extraordinary fellow. | | You are an extraordinary fellow. |
| You never say a moral thing, and you never do a wrong thing. | | You never say a moral thing, and you never do a wrong thing. |
| Your cynicism is simply a pose." | | Your cynicism is simply a pose." |
| n | "Being natural is simply a pose, and the most irritating pos | n | "Being natural is simply a pose, and the most irritating pos |
| e I know," cried Lord Henry, laughing; and the two young men | | e I know," cried Lord Henry, laughing; and the two young men |
| went out into the garden together, and for a time they did | | went out into the garden together, and ensconced themselves |
| not speak. | | on a long bamboo seat that stood in the shade of a tall lau |
| | | rel bush. |
| | | The sunlight slipped over the polished leaves. |
| | | In the grass, white daisies were tremulous. |
| After a long pause Lord Henry pulled out his watch. | | After a pause, Lord Henry pulled out his watch. |
| "I am afraid I must be going, Basil," he murmured, "and befo | | "I am afraid I must be going, Basil," he murmured, "and befo |
| re I go I insist on your answering a question I put to you s | | re I go, I insist on your answering a question I put to you |
| ome time ago." | | some time ago." |
| "What is that?" asked Basil Hallward, keeping his eyes fixed | | "What is that?" said the painter, keeping his eyes fixed on |
| on the ground. | | the ground. |
| "You know quite well." | | "You know quite well." |
| "I do not, Harry." | | "I do not, Harry." |
| n | "Well, I will tell you what it is." | n | "Well, I will tell you what it is. |
| "Please don't." | | |
| "I must. | | |
| I want you to explain to me why you won't exhibit Dorian Gra | | I want you to explain to me why you won't exhibit Dorian Gra |
| y's picture. | | y's picture. |
| I want the real reason." | | I want the real reason." |
| "I told you the real reason." | | "I told you the real reason." |
| "No, you did not. | | "No, you did not. |
| You said it was because there was too much of yourself in it | | You said it was because there was too much of yourself in it |
| . | | . |
| Now, that is childish." | | Now, that is childish." |
| "Harry," said Basil Hallward, looking him straight in the fa | | "Harry," said Basil Hallward, looking him straight in the fa |
| ce, "every portrait that is painted with feeling is a portra | | ce, "every portrait that is painted with feeling is a portra |
| it of the artist, not of the sitter. | | it of the artist, not of the sitter. |
| The sitter is merely the accident, the occasion. | | The sitter is merely the accident, the occasion. |
| n | It is not he who is revealed by the painter; it is rather th | n | It is not he who is revealed by the painter; it is rather th |
| e painter who, on the colored canvas, reveals himself. | | e painter who, on the coloured canvas, reveals himself. |
| The reason I will not exhibit this picture is that I am afra | | The reason I will not exhibit this picture is that I am afra |
| id that I have shown with it the secret of my own soul." | | id that I have shown in it the secret of my own soul." |
| Lord Harry laughed. | | Lord Henry laughed. |
| "And what is that?" he asked. | | "And what is that?" he asked. |
| n | "I will tell you," said Hallward; and an expression of perpl | n | "I will tell you," said Hallward; but an expression of perpl |
| exity came over his face. | | exity came over his face. |
| "I am all expectation, Basil," murmured his companion, looki | | "I am all expectation, Basil," continued his companion, glan |
| ng at him. | | cing at him. |
| "Oh, there is really very little to tell, Harry," answered t | | "Oh, there is really very little to tell, Harry," answered t |
| he young painter; "and I am afraid you will hardly understan | | he painter; "and I am afraid you will hardly understand it. |
| d it. | | |
| Perhaps you will hardly believe it." | | Perhaps vou will hardly believe it." |
| Lord Henry smiled, and, leaning down, plucked a pink-petalle | | Lord Henry smiled, and, leaning down, plucked a pink-petalle |
| d daisy from the grass, and examined it. | | d daisy from the grass, and examined it. |
| n | "I am quite sure I shall understand it," he replied, gazing | n | "I am quite sure I shall understand it," he replied, gazing |
| intently at the little golden white-feathered disk, "and I c | | intently at the little golden white-feathered disk, "and as |
| an believe anything, provided that it is incredible." | | for believing things, I can believe anything, provided that |
| | | it is quite incredible." |
| The wind shook some blossoms from the trees, and the heavy l | | The wind shook some blossoms from the trees, and the heavy l |
| ilac blooms, with their clustering stars, moved to and fro i | | ilac-blooms, with their clustering stars, moved to and fro i |
| n the languid air. | | n the languid air. |
| A grasshopper began to chirrup in the grass, and a long thin | | A grasshopper began to chirrup by the wall, and like a blue |
| dragon-fly floated by on its brown gauze wings. | | thread a long thin dragon-fly floated past on its brown gauz |
| | | e wings. |
| Lord Henry felt as if he could hear Basil Hallward's heart b | | Lord Henry felt as if he could hear Basil Hallward's heart b |
| eating, and he wondered what was coming. | | eating, and wondered what was coming. |
| "Well, this is incredible," repeated Hallward, rather bitter | | "The story is simply this," said the painter after some time |
| ly,-- "incredible to me at times. | | . |
| I don't know what it means. | | |
| The story is simply this. | | |
| Two months ago I went to a crush at Lady Brandon's. | | "Two months ago I went to a crush at Lady Brandon's. |
| You know we poor painters have to show ourselves in society | | You know we poor artists have to show ourselves in society f |
| from time to time, just to remind the public that we are not | | rom time to time, just to remind the public that we are not |
| savages. | | savages. |
| With an evening coat and a white tie, as you told me once, a | | With an evening coat and a white tie, as you told me once, a |
| nybody, even a stock-broker, can gain a reputation for being | | nybody, even a stock-broker, can gain a reputation for being |
| civilized. | | civilized. |
| Well, after I had been in the room about ten minutes, talkin | | Well, after I had been in the room about ten minutes, talkin |
| g to huge overdressed dowagers and tedious Academicians, I s | | g to huge overdressed dowagers and tedious Academicians, I s |
| uddenly became conscious that some one was looking at me. | | uddenly became conscious that some one was looking at me. |
| n | I turned half-way round, and saw Dorian Gray for the first t | n | I turned halfway round, and saw Dorian Gray for the first ti |
| ime. | | me. |
| When our eyes met, I felt that I was growing pale. | | When our eyes met, I felt that I was growing pale. |
| n | A curious instinct of terror came over me. | n | A curious sensation of terror came over me. |
| I knew that I had come face to face with some one whose mere | | 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 | | personality was so fascinating that, if I allowed it to do |
| so, it would absorb my whole nature, my whole soul, my very | | so, it would absorb my whole nature, my whole soul, my very |
| art itself. | | art itself. |
| I did not want any external influence in my life. | | I did not want any external influence in my life. |
| You know yourself, Harry, how independent I am by nature. | | You know yourself, Harry, how independent I am by nature. |
| n | My father destined me for the army. | n | |
| I insisted on going to Oxford. | | |
| Then he made me enter my name at the Middle Temple. | | |
| Before I had eaten half a dozen dinners I gave up the Bar, a | | |
| nd announced my intention of becoming a painter. | | |
| I have always been my own master; had at least always been s | | I have always been my own master; had at least always been s |
| o, till I met Dorian Gray. | | o, till I met Dorian Gray. |
| n | Then--But I don't know how to explain it to you. | n | Then- but I don't know how to explain it to you. |
| Something seemed to tell me that I was on the verge of a ter | | Something seemed to tell me that I was on the verge of a ter |
| rible crisis in my life. | | rible crisis in my life. |
| I had a strange feeling that Fate had in store for me exquis | | I had a strange feeling that Fate had in store for me exquis |
| ite joys and exquisite sorrows. | | ite joys and exquisite sorrows. |
| n | I knew that if I spoke to Dorian I would become absolutely d | n | |
| evoted to him, and that I ought not to speak to him. | | |
| I grew afraid, and turned to quit the room. | | I grew afraid, and turned to quit the room. |
| n | It was not conscience that made me do so: it was cowardice. | n | It was not conscience that made me do it: it was a sort of c |
| | | owardice. |
| I take no credit to myself for trying to escape." | | I take no credit to myself for trying to escape." |
| "Conscience and cowardice are really the same things, Basil. | | "Conscience and cowardice are really the same things, Basil. |
| Conscience is the trade-name of the firm. | | Conscience is the trade-name of the firm. |
| That is all." | | That is all." |
| n | "I don't believe that, Harry. | n | "I don't believe that, Harry, and I don't believe you do eit |
| | | her. |
| However, whatever was my motive,-- and it may have been prid | | However, whatever was my motive- and it may have been pride, |
| e, for I used to be very proud,--I certainly struggled to th | | for I used to be very proud- I certainly struggled to the d |
| e door. | | oor. |
| There, of course, I stumbled against Lady Brandon. | | There, of course, I stumbled against Lady Brandon. |
| 'You are not going to run away so soon, Mr. | | 'You are not going to run away so soon, Mr. |
| Hallward?' she screamed out. | | Hallward?' she screamed out. |
| n | You know her shrill horrid voice?" "Yes; she is a peacock in | n | You know her curiously shrill voice?" "Yes; she is a peaco |
| everything but beauty," said Lord Henry, pulling the daisy | | ck in everything but beauty," said Lord Henry, pulling the d |
| to bits with his long, nervous fingers. | | aisy to bits with his long, nervous fingers. |
| "I could not get rid of her. | | "I could not get rid of her. |
| n | She brought me up to Royalties, and people with Stars and Ga | n | She brought me up to Royalties, and people with Stars and Ga |
| rters, and elderly ladies with gigantic tiaras and hooked no | | rters, and elderly ladies with gigantic tiaras and parrot no |
| ses. | | ses. |
| She spoke of me as her dearest friend. | | She spoke of me as her dearest friend. |
| I had only met her once before, but she took it into her hea | | I had only met her once before, but she took it into her hea |
| d to lionize me. | | d to lionize me. |
| I believe some picture of mine had made a great success at t | | I believe some picture of mine had made a great success at t |
| he time, at least had been chattered about in the penny news | | he time, at least had been chattered about in the penny news |
| papers, which is the nineteenth-century standard of immortal | | papers, which is the nineteenth-century standard of immortal |
| ity. | | ity. |
| Suddenly I found myself face to face with the young man whos | | Suddenly I found myself face to face with the young man whos |
| e personality had so strangely stirred me. | | e personality had so strangely stirred me. |
| We were quite close, almost touching. | | We were quite close, almost touching. |
| Our eyes met again. | | Our eyes met again. |
| n | It was mad of me, but I asked Lady Brandon to introduce me t | n | It was reckless of me, but I asked Lady Brandon to introduce |
| o him. | | me to him. |
| Perhaps it was not so mad, after all. | | Perhaps it was not so reckless, after all. |
| It was simply inevitable. | | It was simply inevitable. |
| We would have spoken to each other without any introduction. | | We would have spoken to each other without any introduction. |
| I am sure of that. | | I am sure of that. |
| Dorian told me so afterwards. | | Dorian told me so afterwards. |
| He, too, felt that we were destined to know each other." | | He, too, felt that we were destined to know each other." |
| n | "And how did Lady Brandon describe this wonderful young man? | n | "And how did Lady Brandon describe this wonderful young man? |
| I know she goes in for giving a rapid précis of all her gu | | " asked his companion. |
| ests. | | |
| I remember her bringing me up to a most truculent and red-fa | | "I know she goes in for giving a rapid precis of all her gue |
| ced old gentleman covered all over with orders and ribbons, | | sts. |
| and hissing into my ear, in a tragic whisper which must have | | |
| been perfectly audible to everybody in the room, something | | |
| like 'Sir Humpty Dumpty--you know--Afghan frontier--Russian | | |
| intrigues: very successful man--wife killed by an elephant-- | | |
| quite inconsolable--wants to marry a beautiful American wido | | |
| w--everybody does nowadays--hates Mr. | | |
| Gladstone--but very much interested in beetles: ask him what | | I remember her bringing me up to a truculent and red-faced o |
| he thinks of Schouvaloff.' | | ld gentleman covered all over with orders and ribbons, and h |
| | | issing into my ear, in a tragic whisper which must have been |
| | | perfectly audible to everybody in the room, the most astoun |
| | | ding details. |
| I simply fled. | | I simply fled. |
| I like to find out people for myself. | | I like to find out people for myself. |
| n | But poor Lady Brandon treats her guests exactly as an auctio | n | But Lady Brandon treats her guests exactly as an auctioneer |
| neer treats his goods. | | treats his goods. |
| She either explains them entirely away, or tells one everyth | | She either explains them entirely away, or tells one everyth |
| ing about them except what one wants to know. | | ing about them except what one wants to know." |
| But what did she say about Mr. | | "Poor Lady Brandon! You are hard on her, Harry!" said Hallwa |
| | | rd, listlessly. |
| Dorian Gray?" "Oh, she murmured, 'Charming boy--poor dear mo | | "My dear fellow, she tried to found a salon, and only succee |
| ther and I quite inseparable--engaged to be married to the s | | ded in opening a restaurant. |
| ame man--I mean married on the same day--how very silly of m | | |
| e! Quite forget what he does-- afraid he--doesn't do anythi | | |
| ng--oh, yes, plays the piano--or is it the violin, dear Mr. | | |
| | | How could I admire her? But tell me, what did she say about |
| | | Mr. |
| | | Dorian Gray?" "Oh, something like 'Charming boy- poor dear |
| | | mother and I absolutely inseparable. |
| | | Quite forget what he does- afraid he- doesn't do anything- o |
| | | h, yes, plays the piano- or is it the violin, dear Mr. |
| Gray?' We could neither of us help laughing, and we became | | Gray?' Neither of us could help laughing, and we became frie |
| friends at once." | | nds at once." |
| "Laughter is not a bad beginning for a friendship, and it is | | "Laughter is not at all a bad beginning for a friendship, an |
| the best ending for one," said Lord Henry, plucking another | | d it is far the best ending for one," said the young lord, p |
| daisy. | | lucking another daisy. |
| Hallward buried his face in his hands. | | Hallward shook his head. |
| "You don't understand what friendship is, Harry," he murmure | | "You don't understand what friendship is, Harry," he murmure |
| d,--"or what enmity is, for that matter. | | d- "or what enmity is, for that matter. |
| You like every one; that is to say, you are indifferent to e | | You like every one; that is to say, you are indifferent to e |
| very one." | | very one." |
| n | "How horribly unjust of you!" cried Lord Henry, tilting his | n | "How horribly unjust of you!" cried Lord Henry, tilting his |
| hat back, and looking up at the little clouds that were drif | | hat back, and looking up at the little clouds that, like rav |
| ting across the hollowed turquoise of the summer sky, like r | | elled skeins of glossy white silk, were drifting across the |
| avelled skeins of glossy white silk. | | hollowed turquoise of the summer sky. |
| "Yes; horribly unjust of you. | | "Yes, horribly unjust of you. |
| I make a great difference between people. | | I make a great difference between people. |
| n | I choose my friends for their good looks, my acquaintances f | n | I choose my friends for their good looks, my acquaintances f |
| or their characters, and my enemies for their brains. | | or their good characters, and my enemies for their good inte |
| | | llects. |
| A man can't be too careful in the choice of his enemies. | | 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 consequentl | | I have not got one who is a fool, they are all men of some i |
| y they all appreciate me. | | ntellectual power, and consequently they all appreciate me. |
| Is that very vain of me? I think it is rather vain." | | Is that very vain of me? I think it is rather vain." |
| "I should think it was, Harry. | | "I should think it was, Harry. |
| But according to your category I must be merely an acquainta | | But according to your category I must be merely an acquainta |
| nce." | | nce." |
| "My dear old Basil, you are much more than an acquaintance." | | "My dear old Basil, you are much more than an acquaintance." |
| "And much less than a friend. | | "And much less than a friend. |
| n | A sort of brother, I suppose?" "Oh, brothers! I don't care | n | A sort of brother, I suppose?" "Oh, brothers! I don't care |
| for brothers. | | for brothers. |
| My elder brother won't die, and my younger brothers seem nev | | My elder brother won't die, and my younger brothers seem nev |
| er to do anything else." | | er to do anything else." |
| n | | n | "Harry!" exclaimed Hallward, frowning. |
| "Harry!" "My dear fellow, I am not quite serious. | | "My dear fellow, I am not quite serious. |
| But I can't help detesting my relations. | | But I can't help detesting my relations. |
| n | I suppose it comes from the fact that we can't stand other p | n | I suppose it comes from the fact that none of us can stand o |
| eople having the same faults as ourselves. | | ther people having the same faults as ourselves. |
| I quite sympathize with the rage of the English democracy ag | | I quite sympathize with the rage of the English democracy ag |
| ainst what they call the vices of the upper classes. | | ainst what they call the vices of the upper orders. |
| They feel that drunkenness, stupidity, and immorality should | | The masses feel that drunkenness, stupidity, and immorality |
| be their own special property, and that if any one of us ma | | should be their own special property, and that if any one of |
| kes an ass of himself he is poaching on their preserves. | | us makes an ass of himself he is poaching on their preserve |
| | | s. |
| When poor Southwark got into the Divorce Court, their indign | | When poor Southwark got into the Divorce Court, their indign |
| ation was quite magnificent. | | ation was quite magnificent. |
| n | And yet I don't suppose that ten per cent of the lower order | n | And yet I don't suppose that ten per cent of the proletariat |
| s live correctly." | | live correctly." |
| "I don't agree with a single word that you have said, and, w | | "I don't agree with a single word that you have said, and, w |
| hat is more, Harry, I don't believe you do either." | | hat is more, Harry, I feel sure that you don't either." |
| Lord Henry stroked his pointed brown beard, and tapped the t | | Lord Henry stroked his pointed brown beard, and tapped the t |
| oe of his patent-leather boot with a tasselled malacca cane. | | oe of his patent-leather boot with a tasselled ebony cane. |
| | | "How English you are, Basil! That is the second time you hav |
| | | e made that observation. |
| "How English you are, Basil! If one puts forward an idea to | | If one puts forward an idea to a true Englishman- always a r |
| a real Englishman,-- always a rash thing to do,--he never d | | ash thing to do- he never dreams of considering whether the |
| reams of considering whether the idea is right or wrong. | | idea is right or wrong. |
| The only thing he considers of any importance is whether one | | The only thing he considers of any importance is whether one |
| believes it one's self. | | believes it oneself. |
| Now, the value of an idea has nothing whatsoever to do with | | Now, the value of an idea has nothing whatsoever to do with |
| the sincerity of the man who expresses it. | | the sincerity of the man who expresses it. |
| n | Indeed, the probabilities are that the more insincere the ma | n | Indeed, the probabilities are that the more insincere the ma |
| n is, the more purely intellectual will the idea be, as in t | | n is, the more purely intellectual will the idea be, as in t |
| hat case it will not be colored by either his wants, his des | | hat case it will not be coloured by either his wants, his de |
| ires, or his prejudices. | | sires, or his prejudices. |
| However, I don't propose to discuss politics, sociology, or | | However, I don't propose to discuss politics, sociology, or |
| metaphysics with you. | | metaphysics with you. |
| n | I like persons better than principles. | n | I like persons better than principles, and I like persons wi |
| | | th no principles better than anything else in the world. |
| Tell me more about Dorian Gray. | | Tell me more about Mr. |
| | | Dorian Gray. |
| How often do you see him?" "Every day. | | How often do you see him?" "Every day. |
| I couldn't be happy if I didn't see him every day. | | I couldn't be happy if I didn't see him every day. |
| n | Of course sometimes it is only for a few minutes. | n | He is absolutely necessary to me." |
| But a few minutes with somebody one worships mean a great de | | |
| al." | | |
| "But you don't really worship him?" "I do." | | |
| "How extraordinary! I thought you would never care for anyt | | "How extraordinary! I thought you would never care for anyth |
| hing but your painting,--your art, I should say. | | ing but your art." |
| Art sounds better, doesn't it?" "He is all my art to me now. | | "He is all my art to me now," said the painter, gravely. |
| I sometimes think, Harry, that there are only two eras of an | | "I sometimes think, Harry, that there are only two eras of a |
| y importance in the history of the world. | | ny importance in the world's history. |
| The first is the appearance of a new medium for art, and the | | The first is the appearance of a new medium for art, and the |
| second is the appearance of a new personality for art also. | | second is the appearance of a new personality for art also. |
| n | What the invention of oil-painting was to the Venetians, the | n | What the invention of oil-painting was to the Venetians, the |
| face of Antinoüs was to late Greek sculpture, and the face | | face of Antinous was to late Greek sculpture, and the face |
| of Dorian Gray will some day be to me. | | of Dorian Gray will some day be to me. |
| It is not merely that I paint from him, draw from him, model | | It is not merely that I paint from him, draw from him, sketc |
| from him. | | h from him. |
| Of course I have done all that. | | Of course I have done all that. |
| n | He has stood as Paris in dainty armor, and as Adonis with hu | n | |
| ntsman's cloak and polished boar- spear. | | |
| Crowned with heavy lotus-blossoms, he has sat on the prow of | | |
| Adrian's barge, looking into the green, turbid Nile. | | |
| He has leaned over the still pool of some Greek woodland, an | | |
| d seen in the water's silent silver the wonder of his own be | | |
| auty. | | |
| But he is much more to me than that. | | But he is much more to me than a model or a sitter. |
| I won't tell you that I am dissatisfied with what I have don | | I won't tell you that I am dissatisfied with what I have don |
| e of him, or that his beauty is such that art cannot express | | e of him or that his beauty is such that Art cannot express |
| it. | | it. |
| There is nothing that art cannot express, and I know that th | | There is nothing that Art cannot express, and I know that th |
| e work I have done since I met Dorian Gray is good work, is | | e work I have done, since I met Dorian Gray, is good work, i |
| the best work of my life. | | s the best work of my life. |
| But in some curious way--I wonder will you understand me?--h | | But in some curious way- I wonder will you understand me?- h |
| is personality has suggested to me an entirely new manner in | | is personality has suggested to me an entirely new manner in |
| art, an entirely new mode of style. | | art, an entirely new mode of style. |
| I see things differently, I think of them differently. | | I see things differently, I think of them differently. |
| I can now re-create life in a way that was hidden from me be | | I can now re-create life in a way that was hidden from me be |
| fore. | | fore. |
| n | 'A dream of form in days of thought,'--who is it who says th | n | 'A dream of form in days of thought:'- who is it who says th |
| at? I forget; but it is what Dorian Gray has been to me. | | at? I forget; but it is what Dorian Gray has been to me. |
| The merely visible presence of this lad, --for he seems to m | | The merely visible presence of this lad- for he seems to me |
| e little more than a lad, though he is really over twenty,-- | | little more than a lad, though he is really over twenty- his |
| his merely visible presence,--ah! I wonder can you realize | | merely visible presence- ah! I wonder can you realize all t |
| all that that means? Unconsciously he defines for me the li | | hat that means? Unconsciously he defines for me the lines of |
| nes of a fresh school, a school that is to have in itself al | | a fresh school, a school that is to have in it all the pass |
| l the passion of the romantic spirit, all the perfection of | | ion of the romantic spirit, all the perfection of the spirit |
| the spirit that is Greek. | | that is Greek. |
| The harmony of soul and body,--how much that is! We in our | | The harmony of soul and body- how much that is! We in our ma |
| madness have separated the two, and have invented a realism | | dness have separated the two, and have invented a realism th |
| that is bestial, an ideality that is void. | | at is vulgar, an ideality that is void. |
| Harry! Harry! if you only knew what Dorian Gray is to me! | | Harry! if you only knew what Dorian Gray is to me! You remem |
| You remember that landscape of mine, for which Agnew offered | | ber that landscape of mine, for which Agnew offered me such |
| me such a huge price, but which I would not part with? It i | | a huge price, but which I would not part with? It is one of |
| s one of the best things I have ever done. | | the best things I have ever done. |
| And why is it so? Because, while I was painting it, Dorian G | | And why is it so? Because, while I was painting it, Dorian G |
| ray sat beside me." | | ray sat beside me. |
| | | Some subtle influence passed from him to me, and for the fir |
| | | st time in my life I saw in the plain woodland the wonder I |
| | | had always looked for, and always missed." |
| "Basil, this is quite wonderful! I must see Dorian Gray." | | "Basil, this is extraordinary! I must see Dorian Gray." |
| Hallward got up from the seat, and walked up and down the ga | | Hallward got up from his seat, and walked up and down the ga |
| rden. | | rden. |
| After some time he came back. | | After some time he came back. |
| n | "You don't understand, Harry," he said. | n | "Harry," he said, "Dorian Gray is to me simply a motive in a |
| | | rt. |
| "Dorian Gray is merely to me 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 hi | | He is never more present in my work than when no image of hi |
| m is there. | | m is there. |
| n | He is simply a suggestion, as I have said, of a new manner. | n | He is a suggestion, as I have said, of a new manner. |
| I see him in the curves of certain lines, in the loveliness | | I find him in the curves of certain lines, in the loveliness |
| and the subtleties of certain colors. | | and subtleties of certain colours. |
| That is all." | | That is all." |
| n | "Then why won't you exhibit his portrait?" "Because I have p | n | "Then why won't you exhibit his portrait?" asked Lord Henry. |
| ut into it all the extraordinary romance of which, of course | | |
| , I have never dared to speak to him. | | |
| | | "Because, without intending it, I have put into it some expr |
| | | ession of all this curious artistic idolatry, of which, of c |
| | | ourse, I have never cared to speak to him. |
| He knows nothing about it. | | He knows nothing about it. |
| n | He will never know anything about it. | n | He shall never know anything about it. |
| But the world might guess it; and I will not bare my soul to | | But the world might guess it; and I will not bare my soul to |
| their shallow, prying eyes. | | their shallow, prying eyes. |
| My heart shall never be put under their microscope. | | My heart shall never be put under their microscope. |
| n | There is too much of myself in the thing, Harry,--too much o | n | There is too much of myself in the thing, Harry- too much of |
| f myself!" "Poets are not so scrupulous as you are. | | myself!" "Poets are not so scrupulous as you are. |
| They know how useful passion is for publication. | | They know how useful passion is for publication. |
| Nowadays a broken heart will run to many editions." | | Nowadays a broken heart will run to many editions." |
| n | "I hate them for it. | n | "I hate them for it," cried Hallward. |
| An artist should create beautiful things, but should put not | | "An artist should create beautiful things, but should put no |
| hing of his own life into them. | | thing of his own life into them. |
| We live in an age when men treat art as if it were meant to | | We live in an age when men treat art as if it were meant to |
| be a form of autobiography. | | be a form of autobiography. |
| We have lost the abstract sense of beauty. | | We have lost the abstract sense of beauty. |
| n | If I live, I will show the world what it is; and for that re | n | Some day I will show the world what it is; and for that reas |
| ason the world shall never see my portrait of Dorian Gray." | | on the world shall never see my portrait of Dorian Gray." |
| "I think you are wrong, Basil, but I won't argue with you. | | "I think you are wrong, Basil, but I won't argue with you. |
| It is only the intellectually lost who ever argue. | | It is only the intellectually lost who ever argue. |
| n | Tell me, is Dorian Gray very fond of you?" Hallward consider | n | Tell me, is Dorian Gray very fond of you?" The painter con |
| ed for a few moments. | | sidered for a few moments. |
| "He likes me," he answered, after a pause; "I know he likes | | "He likes me," he answered after a pause; "I know he likes m |
| me. | | e. |
| Of course I flatter him dreadfully. | | Of course I flatter him dreadfully. |
| I find a strange pleasure in saying things to him that I kno | | I find a strange pleasure in saying things to him that I kno |
| w I shall be sorry for having said. | | w I shall be sorry for having said. |
| n | I give myself away. | n | As a rule, he is charming to me, and we sit in the studio an |
| | | d talk of a thousand things. |
| As a rule, he is charming to me, and we walk home together f | | |
| rom the club arm in arm, or sit in the studio and talk of a | | |
| thousand things. | | |
| Now and then, however, he is horribly thoughtless, and seems | | Now and then, however, he is horribly thoughtless, and seems |
| to take a real delight in giving me pain. | | to take a real delight in giving me pain. |
| Then I feel, Harry, that I have given away my whole soul to | | 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 | | 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 f | | coat, a bit of decoration to charm his vanity, an ornament f |
| or a summer's day." | | or a summer's day." |
| n | "Days in summer, Basil, are apt to linger. | n | "Days in summer, Basil, are apt to linger," murmured Lord He |
| | | nry. |
| Perhaps you will tire sooner than he will. | | "Perhaps you will tire sooner than he will. |
| It is a sad thing to think of, but there is no doubt that Ge | | It is a sad thing to think of, but there is no doubt that Ge |
| nius lasts longer than Beauty. | | nius lasts longer than Beauty. |
| That accounts for the fact that we all take such pains to ov | | That accounts for the fact that we all take such pains to ov |
| er-educate ourselves. | | er-educate ourselves. |
| In the wild struggle for existence, we want to have somethin | | In the wild struggle for existence, we want to have somethin |
| g that endures, and so we fill our minds with rubbish and fa | | g that endures, and so we fill our minds with rubbish and fa |
| cts, in the silly hope of keeping our place. | | cts, in the silly hope of keeping our place. |
| n | The thoroughly well informed man,--that is the modern ideal. | n | The thoroughly well-informed man- that is the modern idea. |
| And the mind of the thoroughly well informed man is a dreadf | | And the mind of the thoroughly well-informed man is a dreadf |
| ul thing. | | ul thing. |
| It is like a bric-à-brac shop, all monsters and dust, and ev | | It is like a bric-a-brac shop, all monsters and dust, with e |
| erything priced above its proper value. | | verything priced above its proper value. |
| I think you will tire first, all the same. | | I think you will tire first, all the same. |
| n | Some day you will look at Gray, and he will seem to you to b | n | Some day you will look at your friend and he will seem to yo |
| e a little out of drawing, or you won't like his tone of col | | u to be a little out of drawing, or you won't like his tone |
| or, or something. | | of colour, or something. |
| You will bitterly reproach him in your own heart, and seriou | | You will bitterly reproach him in your own heart, and seriou |
| sly think that he has behaved very badly to you. | | sly think that he has behaved very badly to you. |
| The next time he calls, you will be perfectly cold and indif | | The next time he calls, you will be perfectly cold and indif |
| ferent. | | ferent. |
| It will be a great pity, for it will alter you. | | It will be a great pity, for it will alter you. |
| n | The worst of having a romance is that it leaves one so unrom | n | What you have told me is quite a romance, a romance of art o |
| antic." | | ne might call it, and the worst of having a romance of any k |
| | | ind is that it leaves one so unromantic." |
| "Harry, don't talk like that. | | "Harry, don't talk like that. |
| As long as I live, the personality of Dorian Gray will domin | | As long as I live, the personality of Dorian Gray will domin |
| ate me. | | ate me. |
| You can't feel what I feel. | | You can't feel what I feel. |
| You change too often." | | You change too often." |
| "Ah, my dear Basil, that is exactly why I can feel it. | | "Ah, my dear Basil, that is exactly why I can feel it. |
| n | Those who are faithful know only the pleasures of love: it i | n | Those who are faithful know only the trivial side of love: i |
| s the faithless who know love's tragedies." | | t is the faithless who know love's tragedies." |
| And Lord Henry struck a light on a dainty silver case, and b | | And Lord Henry struck a light on a dainty silver case, and b |
| egan to smoke a cigarette with a self-conscious and self-sat | | egan to smoke a cigarette with a self-conscious and satisfie |
| isfied air, as if he had summed up life in a phrase. | | d air, as if he had summed up the world in a phrase. |
| There was a rustle of chirruping sparrows in the ivy, and th | | There was a rustle of chirruping sparrows in the green lacqu |
| e blue cloud- shadows chased themselves across the grass lik | | er leaves of the ivy, and the blue cloud-shadows chased them |
| e swallows. | | selves across the grass like swallows. |
| How pleasant it was in the garden! And how delightful other | | How pleasant it was in the garden! And how delightful other |
| people's emotions were!--much more delightful than their id | | people's emotions were!- much more delightful than their ide |
| eas, it seemed to him. | | as, it seemed to him. |
| One's own soul, and the passions of one's friends,--those we | | One's own soul, and the passions of one's friends- those wer |
| re the fascinating things in life. | | e the fascinating things in life. |
| He thought with pleasure of the tedious luncheon that he had | | He pictured to himself with silent amusement the tedious lun |
| missed by staying so long with Basil Hallward. | | cheon that he had missed by staying so long with Basil Hallw |
| | | ard. |
| Had he gone to his aunt's, he would have been sure to meet L | | Had he gone to his aunt's, he would have been sure to have m |
| ord Goodbody there, and the whole conversation would have be | | et Lord Goodbody there, and the whole conversation would hav |
| en about the housing of the poor, and the necessity for mode | | e been about the feeding of the poor, and the necessity for |
| l lodging-houses. | | model lodging-houses. |
| | | Each class would have preached the importance of those virtu |
| | | es, for whose exercise there was no necessity in their own l |
| | | ives. |
| | | The rich would have spoken on the value of thrift, and the i |
| | | dle grown eloquent over the dignity of labour. |
| It was charming to have escaped all that! As he thought of | | It was charming to have escaped all that! As he thought of h |
| his aunt, an idea seemed to strike him. | | is aunt, an idea seemed to strike him. |
| He turned to Hallward, and said, "My dear fellow, I have jus | | He turned to Hallward, and said, "My dear fellow, I have jus |
| t remembered." | | t remembered." |
| n | "Remembered what, Harry?" "Where I heard the name of Dorian | n | "Remembered what, Harry?" "Where I heard the name of Doria |
| Gray." | | n Gray." |
| "Where was it?" asked Hallward, with a slight frown. | | "Where was it?" asked Hallward, with a slight frown. |
| "Don't look so angry, Basil. | | "Don't look so angry, Basil. |
| n | It was at my aunt's, Lady Agatha's. | n | It was at my aunt, Lady Agatha's. |
| She told me she had discovered a wonderful young man, who wa | | She told me she had discovered a wonderful young man, who wa |
| s going to help her in the East End, and that his name was D | | s going to help her in the East End, and that his name was D |
| orian Gray. | | orian Gray. |
| I am bound to state that she never told me he was good-looki | | I am bound to state that she never told me he was good-looki |
| ng. | | ng. |
| n | Women have no appreciation of good looks. | n | Women have no appreciation of good looks; at least, good wom |
| | | en have not. |
| At least, good women have not. | | |
| She said that he was very earnest, and had a beautiful natur | | She said that he was very earnest, and had a beautiful natur |
| e. | | e. |
| n | I at once pictured to myself a creature with spectacles and | n | I at once pictured to myself a creature with spectacles and |
| lank hair, horridly freckled, and tramping about on huge fee | | lank hair, horribly freckled, and tramping about on huge fee |
| t. | | t. |
| I wish I had known it was your friend." | | I wish I had known it was your friend." |
| "I am very glad you didn't, Harry." | | "I am very glad you didn't, Harry." |
| n | "Why?" "I don't want you to meet him." | n | "Why?" "I don't want you to meet him." |
| | | "You don't want me to meet him?" "No." |
| "Mr. | | "Mr. |
| Dorian Gray is in the studio, sir," said the butler, coming | | Dorian Gray is in the studio, sir," said the butler, coming |
| into the garden. | | into the garden. |
| "You must introduce me now," cried Lord Henry, laughing. | | "You must introduce me now," cried Lord Henry, laughing. |
| n | Basil Hallward turned to the servant, who stood blinking in | n | The painter turned to his servant, who stood blinking in the |
| the sunlight. | | sunlight. |
| "Ask Mr. | | "Ask Mr. |
| n | Gray to wait, Parker: I will be in in a few moments." | n | Gray to wait, Parker: I shall be in in a few moments." |
| The man bowed, and went up the walk. | | The man bowed, and went up the walk. |
| Then he looked at Lord Henry. | | Then he looked at Lord Henry. |
| "Dorian Gray is my dearest friend," he said. | | "Dorian Gray is my dearest friend," he said. |
| n | "He has a simple and a beautiful nature. | n | "He has a simple and beautiful nature. |
| Your aunt was quite right in what she said of him. | | Your aunt was quite right in what she said of him. |
| n | Don't spoil him for me. | n | Don't spoil him. |
| Don't try to influence him. | | Don't try to influence him. |
| Your influence would be bad. | | Your influence would be bad. |
| The world is wide, and has many marvellous people in it. | | The world is wide, and has many marvellous people in it. |
| n | Don't take away from me the one person that makes life absol | n | Don't take away from me the one person who gives to my art w |
| utely lovely to me, and that gives to my art whatever wonder | | hatever charm it possesses; my life as an artist depends on |
| or charm it possesses. | | him. |
| Mind, Harry, I trust you." | | Mind, Harry, I trust you." |
| He spoke very slowly, and the words seemed wrung out of him | | He spoke very slowly, and the words seemed wrung out of him |
| almost against his will. | | almost against his will. |
| "What nonsense you talk!" said Lord Henry, smiling, and, tak | | "What nonsense you talk!" said Lord Henry, smiling, and, tak |
| ing Hallward by the arm, he almost led him into the house. | | ing Hallward by the arm, he almost led him into the house. |
| n | CHAPTER II As they entered they saw Dorian Gray. | n | CHAPTER II As they entered they saw Dorian Gray. |
| He was seated at the piano, with his back to them, turning o | | He was seated at the piano, with his back to them, turning o |
| ver the pages of a volume of Schumann's "Forest Scenes." | | ver the pages of a volume of Schumann's "Forest Scenes." |
| "You must lend me these, Basil," he cried. | | "You must lend me these, Basil," he cried. |
| "I want to learn them. | | "I want to learn them. |
| They are perfectly charming." | | They are perfectly charming." |
| n | "That entirely depends on how you sit to-day, Dorian." | n | "That depends entirely on how you sit to-day, Dorian." |
| "Oh, I am tired of sitting, and I don't want a life-sized po | | "Oh, I am tired of sitting, and I don't want a life-sized po |
| rtrait of myself," answered the lad, swinging round on the m | | rtrait of myself," answered the lad, swinging round on the m |
| usic-stool, in a wilful, petulant manner. | | usic-stool, in a wilful, petulant manner. |
| n | When he caught sight of Lord Henry, a faint blush colored hi | n | When he caught sight of Lord Henry, a faint blush coloured h |
| s cheeks for a moment, and he started up. | | is cheeks for a moment, and he started up. |
| "I beg your pardon, Basil, but I didn't know you had any one | | "I beg your pardon, Basil, but I didn't know you had any one |
| with you." | | with you." |
| "This is Lord Henry Wotton, Dorian, an old Oxford friend of | | "This is Lord Henry Wotton, Dorian, an old Oxford friend of |
| mine. | | mine. |
| I have just been telling him what a capital sitter you were, | | I have just been telling him what a capital sitter you were, |
| and now you have spoiled everything." | | and now you have spoiled everything." |
| "You have not spoiled my pleasure in meeting you, Mr. | | "You have not spoiled my pleasure in meeting you, Mr. |
| n | Gray," said Lord Henry, stepping forward and shaking him by | n | Gray," said Lord Henry, stepping forward and extending his h |
| the hand. | | and. |
| "My aunt has often spoken to me about you. | | "My aunt has often spoken to me about you. |
| n | You are one of her favorites, and, I am afraid, one of her v | n | You are one of her favourites, and, I am afraid, one of her |
| ictims also." | | victims, also." |
| "I am in Lady Agatha's black books at present," answered Dor | | "I am in Lady Agatha's black books at present," answered Dor |
| ian, with a funny look of penitence. | | ian, with a funny look of penitence. |
| n | "I promised to go to her club in Whitechapel with her last T | n | "I promised to go to a club in Whitechapel with her last Tue |
| uesday, and I really forgot all about it. | | sday, and I really forgot all about it. |
| We were to have played a duet together,--three duets, I beli | | We were to have played a duet together- three duets, I belie |
| eve. | | ve. |
| I don't know what she will say to me. | | I don't know what she will say to me. |
| I am far too frightened to call." | | I am far too frightened to call." |
| "Oh, I will make your peace with my aunt. | | "Oh, I will make your peace with my aunt. |
| She is quite devoted to you. | | She is quite devoted to you. |
| And I don't think it really matters about your not being the | | And I don't think it really matters about your not being the |
| re. | | re. |
| The audience probably thought it was a duet. | | The audience probably thought it was a duet. |
| When Aunt Agatha sits down to the piano she makes quite enou | | When Aunt Agatha sits down to the piano she makes quite enou |
| gh noise for two people." | | gh noise for two people." |
| "That is very horrid to her, and not very nice to me," answe | | "That is very horrid to her, and not very nice to me," answe |
| red Dorian, laughing. | | red Dorian, laughing. |
| Lord Henry looked at him. | | Lord Henry looked at him. |
| Yes, he was certainly wonderfully handsome, with his finely- | | Yes, he was certainly wonderfully handsome, with his finely- |
| curved scarlet lips, his frank blue eyes, his crisp gold hai | | curved scarlet lips, his frank blue eyes, his crisp gold hai |
| r. | | r. |
| There was something in his face that made one trust him at o | | There was something in his face that made one trust him at o |
| nce. | | nce. |
| n | All the candor of youth was there, as well as all youth's pa | n | All the candour of youth was there, as well as all youth's p |
| ssionate purity. | | assionate purity. |
| One felt that he had kept himself unspotted from the world. | | One felt that he had kept himself unspotted from the world. |
| No wonder Basil Hallward worshipped him. | | No wonder Basil Hallward worshipped him. |
| n | He was made to be worshipped. | n | |
| "You are too charming to go in for philanthropy, Mr. | | "You are too charming to go in for philanthropy, Mr. |
| n | Gray,--far too charming." | n | Gray- far too charming." |
| And Lord Henry flung himself down on the divan, and opened h | | And Lord Henry flung himself down on the divan, and opened h |
| is cigarette-case. | | is cigarette-case. |
| n | Hallward had been busy mixing his colors and getting his bru | n | The painter had been busy mixing his colours and getting his |
| shes ready. | | brushes ready. |
| He was looking worried, and when he heard Lord Henry's last | | He was looking worried, and when he heard Lord Henry's last |
| remark he glanced at him, hesitated for a moment, and then s | | remark he glanced at him, hesitated for a moment, and then s |
| aid, "Harry, I want to finish this picture to-day. | | aid, "Harry, I want to finish this picture to-day. |
| n | Would you think it awfully rude of me if I asked you to go a | n | Would vou think it awfully rude of me if I asked you to go a |
| way?" Lord Henry smiled, and looked at Dorian Gray. | | way?" Lord Henry smiled, and looked at Dorian Gray. |
| "Am I to go, Mr. | | "Am I to go, Mr. |
| Gray?" he asked. | | Gray?" he asked. |
| "Oh, please don't, Lord Henry. | | "Oh, please don't, Lord Henry. |
| I see that Basil is in one of his sulky moods; and I can't b | | I see that Basil is in one of his sulky moods; and I can't b |
| ear him when he sulks. | | ear him when he sulks. |
| Besides, I want you to tell me why I should not go in for ph | | Besides, I want you to tell me why I should not go in for ph |
| ilanthropy." | | ilanthropy." |
| "I don't know that I shall tell you that, Mr. | | "I don't know that I shall tell you that, Mr. |
| Gray. | | Gray. |
| n | | n | It is so tedious a subject that one would have to talk serio |
| | | usly about it. |
| But I certainly will not run away, now that you have asked m | | But I certainly shall not run away, now that you have asked |
| e to stop. | | me to stop. |
| You don't really mind, Basil, do you? You have often told m | | You don't really mind, Basil, do you? You have often told me |
| e that you liked your sitters to have some one to chat to." | | that you liked your sitters to have some one to chat to." |
| Hallward bit his lip. | | Hallward bit his lip. |
| "If Dorian wishes it, of course you must stay. | | "If Dorian wishes it, of course you must stay. |
| Dorian's whims are laws to everybody, except himself." | | Dorian's whims are laws to everybody, except himself." |
| Lord Henry took up his hat and gloves. | | Lord Henry took up his hat and gloves. |
| "You are very pressing, Basil, but I am afraid I must go. | | "You are very pressing, Basil, but I am afraid I must go. |
| n | I have promised to meet a man at the Orleans.--Good-by, | n | I have promised to meet a man at the Orleans. |
| Mr. | | Good-bye, Mr. |
| Gray. | | Gray. |
| Come and see me some afternoon in Curzon Street. | | Come and see me some afternoon in Curzon Street. |
| I am nearly always at home at five o'clock. | | I am nearly always at home at five o'clock. |
| Write to me when you are coming. | | Write to me when you are coming. |
| I should be sorry to miss you." | | I should be sorry to miss you." |
| n | "Basil," cried Dorian Gray, "if Lord Henry goes I shall go t | n | "Basil," cried Dorian Gray, "if Lord Henry Wotton goes I sha |
| oo. | | ll go too. |
| You never open your lips while you are painting, and it is h | | You never open your lips while you are painting, and it is h |
| orribly dull standing on a platform and trying to look pleas | | orribly dull standing on a platform and trying to look pleas |
| ant. | | ant. |
| Ask him to stay. | | Ask him to stay. |
| I insist upon it." | | I insist upon it." |
| "Stay, Harry, to oblige Dorian, and to oblige me," said Hall | | "Stay, Harry, to oblige Dorian, and to oblige me," said Hall |
| ward, gazing intently at his picture. | | ward, gazing intently at his picture. |
| "It is quite true, I never talk when I am working, and never | | "It is quite true, I never talk when I am working, and never |
| listen either, and it must be dreadfully tedious for my unf | | listen either, and it must be dreadfully tedious for my unf |
| ortunate sitters. | | ortunate sitters. |
| I beg you to stay." | | I beg you to stay." |
| n | "But what about my man at the Orleans?" Hallward laughed. | n | "But what about my man at the Orleans?" The painter laughe |
| | | d. |
| "I don't think there will be any difficulty about that. | | "I don't think there will be any difficulty about that. |
| n | Sit down again, Harry.--And | n | Sit down again, Harry. |
| now, Dorian, get up on the platform, and don't move about to | | And now, Dorian, get up on the platform, and don't move abou |
| o much, or pay any attention to what Lord Henry says. | | t too much, or pay any attention to what Lord Henry says. |
| He has a very bad influence over all his friends, with the e | | He has a very bad influence over all his friends, with the s |
| xception of myself." | | ingle exception of myself." |
| Dorian stepped up on the dais, with the air of a young Greek | | Dorian Gray stepped up on the dais, with the air of a young |
| martyr, and made a little moue of discontent to Lord Henry, | | Greek martyr, and made a little moue of discontent to Lord H |
| to whom he had rather taken a fancy. | | enry, to whom he had rather taken a fancy. |
| He was so unlike Hallward. | | He was so unlike Basil. |
| They made a delightful contrast. | | They made a delightful contrast. |
| And he had such a beautiful voice. | | And he had such a beautiful voice. |
| n | After a few moments he said to him, "Have you really a very | n | After a few moments he said to him, "Have you really a very |
| bad influence, Lord Henry? As bad as Basil says?" "There is | | bad influence, Lord Henry? As bad as Basil says?" "There i |
| no such thing as a good influence, Mr. | | s no such thing as a good influence, Mr. |
| Gray. | | Gray. |
| n | All influence is immoral,--immoral from the scientific point | n | All influence is immoral- immoral from the scientific point |
| of view." | | of view." |
| "Why?" "Because to influence a person is to give him one's o | | "Why?" "Because to influence a person is to give him one's |
| wn soul. | | own soul. |
| He does not think his natural thoughts, or burn with his nat | | He does not think his natural thoughts, or burn with his nat |
| ural passions. | | ural passions. |
| His virtues are not real to him. | | His virtues are not real to him. |
| His sins, if there are such things as sins, are borrowed. | | His sins, if there are such things as sins, are borrowed. |
| He becomes an echo of some one else's music, an actor of a p | | He becomes an echo of some one else's music, an actor of a p |
| art that has not been written for him. | | art that has not been written for him. |
| The aim of life is self-development. | | The aim of life is self-development. |
| n | To realize one's nature perfectly,--that is what each of us | n | To realize one's nature perfectly- that is what each of us i |
| is here for. | | s here for. |
| People are afraid of themselves, nowadays. | | People are afraid of themselves, nowadays. |
| They have forgotten the highest of all duties, the duty that | | They have forgotten the highest of all duties, the duty that |
| one owes to one's self. | | one owes to one's self. |
| Of course they are charitable. | | Of course they are charitable. |
| They feed the hungry, and clothe the beggar. | | They feed the hungry, and clothe the beggar. |
| But their own souls starve, and are naked. | | But their own souls starve, and are naked. |
| Courage has gone out of our race. | | Courage has gone out of our race. |
| Perhaps we never really had it. | | Perhaps we never really had it. |
| n | The terror of society, which is the basis of morals, the ter | n | The terror of society, which is the basis of morals, the ter |
| ror of God, which is the secret of religion,--these are the | | ror of God, which is the secret of religion- these are the t |
| two things that govern us. | | wo things that govern us. |
| And yet--" "Just turn your head a little more to the right, | | And yet--" "Just turn your head a little more to the right |
| Dorian, like a good boy," said Hallward, deep in his work, a | | , Dorian, like a good boy," said the painter, deep in his wo |
| nd conscious only that a look had come into the lad's face t | | rk, and conscious only that a look had come into the lad's f |
| hat he had never seen there before. | | ace that he had never seen there before. |
| "And yet," continued Lord Henry, in his low, musical voice, | | "And yet," continued Lord Henry, in his low, musical voice, |
| and with that graceful wave of the hand that was always so c | | and with that graceful wave of the hand that was always so c |
| haracteristic of him, and that he had even in his Eton days, | | haracteristic of him, and that he had even in his Eton days, |
| "I believe that if one man were to live his life out fully | | "I believe that if one man were to live out his life fully |
| and completely, were to give form to every feeling, expressi | | and completely, were to give form to every feeling, expressi |
| on to every thought, reality to every dream,--I believe that | | on to every thought, reality to every dream- I believe that |
| the world would gain such a fresh impulse of joy that we wo | | the world would gain such a fresh impulse of joy that we wou |
| uld forget all the maladies of mediaevalism, and return to t | | ld forget all the maladies of mediaevalism, and return to th |
| he Hellenic ideal,-- to something finer, richer, than the He | | e Hellenic ideal- to something finer, richer, than the Helle |
| llenic ideal, it may be. | | nic ideal, it may be. |
| But the bravest man among us is afraid of himself. | | But the bravest man amongst us is afraid of himself. |
| The mutilation of the savage has its tragic survival in the | | The mutilation of the savage has its tragic survival in the |
| self-denial that mars our lives. | | self-denial that mars our lives. |
| We are punished for our refusals. | | We are punished for our refusals. |
| Every impulse that we strive to strangle broods in the mind, | | Every impulse that we strive to strangle broods in the mind, |
| and poisons us. | | and poisons us. |
| The body sins once, and has done with its sin, for action is | | The body sins once, and has done with its sin, for action is |
| a mode of purification. | | a mode of purification. |
| Nothing remains then but the recollection of a pleasure, or | | Nothing remains then but the recollection of a pleasure, or |
| the luxury of a regret. | | the luxury of a regret. |
| The only way to get rid of a temptation is to yield to it. | | 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 thi | | Resist it, and your soul grows sick with longing for the thi |
| ngs it has forbidden to itself, with desire for what its mon | | ngs it has forbidden to itself, with desire for what its mon |
| strous laws have made monstrous and unlawful. | | strous laws have made monstrous and unlawful. |
| It has been said that the great events of the world take pla | | It has been said that the great events of the world take pla |
| ce in the brain. | | ce in the brain. |
| It is in the brain, and the brain only, that the great sins | | It is in the brain, and the brain only, that the great sins |
| of the world take place also. | | of the world take place also. |
| You, Mr. | | You, Mr. |
| n | Gray, you yourself, with your rose-red youth and your rose-w | n | Gray, you yourself, with your rose-red youth and your rose-w |
| hite boyhood, you have had passions that have made you afrai | | hite boyhood, you have had passions that have made you afrai |
| d, thoughts that have filled you with terror, day-dreams and | | d, thoughts that have filled you with terror, day-dreams and |
| sleeping dreams whose mere memory might stain your cheek wi | | sleeping dreams whose mere memory might stain your cheek wi |
| th shame--" "Stop!" murmured Dorian Gray, "stop! you bewilde | | th shame-" "Stop!" faltered Dorian Gray, "stop! you bewild |
| r me. | | er me. |
| I don't know what to say. | | I don't know what to say. |
| There is some answer to you, but I cannot find it. | | There is some answer to you, but I cannot find it. |
| Don't speak. | | Don't speak. |
| n | | n | Let me think. |
| Let me think, or, rather, let me try not to think." | | Or, rather, let me try not to think." |
| For nearly ten minutes he stood there motionless, with parte | | For nearly ten minutes he stood there, motionless, with part |
| d lips, and eyes strangely bright. | | ed lips, and eyes strangely bright. |
| He was dimly conscious that entirely fresh impulses were at | | He was dimly conscious that entirely fresh influences were a |
| work within him, and they seemed to him to have come really | | t work within him. |
| from himself. | | |
| The few words that Basil's friend had said to him--words spo | | Yet they seemed to him to have come really from himself. |
| ken by chance, no doubt, and with wilful paradox in them--ha | | |
| d yet touched some secret chord, that had never been touched | | |
| before, but that he felt was now vibrating and throbbing to | | |
| curious pulses. | | |
| | | The few words that Basil's friend had said to him- words spo |
| | | ken by chance, no doubt, and with wilful paradox in them- ha |
| | | d touched some secret chord that had never been touched befo |
| | | re, but that he felt was now vibrating and throbbing to curi |
| | | ous pulses. |
| Music had stirred him like that. | | Music had stirred him like that. |
| Music had troubled him many times. | | Music had troubled him many times. |
| But music was not articulate. | | But music was not articulate. |
| n | It was not a new world, but rather a new chaos, that it crea | n | It was not a new world, but rather another chaos, that it cr |
| ted in us. | | eated in us. |
| Words! Mere words! How terrible they were! How clear, and | | Words! Mere words! How terrible they were! How clear, and vi |
| vivid, and cruel! One could not escape from them. | | vid, and cruel. |
| | | One could not escape from them. |
| | | And yet what a subtle magic there was in them. |
| And yet what a subtle magic there was in them! They seemed t | | They seemed to be able to give a plastic form to formless th |
| o be able to give a plastic form to formless things, and to | | ings, and to have a music of their own as sweet as that of v |
| have a music of their own as sweet as that of viol or of lut | | iol or of lute. |
| e. | | |
| Mere words! Was there anything so real as words? Yes; there | | Mere words! Was there anything so real as words? Yes, ther |
| had been things in his boyhood that he had not understood. | | e had been things in his boyhood that he had not understood. |
| He understood them now. | | He understood them now. |
| n | Life suddenly became fiery-colored to him. | n | Life suddenly had become fiery-coloured to him. |
| It seemed to him that he had been walking in fire. | | It seemed to him that he had been walking in fire. |
| n | Why had he not known it? Lord Henry watched him, with his sa | n | Why had he not known it? With his subtle smile, Lord Henry |
| d smile. | | watched him. |
| He knew the precise psychological moment when to say nothing | | He knew the precise psychological moment when to say nothing |
| . | | . |
| He felt intensely interested. | | He felt intensely interested. |
| n | He was amazed at the sudden impression that his words had pr | n | He was amazed at the sudden impression that his words had pr |
| oduced, and, remembering a book that he had read when he was | | oduced, and, remembering a book that he had read when he was |
| sixteen, which had revealed to him much that he had not kno | | sixteen, a book which had revealed to him much that he had |
| wn before, he wondered whether Dorian Gray was passing throu | | not known before, he wondered whether Dorian Gray was passin |
| gh the same experience. | | g through a similar experience. |
| He had merely shot an arrow into the air. | | He had merely shot an arrow into the air. |
| n | Had it hit the mark? How fascinating the lad was! Hallward | n | Had it hit the mark? How fascinating the lad was! Hallward |
| painted away with that marvellous bold touch of his, that ha | | painted away with that marvellous bold touch of his, that h |
| d the true refinement and perfect delicacy that come only fr | | ad the true refinement and perfect delicacy that in art, at |
| om strength. | | any rate, comes only from strength. |
| He was unconscious of the silence. | | He was unconscious of the silence. |
| "Basil, I am tired of standing," cried Dorian Gray, suddenly | | "Basil, I am tired of standing," cried Dorian Gray, suddenly |
| . | | . |
| "I must go out and sit in the garden. | | "I must go out and sit in the garden. |
| The air is stifling here." | | The air is stifling here." |
| "My dear fellow, I am so sorry. | | "My dear fellow, I am so sorry. |
| When I am painting, I can't think of anything else. | | When I am painting, I can't think of anything else. |
| But you never sat better. | | But you never sat better. |
| You were perfectly still. | | You were perfectly still. |
| n | And I have caught the effect I wanted,--the half-parted lips | n | And I have caught the effect I wanted- the half-parted lips |
| , and the bright look in the eyes. | | and the bright look in the eyes. |
| I don't know what Harry has been saying to you, but he has c | | I don't know what Harry has been saying to you, but he has c |
| ertainly made you have the most wonderful expression. | | ertainly made you have the most wonderful expression. |
| I suppose he has been paying you compliments. | | I suppose he has been paying you compliments. |
| You mustn't believe a word that he says." | | You mustn't believe a word that he says." |
| "He has certainly not been paying me compliments. | | "He has certainly not been paying me compliments. |
| n | Perhaps that is the reason I don't think I believe anything | n | Perhaps that is the reason that I don't believe anything he |
| he has told me." | | has told me." |
| "You know you believe it all," said Lord Henry, looking at h | | "You know you believe it all," said Lord Henry, looking at h |
| im with his dreamy, heavy-lidded eyes. | | im with his dreamy, languorous eyes. |
| "I will go out to the garden with you. | | "I will go out to the garden with you. |
| n | It is horridly hot in the studio.--Basil, | n | It is horribly hot in the studio. |
| let us have something iced to drink, something with strawber | | Basil, let us have something iced to drink, something with s |
| ries in it." | | trawberries in it." |
| "Certainly, Harry. | | "Certainly, Harry. |
| Just touch the bell, and when Parker comes I will tell him w | | Just touch the bell, and when Parker comes I will tell him w |
| hat you want. | | hat you want. |
| I have got to work up this background, so I will join you la | | I have got to work up this background, so I will join you la |
| ter on. | | ter on. |
| Don't keep Dorian too long. | | Don't keep Dorian too long. |
| I have never been in better form for painting than I am to-d | | I have never been in better form for painting than I am to-d |
| ay. | | ay. |
| This is going to be my masterpiece. | | This is going to be my masterpiece. |
| It is my masterpiece as it stands." | | It is my masterpiece as it stands." |
| Lord Henry went out to the garden, and found Dorian Gray bur | | Lord Henry went out to the garden, and found Dorian Gray bur |
| ying his face in the great cool lilac-blossoms, feverishly d | | ying his face in the great cool lilac-blossoms, feverishly d |
| rinking in their perfume as if it had been wine. | | rinking in their perfume as if it had been wine. |
| He came close to him, and put his hand upon his shoulder. | | He came close to him, and put his hand upon his shoulder. |
| "You are quite right to do that," he murmured. | | "You are quite right to do that," he murmured. |
| "Nothing can cure the soul but the senses, just as nothing c | | "Nothing can cure the soul but the senses, just as nothing c |
| an cure the senses but the soul." | | an cure the senses but the soul." |
| The lad started and drew back. | | The lad started and drew back. |
| n | He was bareheaded, and the leaves had tossed his rebellious | n | He was bare-headed, and the leaves had tossed his rebellious |
| curls and tangled all their gilded threads. | | curls and tangled all their gilded threads. |
| There was a look of fear in his eyes, such as people have wh | | There was a look of fear in his eyes, such as people have wh |
| en they are suddenly awakened. | | en they are suddenly awakened. |
| His finely-chiselled nostrils quivered, and some hidden nerv | | His finely-chiselled nostrils quivered, and some hidden nerv |
| e shook the scarlet of his lips and left them trembling. | | e shook the scarlet of his lips and left them trembling. |
| n | "Yes," continued Lord Henry, "that is one of the great secre | n | "Yes," continued Lord Henry, "that is one of the great secre |
| ts of life,-- to cure the soul by means of the senses, and t | | ts of life- to cure the soul by means of the senses, and the |
| he senses by means of the soul. | | senses by means of the soul. |
| You are a wonderful creature. | | You are a wonderful creation. |
| You know more than you think you know, just as you know less | | You know more than you think you know, just as you know less |
| than you want to know." | | than you want to know." |
| Dorian Gray frowned and turned his head away. | | Dorian Gray frowned and turned his head away. |
| He could not help liking the tall, graceful young man who wa | | He could not help liking the tall, graceful young man who wa |
| s standing by him. | | s standing by him. |
| n | His romantic olive-colored face and worn expression interest | n | His romantic olive-coloured face and worn expression interes |
| ed him. | | ted him. |
| There was something in his low, languid voice that was absol | | There was something in his low, languid voice that was absol |
| utely fascinating. | | utely fascinating. |
| His cool, white, flower-like hands, even, had a curious char | | His cool, white, flower-like hands, even, had a curious char |
| m. | | m. |
| They moved, as he spoke, like music, and seemed to have a la | | They moved, as he spoke, like music, and seemed to have a la |
| nguage of their own. | | nguage of their own. |
| But he felt afraid of him, and ashamed of being afraid. | | But he felt afraid of him, and ashamed of being afraid. |
| n | Why had it been left for a stranger to reveal him to himself | n | Why had it been left for a stranger to reveal him to himself |
| ? He had known Basil Hallward for months, but the friendshi | | ? He had known Basil Hallward for months, but the friendship |
| p between then had never altered him. | | between them had never altered him. |
| Suddenly there had come some one across his life who seemed | | Suddenly there had come some one across his life who seemed |
| to have disclosed to him life's mystery. | | to have disclosed to him life's mystery. |
| n | And, yet, what was there to be afraid of? He was not a scho | n | And, yet, what was there to be afraid of? He was not a schoo |
| ol-boy, or a girl. | | lboy or a girl. |
| It was absurd to be frightened. | | It was absurd to be frightened. |
| "Let us go and sit in the shade," said Lord Henry. | | "Let us go and sit in the shade," said Lord Henry. |
| "Parker has brought out the drinks, and if you stay any long | | "Parker has brought out the drinks, and if you stay any long |
| er in this glare you will be quite spoiled, and Basil will n | | er in this glare you will be quite spoiled, and Basil will n |
| ever paint you again. | | ever paint you again. |
| n | You really must not let yourself become sunburnt. | n | You really must not allow yourself to become sunburnt. |
| It would be very unbecoming to you." | | It would be unbecoming." |
| "What does it matter?" cried Dorian, laughing, as he sat dow | | "What can it matter?" cried Dorian Gray, laughing, as he sat |
| n on the seat at the end of the garden. | | down on the seat at the end of the garden. |
| "It should matter everything to you, Mr. | | "It should matter everything to you, Mr. |
| Gray." | | Gray." |
| n | "Why?" "Because you have now the most marvellous youth, and | n | "Why?" "Because you have the most marvellous youth, and yo |
| youth is the one thing worth having." | | uth is the one thing worth having." |
| "I don't feel that, Lord Henry." | | "I don't feel that, Lord Henry." |
| "No, you don't feel it now. | | "No, you don't feel it now. |
| Some day, when you are old and wrinkled and ugly, when thoug | | Some day, when you are old and wrinkled and ugly, when thoug |
| ht has seared your forehead with its lines, and passion bran | | ht has seared your forehead with its lines, and passion bran |
| ded your lips with its hideous fires, you will feel it, you | | ded your lips with its hideous fires, you will feel it, you |
| will feel it terribly. | | will feel it terribly. |
| Now, wherever you go, you charm the world. | | Now, wherever you go, you charm the world. |
| n | | n | Will it always be so?... |
| Will it always be so? "You have a wonderfully beautiful face | | You have a wonderfully beautiful face, Mr. |
| , Mr. | | |
| Gray. | | Gray. |
| Don't frown. | | Don't frown. |
| You have. | | You have. |
| n | And Beauty is a form of Genius,--is higher, indeed, than Gen | n | And Beauty is a form of Genius- is higher, indeed, than Geni |
| ius, as it needs no explanation. | | us, as it needs no explanation. |
| It is one of the great facts of the world, like sunlight, or | | It is of the great facts of the world, like sunlight, or spr |
| spring-time, or the reflection in dark waters of that silve | | ing-time, or the reflection in dark waters of that silver sh |
| r shell we call the moon. | | ell we call the moon. |
| It cannot be questioned. | | It cannot be questioned. |
| It has its divine right of sovereignty. | | It has its divine right of sovereignty. |
| It makes princes of those who have it. | | It makes princes of those who have it. |
| n | You smile? Ah! when you have lost it you won't smile. | n | You smile? Ah! when you have lost it you won't smile.... |
| "People say sometimes that Beauty is only superficial. | | People say sometimes that Beauty is only superficial. |
| That may be so. | | That may be so. |
| n | But at least it is not so superficial as Thought. | n | But at least it is not so superficial as Thought is. |
| To me, Beauty is the wonder of wonders. | | To me, Beauty is the wonder of wonders. |
| It is only shallow people who do not judge by appearances. | | It is only shallow people who do not judge by appearances. |
| n | The true mystery of the world is the visible, not the invisi | n | The true mystery of the world is the visible, not the invisi |
| ble. | | ble.... |
| "Yes, Mr. | | Yes, Mr. |
| Gray, the gods have been good to you. | | Gray, the gods have been good to you. |
| But what the gods give they quickly take away. | | But what the gods give they quickly take away. |
| n | You have only a few years in which really to live. | n | 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 | | When your youth goes, your beauty will go with it, and then |
| you will suddenly discover that there are no triumphs left f | | you will suddenly discover that there are no triumphs left f |
| or you, or have to content yourself with those mean triumphs | | or you, or have to content yourself with those mean triumphs |
| that the memory of your past will make more bitter than def | | that the memory of your past will make more bitter than def |
| eats. | | eats. |
| Every month as it wanes brings you nearer to something dread | | Every month as it wanes brings you nearer to something dread |
| ful. | | ful. |
| Time is jealous of you, and wars against your lilies and you | | Time is jealous of you, and wars against your lilies and you |
| r roses. | | r roses. |
| You will become sallow, and hollow-cheeked, and dull-eyed. | | You will become sallow, and hollow-cheeked, and dull-eyed. |
| n | You will suffer horribly. | n | You will suffer horribly.... |
| "Realize your youth while you have it. | | Ah! realize your youth while you have it. |
| Don't squander the gold of your days, listening to the tedio | | Don't squander the gold of your days, listening to the tedio |
| us, trying to improve the hopeless failure, or giving away y | | us, trying to improve the hopeless failure, or giving away y |
| our life to the ignorant, the common, and the vulgar, which | | our life to the ignorant, the common, and the vulgar. |
| are the aims, the false ideals, of our age. | | |
| | | These are the sickly aims, the false ideals, of our age. |
| Live! Live the wonderful life that is in you! Let nothing b | | Live! Live the wonderful life that is in you! Let nothing be |
| e lost upon you. | | lost upon you. |
| Be always searching for new sensations. | | Be always searching for new sensations. |
| n | Be afraid of nothing. | n | Be afraid of nothing.... |
| "A new hedonism,--that is what our century wants. | | A new Hedonism- that is what our century wants. |
| You might be its visible symbol. | | You might be its visible symbol. |
| With your personality there is nothing you could not do. | | With your personality there is nothing you could not do. |
| n | The world belongs to you for a season. | n | The world belongs to you for a season.... |
| "The moment I met you I saw that you were quite unconscious | | The moment I met you I saw that you were quite unconscious o |
| of what you really are, what you really might be. | | f what you really are, of what you really might be. |
| There was so much about you that charmed me that I felt I mu | | There was so much in you that charmed me that I felt I must |
| st tell you something about yourself. | | tell you something about yourself. |
| I thought how tragic it would be if you were wasted. | | I thought how tragic it would be if you were wasted. |
| n | For there is such a little time that your youth will last,-- | n | For there is such a little time that your youth will last- s |
| such a little time. | | uch a little time. |
| "The common hill-flowers wither, but they blossom again. | | The common hill-flowers wither, but they blossom again. |
| The laburnum will be as golden next June as it is now. | | The laburnum will be as yellow next June as it is now. |
| In a month there will be purple stars on the clematis, and y | | In a month there will be purple stars on the clematis, and y |
| ear after year the green night of its leaves will have its p | | ear after year the green night of its leaves will hold its p |
| urple stars. | | urple stars. |
| But we never get back our youth. | | But we never get back our youth. |
| The pulse of joy that beats in us at twenty, becomes sluggis | | The pulse of joy that beats in us at twenty, becomes sluggis |
| h. | | h. |
| Our limbs fail, our senses rot. | | Our limbs fail, our senses rot. |
| n | We degenerate into hideous puppets, haunted by the memory of | n | We degenerate into hideous puppets, haunted by the memory of |
| the passions of which we were too much afraid, and the exqu | | the passions of which we were too much afraid, and the exqu |
| isite temptations that we did not dare to yield to. | | isite temptations that we had not the courage to yield to. |
| Youth! Youth! There is absolutely nothing in the world but | | Youth! Youth! There is absolutely nothing in the world but y |
| youth!" Dorian Gray listened, open-eyed and wondering. | | outh!" Dorian Gray listened, open-eyed and wondering. |
| The spray of lilac fell from his hand upon the gravel. | | The spray of lilac fell from his hand upon the gravel. |
| A furry bee came and buzzed round it for a moment. | | A furry bee came and buzzed round it for a moment. |
| n | Then it began to scramble all over the fretted purple of the | n | Then it began to scramble all over the oval stellated globe |
| tiny blossoms. | | of its tiny blossoms. |
| He watched it with that strange interest in trivial things t | | He watched it with that strange interest in trivial things t |
| hat we try to develop when things of high import make us afr | | hat we try to develop when things of high import make us afr |
| aid, or when we are stirred by some new emotion, for which w | | aid, or when we are stirred by some new emotion for which we |
| e cannot find expression, or when some thought that terrifie | | cannot find expression, or when some thought that terrifies |
| s us lays sudden siege to the brain and calls on us to yield | | us lays sudden siege to the brain and calls on us to yield. |
| . | | |
| After a time it flew away. | | After a time the bee flew away. |
| He saw it creeping into the stained trumpet of a Tyrian conv | | He saw it creeping into the stained trumpet of a Tyrian conv |
| olvulus. | | olvulus. |
| The flower seemed to quiver, and then swayed gently to and f | | The flower seemed to quiver, and then swayed gently to and f |
| ro. | | ro. |
| n | Suddenly Hallward appeared at the door of the studio, and ma | n | Suddenly the painter appeared at the door of the studio, and |
| de frantic signs for them to come in. | | made staccato signs for them to come in. |
| They turned to each other, and smiled. | | They turned to each other, and smiled. |
| n | "I am waiting," cried Hallward. | n | "I am waiting," he cried. |
| "Do come in. | | "Do come in. |
| The light is quite perfect, and you can bring your drinks." | | The light is quite perfect, and you can bring your drinks." |
| They rose up, and sauntered down the walk together. | | They rose up, and sauntered down the walk together. |
| n | Two green-and- white butterflies fluttered past them, and in | n | Two green-and-white butterflies fluttered past them, and in |
| the pear-tree at the end of the garden a thrush began to si | | the pear-tree at the corner of the garden a thrush began to |
| ng. | | sing. |
| "You are glad you have met me, Mr. | | "You are glad you have met me, Mr. |
| Gray," said Lord Henry, looking at him. | | Gray," said Lord Henry, looking at him. |
| "Yes, I am glad now. | | "Yes, I am glad now. |
| n | I wonder shall I always be glad?" "Always! That is a dreadf | n | I wonder shall I always be glad?" "Always! that is a dread |
| ul word. | | ful word. |
| It makes me shudder when I hear it. | | It makes me shudder when I hear it. |
| Women are so fond of using it. | | Women are so fond of using it. |
| They spoil every romance by trying to make it last forever. | | They spoil every romance by trying to make it last forever. |
| It is a meaningless word, too. | | It is a meaningless word, too. |
| The only difference between a caprice and a life-long passio | | The only difference between a caprice and a life-long passio |
| n is that the caprice lasts a little longer." | | n is that the caprice lasts a little longer." |
| As they entered the studio, Dorian Gray put his hand upon Lo | | As they entered the studio, Dorian Gray put his hand upon Lo |
| rd Henry's arm. | | rd Henry's arm. |
| n | "In that case, let our friendship be a caprice," he murmured | n | "In that case, let our friendship be a caprice," he murmured |
| , flushing at his own boldness, then stepped upon the platfo | | , flushing at his own boldness, then stepped up on the platf |
| rm and resumed his pose. | | orm and resumed his pose. |
| Lord Henry flung himself into a large wicker arm-chair, and | | Lord Henry flung himself into a large wicker arm-chair and w |
| watched him. | | atched him. |
| The sweep and dash of the brush on the canvas made the only | | The sweep and dash of the brush on the canvas made the only |
| sound that broke the stillness, except when Hallward stepped | | sound that broke the stillness, except when, now and then, H |
| back now and then to look at his work from a distance. | | allward stepped back to look at his work from a distance. |
| In the slanting beams that streamed through the open door-wa | | In the slanting beams that streamed through the open doorway |
| y the dust danced and was golden. | | the dust danced and was golden. |
| The heavy scent of the roses seemed to brood over everything | | The heavy scent of the roses seemed to brood over everything |
| . | | . |
| n | After about a quarter of an hour, Hallward stopped painting, | n | After about a quarter of an hour Hallward stopped painting, |
| looked for a long time at Dorian Gray, and then for a long | | looked for a long time at Dorian Gray, and then for a long t |
| time at the picture, biting the end of one of his huge brush | | ime at the picture, biting the end of one of his huge brushe |
| es, and smiling. | | s, and frowning. |
| "It is quite finished," he cried, at last, and stooping down | | "It is quite finished," he cried at last, and stooping down |
| he wrote his name in thin vermilion letters on the left-han | | he wrote his name in long vermilion letters on the left-hand |
| d corner of the canvas. | | corner of the canvas. |
| Lord Henry came over and examined the picture. | | Lord Henry came over and examined the picture. |
| It was certainly a wonderful work of art, and a wonderful li | | It was certainly a wonderful work of art, and a wonderful li |
| keness as well. | | keness as well. |
| n | "My dear fellow, I congratulate you most warmly," he said.-- | n | "My dear fellow, I congratulate you most warmly," he said. |
| "Mr. | | |
| | | "It is the finest portrait of modern times. |
| | | Mr. |
| Gray, come and look at yourself." | | Gray, come over and look at yourself." |
| The lad started, as if awakened from some dream. | | The lad started, as if awakened from some dream. |
| "Is it really finished?" he murmured, stepping down from the | | "Is it really finished?" he murmured, stepping down from the |
| platform. | | platform. |
| n | "Quite finished," said Hallward. | n | "Quite finished," said the painter. |
| "And you have sat splendidly to- day. | | "And you have sat splendidly to-day. |
| I am awfully obliged to you." | | I am awfully obliged to you." |
| "That is entirely due to me," broke in Lord Henry. | | "That is entirely due to me," broke in Lord Henry. |
| "Isn't it, Mr. | | "Isn't it, Mr. |
| n | Gray?" Dorian made no answer, but passed listlessly in front | n | Gray?" Dorian made no answer, but passed listlessly in fro |
| of his picture and turned towards it. | | nt of his picture and turned towards it. |
| When he saw it he drew back, and his cheeks flushed for a mo | | When he saw it he drew back, and his cheeks flushed for a mo |
| ment with pleasure. | | ment with pleasure. |
| A look of joy came into his eyes, as if he had recognized hi | | A look of joy came into his eyes, as if he had recognized hi |
| mself for the first time. | | mself for the first time. |
| n | He stood there motionless, and in wonder, dimly conscious th | n | He stood there motionless and in wonder, dimly conscious tha |
| at Hallward was speaking to him, but not catching the meanin | | t Hallward was speaking to him, but not catching the meaning |
| g of his words. | | of his words. |
| The sense of his own beauty came on him like a revelation. | | The sense of his own beauty came on him like a revelation. |
| He had never felt it before. | | He had never felt it before. |
| Basil Hallward's compliments had seemed to him to be merely | | Basil Hallward's compliments had seemed to him to be merely |
| the charming exaggerations of friendship. | | the charming exaggerations of friendship. |
| He had listened to them, laughed at them, forgotten them. | | He had listened to them, laughed at them, forgotten them. |
| They had not influenced his nature. | | They had not influenced his nature. |
| n | Then had come Lord Henry, with his strange panegyric on yout | n | Then had come Lord Henry Wotton with his strange panegyric o |
| h, his terrible warning of its brevity. | | n youth, his terrible warning of its brevity. |
| That had stirred him at the time, and now, as he stood gazin | | That had stirred him at the time, and now, as he stood gazin |
| g at the shadow of his own loveliness, the full reality of t | | g at the shadow of his own loveliness, the full reality of t |
| he description flashed across him. | | he description flashed across him. |
| n | Yes, there would be a day when his face would be wrinkled an | n | Yes, there would be a day when his face would be wrinkled an |
| d wizen, his eyes dim and colorless, the grace of his figure | | d wizened, his eyes dim and colourless, the grace of his fig |
| broken and deformed. | | ure broken and deformed. |
| The scarlet would pass away from his lips, and the gold stea | | The scarlet would pass away from his lips, and the gold stea |
| l from his hair. | | l from his hair. |
| The life that was to make his soul would mar his body. | | The life that was to make his soul would mar his body. |
| n | He would become ignoble, hideous, and uncouth. | n | He would become dreadful, hideous, and uncouth. |
| As he thought of it, a sharp pang of pain struck like a knif | | As he thought of it, a sharp pang of pain struck through him |
| e across him, and made each delicate fibre of his nature qui | | like a knife, and made each delicate fibre of his nature qu |
| ver. | | iver. |
| His eyes deepened into amethyst, and a mist of tears came ac | | His eyes deepened into amethyst, and across them came a mist |
| ross them. | | of tears. |
| He felt as if a hand of ice had been laid upon his heart. | | He felt as if a hand of ice had been laid upon his heart. |
| n | "Don't you like it?" cried Hallward at last, stung a little | n | "Don't you like it?" cried Hallward at last, stung a little |
| by the lad's silence, and not understanding what it meant. | | by the lad's silence, not understanding what it meant. |
| "Of course he likes it," said Lord Henry. | | "Of course he likes it," said Lord Henry. |
| n | "Who wouldn't like it? It is one of the greatest things in | n | "Who wouldn't like it? It is one of the greatest things in m |
| modern art. | | odern art. |
| I will give you anything you like to ask for it. | | I will give you anything you like to ask for it. |
| I must have it." | | I must have it." |
| "It is not my property, Harry." | | "It is not my property, Harry." |
| n | "Whose property is it?" "Dorian's, of course." | n | "Whose property is it?" "Dorian's, of course," answered th |
| | | e painter. |
| "He is a very lucky fellow." | | "He is a very lucky fellow." |
| "How sad it is!" murmured Dorian Gray, with his eyes still f | | "How sad it is!" murmured Dorian Gray, with his eyes still f |
| ixed upon his own portrait. | | ixed upon his own portrait. |
| n | "How sad it is! I shall grow old, and horrid, and dreadful. | n | "How sad it is! I shall grow old, and horrible, and dreadful |
| | | . |
| But this picture will remain always young. | | But this picture will remain always young. |
| n | It will never be older than this particular day of June. | n | 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 al |
| | | ways 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 t |
| | | hat!" "You would hardly care for such an arrangement, Basi |
| | | l," cried Lord Henry, laughing. |
| . | | |
| . | | |
| If it was only the other way! If it was I who were to be al | | |
| ways young, and the picture that were to grow old! For this | | |
| --for this--I would give everything! Yes, there is nothing i | | |
| n the whole world I would not give!" "You would hardly care | | |
| for that arrangement, Basil," cried Lord Henry, laughing. | | |
| "It would be rather hard lines on you." | | "It would be rather hard lines on your work." |
| "I should object very strongly, Harry." | | "I should object very strongly, Harry," said Hallward. |
| Dorian Gray turned and looked at him. | | Dorian Gray turned and looked at him. |
| "I believe you would, Basil. | | "I believe you would, Basil. |
| You like your art better than your friends. | | You like your art better than your friends. |
| I am no more to you than a green bronze figure. | | I am no more to you than a green bronze figure. |
| Hardly as much, I dare say." | | Hardly as much, I dare say." |
| n | Hallward stared in amazement. | n | The painter stared in amazement. |
| It was so unlike Dorian to speak like that. | | It was so unlike Dorian to speak like that. |
| n | What had happened? He seemed almost angry. | n | What had happened? He seemed quite angry. |
| His face was flushed and his cheeks burning. | | His face was flushed and his cheeks burning. |
| "Yes," he continued, "I am less to you than your ivory Herme | | "Yes," he continued, "I am less to you than your ivory Herme |
| s or your silver Faun. | | s or your silver Faun. |
| You will like them always. | | You will like them always. |
| How long will you like me? Till I have my first wrinkle, I s | | How long will you like me? Till I have my first wrinkle, I s |
| uppose. | | uppose. |
| I know, now, that when one loses one's good looks, whatever | | I know, now, that when one loses one's good looks, whatever |
| they may be, one loses everything. | | they may be, one loses everything. |
| Your picture has taught me that. | | Your picture has taught me that. |
| n | Lord Henry is perfectly right. | n | Lord Henry Wotton is perfectly, right. |
| Youth is the only thing worth having. | | Youth is the only thing worth having. |
| n | When I find that I am growing old, I will kill myself." | n | When I find that I am growing old, I shall kill myself." |
| Hallward turned pale, and caught his hand. | | Hallward turned pale, and caught his hand. |
| n | "Dorian! Dorian!" he cried, "don't talk like that. | n | "Dorian! Dorian!" he cried, "don't talk like that. |
| I have never had such a friend as you, and I shall never hav | | I have never had such a friend as you, and I shall never hav |
| e such another. | | e such another. |
| n | You are not jealous of material things, are you?" "I am jeal | n | You are not jealous of material things, are you?- you who ar |
| ous of everything whose beauty does not die. | | e finer than any of them!" "I am jealous of everything who |
| | | se beauty does not die. |
| I am jealous of the portrait you have painted of me. | | I am jealous of the portrait you have painted of me. |
| n | Why should it keep what I must lose? Every moment that pass | n | Why should it keep what I must lose? Every moment that passe |
| es takes something from me, and gives something to it. | | s takes something from me, and gives something to it. |
| Oh, if it was only the other way! If the picture could chan | | Oh, if it were only the other way! If the picture could chan |
| ge, and I could be always what I am now! Why did you paint | | ge. |
| it? It will mock me some day,--mock me horribly!" The hot | | |
| tears welled into his eyes; he tore his hand away, and, flin | | |
| ging himself on the divan, he buried his face in the cushion | | |
| s, as if he was praying. | | |
| | | and I could be always what I am now! Why did you paint it? I |
| | | t will mock me some day- mock me horribly!" The hot tears we |
| | | lled into his eyes; he tore his hand away, and, flinging him |
| | | self on the divan, he buried his face in the cushions, as th |
| | | ough he was praying. |
| "This is your doing, Harry," said Hallward, bitterly. | | "This is your doing, Harry," said the painter, bitterly. |
| "My doing?" "Yes, yours, and you know it." | | |
| Lord Henry shrugged his shoulders. | | Lord Henry shrugged his shoulders. |
| n | "It is the real Dorian Gray,-- that is all," he answered. | n | "It is the real Dorian Gray- that is all." |
| "It is not." | | "It is not." |
| n | "If it is not, what have I to do with it?" "You should have | n | "If it is not, what have I to do with it?" "You should hav |
| gone away when I asked you." | | e gone away when I asked you," he muttered. |
| "I stayed when you asked me." | | "I stayed when you asked me," was Lord Henry's answer. |
| "Harry, I can't quarrel with my two best friends at once, bu | | "Harry, I can't quarrel with my two best friends at once, bu |
| t between you both you have made me hate the finest piece of | | t between you both you have made me hate the finest piece of |
| work I have ever done, and I will destroy it. | | work I have ever done, and I will destroy it. |
| n | What is it but canvas and color? I will not let it come acr | n | What is it but canvas and colour? I will not let it come acr |
| oss our three lives and mar them." | | oss our three lives and mar them." |
| Dorian Gray lifted his golden head from the pillow, and look | | Dorian Gray lifted his golden head from the pillow, and with |
| ed at him with pallid face and tear-stained eyes, as he walk | | pallid face and tear-stained eyes looked at him, as he walk |
| ed over to the deal painting-table that was set beneath the | | ed over to the deal painting-table that was set beneath the |
| large curtained window. | | high curtained window. |
| What was he doing there? His fingers were straying about am | | What was he doing there? His fingers were straying about amo |
| ong the litter of tin tubes and dry brushes, seeking for som | | ng the litter of tin tubes and dry brushes, seeking for some |
| ething. | | thing. |
| Yes, it was the long palette-knife, with its thin blade of l | | Yes, it was for the long palette-knife, with its thin blade |
| ithe steel. | | of lithe steel. |
| He had found it at last. | | He had found it at last. |
| He was going to rip up the canvas. | | He was going to rip up the canvas. |
| n | With a stifled sob he leaped from the couch, and, rushing ov | n | With a stifled sob the lad leaped from the couch, and, rushi |
| er to Hallward, tore the knife out of his hand, and flung it | | ng over to Hallward, tore the knife out of his hand, and flu |
| to the end of the studio. | | ng it to the end of the studio. |
| "Don't, Basil, don't!" he cried. | | "Don't, Basil, don't!" he cried. |
| n | "It would be murder!" "I am glad you appreciate my work at l | n | "It would be murder!" "I am glad you appreciate my work at |
| ast, Dorian," said Hallward, coldly, when he had recovered f | | last, Dorian," said the painter, coldly, when he had recove |
| rom his surprise. | | red from his surprise. |
| "I never thought you would." | | "I never thought you would." |
| n | "Appreciate it? I am in love with it, Basil. | n | "Appreciate it? I am in love with it, Basil. |
| It is part of myself, I feel that." | | It is part of myself. |
| | | I feel that." |
| "Well, as soon as you are dry, you shall be varnished, and f | | "Well, as soon as you are dry, you shall be varnished, and f |
| ramed, and sent home. | | ramed, and sent home. |
| Then you can do what you like with yourself." | | Then you can do what you like with yourself." |
| And he walked across the room and rang the bell for tea. | | And he walked across the room and rang the bell for tea. |
| n | "You will have tea, of course, Dorian? And so will you, Har | n | "You will have tea, of course, Dorian? And so will you, Harr |
| ry? Tea is the only simple pleasure left to us." | | y? Or do you object to such simple pleasures?" "I adore si |
| | | mple pleasures," said Lord Henry. |
| "I don't like simple pleasures," said Lord Henry. | | "They are the last refuge of the complex. |
| "And I don't like scenes, except on the stage. | | But I don't like scenes, except on the stage. |
| What absurd fellows you are, both of you! I wonder who it w | | What absurd fellows you are, both of you! I wonder who it wa |
| as defined man as a rational animal. | | s defined man as a rational animal. |
| It was the most premature definition ever given. | | It was the most premature definition ever given. |
| Man is many things, but he is not rational. | | Man is many things, but he is not rational. |
| I am glad he is not, after all: though I wish you chaps woul | | I am glad he is not, after all: though I wish you chaps woul |
| d not squabble over the picture. | | d not squabble over the picture. |
| You had much better let me have it, Basil. | | You had much better let me have it, Basil. |
| n | This silly boy doesn't really want it, and I do." | n | This silly boy doesn't really want it, and I really do." |
| "If you let any one have it but me, Basil, I will never forg | | "If you let any one have it but me, Basil, I shall never for |
| ive you!" cried Dorian Gray. | | give you!" cried Dorian Gray; "and I don't allow people to c |
| | | all me a silly boy." |
| "And I don't allow people to call me a silly boy." | | |
| "You know the picture is yours, Dorian. | | "You know the picture is yours, Dorian. |
| I gave it to you before it existed." | | I gave it to you before it existed." |
| "And you know you have been a little silly, Mr. | | "And you know you have been a little silly, Mr. |
| n | Gray, and that you don't really mind being called a boy." | n | Gray, and that you don't really object to being reminded tha |
| | | t you are extremely young." |
| "I should have minded very much this morning, Lord Henry." | | "I should have objected very strongly this morning, Lord Hen |
| | | ry." |
| "Ah! this morning! You have lived since then." | | "Ah! this morning! You have lived since then." |
| There came a knock to the door, and the butler entered with | | There came a knock at the door, and the butler entered with |
| the tea- tray and set it down upon a small Japanese table. | | a laden tea-tray, and set it down upon a small Japanese tabl |
| | | e. |
| There was a rattle of cups and saucers and the hissing of a | | There was a rattle of cups and saucers and the hissing of a |
| fluted Georgian urn. | | fluted Georgian urn. |
| Two globe-shaped china dishes were brought in by a page. | | Two globe-shaped china dishes were brought in by a page. |
| n | Dorian Gray went over and poured the tea out. | n | Dorian Gray went over and poured out the tea. |
| The two men sauntered languidly to the table, and examined w | | The two men sauntered languidly to the table, and examined w |
| hat was under the covers. | | hat was under the covers. |
| "Let us go to the theatre to-night," said Lord Henry. | | "Let us go to the theatre to-night," said Lord Henry. |
| "There is sure to be something on, somewhere. | | "There is sure to be something on, somewhere. |
| n | I have promised to dine at White's, but it is only with an o | n | I have promised to dine at White's, but it is only with an o |
| ld friend, so I can send him a wire and say that I am ill, o | | ld friend, so I can send him a wire to say that I am ill, or |
| r that I am prevented from coming in consequence of a subseq | | that I am prevented from coming in consequence of a subsequ |
| uent engagement. | | ent engagement. |
| I think that would be a rather nice excuse: it would have th | | I think that would be a rather nice excuse: it would have al |
| e surprise of candor." | | l the surprise of candour." |
| "It is such a bore putting on one's dress-clothes," muttered | | "It is such a bore putting on one's dress-clothes," muttered |
| Hallward. | | Hallward. |
| "And, when one has them on, they are so horrid." | | "And, when one has them on, they are so horrid." |
| n | "Yes," answered Lord Henry, dreamily, "the costume of our da | n | "Yes," answered Lord Henry, dreamily, "the costume of the ni |
| y is detestable. | | neteenth century is detestable. |
| It is so sombre, so depressing. | | It is so sombre, so depressing. |
| n | Sin is the only color- element left in modern life." | n | Sin is the only real colour-element left in modern life." |
| "You really must not say things like that before Dorian, Har | | "You really must not say things like that before Dorian, Har |
| ry." | | ry." |
| n | "Before which Dorian? The one who is pouring out tea for us | n | "Before which Dorian? The one who is pouring out tea for us, |
| , or the one in the picture?" "Before either." | | or the one in the picture?" "Before either." |
| "I should like to come to the theatre with you, Lord Henry," | | "I should like to come to the theatre with you, Lord Henry," |
| said the lad. | | said the lad. |
| n | "Then you shall come; and you will come too, Basil, won't yo | n | "Then you shall come; and you will come too, Basil, won't yo |
| u?" "I can't, really. | | u?" "I can't really. |
| I would sooner not. | | I would sooner not. |
| I have a lot of work to do." | | I have a lot of work to do." |
| n | "Well, then, you and I will go alone, Mr. | n | "Well, then, you and I will go, Mr. |
| Gray." | | Gray." |
| "I should like that awfully." | | "I should like that awfully." |
| n | Basil Hallward bit his lip and walked over, cup in hand, to | n | The painter bit his lip and walked over, cup in hand, to the |
| the picture. | | picture. |
| "I will stay with the real Dorian," he said, sadly. | | "I shall stay with the real Dorian," he said, sadly. |
| "Is it the real Dorian?" cried the original of the portrait, | | "Is it the real Dorian?" cried the original of the portrait, |
| running across to him. | | strolling across to him. |
| "Am I really like that?" "Yes; you are just like that." | | "Am I really like that?" "Yes; you are just like that." |
| "How wonderful, Basil!" "At least you are like it in appeara | | "How wonderful, Basil!" "At least you are like it in appea |
| nce. | | rance. |
| But it will never alter," said Hallward. | | But it will never alter," sighed Hallward. |
| "That is something." | | "That is something." |
| n | "What a fuss people make about fidelity!" murmured Lord Henr | n | "What a fuss people make about fidelity!" exclaimed Lord Hen |
| y. | | ry. |
| "And, after all, it is purely a question for physiology. | | "Why, even in love it is purely a question of physiology. |
| It has nothing to do with our own will. | | It has nothing to do with our own will. |
| n | It is either an unfortunate accident, or an unpleasant resul | n | |
| t of temperament. | | |
| Young men want to be faithful, and are not; old men want to | | Young men want to be faithful, and are not; old men want to |
| be faithless, and cannot: that is all one can say." | | be faithless, and cannot: that is all one can say." |
| "Don't go to the theatre to-night, Dorian," said Hallward. | | "Don't go to the theatre to-night, Dorian," said Hallward. |
| "Stop and dine with me." | | "Stop and dine with me." |
| n | "I can't, really." | n | "I can't, Basil." |
| "Why?" "Because I have promised Lord Henry to go with him." | | "Why?" "Because I have promised Lord Henry Wotton to go wi |
| | | th him." |
| "He won't like you better for keeping your promises. | | "He won't like you any better for keeping your promises. |
| He always breaks his own. | | He always breaks his own. |
| I beg you not to go." | | I beg you not to go." |
| Dorian Gray laughed and shook his head. | | Dorian Gray laughed and shook his head. |
| "I entreat you." | | "I entreat you." |
| The lad hesitated, and looked over at Lord Henry, who was wa | | The lad hesitated, and looked over at Lord Henry, who was wa |
| tching them from the tea-table with an amused smile. | | tching them from the tea-table with an amused smile. |
| "I must go, Basil," he answered. | | "I must go, Basil," he answered. |
| n | "Very well," said Hallward; and he walked over and laid his | n | "Very well," said Hallward; and he went over and laid down h |
| cup down on the tray. | | is cup on the tray. |
| "It is rather late, and, as you have to dress, you had bette | | "It is rather late, and, as you have to dress, you had bette |
| r lose no time. | | r lose no time. |
| n | Good-by, Harry; good-by, Dorian. | n | Good-bye, Harry. |
| | | Good-bye, Dorian. |
| Come and see me soon. | | Come and see me soon. |
| Come to-morrow." | | Come to-morrow." |
| "Certainly." | | "Certainly." |
| n | "You won't forget?" "No, of course not." | n | "You won't forget?" "No, of course not," cried Dorian. |
| "And . | | "And... |
| . | | |
| . | | |
| Harry!" "Yes, Basil?" "Remember what I asked you, when in th | | Harry!" "Yes, Basil?" "Remember what I asked you, when w |
| e garden this morning." | | e were in the garden this morning?" "I have forgotten it." |
| "I have forgotten it." | | |
| "I trust you." | | "I trust you." |
| n | "I wish I could trust myself," said Lord Henry, laughing.--" | n | "I wish I could trust myself," said Lord Henry, laughing. |
| Come, | | |
| | | "Come, Mr. |
| | | Gray, my hansom is outside, and I can drop you at your own p |
| | | lace. |
| | | Good-bye, Basil. |
| | | It has been a most interesting afternoon." |
| | | As the door closed behind them, the painter flung himself do |
| | | wn on a sofa, and a look of pain came into his face. |
| | | CHAPTER III At half-past twelve next day Lord Henry Wotton |
| | | strolled from Curzon Street over to the Albany to call on h |
| | | is uncle, Lord Fermor, a genial if somewhat rough-mannered o |
| | | ld bachelor, whom the outside world called selfish because i |
| | | t derived no particular benefit from him, but who was consid |
| | | ered generous by Society as he fed the people who amused him |
| | | . |
| | | His father had been our ambassador at Madrid when Isabella w |
| | | as young, and Prim unthought of, but had retired from the Di |
| | | plomatic Service in a capricious moment of annoyance on not |
| | | being offered the Embassy at Paris, a post to which he consi |
| | | dered that he was fully entitled by reason of his birth, his |
| | | indolence, the good English of his despatches, and his inor |
| | | dinate passion for pleasure. |
| | | The son, who had been his father's secretary, had resigned a |
| | | long with his chief, somewhat foolishly as was thought at th |
| | | e time, and on succeeding some months later to the title, ha |
| | | d 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 chamb |
| | | ers as it was less trouble, and took most of his meals at hi |
| | | s club. |
| | | He paid some attention to the management of his collieries i |
| | | n the Midland counties, excusing himself for this taint of i |
| | | ndustry on the ground that the one advantage of having coal |
| | | was that it enabled a gentleman to afford the decency of bur |
| | | ning wood on his own hearth. |
| | | In politics he was a Tory, except when the Tories were in of |
| | | fice, 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 tha |
| | | t the country was going to the dogs. |
| | | His principles were out of date, but there was a good deal t |
| | | o be said for his prejudices. |
| | | When Lord Henry entered the room, he found his uncle sitting |
| | | in a rough shooting coat, smoking a cheroot and grumbling o |
| | | ver The Times. |
| | | "Well, Harry," said the old gentleman, "what brings you out |
| | | so early? I thought you dandies never got up until two, and |
| | | were not visible until 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 c |
| | | oat; "and when they grow older they know it. |
| | | But I don't want money. |
| | | It is only people who pay their bills who want that, Uncle G |
| | | eorge, and I never pay mine. |
| | | Credit is the capital of a younger son, and one lives charmi |
| | | ngly upon it. |
| | | Besides, I always deal with Dartmoor's tradesmen, and conseq |
| | | uently they never bother me. |
| | | What I want is information; not useful information, of cours |
| | | e; useless information." |
| | | "Well, I can tell you anything that is in an English Blue-bo |
| | | ok, Harry, although those fellows nowadays write a lot of no |
| | | nsense. |
| | | When I was in the Diplomatic, things were much better. |
| | | But I hear they let them in now by examination. |
| | | What can you expect? Examinations, sir, are pure humbug from |
| | | beginning to end. |
| | | If a man is a gentleman, he knows quite enough, and if he is |
| | | not a gentleman, whatever he knows is bad for him." |
| | | "Mr. |
| | | Dorian Gray does not belong to Blue-books, Uncle George," sa |
| | | id Lord Henry, languidly. |
| | | "Mr. |
| | | Dorian Gray? Who is he?" asked Lord Fermor, knitting his bus |
| | | hy white eyebrows. |
| | | "That is what I have come to learn, Uncle George. |
| | | Or rather, I know who, he is. |
| | | He is the last Lord Kelso's grandson. |
| | | His mother was a Devereux, Lady Margaret Devereux. |
| | | I want you to tell me about his mother. |
| | | What was she like? Whom did she marry? You have known nearly |
| | | everybody in your time, so you might have known her. |
| | | I am very much interested in Mr. |
| | | Gray at present. |
| | | I have only just met him." |
| | | "Kelso's grandson!" echoed the old gentleman. |
| | | "Kelso's grandson!... |
| | | Of course.... |
| | | I knew his mother intimately. |
| | | I believe I was at her christening. |
| | | She was an extraordinarily beautiful girl, Margaret Devereux |
| | | , and made all the men frantic by running away with a pennil |
| | | ess 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 b |
| | | rute, to insult his son-in-law in public, paid him, sir, to |
| | | do it, paid him, and that the fellow spitted his man as if h |
| | | e 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 n |
| | | ever 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 a boy is he? If he is like his mother he must b |
| | | e a good-looking chap." |
| | | "He is very good-looking," assented Lord Henry. |
| | | "I hope he will fall into proper hands," continued the old m |
| | | an. |
| | | "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 alw |
| | | ays quarrelling with the cabmen about their fares. |
| | | They made quite a story of it. |
| | | I didn't dare show my face at Court for a month. |
| | | I hope he treated his grandson better than he did the jarvie |
| | | s." |
| | | "I don't know," answered Lord Henry. |
| | | "I fancy that the boy will be well off. |
| | | He is not of age yet. |
| | | He has Selby, I know. |
| | | He told me so. |
| | | And... |
| | | his mother was very beautiful?" "Margaret Devereux was one |
| | | of the loveliest creatures I ever saw, Harry. |
| | | What on earth induced her to behave as she did, I never coul |
| | | d understand. |
| | | She could have married anybody she chose. |
| | | Carlington was mad after her. |
| | | She was romantic though. |
| | | All the women of that family were. |
| | | The men were a poor lot, but, egad! the women were wonderful |
| | | . |
| | | Carlington went on his knees to her. |
| | | Told me so himself. |
| | | She laughed at him, and there wasn't a girl in London at the |
| | | time who wasn't after him. |
| | | And by the way, Harry, talking about silly marriages, what i |
| | | s this humbug your father tells me about Dartmoor wanting to |
| | | marry an American? Ain't English girls good enough for him? |
| | | " "It is rather fashionable to marry Americans just now, U |
| | | ncle George." |
| | | "I'll back English women against the world, Harry," said Lor |
| | | d Fermor, striking the table with his fist. |
| | | "The betting is on the Americans." |
| | | "They don't last, I am told," muttered his uncle. |
| | | "A long engagement exhausts them, but they are capital at a |
| | | steeplechase. |
| | | They take things flying. |
| | | I don't think Dartmoor has a chance." |
| | | "Who are her people?" grumbled the old gentleman. |
| | | "Has she got any?" Lord Henry shook his head. |
| | | "American girls are as clever at concealing their parents, a |
| | | s English women are at concealing their past," he said, risi |
| | | ng to go. |
| | | "They are pork-packers, I suppose?" "I hope so, Uncle Geor |
| | | ge, for Dartmoor's sake. |
| | | I am told that pork-packing is the most lucrative profession |
| | | in America, after politics." |
| | | "Is she pretty?" "She behaves as if she was beautiful. |
| | | Most American women do. |
| | | It is the secret of their charm." |
| | | "Why can't these American women stay in their own country? T |
| | | hey are always telling us that it is the Paradise for women. |
| | | " |
| | | "It is. |
| | | That is the reason why, like Eve, they are so excessively an |
| | | xious to get out of it," said Lord Henry. |
| | | "Good-bye, Uncle George. |
| | | I shall be late for lunch, if I stop any longer. |
| | | Thanks for giving me the information I wanted. |
| | | I always like to know everything about my new friends, and n |
| | | othing about my old ones." |
| | | "Where are you lunching, Harry?" "At Aunt Agatha's. |
| | | I have asked myself and Mr. |
| | | Gray. |
| | | He is her latest protege." |
| | | "Humph! Tell your Aunt Agatha, Harry, not to bother me with |
| | | any more of her charity appeals. |
| | | I am sick of them. |
| | | Why, the good woman thinks that I have nothing to do but wri |
| | | te cheques for her silly fads." |
| | | "All right, Uncle George, I'll tell her, but it won't have a |
| | | ny effect. |
| | | Philanthropic people lose all sense of humanity. |
| | | It is their distinguishing characteristic." |
| | | The old gentleman growled approvingly, and rang the bell for |
| | | his servant. |
| | | Lord Henry passed up the low arcade into Burlington Street, |
| | | and turned his steps in the direction of Berkeley Square. |
| | | So that was the story of Dorian Gray's parentage. |
| | | Crudely as it had been told to him, it had yet stirred him b |
| | | y 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, treach |
| | | erous 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 somethi |
| | | ng tragic. |
| | | Worlds had to be in travail, that the meanest flower might b |
| | | low.... |
| | | 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 s |
| | | taining to a richer rose the wakening wonder of his face. |
| | | Talking to him was like playing upon an exquisite violin. |
| | | He answered to every touch and thrill of the bow.... |
| | | There was something terribly enthralling in the exercise of |
| | | influence. |
| | | No other activity was like it. |
| | | To project one's soul into some gracious form, and let it ta |
| | | rry there for a moment; to hear one's own intellectual views |
| | | echoed back to one with all the added music of passion and |
| | | youth; to convey one's temperament into another as though it |
| | | were a subtle fluid or a strange perfume: there was a real |
| | | joy in that- perhaps the most satisfying joy left to us in a |
| | | n age so limited and vulgar as our own, an age grossly carna |
| | | l in its pleasures, and grossly common in its aims.... |
| | | He was a marvellous type, too, this lad, whom by so curious |
| | | a chance he had met in Basil's studio, or could be fashioned |
| | | into a marvellous type, at any rate. |
| | | Grace was his, and the white purity of boyhood, and beauty s |
| | | uch as old Greek marbles have 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 interesti |
| | | ng he was! The new manner in art, the fresh mode of looking |
| | | at life, suggested so strangely by the merely visible presen |
| | | ce of one who was unconscious of it all; the silent spirit t |
| | | hat dwelt in dim woodland, and walked unseen in open field, |
| | | suddenly showing herself, Dryad-like and not afraid, because |
| | | in his soul who sought for her there had been awakened that |
| | | wonderful vision to which alone are wonderful things reveal |
| | | ed; the mere shapes and patterns of things becoming, as it w |
| | | ere, refined, and gaining a kind of symbolical value, as tho |
| | | ugh they were themselves patterns of some other and more per |
| | | fect form whose shadow they made real: how strange it all wa |
| | | s! He remembered something like it in history. |
| | | Was it not Plato, that artist in thought, who had first anal |
| | | yzed it? Was it not Buonarotti who had carved it in the colo |
| | | ured marbles of a sonnet-sequence? But in our own country 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 wonder |
| | | ful portrait. |
| | | He would seek to dominate him- had already, indeed, half don |
| | | e so. |
| | | He would make that wonderful spirit his own. |
| | | There was something fascinating in this son of Love and Deat |
| | | h. |
| | | Suddenly he stopped, and glanced up at the houses. |
| | | He found that he had passed his aunt's some distance, and sm |
| | | iling to himself, turned back. |
| | | When he entered the somewhat sombre hall the butler told him |
| | | that they had gone in to lunch. |
| | | He gave one of the footmen his hat and stick and passed into |
| | | the dining-room. |
| | | "Late as usual, Harry," cried his aunt, shaking her head at |
| | | him. |
| | | He invented a facile excuse, and having taken the vacant sea |
| | | t next to her, looked round to see who was there. |
| | | Dorian bowed to him shyly from the end of the table, a flush |
| | | of pleasure stealing into his cheek. |
| | | Opposite was the Duchess of Harley, a lady of admirable good |
| | | -nature and good temper, much liked by every one who knew he |
| | | r, and of those ample architectural proportions that in wome |
| | | n who are not Duchesses are described by contemporary histor |
| | | ians 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 th |
| | | e Tories, and thinking with the Liberals, in accordance with |
| | | a wise and well-known rule. |
| | | The post on her left was occupied by Mr. |
| | | Erskine of Treadley, an old gentleman of considerable charm |
| | | and culture, who had fallen, however, into bad habits of sil |
| | | ence, having, as he explained once to Lady Agatha, said ever |
| | | ything that he had to say before he was thirty. |
| | | His own neighbour was Mrs. |
| | | Vandeleur, one of his aunt's oldest friends, a perfect saint |
| | | amongst women, but so dreadfully dowdy that she reminded on |
| | | e of a badly bound hymn book. |
| | | Fortunately for him she had on the other side Lord Faudel, a |
| | | most intelligent middle-aged mediocrity, as bad as a Minist |
| | | erial statement in the House of Commons, with whom she was c |
| | | onversing in that intensely earnest manner which is the one |
| | | unpardonable error, as he remarked once himself, that all re |
| | | ally 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 pe |
| | | rson?" "I believe she has made up her mind to propose to h |
| | | im, Duchess." |
| | | "How dreadful!" exclaimed Lady Agatha. |
| | | "Really, some one should interfere." |
| | | "I am told, on excellent authority, that her father keeps an |
| | | American dry-goods store," said Sir Thomas Burdon, looking |
| | | supercilious. |
| | | "My uncle has already suggested pork-packing, Sir Thomas." |
| | | "Dry-goods! What are American dry-goods?" asked the Duchess, |
| | | raising her large hands in wonder, and accentuating the ver |
| | | b. |
| | | "American novels," answered Lord Henry, helping himself to s |
| | | ome quail. |
| | | The Duchess looked puzzled. |
| | | "Don't mind him, my dear," whispered Lady Agatha. |
| | | "He never means anything that he says." |
| | | "When America was discovered," said the Radical member, and |
| | | he began to give some wearisome facts. |
| | | Like all people who try to exhaust a subject, he exhausted h |
| | | is listeners. |
| | | The Duchess sighed, and exercised her privilege of interrupt |
| | | ion. |
| | | "I wish to goodness it never had been discovered at all!" sh |
| | | e exclaimed. |
| | | "Really, our girls have no chance nowadays. |
| | | It is most unfair." |
| | | "Perhaps, after all, America never has been discovered," sai |
| | | d Mr. |
| | | Erskine; "I myself would say that it had merely been detecte |
| | | d." |
| | | "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," ch |
| | | uckled Sir Thomas, who had a large wardrobe of Humour's cast |
| | | -off clothes. |
| | | "Really! And where do bad Americans go when they die?" inqui |
| | | red the Duchess. |
| | | "They go to America," murmured Lord Henry. |
| | | Sir Thomas frowned. |
| | | "I am afraid that your nephew is prejudiced against that gre |
| | | at country," he said to Lady Agatha. |
| | | "I have travelled all over it, in cars provided by the direc |
| | | tors, 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?" as |
| | | ked Mr. |
| | | Erskine, plaintively. |
| | | "I don't feel up to the journey." |
| | | Sir Thomas waved his hand. |
| | | "Mr. |
| | | Erskine of Treadley has the world on his shelves. |
| | | We practical men like to see things, not to read about them. |
| | | The Americans are an extremely interesting people. |
| | | They are absolutely reasonable. |
| | | I think that is their distinguishing characteristic. |
| | | Yes, Mr. |
| | | Erskine, an absolutely reasonable people. |
| | | I assure you there is no nonsense about the Americans." |
| | | "How dreadful!" cried Lord Henry. |
| | | "I can stand brute force, but brute reason is quite unbearab |
| | | le. |
| | | There is something unfair about its use. |
| | | It is hitting below the intellect." |
| | | "I do not understand you," said Sir Thomas, growing rather r |
| | | ed. |
| | | "I do, Lord Henry," murmured Mr. |
| | | Erskine, with a smile. |
| | | "Paradoxes are all very well in their way..." |
| | | rejoined the Baronet. |
| | | "Was that a paradox?" asked Mr. |
| | | Erskine. |
| | | "I did not think so. |
| | | Perhaps it was. |
| | | Well, the way of paradoxes is the way of truth. |
| | | To test Reality we must see it on the tight-rope. |
| | | When the Verities become acrobats we can judge them." |
| | | "Dear me!" said Lady Agatha, "how you men argue! I am sure I |
| | | never can make out what you are talking about. |
| | | Oh! Harry, I am quite vexed with you. |
| | | Why do you try to persuade our nice Mr. |
| | | Dorian Gray to give up the East End? I assure you he would b |
| | | e quite invaluable. |
| | | They would love his playing." |
| | | "I want him to play to me," cried Lord Henry, smiling, and h |
| | | e looked down the table and caught a bright answering glance |
| | | . |
| | | "But they are so unhappy in Whitechapel," continued Lady Aga |
| | | tha. |
| | | "I can sympathize with everything, except suffering," said L |
| | | ord Henry, shrugging his shoulders. |
| | | "I cannot sympathize with that. |
| | | It is too ugly, too horrible, too distressing. |
| | | There is something terribly morbid in the modern sympathy wi |
| | | th pain. |
| | | One should sympathize with the colour, the beauty, the joy o |
| | | f life. |
| | | The less said about life's sores the better." |
| | | "Still, the East End is a very important problem," remarked |
| | | Sir Thomas, with a grave shake of the head. |
| | | "Quite so," answered the young lord. |
| | | "It is the problem of slavery, and we try to solve it by amu |
| | | sing the slaves." |
| | | The politician looked at him keenly. |
| | | "What change do you propose, then?" he asked. |
| | | Lord Henry laughed. |
| | | "I don't desire to change anything in England except the wea |
| | | ther," he answered. |
| | | "I am quite content with philosophic contemplation. |
| | | But, as the nineteenth century has gone bankrupt through an |
| | | over-expenditure of sympathy, I would suggest that we should |
| | | appeal to Science to put us straight. |
| | | The advantage of the emotions is that they lead us astray, a |
| | | nd the advantage of Science is that it is not emotional." |
| | | "But we have such grave responsibilities," ventured Mrs. |
| | | Vandeleur, timidly. |
| | | "Terribly grave," echoed Lady Agatha. |
| | | Lord Henry looked over at Mr. |
| | | Erskine. |
| | | "Humanity takes itself too seriously. |
| | | It is the world's original sin. |
| | | If the caveman had known how to laugh; History would have be |
| | | en different." |
| | | "You are really very comforting," warbled the Duchess. |
| | | "I have always felt rather guilty when I came to see your de |
| | | ar 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 witho |
| | | ut 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 sig |
| | | n. |
| | | 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 t |
| | | able. |
| | | "A great many, I fear," she cried. |
| | | "Then commit them over again," he said, gravely. |
| | | "To get back one's youth, one has merely to repeat one's fol |
| | | lies." |
| | | "A delightful theory!" she exclaimed. |
| | | "I must put it into practice." |
| | | "A dangerous theory," came from Sir Thomas's tight lips. |
| | | Lady Agatha shook her head, but could not help being amused. |
| Mr. | | Mr. |
| n | Gray, my hansom is outside, and I can drop you at your own p | n | Erskine listened. |
| lace.-- | | |
| Good-by, Basil. | | "Yes," he continued, "that is one of the great secrets of li |
| | | fe. |
| It has been a most interesting afternoon." | | Nowadays most people die of a sort of creeping common sense, |
| | | and discover when it is too late that the only things one n |
| | | ever regrets are one's mistakes." |
| As the door closed behind them, Hallward flung himself down | | A laugh ran round the room. |
| on a sofa, and a look of pain came into his face. | | |
| | | He played with the idea, and grew wilful; tossed it into the |
| | | air and transformed it; let it escape and recaptured it; ma |
| | | de it iridescent with fancy, and winged it with paradox. |
| | | The praise of folly, as he went on, soared into a philosophy |
| | | , and Philosophy herself became young, and catching the mad |
| | | music of Pleasure, wearing, one might fancy, her wine-staine |
| | | d robe and wreath of ivy, danced like a Bacchante over the h |
| | | ills of life, and mocked the slow Silenus for being sober. |
| | | Facts fled before her like frightened forest things. |
| | | Her white feet trod the huge press at which wise Omar sits, |
| | | till the seething grape-juice rose round her bare limbs in w |
| | | aves of purple bubbles, or crawled in red foam over the vat' |
| | | s black, dripping, sloping sides. |
| | | It was an extraordinary improvisation. |
| | | He felt that the eyes of Dorian Gray were fixed on him, and |
| | | the consciousness that amongst his audience there was one wh |
| | | ose temperament he wished to fascinate, seemed to give his w |
| | | it keenness, and to lend colour to his imagination. |
| | | He was brilliant, fantastic, irresponsible. |
| | | He charmed his listeners out of themselves, and they followe |
| | | d his pipe laughing. |
| | | Dorian Gray never took his gaze off him, but sat like one un |
| | | der a spell, smiles chasing each other over his lips, and wo |
| | | nder 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 so |
| | | me absurd meeting at Willis's Rooms, where he is going to be |
| | | in the chair. |
| | | If I am late he is sure to be furious, and I couldn't have a |
| | | scene in this bonnet. |
| | | It is far too fragile. |
| | | A harsh word would ruin it. |
| | | No, I must go, dear Agatha. |
| | | Good-bye, Lord Henry, you are quite delightful, and dreadful |
| | | ly demoralizing. |
| | | I am sure I don't know what to say about your views. |
| | | You must come and dine with us some night. |
| | | Tuesday,? Are you disengaged Tuesday?" "For you I would th |
| | | row 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 b |
| | | y Lady Agatha and the other ladies. |
| | | When Lord Henry had sat down again, Mr. |
| | | Erskine moved round, and taking a chair close to him, placed |
| | | his hand upon his arm. |
| | | "You talk books away," he said; "why don't you write one?" |
| | | "I am too fond of reading books to care to write them, Mr. |
| | | Erskine. |
| | | I should like to write a novel certainly, a novel that would |
| | | be as lovely as a Persian carpet and as unreal. |
| | | But there is no literary public in England for anything exce |
| | | pt newspapers, primers, and encyclopaedies. |
| | | 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 u |
| | | p 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 u |
| | | s at lunch?" "I quite forget what I said," smiled Lord Hen |
| | | ry. |
| | | "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 bein |
| | | g 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 Treadle |
| | | y, and expound to me your philosophy of pleasure over some a |
| | | dmirable 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 c |
| | | ourteous bow. |
| | | "And now I must bid good-bye to your excellent aunt. |
| | | I am due at the Athenaeum. |
| | | It is the hour when we sleep there." |
| | | "All of you, Mr. |
| | | Erskine?" "Forty of us, in forty arm-chairs. |
| | | We are practising for an English Academy of Letters." |
| | | Lord Henry laughed, and rose. |
| | | "I am going to the Park," he cried. |
| | | As he was passing out of the door Dorian Gray touched him on |
| | | the arm. |
| | | "Let me come with you," he murmured. |
| | | "But I thought you had promised Basil Hallward to go and see |
| | | him," answered Lord Henry. |
| | | "I would sooner come with you; yes, I feel I must come with |
| | | you. |
| | | Do let me. |
| | | And you will promise to talk to me all the time? No one talk |
| | | s so wonderfully as you do." |
| | | "Ah! I have talked quite enough for to-day," said Lord Henry |
| | | , smiling. |
| | | "All I want now is to look at life. |
| | | You may come and look at it with me, if you care to." |
| CHAPTER III One afternoon, a month later, Dorian Gray was re | | CHAPTER IV One afternoon, a month later, Dorian Gray was r |
| clining in a luxurious arm-chair, in the little library of L | | eclining in a luxurious arm-chair, in the little library of |
| ord Henry's house in Curzon Street. | | Lord Henry's house in Mayfair. |
| It was, in its way, a very charming room, with its high pane | | It was, in its way, a very charming room, with its high pane |
| lled wainscoting of olive-stained oak, its cream-colored fri | | lled wainscoting of olive-stained oak, its cream-coloured fr |
| eze and ceiling of raised plaster-work, and its brick-dust f | | ieze and ceiling of raised plaster-work, and its brick-dust |
| elt carpet strewn with long-fringed silk Persian rugs. | | felt carpet strewn with silk long-fringed Persian rugs. |
| On a tiny satinwood table stood a statuette by Clodion, and | | On a tiny satinwood table stood a statuette by Clodion, and |
| beside it lay a copy of "Les Cent Nouvelles," bound for Marg | | beside it lay a copy of "Les Cent Nouvelles," bound for Marg |
| aret of Valois by Clovis Eve, and powdered with the gilt dai | | aret of Valois by Clovis Eve, and powdered with the gilt dai |
| sies that the queen had selected for her device. | | sies that Queen had selected for her device. |
| Some large blue china jars, filled with parrot- tulips, were | | Some large blue china jars and parrot-tulips were ranged on |
| ranged on the mantel-shelf, and through the small leaded pa | | the mantelshelf, and through the small leaded panes of the w |
| nes of the window streamed the apricot-colored light of a su | | indow streamed the apricot-coloured light of a summer day in |
| mmer's day in London. | | London. |
| Lord Henry had not come in yet. | | Lord Henry had not yet come in. |
| He was always late on principle, his principle being that pu | | He was always late on principle, his principle being that pu |
| nctuality is the thief of time. | | nctuality is the thief of time. |
| So the lad was looking rather sulky, as with listless finger | | So the lad was looking rather sulky, as with listless finger |
| s he turned over the pages of an elaborately-illustrated edi | | s he turned over the pages of an elaborately-illustrated edi |
| tion of "Manon Lescaut" that he had found in one of the book | | tion of "Manon Lescaut" that he had found in one of the book |
| cases. | | cases. |
| The formal monotonous ticking of the Louis Quatorze clock an | | The formal monotonous ticking of the Louis Quatorze clock an |
| noyed him. | | noyed him. |
| Once or twice he thought of going away. | | Once or twice he thought of going away. |
| n | At last he heard a light step outside, and the door opened. | n | At last he heard a step outside, and the door opened. |
| "How late you are, Harry!" he murmured. | | "How late you are, Harry!" he murmured. |
| "I am afraid it is not Harry, Mr. | | "I am afraid it is not Harry, Mr. |
| n | Gray," said a woman's voice. | n | Gray," answered a shrill voice. |
| He glanced quickly round, and rose to his feet. | | He glanced quickly round, and rose to his feet. |
| "I beg your pardon. | | "I beg your pardon. |
| n | I thought--" "You thought it was my husband. | n | I thought--" "You thought it was my husband. |
| It is only his wife. | | It is only his wife. |
| You must let me introduce myself. | | You must let me introduce myself. |
| I know you quite well by your photographs. | | I know you quite well by your photographs. |
| n | I think my husband has got twenty-seven of them." | n | I think my husband has got seventeen of them." |
| "Not twenty-seven, Lady Henry?" "Well, twenty-six, then. | | "Not seventeen, Lady Henry?" "Well, eighteen, then. |
| And I saw you with him the other night at the Opera." | | And I saw you with him the other night at the Opera." |
| n | She laughed nervously, as she spoke, and watched him with he | n | She laughed nervously as she spoke, and watched him with her |
| r vague forget-me-not eyes. | | vague forget-me-not eyes. |
| She was a curious woman, whose dresses always looked as if t | | She was a curious woman, whose dresses always looked as if t |
| hey had been designed in a rage and put on in a tempest. | | hey had been designed in a rage and put on in a tempest. |
| n | She was always in love with somebody, and, as her passion wa | n | She was usually in love with somebody, and, as her passion w |
| s never returned, she had kept all her illusions. | | as never returned, she had kept all her illusions. |
| She tried to look picturesque, but only succeeded in being u | | She tried to look picturesque, but only succeeded in being u |
| ntidy. | | ntidy. |
| Her name was Victoria, and she had a perfect mania for going | | Her name was Victoria, and she had a perfect mania for going |
| to church. | | to church. |
| n | "That was at 'Lohengrin,' Lady Henry, I think?" "Yes; it was | n | "That was at 'Lohengrin,' Lady Henry, I think?" "Yes; it w |
| at dear 'Lohengrin.' | | as at dear 'Lohengrin.' |
| I like Wagner's music better than any other music. | | I like Wagner's music better than anybody's. |
| It is so loud that one can talk the whole time, without peop | | It is so loud that one can talk the whole time without other |
| le hearing what one says. | | people hearing what one says. |
| That is a great advantage: don't you think so, Mr. | | That is a great advantage: don't you think so, Mr. |
| n | Gray?" The same nervous staccato laugh broke from her thin l | n | Gray?" The same nervous staccato laugh broke from her thin |
| ips, and her fingers began to play with a long paper-knife. | | lips, and her fingers began to play with a long tortoise-sh |
| | | ell paper-knife. |
| Dorian smiled, and shook his head: "I am afraid I don't thin | | Dorian smiled, and shook his head: "I am afraid I don't thin |
| k so, Lady Henry. | | k so, Lady Henry. |
| n | I never talk during music,--at least during good music. | n | I never talk during music- at least, during good music. |
| If one hears bad music, it is one's duty to drown it by conv | | If one hears bad music, it is one's duty to drown it in conv |
| ersation." | | ersation." |
| "Ah! that is one of Harry's views, isn't it, Mr. | | "Ah! that is one of Harry's views, isn't it, Mr. |
| n | | n | Gray? I always hear Harry's views from his friends. |
| | | It is the only way I get to know of them. |
| Gray? But you must not think I don't like good music. | | But you must not think I don't like good music. |
| I adore it, but I am afraid of it. | | I adore it, but I am afraid of it. |
| It makes me too romantic. | | It makes me too romantic. |
| n | I have simply worshipped pianists,-- two at a time, sometime | n | I have simply worshipped pianists- two at a time, sometimes, |
| s. | | Harry tells me. |
| I don't know what it is about them. | | I don't know what it is about them. |
| Perhaps it is that they are foreigners. | | Perhaps it is that they are foreigners. |
| n | They all are, aren't they? Even those that are born in Engla | n | They all are, ain't they? Even those that are born in Englan |
| nd become foreigners after a time, don't they? It is so cle | | d become foreigners after a time, don't they? It is so cleve |
| ver of them, and such a compliment to art. | | r of them, and such a compliment to art. |
| Makes it quite cosmopolitan, doesn't it? You have never bee | | Makes it quite cosmopolitan, doesn't it? You have never been |
| n to any of my parties, have you, Mr. | | to any of my parties, have you, Mr. |
| Gray? You must come. | | Gray? You must come. |
| I can't afford orchids, but I spare no expense in foreigners | | I can't afford orchids, but I spare no expense in foreigners |
| . | | . |
| They make one's rooms look so picturesque. | | They make one's rooms look so picturesque. |
| n | But here is Harry!--Harry, I came in to look for you, to ask | n | But here is Harry!- Harry, I came in to look for you, to ask |
| you something,--I forget what it was,--and I found Mr. | | you something- I forget what it was- and I found Mr. |
| Gray here. | | Gray here. |
| We have had such a pleasant chat about music. | | We have had such a pleasant chat about music. |
| n | We have quite the same views. | n | We have quite the same ideas. |
| No; I think our views are quite different. | | No; I think our ideas are quite different. |
| But he has been most pleasant. | | But he has been most pleasant. |
| I am so glad I've seen him." | | I am so glad I've seen him." |
| n | "I am charmed, my love, quite charmed," said Lord Henry, ele | n | "I am charmed, my love, quite charmed," said Lord Henry, ele |
| vating his dark crescent-shaped eyebrows and looking at them | | vating his dark crescent-shaped eyebrows and looking at them |
| both with an amused smile.--"So | | both with an amused smile. |
| sorry I am late, Dorian. | | "So sorry I am late, Dorian. |
| I went to look after a piece of old brocade in Wardour Stree | | I went to look after a piece of old brocade in Wardour Stree |
| t, and had to bargain for hours for it. | | t, and had to bargain for hours for it. |
| Nowadays people know the price of everything, and the value | | Nowadays people know the price of everything, and the value |
| of nothing." | | of nothing." |
| n | "I am afraid I must be going," exclaimed Lady Henry, after a | n | "I am afraid I must be going," exclaimed Lady Henry, breakin |
| n awkward silence, with her silly sudden laugh. | | g an awkward silence with her silly sudden laugh. |
| "I have promised to drive with the duchess.--Good-by, | | "I have promised to drive with the Duchess. |
| Mr. | | Good-bye, Mr. |
| Gray.--Good-by, | | Gray. |
| Harry. | | Good-bye, Harry. |
| You are dining out, I suppose? So am I. | | You are dining out, I suppose? So am I. |
| Perhaps I shall see you at Lady Thornbury's." | | Perhaps I shall see you at Lady Thornbury's." |
| n | "I dare say, my dear," said Lord Henry, shutting the door be | n | "I dare say, my dear," said Lord Henry, shutting the door be |
| hind her, as she flitted out of the room, looking like a bir | | hind her, as, looking like a bird of paradise that had been |
| d-of-paradise that had been out in the rain, and leaving a f | | out all night in the rain, she flitted out of the room, leav |
| aint odor of patchouli behind her. | | ing a faint odour of frangi-pani. |
| Then he shook hands with Dorian Gray, lit a cigarette, and f | | Then he lit a cigarette, and flung himself down on the sofa. |
| lung himself down on the sofa. | | |
| "Never marry a woman with straw-colored hair, Dorian," he sa | | "Never marry a woman with straw-coloured hair, Dorian," he s |
| id, after a few puffs. | | aid, after a few puffs. |
| "Why, Harry?" "Because they are so sentimental." | | "Why, Harry?" "Because they are so sentimental." |
| "But I like sentimental people." | | "But I like sentimental people." |
| "Never marry at all, Dorian. | | "Never marry at all, Dorian. |
| n | Men marry because they are tired; women, because they are cu | n | Men marry because they are tired; women because they are cur |
| rious: both are disappointed." | | ious: both are disappointed." |
| "I don't think I am likely to marry, Harry. | | "I don't think I am likely to marry, Harry. |
| I am too much in love. | | I am too much in love. |
| That is one of your aphorisms. | | That is one of your aphorisms. |
| n | I am putting it into practice, as I do everything you say." | n | I am putting it into practice, as I do everything that you s |
| | | ay." |
| "Whom are you in love with?" said Lord Henry, looking at him | | "Who are you in love with?" asked Lord Henry, after a pause. |
| with a curious smile. | | |
| "With an actress," said Dorian Gray, blushing. | | "With an actress," said Dorian Gray, blushing. |
| Lord Henry shrugged his shoulders. | | Lord Henry shrugged his shoulders. |
| n | "That is a rather common-place début," he murmured. | n | "That is a rather commonplace debut." |
| "You would not say so if you saw her, Harry." | | "You would not say so if you saw her, Harry." |
| n | "Who is she?" "Her name is Sibyl Vane." | n | "Who is she?" "Her name is Sibyl Vane." |
| "Never heard of her." | | "Never heard of her." |
| "No one has. | | "No one has. |
| People will some day, however. | | People will some day, however. |
| She is a genius." | | She is a genius." |
| n | "My dear boy, no woman is a genius: women are a decorative s | n | "My dear boy, no woman is a genius. |
| ex. | | |
| | | Women are a decorative sex. |
| They never have anything to say, but they say it charmingly. | | They never have anything to say, but they say it charmingly. |
| n | They represent the triumph of matter over mind, just as we m | n | Women represent the triumph of matter over mind, just as men |
| en represent the triumph of mind over morals. | | represent the triumph of mind over morals." |
| | | "Harry, how can you?" "My dear Dorian, it is quite true. |
| | | I am analyzing women at present, so I ought to know. |
| | | The subject is not so abstruse as I thought it was. |
| There are only two kinds of women, the plain and the colored | | I find that, ultimately, there are only two kinds of women, |
| . | | the plain and the coloured. |
| The plain women are very useful. | | The plain women are very useful. |
| If you want to gain a reputation for respectability, you hav | | If you want to gain a reputation for respectability, you hav |
| e merely to take them down to supper. | | e merely to take them down to supper. |
| The other women are very charming. | | The other women are very charming. |
| They commit one mistake, however. | | They commit one mistake, however. |
| n | They paint in order to try to look young. | n | They paint in order to try and look young. |
| Our grandmothers painted in order to try to talk brilliantly | | Our grandmothers painted in order to try and talk brilliantl |
| . | | y. |
| Rouge and esprit used to go together. | | Rouge and esprit used to go together. |
| n | That has all gone out now. | n | That is all over now. |
| As long as a woman can look ten years younger than her own d | | As long as a woman can look ten years younger than her own d |
| aughter, she is perfectly satisfied. | | aughter, she is perfectly satisfied. |
| n | As for conversation, there are only five women in London wor | n | As for conversation, there are only five women in London wor |
| th talking to, and two of these can't be admitted into decen | | th talking to and two of these can't be admitted into decent |
| t society. | | society. |
| However, tell me about your genius. | | However, tell me about your genius. |
| n | | n | How long have you known her?" "Ah! Harry, your views terri |
| | | fy me." |
| | | "Never mind that. |
| How long have you known her?" "About three weeks. | | How long have you known her?" "About three weeks." |
| Not so much. | | |
| About two weeks and two days." | | |
| "How did you come across her?" "I will tell you, Harry; but | | "And where did you come across her?" "I will tell you, Har |
| you mustn't be unsympathetic about it. | | ry; but you mustn't be unsympathetic about it. |
| After all, it never would have happened if I had not met you | | After all, it never would have happened if I had not met you |
| . | | . |
| You filled me with a wild desire to know everything about li | | You filled me with a wild desire to know everything about li |
| fe. | | fe. |
| For days after I met you, something seemed to throb in my ve | | For days after I met you, something seemed to throb in my ve |
| ins. | | ins. |
| n | As I lounged in the Park, or strolled down Piccadilly, I use | n | As I lounged in the Park, or strolled down Piccadilly, I use |
| d to look at every one who passed me, and wonder with a mad | | d to look at every one who passed me, and wonder, with a mad |
| curiosity what sort of lives they led. | | curiosity, what sort of lives they led. |
| Some of them fascinated me. | | Some of them fascinated me. |
| Others filled me with terror. | | Others filled me with terror. |
| There was an exquisite poison in the air. | | There was an exquisite poison in the air. |
| n | I had a passion for sensations. | n | I had a passion for sensations.... |
| "One evening about seven o'clock I determined to go out in s | | Well, one evening about seven o'clock, I determined to go ou |
| earch of some adventure. | | t in search of some adventure. |
| I felt that this gray, monstrous London of ours, with its my | | I felt that this grey, monstrous London of ours, with its my |
| riads of people, its splendid sinners, and its sordid sins, | | riads of people, its sordid sinners, and its splendid sins, |
| as you once said, must have something in store for me. | | as you once phrased it, must have something in store for me. |
| I fancied a thousand things. | | I fancied a thousand things. |
| n | "The mere danger gave me a sense of delight. | n | The mere danger gave me a sense of delight. |
| I remembered what you had said to me on that wonderful night | | I remembered what you had said to me on that wonderful eveni |
| when we first dined together, about the search for beauty b | | ng when we first dined together, about the search for beauty |
| eing the poisonous secret of life. | | being the real secret of life. |
| I don't know what I expected, but I went out, and wandered e | | I don't know what I expected, but I went out and wandered ea |
| astward, soon losing my way in a labyrinth of grimy streets | | stward, soon losing my way in a labyrinth of grimy streets a |
| and black, grassless squares. | | nd black, grassless squares. |
| About half-past eight I passed by a little third- rate theat | | About half-past eight I passed by an absurd little theatre, |
| re, with great flaring gas-jets and gaudy play-bills. | | with great flaring gas-jets and gaudy playbills. |
| A hideous Jew, in the most amazing waistcoat I ever beheld i | | A hideous Jew, in the most amazing waistcoat I ever beheld i |
| n my life, was standing at the entrance, smoking a vile ciga | | n my life, was standing at the entrance, smoking a vile ciga |
| r. | | r. |
| He had greasy ringlets, and an enormous diamond blazed in th | | He had greasy ringlets, and an enormous diamond blazed in th |
| e centre of a soiled shirt. | | e centre of a soiled shirt. |
| n | ''Ave a box, my lord?' he said, when he saw me, and he took | n | 'Have a box, My Lord?' he said, when he saw me, and he took |
| off his hat with an act of gorgeous servility. | | off his hat with an air of gorgeous servility. |
| There was something about him, Harry, that amused me. | | There was something about him, Harry, that amused me. |
| He was such a monster. | | He was such a monster. |
| You will laugh at me, I know, but I really went in and paid | | You will laugh at me, I know, but I really went in and paid |
| a whole guinea for the stage-box. | | a whole guinea for the stage-box. |
| n | To the present day I can't make out why I did so; and yet if | n | To the present day I can't make out why I did so; and yet if |
| I hadn't!--my dear Harry, if I hadn't, I would have missed | | I hadn't- my dear Harry, if I hadn't, I should have missed |
| the greatest romance of my life. | | the greatest romance of my life. |
| I see you are laughing. | | I see you are laughing. |
| n | It is horrid of you!" "I am not laughing, Dorian; at least I | n | It is horrid of you!" "I am not laughing, Dorian; at least |
| am not laughing at you. | | I am not laughing at you. |
| But you should not say the greatest romance of your life. | | But you should not say the greatest romance of your life. |
| You should say the first 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 wit | | You will always be loved, and you will always be in love wit |
| h love. | | h love. |
| n | | n | A grande passion is the privilege of people who have nothing |
| | | to do. |
| | | That is the one use of the idle classes of a country. |
| | | Don't be afraid. |
| There are exquisite things in store for you. | | There are exquisite things in store for you. |
| This is merely the beginning." | | This is merely the beginning." |
| "Do you think my nature so shallow?" cried Dorian Gray, angr | | "Do you think my nature so shallow?" cried Dorian Gray, angr |
| ily. | | ily. |
| "No; I think your nature so deep." | | "No; I think your nature so deep." |
| n | "How do you mean?" "My dear boy, people who only love once i | n | "How do you mean?" "My dear boy, the people who love only |
| n their lives are really shallow people. | | once in their lives are really the shallow people. |
| What they call their loyalty, and their fidelity, I call eit | | What they call their loyalty, and their fidelity, I call eit |
| her the lethargy of custom or the lack of imagination. | | her the lethargy of custom or their lack of imagination. |
| Faithlessness is to the emotional life what consistency is t | | Faithfulness is to the emotional life what consistency is to |
| o the intellectual life,--simply a confession of failure. | | the life of the intellect- simply a confession of failure. |
| | | Faithfulness! I must analyze it some day. |
| | | The passion for property is in it. |
| | | There are many things that we would throw away if we were no |
| | | t afraid that others might pick them up. |
| But I don't want to interrupt you. | | But I don't want to interrupt you. |
| Go on with your story." | | Go on with your story." |
| "Well, I found myself seated in a horrid little private box, | | "Well, I found myself seated in a horrid little private box, |
| with a vulgar drop-scene staring me in the face. | | with a vulgar drop-scene staring me in the face. |
| n | I looked out behind the curtain, and surveyed the house. | n | I looked out from behind the curtain, and surveyed the house |
| | | . |
| It was a tawdry affair, all Cupids and cornucopias, like a t | | It was a tawdry affair, all Cupids and cornucopias, like a t |
| hird-rate wedding-cake. | | hird-rate wedding-cake. |
| The gallery and pit were fairly full, but the two rows of di | | The gallery and pit were fairly full, but the two rows of di |
| ngy stalls were quite empty, and there was hardly a person i | | ngy stalls were quite empty, and there was hardly a person i |
| n what I suppose they called the dress-circle. | | n what I suppose they called the dress-circle. |
| Women went about with oranges and ginger-beer, and there was | | Women went about with oranges and ginger-beer, and there was |
| a terrible consumption of nuts going on." | | a terrible consumption of nuts going on." |
| "It must have been just like the palmy days of the British D | | "It must have been just like the palmy days of the British D |
| rama." | | rama." |
| n | "Just like, I should fancy, and very horrid. | n | "Just like, I should fancy, and very depressing. |
| I began to wonder what on earth I should do, when I caught s | | I began to wonder what on earth I should do, when I caught s |
| ight of the play-bill. | | ight of the play-bill. |
| n | What do you think the play was, Harry?" "I should think 'The | n | What do you think the play was, Harry?" "I should think 'T |
| Idiot Boy, or Dumb but Innocent.' | | he Idiot Boy, or Dumb but Innocent.' |
| Our fathers used to like that sort of piece, I believe. | | Our fathers used to like that sort of piece, I believe. |
| The longer I live, Dorian, the more keenly I feel that whate | | The longer I live, Dorian, the more keenly I feel that whate |
| ver was good enough for our fathers is not good enough for u | | ver was good enough for our fathers is not good enough for u |
| s. | | s. |
| n | In art, as in politics, les grand pères ont toujours tort." | n | In art, as in politics, les grandperes ont toujours tort." |
| "This play was good enough for us, Harry. | | "This play was good enough for us, Harry. |
| It was 'Romeo and Juliet.' | | It was 'Romeo and Juliet.' |
| I must admit I was rather annoyed at the idea of seeing Shak | | I must admit I was rather annoyed at the idea of seeing Shak |
| espeare done in such a wretched hole of a place. | | espeare done in such a wretched hole of a place. |
| Still, I felt interested, in a sort of way. | | Still, I felt interested, in a sort of way. |
| At any rate, I determined to wait for the first act. | | At any rate, I determined to wait for the first act. |
| n | There was a dreadful orchestra, presided over by a young Jew | n | There was a dreadful orchestra, presided over by a young Heb |
| who sat at a cracked piano, that nearly drove me away, but | | rew who sat at a cracked piano, that nearly drove me away, b |
| at last the drop-scene was drawn up, and the play began. | | ut at last the drop-scene was drawn up, and the play began. |
| Romeo was a stout elderly gentleman, with corked eyebrows, a | | Romeo was a stout elderly gentleman, with corked eyebrows, a |
| husky tragedy voice, and a figure like a beer-barrel. | | husky tragedy voice, and a figure like a beer-barrel. |
| Mercutio was almost as bad. | | Mercutio was almost as bad. |
| n | He was played by the low-comedian, who had introduced gags o | n | He was played by the low-comedian, who had introduced gags o |
| f his own and was on most familiar terms with the pit. | | f his own and was on most friendly terms with the pit. |
| They were as grotesque as the scenery, and that looked as if | | They were both as grotesque as the scenery, and that looked |
| it had come out of a pantomime of fifty years ago. | | as if it had come out of a country-booth. |
| But Juliet! Harry, imagine a girl, hardly seventeen years o | | But Juliet! Harry, imagine a girl, hardly seventeen years of |
| f age, with a little flower-like face, a small Greek head wi | | age, with a little flower-like face, a small Greek head wit |
| th plaited coils of dark-brown hair, eyes that were violet w | | h plaited coils of dark-brown hair, eyes that were violet we |
| ells of passion, lips that were like the petals of a rose. | | lls of passion, lips that were like the petals of a rose. |
| She was the loveliest thing I had ever seen in my life. | | She was the loveliest thing I had ever seen in my life. |
| You said to me once that pathos left you unmoved, but that b | | You said to me once that pathos left you unmoved, but that b |
| eauty, mere beauty, could fill your eyes with tears. | | eauty, mere beauty, could fill your eyes with tears. |
| I tell you, Harry, I could hardly see this girl for the mist | | I tell you, Harry, I could hardly see this girl for the mist |
| of tears that came across me. | | of tears that came across me. |
| n | And her voice,- -I never heard such a voice. | n | And her voice- I never heard such a voice. |
| It was very low at first, with deep mellow notes, that seeme | | It was very low at first, with deep mellow notes, that seeme |
| d to fall singly upon one's ear. | | d to fall singly upon one's ear. |
| n | Then it became a little louder, and sounded like a flute or | n | Then it became a little louder, and sounded like a flute or |
| a distant hautbois. | | a distant haut-bois. |
| In the garden-scene it had all the tremulous ecstasy that on | | In the garden-scene it had all the tremulous ecstasy that on |
| e hears just before dawn when nightingales are singing. | | e hears just before dawn when nightingales are singing. |
| n | There were moments, later on, when it had the wild passion o | n | There was moments, later on, when it had the wild passion of |
| f violins. | | violins. |
| You know how a voice can stir one. | | You know how a voice can stir one. |
| Your voice and the voice of Sibyl Vane are two things that I | | Your voice and the voice of Sibyl Vane are two things that I |
| shall never forget. | | shall never forget. |
| When I close my eyes, I hear them, and each of them says som | | When I close my eyes, I hear them, and each of them says som |
| ething different. | | ething different. |
| I don't know which to follow. | | I don't know which to follow. |
| n | Why should I not love her? Harry, I do love her. | n | Why should I not love her? Harry, I do love her. |
| She is everything to me in life. | | She is everything to me in life. |
| Night after night I go to see her play. | | Night after night I go to see her play. |
| n | One evening she is Rosalind, and the next evening she is Imo | n | One evening she is Rosalind, and the next evening- she is Im |
| gen. | | ogen. |
| I have seen her die in the gloom of an Italian tomb, sucking | | I have seen her die in the gloom of an Italian tomb, sucking |
| the poison from her lover's lips. | | the poison from her lover's lips. |
| I have watched her wandering through the forest of Arden, di | | I have watched her wandering through the forest of Arden, di |
| sguised as a pretty boy in hose and doublet and dainty cap. | | sguised as a pretty boy in hose and doublet and dainty cap. |
| She has been mad, and has come into the presence of a guilty | | 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 | | king, and given him rue to wear, and bitter herbs to taste |
| of. | | of. |
| She has been innocent, and the black hands of jealousy have | | She has been innocent, and the black hands of jealousy have |
| crushed her reed-like throat. | | crushed her reed-like throat. |
| I have seen her in every age and in every costume. | | I have seen her in every age and in every costume. |
| Ordinary women never appeal to one's imagination. | | Ordinary women never appeal to one's imagination. |
| They are limited to their century. | | They are limited to their century. |
| No glamour ever transfigures them. | | No glamour ever transfigures them. |
| One knows their minds as easily as one knows their bonnets. | | One knows their minds as easily as one knows their bonnets. |
| One can always find them. | | One can always find them. |
| n | There is no mystery in one of them. | n | |
| They ride in the Park in the morning, and chatter at tea-par | | There is no mystery in any of them: they ride in the Park in |
| ties in the afternoon. | | the morning, and chatter at tea-parties in the afternoon. |
| They have their stereotyped smile, and their fashionable man | | They have their stereotyped smile, and their fashionable man |
| ner. | | ner. |
| They are quite obvious. | | They are quite obvious. |
| n | But an actress! How different an actress is! Why didn't yo | n | But an actress! How different an actress is! Harry! why didn |
| u tell me that the only thing worth loving is an actress?" " | | 't you tell me that the only thing worth loving is an actres |
| Because I have loved so many of them, Dorian." | | s?" "Because I have loved so many of them, Dorian." |
| "Oh, yes, horrid people with dyed hair and painted faces." | | "Oh, yes, horrid people with dyed hair and painted faces." |
| "Don't run down dyed hair and painted faces. | | "Don't run down dyed hair and painted faces. |
| n | There is an extraordinary charm in them, sometimes." | n | There is an extraordinary charm in them, sometimes," said Lo |
| | | rd Henry. |
| "I wish now I had not told you about Sibyl Vane." | | "I wish now I had not told you about Sibyl Vane." |
| "You could not have helped telling me, Dorian. | | "You could not have helped telling me, Dorian. |
| All through your life you will tell me everything you do." | | All through your life you will tell me everything you do." |
| n | "Yes, Harry, I believe that is true. | n | "Yes, Harry, I believe that is true, I cannot help telling y |
| | | ou things. |
| I cannot help telling you things. | | |
| You have a curious influence over me. | | You have a curious influence over me. |
| n | If I ever did a crime, I would come and confide it to you. | n | If I ever did a crime, I would come and confess it to you. |
| You would understand me." | | You would understand me." |
| n | "People like you--the wilful sunbeams of life--don't commit | n | "People like you- the wilful sunbeams of life- don't commit |
| crimes, Dorian. | | crimes, Dorian. |
| But I am much obliged for the compliment, all the same. | | But I am much obliged for the compliment, all the same. |
| n | And now tell me,--reach me the matches, like a good boy: tha | n | And now tell me- reach me the matches, like a good boy: than |
| nks,--tell me, what are your relations with Sibyl Vane?" Dor | | ks:- what are your actual relations with Sibyl Vane?" Dori |
| ian Gray leaped to his feet, with flushed cheeks and burning | | an Gray leaped to his feet, with flushed cheeks and burning |
| eyes. | | eyes. |
| "Harry, Sibyl Vane is sacred!" "It is only the sacred things | | "Harry! Sibyl Vane is sacred!" "It is only the sacred thin |
| that are worth touching, Dorian," said Lord Henry, with a s | | gs that are worth touching, Dorian," said Lord Henry, with a |
| trange touch of pathos in his voice. | | strange touch of pathos in his voice. |
| "But why should you be annoyed? I suppose she will be yours | | "But why should you be annoyed? I suppose she will belong to |
| some day. | | you some day. |
| When one is in love, one always begins by deceiving one's se | | When one is in love, one always begins by deceiving one's se |
| lf, and one always ends by deceiving others. | | lf, and one always ends by deceiving others. |
| n | That is what the world calls romance. | n | That is what the world calls a romance. |
| You know her, at any rate, I suppose?" "Of course I know her | | You know her, at any rate, I suppose?" "Of course I know h |
| . | | er. |
| On the first night I was at the theatre, the horrid old Jew | | On the first night I was at the theatre, the horrid old Jew |
| came round to the box after the performance was over, and of | | came round to the box after the performance was over, and of |
| fered to bring me behind the scenes and introduce me to her. | | fered to take me behind the scenes and introduce me to her. |
| I was furious with him, and told him that Juliet had been de | | I was furious with him, and told him that Juliet had been de |
| ad for hundreds of years, and that her body was lying in a m | | ad for hundreds of years, and that her body was lying in a m |
| arble tomb in Verona. | | arble tomb in Verona. |
| n | I think, from his blank look of amazement, that he thought I | n | I think, from his blank look of amazement, that he was under |
| had taken too much champagne, or something." | | the impression that I had taken too much champagne, or some |
| | | thing." |
| "I am not surprised." | | "I am not surprised." |
| n | "I was not surprised either. | n | |
| Then he asked me if I wrote for any of the newspapers. | | "Then he asked me if I wrote for any of the newspapers. |
| I told him I never even read them. | | I told him I never even read them. |
| n | He seemed terribly disappointed at that, and confided to me | n | He seemed terribly disappointed at that, and confided to me |
| that all the dramatic critics were in a conspiracy against h | | that all the dramatic critics were in a conspiracy against h |
| im, and that they were all to be bought." | | im, and that they were every one of them to be bought." |
| "I believe he was quite right there. | | "I should not wonder if he was quite right there. |
| But, on the other hand, most of them are not at all expensiv | | But, on the other hand, judging from their appearance, most |
| e." | | of them cannot be at all expensive." |
| "Well, he seemed to think they were beyond his means. | | "Well, he seemed to think they were beyond his means," laugh |
| | | ed Dorian. |
| By this time the lights were being put out in the theatre, a | | "By this time, however, the lights were being put out in the |
| nd I had to go. | | theatre, and I had to go. |
| He wanted me to try some cigars which he strongly recommende | | He wanted me to try some cigars that he strongly recommended |
| d. | | . |
| I declined. | | I declined. |
| n | The next night, of course, I arrived at the theatre again. | n | 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 w | | When he saw me he made a low bow, and assured me that I was |
| as a patron of art. | | a munificent patron of art. |
| He was a most offensive brute, though he had an extraordinar | | He was a most offensive brute, though he had an extraordinar |
| y passion for Shakespeare. | | y passion for Shakespeare. |
| n | He told me once, with an air of pride, that his three bankru | n | He told me once, with an air of pride, that his five bankrup |
| ptcies were entirely due to the poet, whom he insisted on ca | | tcies were entirely due to 'The Bard,' as he insisted on cal |
| lling 'The Bard.' | | ling him. |
| He seemed to think it a distinction." | | He seemed to think it a distinction." |
| n | "It was a distinction, my dear Dorian,--a great distinction. | n | "It was a distinction, my dear Dorian- a great distinction. |
| | | Most people become bankrupt through having invested too heav |
| | | ily in the prose of life. |
| | | To have ruined one's self over poetry is an honour. |
| But when did you first speak to Miss Sibyl Vane?" "The third | | But when did you first speak to Miss Sibyl Vane?" "The thi |
| night. | | rd night. |
| She had been playing Rosalind. | | She had been playing Rosalind. |
| I could not help going round. | | I could not help going round. |
| I had thrown her some flowers, and she had looked at me; at | | I had thrown her some flowers, and she had looked at me; at |
| least I fancied that she had. | | least I fancied that she had. |
| The old Jew was persistent. | | The old Jew was persistent. |
| n | He seemed determined to bring me behind, so I consented. | n | He seemed determined to take me behind, so I consented. |
| It was curious my not wanting to know her, wasn't it?" "No; | | It was curious my not wanting to know her, wasn't it?" "No |
| I don't think so." | | ; I don't think so." |
| "My dear Harry, why?" "I will tell you some other time. | | "My dear Harry, why?" "I will tell you some other time. |
| Now I want to know about the girl." | | Now I want to know about the girl." |
| n | "Sibyl? Oh, she was so shy, and so gentle. | n | "Sibyl? Oh, she was so shy, and so gentle. |
| There is something of a child about her. | | There is something of a child about her. |
| Her eyes opened wide in exquisite wonder when I told her wha | | Her eyes opened wide in exquisite wonder when I told her wha |
| t I thought of her performance, and she seemed quite unconsc | | t I thought of her performance, and she seemed quite unconsc |
| ious of her power. | | ious of her power. |
| I think we were both rather nervous. | | I think we were both rather nervous. |
| n | The old Jew stood grinning at the door-way of the dusty gree | n | The old Jew stood grinning at the doorway of the dusty green |
| nroom, making elaborate speeches about us both, while we sto | | room, making elaborate speeches about us both, while we stoo |
| od looking at each other like children. | | d looking at each other like children. |
| He would insist on calling me 'My Lord,' so I had to assure | | He would insist on calling me 'My Lord,' so I had to assure |
| Sibyl that I was not anything of the kind. | | Sibyl that I was not anything of the kind. |
| n | She said quite simply to me, 'You look more like a prince.'" | n | 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 complimen | | "Upon my word, Dorian, Miss Sibyl knows how to pay complimen |
| ts." | | ts." |
| "You don't understand her, Harry. | | "You don't understand her, Harry. |
| She regarded me merely as a person in a play. | | She regarded me merely as a person in a play. |
| She knows nothing of life. | | She knows nothing of life. |
| n | She lives with her mother, a faded tired woman who played La | n | She lives with her mother, a faded tired woman who played La |
| dy Capulet in a sort of magenta dressing-wrapper on the firs | | dy Capulet in a sort of magenta dressing-wrapper on the firs |
| t night, and who looks as if she had seen better days." | | t night, and looks as if she had seen better days." |
| "I know that look. | | "I know that look. |
| n | It always depresses me." | n | It depresses me," murmured Lord Henry, examining his rings. |
| "The Jew wanted to tell me her history, but I said it did no | | "The Jew wanted to tell me her history, but I said it did no |
| t interest me." | | t interest me." |
| "You were quite right. | | "You were quite right. |
| There is always something infinitely mean about other people | | There is always something infinitely mean about other people |
| 's tragedies." | | 's tragedies." |
| "Sibyl is the only thing I care about. | | "Sibyl is the only thing I care about. |
| n | What is it to me where she came from? From her little head | n | What is it to me where she came from? From her little head t |
| to her little feet, she is absolutely and entirely divine. | | o her little feet, she is absolutely and entirely divine. |
| I go to see her act every night of my life, and every night | | Every night of my life I go to see her act, and every night |
| she is more marvellous." | | she is more marvellous." |
| "That is the reason, I suppose, that you will never dine wit | | "That is the reason, I suppose, that you never dine with me |
| h me now. | | now. |
| I thought you must have some curious romance on hand. | | I thought you must have some curious romance on hand. |
| You have; but it is not quite what I expected." | | You have; but it is not quite what I expected." |
| n | "My dear Harry, we either lunch or sup together every day, a | n | "My dear Harry, we either lunch or sup together every day, a |
| nd I have been to the Opera with you several times." | | nd I have been to the Opera with you several times," said Do |
| | | rian, opening his blue eyes in wonder. |
| "You always come dreadfully late." | | "You always come dreadfully late." |
| n | "Well, I can't help going to see Sibyl play, even if it is o | n | "Well, I can't help going to see Sibyl play," he cried, "eve |
| nly for an act. | | n if it is only for a single act. |
| I get hungry for her presence; and when I think of the wonde | | I get hungry for her presence; and when I think of the wonde |
| rful soul that is hidden away in that little ivory body, I a | | rful soul that is hidden away in that little ivory body, I a |
| m filled with awe." | | m filled with awe." |
| n | "You can dine with me to-night, Dorian, can't you?" He shook | n | "You can dine with me to-night, Dorian, can't you?" He sho |
| his head. | | ok his head. |
| "To-night she is Imogen," he answered, "and tomorrow night s | | "To-night she is Imogen," he answered, "and to-morrow night |
| he will be Juliet." | | she will be Juliet." |
| "When is she Sibyl Vane?" "Never." | | "When is she Sibyl Vane?" "Never." |
| "I congratulate you." | | "I congratulate you." |
| n | "How horrid you are! She is all the great heroines of the w | n | "How horrid you are! She is all the great heroines of the wo |
| orld in one. | | rld in one. |
| She is more than an individual. | | She is more than an individual. |
| You laugh, but I tell you she has genius. | | You laugh, but I tell you she has genius. |
| I love her, and I must make her love me. | | I love her, and I must make her love me. |
| You, who know all the secrets of life, tell me how to charm | | You, who know all the secrets of life, tell me how to charm |
| Sibyl Vane to love me! I want to make Romeo jealous. | | Sibyl Vane to love me! I want to make Romeo jealous. |
| I want the dead lovers of the world to hear our laughter, an | | I want the dead lovers of the world to hear our laughter, an |
| d grow sad. | | d grow sad. |
| I want a breath of our passion to stir their dust into consc | | I want a breath of our passion to stir their dust into consc |
| iousness, to wake their ashes into pain. | | iousness, to wake their ashes into pain. |
| n | My God, Harry, how I worship her!" He was walking up and do | n | My God, Harry, how I worship her!" He was walking up and dow |
| wn the room as he spoke. | | n the room as he spoke. |
| Hectic spots of red burned on his cheeks. | | Hectic spots of red burned on his cheeks. |
| He was terribly excited. | | He was terribly excited. |
| Lord Henry watched him with a subtle sense of pleasure. | | Lord Henry watched him with a subtle sense of pleasure. |
| n | How different he was now from the shy, frightened boy he had | n | How different he was now from the shy, frightened boy he had |
| met in Basil Hallward's studio! His nature had developed l | | met in Basil Hallward's studio! His nature had developed li |
| ike a flower, had borne blossoms of scarlet flame. | | ke a flower, had borne blossoms of scarlet flame. |
| Out of its secret hiding-place had crept his Soul, and Desir | | Out of its secret hiding-place had crept his Soul, and Desir |
| e had come to meet it on the way. | | e had come to meet it on the way. |
| "And what do you propose to do?" said Lord Henry, at last. | | "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 | | "I want you and Basil to come with me some night and see her |
| act. | | act. |
| I have not the slightest fear of the result. | | I have not the slightest fear of the result. |
| n | You won't be able to refuse to recognize her genius. | n | You are certain to acknowledge her genius. |
| Then we must get her out of the Jew's hands. | | Then we must get her out of the Jew's hands. |
| n | She is bound to him for three years--at least for two years | n | She is bound to him for three years- at least for two years |
| and eight months--from the present time. | | and eight months- from the present time. |
| I will have to pay him something, of course. | | I shall have to pay him something, of course. |
| When all that is settled, I will take a West-End theatre and | | When all that is settled, I shall take a West End theatre an |
| bring her out properly. | | d bring her out properly. |
| She will make the world as mad as she has made me." | | She will make the world as mad as she has made me." |
| n | "Impossible, my dear boy!" "Yes, she will. | n | "That would be impossible, my dear boy." |
| | | "Yes, she will. |
| She has not merely art, consummate art-instinct, in her, but | | She has not merely art, consummate art-instinct, in her but |
| she has personality also; and you have often told me that i | | she has personality also; and you have often told me that it |
| t is personalities, not principles, that move the age." | | is personalities, not principles, that move the age." |
| "Well, what night shall we go?" "Let me see. | | "Well, what night shall we go?" "Let me see. |
| To-day is Tuesday. | | To-day is Tuesday. |
| Let us fix to-morrow. | | Let us fix to-morrow. |
| She plays Juliet to-morrow." | | She plays Juliet to-morrow." |
| "All right. | | "All right. |
| The Bristol at eight o'clock; and I will get Basil." | | The Bristol at eight o'clock; and I will get Basil." |
| "Not eight, Harry, please. | | "Not eight, Harry, please. |
| Half-past six. | | Half-past six. |
| We must be there before the curtain rises. | | We must be there before the curtain rises. |
| You must see her in the first act, where she meets Romeo." | | You must see her in the first act, where she meets Romeo." |
| n | "Half-past six! What an hour! It will be like having a mea | n | "Half-past six! What an hour! It will be like having a meat- |
| t-tea. | | tea, or reading an English novel. |
| However, just as you wish. | | It must be seven. |
| | | No gentleman dines before seven. |
| Shall you see Basil between this and then? Or shall I write | | 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 we | | to him?" "Dear Basil! I have not laid eyes on him for a we |
| ek. | | ek. |
| It is rather horrid of me, as he has sent me my portrait in | | It is rather horrid of me, as he has sent me my portrait in |
| the most wonderful frame, designed by himself, and, though I | | the most wonderful frame, specially designed by himself, and |
| am a little jealous of it for being a whole month younger t | | , though I am a little jealous of the picture for being a wh |
| han I am, I must admit that I delight in it. | | ole month younger than I am, I must admit that I delight in |
| | | it. |
| Perhaps you had better write to him. | | Perhaps you had better write to him. |
| I don't want to see him alone. | | I don't want to see him alone. |
| n | He says things that annoy me." | n | He says things that annoy me. |
| | | He gives me good advice." |
| Lord Henry smiled. | | Lord Henry smiled. |
| n | "He gives you good advice, I suppose. | n | |
| People are very fond of giving away what they need most them | | "People are very fond of giving away what they need most the |
| selves." | | mselves. |
| "You don't mean to say that Basil has got any passion or any | | It is what I call the depth of generosity." |
| romance in him?" "I don't know whether he has any passion, | | |
| but he certainly has romance," said Lord Henry, with an amus | | |
| ed look in his eyes. | | |
| "Has he never let you know that?" "Never. | | |
| I must ask him about it. | | |
| I am rather surprised to hear it. | | |
| He is the best of fellows, but he seems to me to be just a b | | "Oh, Basil is the best of fellows, but he seems to me to be |
| it of a Philistine. | | just a bit of a Philistine. |
| Since I have known you, Harry, I have discovered that." | | Since I have known you, Harry, I have discovered that." |
| "Basil, my dear boy, puts everything that is charming in him | | "Basil, my dear boy, puts everything that is charming in him |
| into his work. | | into his work. |
| The consequence is that he has nothing left for life but his | | The consequence is that he has nothing left for life but his |
| prejudices, his principles, and his common sense. | | prejudices, his principles, and his common sense. |
| n | The only artists I have ever known who are personally deligh | n | The only artists I have ever known, who are personally delig |
| tful are bad artists. | | htful, are bad artists. |
| Good artists give everything to their art, and consequently | | Good artists exist simply in what they make, and consequentl |
| are perfectly uninteresting in themselves. | | y are perfectly uninteresting in what they are. |
| A great poet, a really great poet, is the most unpoetical of | | A great poet, a really great poet, is the most unpoetical of |
| all creatures. | | all creatures. |
| But inferior poets are absolutely fascinating. | | But inferior poets are absolutely fascinating. |
| The worse their rhymes are, the more picturesque they look. | | The worse their rhymes are, the more picturesque they look. |
| The mere fact of having published a book of second-rate sonn | | The mere fact of having published a book of second-rate sonn |
| ets makes a man quite irresistible. | | ets makes a man quite irresistible. |
| He lives the poetry that he cannot write. | | He lives the poetry that he cannot write. |
| The others write the poetry that they dare not realize." | | The others write the poetry that they dare not realize." |
| "I wonder is that really so, Harry?" said Dorian Gray, putti | | "I wonder is that really so, Harry?" said Dorian Gray, putti |
| ng some perfume on his handkerchief out of a large gold-topp | | ng some perfume on his handkerchief out of a large gold-topp |
| ed bottle that stood on the table. | | ed bottle that stood on the table. |
| n | "It must be, if you say so. | n | "It must be, if you say it. |
| And now I must be off. | | And now I'm off. |
| Imogen is waiting for me. | | Imogen is waiting for me. |
| Don't forget about to-morrow. | | Don't forget about to-morrow. |
| n | Good- by." | n | Good-bye." |
| As he left the room, Lord Henry's heavy eyelids drooped, and | | As he left the room Lord Henry's heavy eyelids drooped, and |
| he began to think. | | he began to think. |
| Certainly few people had ever interested him so much as Dori | | Certainly few people had ever interested him so much as Dori |
| an Gray, and yet the lad's mad adoration of some one else ca | | an Gray, and yet the lad's mad adoration of some one else ca |
| used him not the slightest pang of annoyance or jealousy. | | used him not the slightest pang of annoyance or jealousy. |
| He was pleased by it. | | He was pleased by it. |
| It made him a more interesting study. | | It made him a more interesting study. |
| n | He had been always enthralled by the methods of science, but | n | He had always been enthralled by the methods of natural scie |
| the ordinary subject-matter of science had seemed to him tr | | nce, but the ordinary subject matter of that science had see |
| ivial and of no import. | | med to him trivial and of no import. |
| And so he had begun by vivisecting himself, as he had ended | | And so he had begun by vivisecting himself, as he had ended |
| by vivisecting others. | | by vivisecting others. |
| n | Human life,--that appeared to him the one thing worth invest | n | Human life- that appeared to him the one thing worth investi |
| igating. | | gating. |
| There was nothing else of any value, compared to it. | | Compared to it there was nothing else of any value. |
| It was true that as one watched life in its curious crucible | | It was true that as one watched life in its curious crucible |
| of pain and pleasure, one could not wear over one's face a | | of pain and pleasure, one could not wear over one's face a |
| mask of glass, or keep the sulphurous fumes from troubling t | | mask of glass, nor keep the sulphurous fumes from troubling |
| he brain and making the imagination turbid with monstrous fa | | the brain and making the imagination turbid with monstrous f |
| ncies and misshapen dreams. | | ancies and misshapen dreams. |
| There were poisons so subtle that to know their properties o | | There were poisons so subtle that to know their properties o |
| ne had to sicken of them. | | ne had to sicken of them. |
| There were maladies so strange that one had to pass through | | There were maladies so strange that one had to pass through |
| them if one sought to understand their nature. | | them if one sought to understand their nature. |
| n | And, yet, what a great reward one received! How wonderful t | n | And, yet, what a great reward one received! How wonderful th |
| he whole world became to one! To note the curious hard logi | | e whole world became to one! To note the curious hard logic |
| c of passion, and the emotional colored life of the intellec | | of passion, and the emotional coloured life of the intellect |
| t,--to observe where they met, and where they separated, at | | - to observe where they met, and where they separated, at wh |
| what point they became one, and at what point they were at d | | at point they were in unison, and at what point they were at |
| iscord,--there was a delight in that! What matter what the | | discord- there was a delight in that. |
| cost was? One could never pay too high a price for any sens | | |
| ation. | | |
| He was conscious--and the thought brought a gleam of pleasur | | What matter what the cost was? One could never pay too high |
| e into his brown agate eyes--that it was through certain wor | | a price for any sensation. |
| ds of his, musical words said with musical utterance, that D | | |
| orian Gray's soul had turned to this white girl and bowed in | | |
| worship before her. | | |
| | | He was conscious- and the thought brought a gleam of pleasur |
| | | e into his brown agate eyes- that it was through certain wor |
| | | ds of his, musical words said with musical utterance, that D |
| | | orian Gray's soul had turned to this white girl and bowed in |
| | | worship before her. |
| To a large extent, the lad was his own creation. | | To a large extent the lad was his own creation. |
| He had made him premature. | | He had made him premature. |
| That was something. | | That was something. |
| Ordinary people waited till life disclosed to them its secre | | Ordinary people waited till life disclosed to them its secre |
| ts, but to the few, to the elect, the mysteries of life were | | ts, but to the few, to the elect, the mysteries of life were |
| revealed before the veil was drawn away. | | revealed before the veil was drawn away. |
| Sometimes this was the effect of art, and chiefly of the art | | Sometimes this was the effect of art, and chiefly of the art |
| of literature, which dealt immediately with the passions an | | of literature, which dealt immediately with the passions an |
| d the intellect. | | d the intellect. |
| But now and then a complex personality took the place and as | | But now and then a complex personality took the place and as |
| sumed the office of art, was indeed, in its way, a real work | | sumed the office of art, was indeed, in its way, a real work |
| of art, Life having its elaborate masterpieces, just as poe | | of art, Life having its elaborate masterpieces, just as poe |
| try has, or sculpture, or painting. | | try has, or sculpture, or painting. |
| Yes, the lad was premature. | | Yes, the lad was premature. |
| He was gathering his harvest while it was yet spring. | | He was gathering his harvest while it was yet spring. |
| The pulse and passion of youth were in him, but he was becom | | The pulse and passion of youth were in him, but he was becom |
| ing self-conscious. | | ing self-conscious. |
| It was delightful to watch him. | | It was delightful to watch him. |
| With his beautiful face, and his beautiful soul, he was a th | | With his beautiful face, and his beautiful soul, he was a th |
| ing to wonder at. | | ing to wonder at. |
| It was no matter how it all ended, or was destined to end. | | 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 | | He was like one of those gracious figures in a pageant or a |
| play, whose joys seem to be remote from one, but whose sorro | | play, whose joys seem to be remote from one, but whose sorro |
| ws stir one's sense of beauty, and whose wounds are like red | | ws stir one's sense of beauty, and whose wounds are like red |
| roses. | | roses. |
| n | Soul and body, body and soul--how mysterious they were! The | n | Soul and body, body and soul- how mysterious they were! Ther |
| re was animalism in the soul, and the body had its moments o | | e was animalism in the soul, and the body had its moments of |
| f spirituality. | | spirituality. |
| The senses could refine, and the intellect could degrade. | | The senses could refine, and the intellect could degrade. |
| n | Who could say where the fleshly impulse ceased, or the psych | n | Who could say where the fleshly impulse ceased, or the psych |
| ical impulse began? How shallow were the arbitrary definitio | | ical impulse began? How shallow were the arbitrary definitio |
| ns of ordinary psychologists! And yet how difficult to decid | | ns of ordinary psychologists! And yet how difficult to decid |
| e between the claims of the various schools! Was the soul a | | e between the claims of the various schools! Was the soul a |
| shadow seated in the house of sin? Or was the body really | | shadow seated in the house of sin? Or was the body really in |
| in the soul, as Giordano Bruno thought? The separation of s | | the soul, as Giordano Bruno thought? The separation of spir |
| pirit from matter was a mystery, and the union of spirit wit | | it from matter was a mystery, and the union of spirit with m |
| h matter was a mystery also. | | atter was a mystery also. |
| He began to wonder whether we should ever make psychology so | | He began to wonder whether we could ever make psychology so |
| absolute a science that each little spring of life would be | | absolute a science that each little spring of life would be |
| revealed to us. | | revealed to us. |
| As it was, we always misunderstood ourselves, and rarely und | | As it was, we always misunderstood ourselves, and rarely und |
| erstood others. | | erstood others. |
| Experience was of no ethical value. | | Experience was of no ethical value. |
| n | It was merely the name we gave to our mistakes. | n | It was merely the name men gave to their mistakes. |
| Men had, as a rule, regarded it as a mode of warning, had cl | | Moralists had, as a rule, regarded it as a mode of warning, |
| aimed for it a certain moral efficacy in the formation of ch | | had claimed for it a certain ethical efficacy in the formati |
| aracter, had praised it as something that taught us what to | | on of character, had praised it as something that taught us |
| follow and showed us what to avoid. | | what to follow and showed us what to avoid. |
| But there was no motive power in experience. | | But there was no motive power in experience. |
| It was as little of an active cause as conscience itself. | | It was as little of an active cause as conscience itself. |
| All that it really demonstrated was that our future would be | | All that it really demonstrated was that our future would be |
| the same as our past, and that the sin we had done once, an | | the same as our past, and that the sin we had done once, an |
| d with loathing, we would do many times, and with joy. | | d with loathing, we would do many times, and with joy. |
| It was clear to him that the experimental method was the onl | | It was clear to him that the experimental method was the onl |
| y method by which one could arrive at any scientific analysi | | y method by which one could arrive at any scientific analysi |
| s of the passions; and certainly Dorian Gray was a subject m | | s of the passions; and certainly Dorian Gray was a subject m |
| ade to his hand, and seemed to promise rich and fruitful res | | ade to his hand, and seemed to promise rich and fruitful res |
| ults. | | ults. |
| His sudden mad love for Sibyl Vane was a psychological pheno | | His sudden mad love for Sibyl Vane was a psychological pheno |
| menon of no small interest. | | menon of no small interest. |
| There was no doubt that curiosity had much to do with it, cu | | There was no doubt that curiosity had much to do with it, cu |
| riosity and the desire for new experiences; yet it was not a | | riosity and the desire for new experiences; yet it was not a |
| simple but rather a very complex passion. | | simple but rather a very complex passion. |
| n | What there was in it of the purely sensuous instinct of boyh | n | What there was in it of the purely sensuous instinct of boyh |
| ood had been transformed by the workings of the imagination, | | ood had been transformed by the workings of the imagination, |
| changed into something that seemed to the boy himself to be | | changed into something that seemed to the lad himself to be |
| remote from sense, and was for that very reason all the mor | | remote from sense, and was for that very reason all the mor |
| e dangerous. | | e dangerous. |
| It was the passions about whose origin we deceived ourselves | | It was the passions about whose origin we deceived ourselves |
| that tyrannized most strongly over us. | | that tyrannized most strongly over us. |
| Our weakest motives were those of whose nature we were consc | | Our weakest motives were those of whose nature we were consc |
| ious. | | ious. |
| It often happened that when we thought we were experimenting | | It often happened that when we thought we were experimenting |
| on others we were really experimenting on ourselves. | | on others we were really experimenting on ourselves. |
| While Lord Henry sat dreaming on these things, a knock came | | While Lord Henry sat dreaming on these things, a knock came |
| to the door, and his valet entered, and reminded him it was | | to the door, and his valet entered, and reminded him it was |
| time to dress for dinner. | | time to dress for dinner. |
| He got up and looked out into the street. | | He got up and looked out into the street. |
| The sunset had smitten into scarlet gold the upper windows o | | The sunset had smitten into scarlet gold the upper windows o |
| f the houses opposite. | | f the houses opposite. |
| The panes glowed like plates of heated metal. | | The panes glowed like plates of heated metal. |
| The sky above was like a faded rose. | | The sky above was like a faded rose. |
| n | He thought of Dorian Gray's young fiery-colored life, and wo | n | He thought of his friend's young fiery-coloured life, and wo |
| ndered how it was all going to end. | | ndered how it was all going to end. |
| When he arrived home, about half-past twelve o'clock, he saw | | When he arrived home, about half-past twelve o'clock, he saw |
| a telegram lying on the hall-table. | | a telegram lying on the hall table. |
| He opened it and found it was from Dorian. | | He opened it, and found it was from Dorian Gray. |
| It was to tell him that he was engaged to be married to Siby | | It was to tell him that he was engaged to be married to Siby |
| l Vane. | | l Vane. |
| n | | n | CHAPTER V "Mother, mother, I am so happy!" whispered the g |
| | | irl, burying her face in the lap of the faded, tired-looking |
| | | woman who, with back turned to the shrill intrusive light, |
| | | was sitting in the one arm-chair that their dingy sitting-ro |
| | | om contained. |
| | | "I am so happy!" she repeated, "and you must be happy too!" |
| | | Mrs. |
| | | Vane winced, and put her thin bismuth-whitened hands on her |
| | | daughter's head. |
| | | "Happy!" she echoed, "I am only happy, Sibyl, when I see you |
| | | act. |
| | | You must not think of anything but your acting. |
| | | Mr. |
| | | Isaacs has been very good to us, and we owe him money." |
| | | The girl looked up and pouted. |
| | | "Money, mother?" she cried. |
| | | "What does money matter? Love is more than money." |
| | | "Mr. |
| | | Isaacs has advanced us fifty pounds to pay off our debts, an |
| | | d to get a proper outfit for James. |
| | | You must not forget that, Sibyl. |
| | | Fifty pounds is a very large sum. |
| | | Mr. |
| | | Isaacs has been most considerate." |
| | | "He is not a gentleman, mother, and I hate the way he talks |
| | | to me," said the girl, rising to her feet, and going over to |
| | | the window. |
| | | "I don't know how we could manage without him," answered the |
| | | elder woman, querulously. |
| | | Sibyl Vane tossed her head and laughed. |
| | | "We don't want him any more, mother. |
| | | Prince Charming rules life for us now." |
| | | Then she paused. |
| | | A rose shook in her blood, and shadowed her cheeks. |
| | | Quick breaths parted the petals of her lips. |
| | | They trembled. |
| | | Some southern wind of passion swept over her, and stirred th |
| | | e dainty folds of her dress. |
| | | "I love him," she said, simply,. |
| | | "Foolish child! foolish child!" was the parrot-phrase flung |
| | | in answer. |
| | | The waving of crooked, false-jewelled fingers gave grotesque |
| | | ness 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 c |
| | | losed for a moment, as though to hide their secret. |
| | | When they opened, the mist of a dream had passed across them |
| | | . |
| | | Thin-lipped wisdom spoke at her from the worn chair, hinted |
| | | at prudence, quoted from that book of cowardice whose author |
| | | apes the name of common sense. |
| | | She did not listen. |
| | | She was free in her prison of passion. |
| | | Her prince, Prince Charming, was with her. |
| | | She had called on Memory to remake him. |
| | | She had sent her soul to search for him, and it had brought |
| | | him back. |
| | | His kiss burned again upon her mouth. |
| | | Her eyelids were warm with his breath. |
| | | Then Wisdom altered its method and spoke of espial and disco |
| | | very. |
| | | This young man might be rich. |
| | | If so, marriage should be thought of. |
| | | Against the shell of her ear broke the waves of worldly cunn |
| | | ing. |
| | | 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 h |
| | | im, I don't feel humble. |
| | | I feel proud, terribly proud. |
| | | Mother, did you love my father as I love Prince Charming?" |
| | | The elder woman grew pale beneath the coarse powder that da |
| | | ubed her cheeks, and her dry lips twitched with a spasm of p |
| | | ain. |
| | | Sibyl rushed to her, flung her arms round her neck, and kiss |
| | | ed her. |
| | | "Forgive me, mother. |
| | | I know it pains you to talk about our father. |
| | | But it only pains you because you loved him so much. |
| | | Don't look so sad. |
| | | I am as happy to-day as you were twenty years ago. |
| | | Ah! let me be happy forever!" "My child, you are far too y |
| | | oung to think of falling in love. |
| | | Besides, what do you know of this young man. |
| | | You don't even know his name. |
| | | The whole thing is most inconvenient, and really, when James |
| | | is going away to Australia, and I have so much to think of, |
| | | I must say that you should have shown more consideration. |
| | | However, as I said before, if he is rich..." |
| | | "Ah! mother, mother, let me be happy!" Mrs. |
| | | Vane glanced at her, and with one of those false theatrical |
| | | gestures that so often become a mode of second nature to a s |
| | | tage-player, clasped her in her arms. |
| | | At this moment the door opened, and a young lad with rough b |
| | | rown hair came into the room. |
| | | He was thick-set of figure, and his hands and feet were larg |
| | | e, and somewhat clumsy in movement. |
| | | He was not so finely bred as his sister. |
| | | One would hardly have guessed the close relationship that ex |
| | | isted between them. |
| | | Mrs. |
| | | Vane fixed her eyes on him, and intensified her smile. |
| | | She mentally elevated her son to the dignity of an audience. |
| | | She felt sure that the tableau was interesting. |
| | | "You might keep some of your kisses for me, Sibyl, I think," |
| | | said the lad, with a good-natured grumble. |
| | | "Ah! but you don't like being kissed, Jim," she cried. |
| | | "You are a dreadful old bear." |
| | | And she ran across the room and hugged him. |
| | | James Vane looked into his sister's face with tenderness. |
| | | "I want you to come out with me for a walk, Sibyl. |
| | | I don't suppose I shall ever see this horrid London again. |
| | | I am sure I don't want to." |
| | | "My son, don't say such dreadful things," murmured Mrs. |
| | | Vane, taking up a tawdry theatrical dress, with a sigh, and |
| | | beginning to patch it. |
| | | She felt a little disappointed that he had not joined the gr |
| | | oup. |
| | | It would have increased the theatrical picturesqueness of th |
| | | e situation. |
| | | "Why not, mother? I mean it." |
| | | "You pain me, my son. |
| | | I trust you will return from Australia in a position of affl |
| | | uence. |
| | | I believe there is no society of any kind in the Colonies, n |
| | | othing that I would call society; so when you have made your |
| | | fortune you must come back and assert yourself in London." |
| | | "Society!" muttered the lad. |
| | | "I don't want to know anything about that. |
| | | I should like to make some money to take you and Sibyl off t |
| | | he 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 w |
| | | as afraid you were going to say good-bye to some of your fri |
| | | ends- to Tom Hardy, who gave you that hideous pipe, or Ned L |
| | | angton, 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 c |
| | | oat. |
| | | He hesitated for a moment. |
| | | "Very well," he said at last, "but don't be to 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 t |