The Picture of Dorian Gray

them, turning over the pages of a volume of Schumann's "Forest Scenes." "You must l

ends on how you si

on the music-stool in a wilful, petulant manner. When he caught sight of Lord Henry, a faint blush coloured hi

nd of mine. I have just been telling him what a capita

stepping forward and extending his hand. "My aunt has often spoken to me about

go to a club in Whitechapel with her last Tuesday, and I really forgot all about it. We were to have played a

it really matters about your not being there. The audience probably thought it was a du

, and not very nice to me,"

s crisp gold hair. There was something in his face that made one trust him at once. All the candour of youth was there, as well as

. Gray-far too charming." And Lord Henry flung hims

when he heard Lord Henry's last remark, he glanced at him, hesitated for a moment, and then said, "Harry

ed at Dorian Gray. "Am I t

is sulky moods, and I can't bear him when he sulks. Besides, I

k seriously about it. But I certainly shall not run away, now that you have asked me to stop. You don't r

t, of course you must stay. Dorian's whim

omised to meet a man at the Orleans. Good-bye, Mr. Gray. Come and see me some afternoon in Curzon Street.

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

his picture. "It is quite true, I never talk when I am working, and never listen eith

ut my man at

nd now, Dorian, get up on the platform, and don't move about too much, or pay any attention to what L

ry, to whom he had rather taken a fancy. He was so unlike Basil. They made a delightful contrast. And he had such a beaut

ce, Mr. Gray. All influence is immoral-im

hy

not been written for him. The aim of life is self-development. To realize one's nature perfectly-that is what each of us is here for. People are afraid of themselves, nowadays. They have forgotten the highest of all duties, the duty that one owes to one's self. Of course, they are charitable. They

boy," said the painter, deep in his work and conscious only that a

l, it may be. But the bravest man amongst us is afraid of himself. The mutilation of the savage has its tragic survival in the self-denial that mars our lives. We are punished for our refusals. Every impulse that we strive to strangle broods in the mind and poisons us. The body sins once, and has done with its sin, for action is a mode of purification. Nothing remains then but the recollection of a pleasure, or the luxury of a regret. The only way to get rid of a temptation is to yield to it. Resist it, and your soul grows sick with longin

w what to say. There is some answer to you, but I cannot find it.

k within him. Yet they seemed to him to have come really from himself. The few words that Basil's friend had said to him-words spoken by chance, no doubt, and w

Words! Mere words! How terrible they were! How clear, and vivid, and cruel! One could not escape from them. And yet what a subtle magic there was in them! They seemed to

e understood them now. Life suddenly became fiery-coloured to him. It s

impression that his words had produced, and, remembering a book that he had read when he was sixteen, a book which had revealed to him much that he had not known befor

t had the true refinement and perfect delicacy that in art, at an

rian Gray suddenly. "I must go out and si

ave caught the effect I wanted-the half-parted lips and the bright look in the eyes. I don't know what Harry has been saying to you, but he has

liments. Perhaps that is the reason that

guorous eyes. "I will go out to the garden with you. It is horribly hot in the stu

ork up this background, so I will join you later on. Don't keep Dorian too long. I have never been in better

nking in their perfume as if it had been wine. He came close to him and put his hand upon his shoulder. "You are quite ri

heir gilded threads. There was a look of fear in his eyes, such as people have when they are suddenly awakened. Hi

by means of the senses, and the senses by means of the soul. You are a wonderful creat

ol, white, flowerlike hands, even, had a curious charm. They moved, as he spoke, like music, and seemed to have a language of their own. But he felt afraid of him, and ashamed of being afraid. Why had it been left for a stranger to reveal him to himself? He had known Basil Hallw

if you stay any longer in this glare, you will be quite spoiled, and Basil will never paint

Gray, laughing, as he sat down on

er everything t

hy

arvellous youth, and youth i

eel that,

have been good to you. But what the gods give they quickly take away. You have only a few years in which to live really, perfectly, and fully. When your youth goes, your beauty will go with it, and then you will suddenly discover that there are no triumphs left for you, or have to content yourself with those mean triumphs that the memory of your past will make more bitter than defeats. Every month as it wanes brings you nearer to something dreadful. Time is jealous of you, and wars against your lilies and your roses. You will become sallow, and hollow-cheeked, and dull-eyed. You will suffer horribly.... Ah! realize your youth while you have it. Don't squander the gold of your days, listening to the tedious, trying to improve the hopeless failure, or giving away your life to the ignorant, the common, and the vulgar. These are the sickly aims, the false ideals, of our age. Live! Live the wonderful life that is in you! Let nothing be lost upon you. Be always searching for new sensations. Be afraid of nothing.... A new Hedonism-that is what our century wants. You mi

. He watched it with that strange interest in trivial things that we try to develop when things of high import make us afraid, or when we are stirred by some new emotion for which we cannot find expression, or when some thought that

he studio and made staccato signs for them to

me in. The light is quite perfec

en-and-white butterflies fluttered past them, and in the p

et me, Mr. Gray," said L

w. I wonder shall

. They spoil every romance by trying to make it last for ever. It is a meaningless word, too. The o

m. "In that case, let our friendship be a caprice," he murmured, flushing

und that broke the stillness, except when, now and then, Hallward stepped back to look at his work from a distance. In the slanting be

a long time at the picture, biting the end of one of his huge brushes and frowning. "It is quite finished," he c

cture. It was certainly a wonderful work

" he said. "It is the finest portrait of modern

as if awakened

" he murmured, stepping

. "And you have sat splendidly to-

me," broke in Lord Henr

y came on him like a revelation. He had never felt it before. Basil Hallward's compliments had seemed to him to be merely the charming exaggeration of friendship. He had listened to them, laughed at them, forgotten them. They had not influenced his nature. Then had come Lord Henry Wotton with his strange panegyric on youth, his terrible warning of its brevity. That had stirred him at the time, and now, as he stood g

ach delicate fibre of his nature quiver. His eyes deepened into amethyst, and across

last, stung a little by the lad's sil

e it? It is one of the greatest things in modern art. I wil

my proper

propert

course," answe

very luck

will remain always young. It will never be older than this particular day of June.... If it were only the other way! If it were I who was to be always young, and th

ent, Basil," cried Lord Henry, laughing. "I

ery strongly, Harr

sil. You like your art better than your friends. I am no more

an to speak like that. What had happened? He seemed qu

ve my first wrinkle, I suppose. I know, now, that when one loses one's good looks, whatever they may be, one loses everything. Your picture has ta

ke that. I have never had such a friend as you, and I shall never have such another.

hing from me and gives something to it. Oh, if it were only the other way! If the picture could change, and I could be always what I am now! Why did you paint it? It will mock me so

g, Harry," said th

houlders. "It is the real

is n

what have I t

ne away when I aske

asked me," was Lo

made me hate the finest piece of work I have ever done, and I will destroy it. What is

that was set beneath the high curtained window. What was he doing there? His fingers were straying about among the litter of tin tubes and dry brushes, see

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

n," said the painter coldly when he had recovere

ve with it, Basil. It is p

what you like with yourself." And he walked across the room and rang the bell for tea. "You will

ou! I wonder who it was defined man as a rational animal. It was the most premature definition ever given. Man is many things, but he is not rational. I am glad he is not,

hall never forgive you!" cried Dorian Gray; "a

yours, Dorian. I gave it

r. Gray, and that you don't really object to

ed very strongly this

ng! You have li

s a rattle of cups and saucers and the hissing of a fluted Georgian urn. Two globe-shaped china dishes were brought in by a page.

White's, but it is only with an old friend, so I can send him a wire to say that I am ill, or that I am prevented from coming i

ss-clothes," muttered Hallward. "And, w

eteenth century is detestable. It is so sombre, so depressin

say things like that

who is pouring out tea for u

re ei

o the theatre with you,

and you will come, t

uld sooner not. I have

and I will go a

like tha

cup in hand, to the picture. "I shall s

riginal of the portrait, strolling a

are just l

nderful

rance. But it will never alter," s

rely a question for physiology. It has nothing to do with our own will. Young men want to b

-night, Dorian," said Hallw

n't,

hy

mised Lord Henry Wo

keeping your promises. He always b

aughed and sh

treat

Lord Henry, who was watching them fr

, Basil,"

ay. "It is rather late, and, as you have to dress, you had better lose no ti

tain

on't f

rse not," c

... H

, Ba

you, when we were in th

forgot

rust

Mr. Gray, my hansom is outside, and I can drop you at your own

ainter flung himself down on a sofa,