CHAPTERONE
AnExtraordinarilyBeautifulYoungMan
Theroomwasfilledwiththesmellofroses.Sittingonasofa,smokingacigarette, was Lord Henry Wotton. Through the open door came the distantsoundsoftheLondonstreets.
In the centre of the room stood a portrait of an extraordinarily beautifulyoungman. Sitting a little distance in front of it was the artist himself, BasilHallward.Asthepainterlookedattheportrait,hesmiled.
'It isyourbestwork,Basil, thebestthingyouhaveeverdone,'saidLordHenry, slowly. 'You really must send it next year to the Grosvenor. TheGrosvenorisreallytheonlyplacetoexhibitapaintinglikethat.'
'I don't think I shall send it anywhere,' thepainter answered,movinghishead in that odd way that used to make his friends laugh at him at OxfordUniversity.'No:Iwon'tsenditanywhere.'
LordHenry lookedathiminsurprise through the thinbluesmokeofhiscigarette.'Notsenditanywhere?Mydearman,whynot?Whatoddpeopleyoupaintersare!'
'Iknowyouwilllaughatme,'Basilreplied, 'butIreallycan'texhibitit.Ihaveputtoomuchofmyselfintoit.'
LordHenrystretchedhimselfouton thesofaand laughed. 'Toomuchofyourselfinit!Basil,thismanistrulybeautiful.Hedoesnotlooklikeyou.'
'Youdon'tunderstandme,Harry,'answeredtheartist. 'OfcourseIamnotlikehim.Iwouldbesorrytolooklikehim.Itisbetternottobedifferentfromotherpeople.Thestupidanduglyhavethebestofthisworld.DorianGray-'
'Dorian Gray? Is that his name?' asked Lord Henry, walking across theroomtowardsBasilHallward.
'Yes,thatishisname.Iwasn'tgoingtotellyou.''Butwhynot?''Oh,Ican'texplain.WhenIlikepeopleenormouslyInevertelltheirnames
toanyone.Isupposeyouthinkthat'sveryfoolish?''Notatall,'answeredLordHenry,'notatall,mydearBasil.Youforgetthat
Iammarried,somylifeisfullofsecrets.Ineverknowwheremywifeis,andmywifeneverknowswhat Iamdoing.Whenwemeetwe telleachother lieswiththemostseriousfaces.'
'I hate the way you talk about your married life, Harry,' said BasilHallward,walking towards thedoor that led into thegarden. 'Ibelieveyouarereallyaverygoodhusband,butthatyouareashamedofit.Youneversayagoodthing,andyouneverdoawrongthing.'
LordHenry laughedand the twomenwentout into thegarden together.Afterapause,LordHenrypulledouthiswatch.'IamafraidIhavetogo,Basil,'hesaidinaquietvoice. 'ButbeforeIgoIwantyoutoexplaintomewhyyouwon'texhibitDorianGrayspicture.Iwanttherealreason.'
'Itoldyoutherealreason.''No, you did not. You said that it was because there was too much of
yourselfinit.Now,thatischildish.''Harry,'saidBasilHallward,lookinghimstraightintheface,'everyportrait
that is painted with feeling is a portrait of the artist, not the sitter. I will notexhibitthispicturebecauseIamafraidthatIhaveshowninitthesecretofmyownsoul.'
LordHenrylaughed.'Andwhatisthat?'heasked.'Oh, there is really very little to tell,Harry,' answered the painter, 'and I
don'tthinkyouwillunderstand.Perhapsyouwon'tbelieveit.'LordHenrysmiledandpickedaflowerfromthegrass.'IamquitesureI'll
understandit,'hereplied,staringattheflower,'andIcanbelieveanything.''The story is simply this,' said the painter. 'Twomonths ago Iwent to a
partyatLadyBrandon's.AfterIhadbeenin theroomforabout tenminutes,Isuddenly realized that someone was looking at me. I turned around and sawDorianGrayforthefirst time.Whenoureyesmet,Ifelt thebloodleavingmyface.Iknewthatthisboywouldbecomemywholesoul,mywholeartitself.'
'Whatdidyoudo?''Wewerequiteclose,almosttouching.Oureyesmetagain.IaskedLady
Brandontointroducemetohim.''WhatdidLadyBrandonsayaboutMrDorianGray?''Oh,somethinglike"Charmingboy.Idon'tknowwhathedoes-Ithinkhe
doesn't do anything.Oh, yes, he plays the piano - or is it the violin, dearMrGray?"DorianandIbothlaughedandwebecamefriendsatonce.'
'Laughterisnotatallabadbeginningforafriendship,'saidtheyounglord,pickinganotherflower,'anditisthebestendingforone.'
Hallwardshookhishead.'Youdon'tunderstandwhatfriendshipis,Harry.Everyoneisthesametoyou.'
'That'snottrue!'criedLordHenry,pushinghishatback,andlookingatthesummer sky. 'I choose my friends for their beauty and my enemies for theirintelligence.Amancannotbetoocarefulinchoosinghisenemies.Ofcourse,Ihate my relations. And I hate poor people because they are ugly, stupid anddrunk-'
'I don't agreewith aword you have said.And I feel sure that you don'tagreeeither.'
LordHenrytouchedhispointedbrownbeardwithhisfinger,andthetoeofhis boot with his stick. 'How English you are, Basil! An Englishman is onlyinterestedinwhetherheagreeswithanidea,notwhetheritisrightorwrong.ButtellmemoreaboutMrDorianGray.Howoftendoyouseehim?'
'Everyday.Icouldn'tbehappyifIdidn'tseehimeveryday.''Howextraordinary!Ithoughtyouonlycaredaboutyourart.''Heisallmyarttomenow,'saidthepainter.'IknowthattheworkIhave
donesinceImetDorianGrayisthebestworkofmylife.Insomestrangewayhis personality has shownme a new kind of art. He seems like a little boy -thoughheisreallymorethantwenty-andwhenheiswithmeIseetheworlddifferently.'
'Basil,thisisextraordinary!ImustseeDorianGray.'Hallwardgotupfromhisseatandwalkedupanddownthegarden.After
sometimehecameback.'Harry,'hesaid.'DorianGrayisthereasonformyart.Youmightseenothinginhim.Iseeeverythinginhim.'
'Thenwhywon'tyouexhibithisportrait?'askedLordHenry.'An artist should paint beautiful things, but he should put nothing of his
ownlifeintothem.SomedayIwillshowtheworldwhatthatbeautyis.ForthatreasontheworldwillneverseemyportraitofDorianGray.'
'Ithinkyouarewrong,Basil,butIwon'targuewithyou.Tellme,isDorian
Grayveryfondofyou?'Thepainterthoughtforafewmoments.'Helikesme,'heanswered,aftera
pause.'Iknowhelikesme.OfcourseIflatterhimtoomuchandtellhimthingsthatIshouldnot.Heisusuallyverycharmingtome,andwespendthousandsofwonderful hours together. But sometimes he can be horribly thoughtless andseemstoenjoycausingmepain.ThenIfeel,Harry,thatIhavegivenmywholesoultosomeonewhousesitlikeaflowertoputinhiscoatonasummer'sday.'
'Summerdaysarelong,Basil,'saidLordHenryinaquietvoice. 'Perhapsyouwillgetboredbeforehewill.Intelligenceliveslongerthanbeauty.Onedayyouwill look at your friend and youwon't like his colour or something.Andthenyouwillbegintothinkthathehasbehavedbadlytowardsyou-'
'Harry, don't talk like that. As long as I live, Dorian Gray will beeverythingtome.Youcan'tfeelwhatIfeel.Youchangetoooften.'
'My dear Basil, that is exactly why I can feel it.' Lord Henry took acigarette fromhis pretty silver box and lit it.Thenhe turned toHallward andsaid,'Ihavejustremembered.'
'Rememberedwhat,Harry?''WhereIheardthenameofDorianGray.''Wherewasit?'askedHallwardwithafrown.'Don'tlooksoangry,Basil.Itwasatmyaunt's,LadyAgatha's.Shetoldme
that she had discovered thiswonderful youngman.Hewas going to help herworkwiththepoorpeopleintheEastEndofLondon,andhisnamewasDorianGray.OfcourseIdidn'tknowitwasyourfriend.'
'Iamverygladyoudidn't,Harry.''Why?''Idon'twantyoutomeethim.'Aservantcameintothegarden. 'MrDorianGrayiswaitinginthehouse,
sir,'hesaid.'Youmustintroducemenow,'criedLordHenry,laughing.Thepainterturnedtohisservant.'AskMrGraytowait,Parker.Iwillcome
ininafewmoments.'ThenhelookedatLordHenry.'DorianGrayismydearestfriend,'hesaid.
'He is a beautiful person. Don't spoil him. Don't try and influence him. Yourinfluencewouldbebad.Don'ttakeawayfrommetheonepersonwhomakesmeatrueartist.'
'Whatsillythingsyousay!'saidLordHenry.Smiling,hetookHallwardbythearmandalmostledhimintothehouse.
CHAPTERTWO
JealousofhisOwnPortrait
AstheyenteredtheysawDorianGray.Hewassittingatthepiano,withhisbacktothem,andhewasturningthepagesofsomemusicbySchumann. 'Youmust lendme these,Basil,' he cried. 'Iwant to learn them.They are perfectlycharming.'
'Perhapsifyousitwellformetoday,Dorian.''Oh, I am bored with sitting, and I don't want a portrait of myself,'
answeredtheboy,turningquickly.WhenhesawLordHenry,hisfacewentredforamoment.'Iamsorry,Basil.Ididn'tknowthatyouhadanyonewithyou.'
'ThisisLordHenryWotton,Dorian.He'sanoldfriendofmine.WewenttoOxfordtogether.Ihavejustbeentellinghimwhatagoodsitteryouwere,andnowyouhavespoiledeverything.'
'You have not spoiledmy pleasure inmeeting you,MrGray,' said LordHenry,steppingforwardandofferinghishand.'Myaunthasoftenspokentomeaboutyou.'
'IamafraidLadyAgathaisannoyedwithmeatthemoment.Ipromisedtogo to a club inWhitechapelwith her lastTuesday, and I forgot all about it. Idon'tknowwhatshewillsaytome.'
LordHenry lookedathim.Yes,hewascertainlywonderfullyhandsome,withhiscurvedredlips,honestblueeyesandgoldhair. 'Oh,don'tworryaboutmyaunt.Youareoneofherfavouritepeople.Andyouaretoocharmingtowastetimeworkingtorpoorpeople.'
LordHenrysatdownonthesofaandopenedhiscigarettebox.Thepainterwasbusymixingcoloursandgettinghisbrushesready.Suddenly,helookedatLordHenryandsaid,'Harry,Iwanttofinishthispicturetoday.WouldyouthinkitveryrudeofmeifIaskedyoutogoaway?'
LordHenrysmiled,andlookedatDorianGray. 'ShallIgo,MrGray?'heasked.
'Oh, please don't, Lord Henry. I see that Basil is in one of his difficultmoods,andIhateitwhenheisdifficult.AndIwantyoutotellmewhyIshouldnothelpthepoorpeople.'
'Thatwouldbeveryboring,MrGray.ButIcertainlywillnotrunawayifyoudonotwantmeto.Isthatallright,Basil?Youhaveoftentoldmethatyoulikeyoursitterstohavesomeonetotalkto.'
Hallwardbithislip.'IfthatiswhatDorianwants.Dorianalwaysgetswhathewants.'
Lord Henry picked up his hat and gloves. 'No, I am afraid I must go.Goodbye, Mr Gray. Come and see me one afternoon in Curzon Street. I amnearlyalwaysathomeatfiveo'clock.'
'Basil,'criedDorianGray, 'IfLordHenryWottongoes,Iwillgotoo.Younever open your lips while you are painting, and it is horribly boring juststandinghere.Askhimtostay.'
'Allright,pleasestay,Harry.ForDorianandforme,'saidHallward,staringathispicture. 'It is true that Inever talkwhen I amworking, andnever listeneither.Itmustbeveryboringformysitters.Sitdownagain,Harry.AndDoriandon'tmoveabouttoomuch,orlistentowhatLordHenrysays.Hehasaverybadinfluenceoverallhisfriends.'
DorianGraystoodwhileHallwardfinishedhisportrait.Helikedwhathehad seen of Lord Henry. He was so different to Basil! And he had such abeautifulvoice.Afterafewmomentshesaidtohim,'Haveyoureallyaverybadinfluence,LordHenry?AsbadasBasilsays?'
'Influenceisalwaysbad.''Why?''Becausetoinfluencesomeoneistogivethemyoursoul.Eachpersonmust
havehisownpersonality.''Turnyourheadalittlemoretotheright,Dorian,'saidthepainter.Hewas
notlisteningtotheconversationandonlyknewthattherewasanewlookontheboy'sface.
'Andyet,'continuedLordHenry,inhislowmusicalvoice,'Ibelievethatifonemanlivedhislifefullyandcompletelyhecouldchangetheworld.Hewouldbeaworkofartgreater thananythingwehaveever imagined.But thebravestmanamongusisafraidofhimself.You,MrGray,areveryyoungbutyouhavehadpassionsthathavemadeyouafraid,dreams-'
'Stop!'criedDorianGray,'Idon'tunderstandwhatyouaresaying.Ineedto
think.'For nearly ten minutes he stood there with his lips open and his eyes
strangelybright.ThewordsthatBasil'sfriendhadspokenhadtouchedhissoul.Yes, there had been things in his boyhood that he had not understood. Heunderstoodthemnow.
With his smile, Lord Henry watched him. He knew the exact momentwhentosaynothing.Hewassurprisedatthesuddeneffectofhiswordsontheboy.Howfascinatingtheboywas!
Hallwardcontinuedpaintinganddidnotnoticethattheothersweresilent."Basil, Iam tired,' criedDorianGray, suddenly. 'Imustgoandsit in the
garden.Thereisnoairinhere.''Mydearboy,Iamsorry.WhenIampainting,myworkisallIcanthink
about.Butyouneversatbetter.Idon'tknowwhatHarryhasbeensayingtoyou,butthereisawonderfulbrightlookinyoureyes.Isupposehehasbeenflatteringyou.Youshouldn'tbelieveawordhesays.'
'Hehascertainlynotbeenflatteringme.PerhapsthatiswhyIdon'tbelieveanythinghehastoldme.'
'You know you believe it all,' said LordHenry, looking at himwith hisdreamyeyes.'Iwillgoouttothegardenwithyou.It'shorriblyhotinthisroom.'
'Don'tkeepDoriantoolong,'saidthepainter.'Thisisgoingtobemybestpainting.'
Lord Henry went out to the garden, and found Dorian Gray holding aflowertohisface.Hecameclosetohim,andputhishandonhisshoulder.
DorianGrayfrownedandturnedaway.Helikedthetallyoungmanwhowas standing by him. His dark, romantic face interested him. There wassomething in his low, musical voice that was fascinating. But he felt a littleafraid.Whywasthisstrangerhavingastronginfluenceonhimlikethis?Hehadknown Basil Hallward for months, but the friendship between them had notchanged him. Suddenly someone had come into his life and turned it upsidedown.Someonewhoseemedtohavethekeytothemysteryoflifeitself.
Andyet,whatwastheretobeafraidof?Hewasnotaschoolboyoragirl.Itwassillytobeafraid.
'Letusgoandsitoutofthesun.Idon'twantyoutobeburntbythesun.'
'Whatdoesthatmatter?'criedDorianGray,laughingashesatdownontheseatattheendofthegarden.
'Itshouldmatterverymuchtoyou,MrGray.''Why?''Becauseyouareyoung,andtobeyoungisthebestthingintheworld.''Idon'tfeelthat,LordHenry.''No,youdon'tfeelitnow.Somedaywhenyouareoldanduglyyouwill
feel it terribly.Now,whereveryougo,youcharmtheworld.Will italwaysbeso?...Youhaveawonderfullybeautifulface,MrGray.'
'Idon'tthink-''Don'tfrown.Itistrue.Thegodshavebeengoodtoyou.Butwhatthegods
givetheyquicklytakeaway.Youhaveonlyafewyearsinwhichtoreallylive,perfectlyandfully.Liveyourlifenow,whileyouarestillyoung!'
Suddenlythepainterappearedatthedoorandwavedatthemtocomein.Theyturnedtoeachotherandsmiled.
'Iamwaiting,'hecried.'Pleasecomein.Thelightisperfect.'Theygotupandwalkedtowardsthehousetogether.'Youaregladyouhavemetme,MrGray,'saidLordHenry,lookingathim.'Yes,Iamgladnow.IwonderwhetherIwillalwaysbeglad.''Always!Thatisaterribleword.Womenaresofondofusingit.'Twenty minutes later Hallward stopped painting. He stood back and
looked at the portrait for a fewmoments. Then he bent down and signed hisnameinredpaintonthebottomleft-handcorner.
'Itisfinished,'hecried.Lord Henry came over and examined the picture. It was certainly a
wonderfulworkofart.'Mydearman,'hesaid. 'Itisthebestportraitofourtime.MrGray,come
overandlookatyourself.'Dorianwalkedacross to lookat thepainting.Whenhesaw ithischeeks
went redwithpleasure.He felt thathe recognizedhisownbeauty for the firsttime.ButthenherememberedwhatLordHenryhadsaid.Hisbeautywouldonly
bethereforafewyears.Onedayhewouldbeoldandugly.'Don't you like it?' cried Hallward, not understanding why the boy was
silent.'Ofcoursehelikesit,'saidLordHenry.'Itisoneofthegreatestpaintings
inmodernart.Iwillpayanythingyouaskforit.Imusthaveit.''Itisnotminetosell,Harry.''Whoseisit?''Dorian's,ofcourse,'answeredthepainter.'Heisverylucky.''Howsaditis!'saidDorianGray,whowasstillstaringathisownportrait.
'Iwill growold andhorrible.But this paintingwill always stayyoung. ItwillneverbeolderthanthisdayinJune...ifonlyitweretheotherway!'
'Whatdoyoumean?'askedHallward.'IfIcouldstayyoungandthepicturegrowold!Forthat-forthat-Iwould
give everything!Yes, there is nothing in thewholeworld Iwould not give! Iwouldgivemysoulforthat!'
'Idon'tthinkyouwouldlikethat,Basil,'criedLordHenry,laughing.'Icertainlywouldnot,Harry,'saidHallward.DorianGrayturnedandlookedathim.'Youlikeyourartbetterthanyour
friends.'Thepainterstared insurprise.WhywasDorianspeakinglike that?What
hadhappened?Hisfacewasred,andheseemedquiteangry.'Youwillalwayslikethispainting.Buthowlongwillyoulikeme?UntilI
startgettingold.LordHenryWottonisperfectlyright.WhenIlosemybeauty,Iwillloseeverything.IshallkillmyselfbeforeIgetold.'
Hallward turned white, and caught his hand. 'Dorian! Dorian!' he cried.'Don't talk like that. I haveneverhad a friend likeyou, and Iwill neverhaveanother.Howcanyoubejealousofapainting?Youaremorebeautifulthananyworkofart.'
'Iamjealousofeverythingwhosebeautydoesnotdie.Iamjealousoftheportraityouhavepaintedofme.WhyshoulditkeepwhatImustlose?'Hottearscameintohiseyesashethrewhimselfonthesofa.
'Youdidthis,Harry,'saidthepainter,angrily.LordHenryshookhishead.'ItistherealDorianGray-thatisall.''Harry,Ican'targuewithtwoofmybestfriendsatonce.Betweenyouboth
youhavemademehatethebestpieceofworkIhaveeverdone.Iwilldestroyit.'DorianGraywatchedasHallwardwalkedover to thepainting- tableand
pickedupaknife.Theboyjumpedfromthesofa,toretheknifefromHallward'shandandthrewitacrosstheroom.'Don't,Basil!'hecried.'Don'tmurderit!'
'Iamgladthatyoulikemyworkatlast,Dorian,'saidthepaintercoldly.'Ineverthoughtyouwould.'
'Likeit?Iaminlovewithit,Basil.Itispartofmyself.Ifeelthat.''What silly people you are, both of you!' said Lord Henry. 'Let's forget
aboutthepaintingforonenightandgotothetheatre.''Iwouldliketocometothetheatrewithyou,LordHenry.''Andyouwillcometoo,won'tyouBasil?''Ican't,'saidHallward.'Ihavetoomuchworktodo.''Well,youandIwillgotogether,MrGray.'Thepainterbithislipandwalkedovertothepicture.'IwillstaywiththerealDorian,'hesaidsadly.
CHAPTERTHREE
DorianinLove
Oneafternoon,amonthlater,DorianGraywassittinginthelittlelibraryofLordHenry'shouseinMayfair.LordHenryhadnotyetcomein.Hewasalwayslate.DorianGraywasboredandonceortwicehethoughtofgoingaway.
At last he heard a step outside and the door opened. 'How late you are,Harry!'hesaid.
'I'mafraiditisnotHarry,MrGray.Itisonlyhiswife.'Helookedaroundquicklyandgottohisfeet.'Iamsorry.Ithought-''Iknowyouquitewellbyyourphotographs. I thinkmyhusbandhasgot
seventeenofthem.''Seventeen,LadyHenry?''Well,eighteen,then.AndIsawyouwithhimtheothernightatthetheatre.
ButhereisHarry!'LordHenrysmiledatthemboth.'SosorryIamlate,Dorian.''I am afraid Imust go,' said LadyHarry. 'Goodbye,MrGray.Goodbye,
Harry.Youareeatingout,Isuppose?Iamtoo.PerhapsIwillseeyoulater.''Perhaps,mydear,'saidLordHarry,shuttingthedoorbehindher.Thenhe
litacigaretteandthrewhimselfdownonthesofa.'Nevermarryawomanwithfairhair,Dorian,'hesaid.'Why,Harry?''Becausetheyareromantic.''ButIlikeromanticpeople.''Nevermarryatall,Dorian.''Idon'tthinkIwillmarry,Harry.Iamtoomuchinlove.''Whoareyouinlovewith?'askedLordHenry,afterapause.'Withanactress,'saidDorianGray.'Howordinary.''Youwouldnotsaythatifyousawher,Harry.'
'Whoisshe?''HernameisSibylVane.''I'veneverheardofher.''Noonehas.Peoplewillsomeday,though.Sheisanartist.''Mydearboy,nowoman isanartist.Womenneverhaveanything tosay
buttheysayitcharmingly.Howlonghaveyouknownher?''Aboutthreeweeks.''Andwheredidyoumeether?''Iwill tellyou,Harry,butyoumustnot laugh.Afterall, itwasyouwho
gaveme a passion to know everything about life. For days after I met you Isearchedthestreetsforbeauty.IwalkedaroundtheEastEnduntilIfoundadirtylittletheatre.Iseeyouarelaughing.Itishorribleofyou!'
'Iamnotlaughing,Dorian.Goonwithyourstory.''TheplaywasRomeoandJuliet.AtfirstIwasannoyedatthethoughtof
seeingShakespeareinsuchaterribleplace.Andwhenafatoldgentlemancameout as Romeo I nearlywalked out. But then I saw Juliet! Harry, shewas theloveliestthingIhadeverseeninmylife.'
'Whendidyoumeether?''Iwentbackthenextnightandthenightafterthat.OnthethirdeveningI
waitedforheroutsidethetheatre.''Whatwasshelike?''Sibyl? Oh, she was shy and gentle. She is only seventeen and there is
somethingofachildinher.Shesaidtome,"Youlooklikeaprince.ImustcallyouPrinceCharming".'
'MissSibylknowshowtoflatteryou.''You don't understand her, Harry. She thinks that I am like a person in
Shakespeare.Sheknowsnothingoflife.SibylistheonlythingIcareabout.''Thatisthereason,Isuppose,thatyouneverhavedinnerwithmenow.I
thoughtitmightbesomethingromantic.''MydearHarry,weeattogethereveryday,'saidDorian.'Youalwayscomeverylate.'
'Well,IhavetoseeSibylplay,'hecried.'Canyouhavedinnerwithmetonight,Dorian?'Heshookhishead. 'Tonightshe isOphelia,'heanswered, 'and tomorrow
nightshewillbeJuliet.''WhenissheSibylVane?''Never.''That'sgood.''Howhorribleyouare!Butwhenyouseeheryouwillthinkdifferently.I
wantyouandBasil tocomeandwatchher tomorrownight.Youarecertain torecognizethatsheiswonderful.'
'All right.Tomorrowevening.WillyouseeBasilbefore then?Or shall Iwritetohim?'
'DearBasil!Ihaven'tseenhimforaweek.Itisratherhorribleofmeashesentmemy portrait a few days ago. I love looking at it. Perhaps you shouldwrite tohim. Idon'twant toseehimalone.Hesays things thatannoyme.Hegivesmegoodadvice.'
LordHenrysmiled.'Peopleareveryfondofgivingawayadvicetheyneedthemselves.'
'Oh,Basilisagoodman,butIdon'tthinkhereallyunderstandsaboutartandbeauty.SinceIhaveknownyou,Harry,Ihavediscoveredthat.'
'Basil,mydearboy,putseverythingthatischarminginhimintohiswork.''I must go now, Harry. My Juliet is waiting for me. Don't forget about
tomorrow.Goodbye.'AsDorianlefttheroom,LordHenrybegantothinkaboutwhathehadjust
learned.CertainlyfewpeoplehadeverinterestedhimsomuchasDorianGray.Yet themadworshipof this actress didnotmakehimannoyedor jealous.Hewaspleasedbyit.Itmadetheboymoreinterestingtostudy.
Later that night, when he arrived home from dinner, LordHenry saw atelegramonthetablenearthedoor.HeopeneditandreadthatDorianGraywasgoingtomarrySibylVane.
CHAPTERFOUR
TheWorshipofSibylVane
'Isupposeyouhaveheardthenews,Basil?'saidLordHenrythefollowingevening.Theywereinthedining-roomoftheBristolHotel.
'No,Harry,'answeredtheartist,givinghishatandcoattothewaiter.'Whatisit?'
'DorianGrayisgoingtobemarried,'saidLordHenry,watchinghimashespoke.
Hallwardfrowned.'Doriangoingtobemarried!'hecried.'Impossible!''Itisperfectlytrue.''Towhom?''Tosomelittleactress.''Butitwouldbeabsurdforhimtomarrysomeonelikethat.''Ifyouwanttomakehimmarrythisgirltellhimthat,Basil.Heissureto
do it, then.Wheneveramandoesacompletelystupid thing, it isalways foragoodreason.'
'Ihopethisgirlisgood,Harry.''Oh, she is better than good - she is beautiful,' saidLordHenry. 'Dorian
says that she is beautiful and he is not often wrong about these things. Yourportraithashelpedhimunderstandbeautyinothers.Wearetoseehertonight,ifthatboydoesn'tforget.'
'But how can Dorian marry an actress, Harry? It is absurd,' cried thepainter,walkingupanddowntheroom,bitinghislip.
'DorianGrayfallsinlovewithabeautifulactresswhoplaysJuliet.Heasksher to marry him. Why not? I hope that Dorian Gray marries this girl andworships her for six months. Then he can suddenly become fascinated byanotherwoman.'
'You don't mean a word of that, Harry! I know you don't really wantDorianGray'slifetobespoiled.Youaremuchbetterthanyoupretendtobe.'
LordHenry laughed. 'Thereasonweall like to thinksowellofothers is
becauseweareafraidforourselves.ButhereisDorianhimself.HewilltellyoumorethanIcan.'
'MydearHarry,mydearBasil,youmustbothcongratulateme!' said theboy,throwingoffhiscoatandshakingeachofhisfriends'hands. 'Ihaveneverbeensohappy.Ofcourseitissudden-allthebestthingsare.AndyetitseemstometobetheonethingIhavebeenlookingforallmylife.'
'Ihopeyouwillalwaysbeveryhappy,Dorian,'saidHallward,'butwhydidyounottellme?YoutoldHarry.'
'Therereallyisnotmuchtotell,'criedDorian.'LastnightIwenttoseeheragain. After, when we were sitting together, there came into her eyes awonderfullook.ItwassomethingIhadneverseentherebefore.Wekissedeachother.Ican'tdescribetoyouwhatIfeltatthatmoment.'
'Haveyouseenhertoday?'askedLordHenry.DorianGrayshookhishead.'IhaveleftherinShakespeare'sforest.Iwill
findherinhisgarden.''Atwhatexactpointdidyouusetheword"marry",Dorian?Andhowdid
sheanswer?Perhapsyouforgotallaboutit.''MydearHarry,itwasnotabusinessmeeting.ItoldherIlovedher.The
wholeworldisnothingtomecomparedtoher.''ButmydearDorian-'Hallward put his hand on Lord Henry's arm. 'Don't Harry. You have
annoyedDorian.Heisnotlikeothermen.Hewouldneverharmanyone.'LordHenrylookedacrossthetable.'Dorianisneverannoyedwithme,'he
answered.Dorian Gray laughed. 'When I am with Sibyl Vane I don't believe in
anythingyouhavetaughtme.Iforgetallyourfascinating,terribleideas.''Andthoseare...?'askedLordHenry,helpinghimselftosomesalad.'Oh,yourideasaboutlife,yourideasaboutlove,yourideasaboutpleasure.
Allyourideas,Harry.''Pleasure is theonly thingworthhavingideasabout,'heanswered, inhis
slow,musicalvoice.'Whenwearehappywearealwaysgood,butwhenwearegoodwearenotalwayshappy.'
'Iknowwhatpleasureis,'criedDorianGray.'Itistoworshipsomeone.''Thatiscertainlybetterthanwhensomeoneworshipsyou.''Harry,youare terrible! Idon'tknowwhyI likeyousomuch.Letusgo
downtothetheatre.WhenyouseeSibylyouwillchangeyourideas.'Theygotupandputontheircoats.Thepainterwassilentandthoughtful.
Hefeltverysad.DorianGraywouldneveragainbetohimallthathehadbeeninthepast.Lifehadcomebetweenthem.
Whenhe arrivedat the theatre it seemed toHallward thathehadgrownyearsolder.
CHAPTERFOUR
DorianLeavesSibyl
The theatre was crowded that night. It was terribly hot and there wereyoungpeople shouting to eachother fromacross seats.Womenwere laughingloudly and their voices sounded horrible. People were eating oranges anddrinkingfrombottles.
'Whataplacetofindtheperfectgirlin!'saidLordHenry.'Yes!'answeredDorianGray.'ItwashereIfoundher.Whenyouseeheras
Julietyouwillforgeteverything.Theseuglypeoplebecomequitedifferentwhensheappears.'
'Iunderstandwhatyoumean,Dorian,'saidthepainter,'andIbelieveinthisgirl.Anyoneyoulovemustbewonderful.'
'Thanks,Basil,'answeredDorianGray.'Iknewthatyouwouldunderstandme.InafewminutesyouwillseethegirlwhoIamgoingtogivemylifeto.ThegirlwhoIhavegiveneverythingthatisgoodinme.'
Then Sibyl appeared. The crowd shouted and called her name.Yes, shewascertainlylovelyto lookat,LordHenrythought.BasilHallwardjumpedtohisfeetexcitedly.DorianGraysatstaringatherlikehewasinadream.
'Charming!Charming!'criedLordHenry.Aquarterofanhourlater,LordHenrywhisperedtoHallward. 'She'sone
oftheloveliestgirlsIhaveeverseen.Butsheisaterribleactress.'Dorian Gray's face turned white as he watched her speak. She was so
different tonight! Now shewas not Juliet but a very bad actress who did notunderstandShakespeare'swords.
Even thecrowdbecameboredandbegan to talk loudly.Theonlypersonwhodidnotseemtonoticewastheactressherself.
LordHenry got up fromhis chair and put on his coat. 'She is beautiful,Dorian,'hesaid,'butshecan'tact.Let'sgo.'
'Iamgoingtostayuntiltheend,'answeredtheboyinacoldvoice. 'IamawfullysorrythatIhavemadeyouwasteanevening,Harry.Iapologizetoyouboth.'
'MydearDorian,perhapsMissVaneis ill,'saidHallward. 'Wewillcomesomeothernight.'
'Come to the clubwith Basil andmyself.Wewill smoke cigarettes anddrinktothebeautyofSibylVane.Sheisbeautiful.Whatmoredoyouwant?'
'Goaway,Harry,'criedtheboy.'Iwanttobealone.Can'tyouseemyheartis breaking?'Hot tears came to his eyes as LordHenry andHallward left thetheatre.
When it was over, DorianGray rushed to see Sibyl Vane. The girl wasstandingtherealone,withalookofextraordinaryhappinessonherface.
'HowbadlyIactedtonight,Dorian!'shecried.'Horribly!' he answered, staringather. 'Itwas terrible.Areyou ill?Why
didyoumakemesufferlikethat?'Thegirlsmiled.'Dorian,don'tyonunderstand?''Understandwhat?'heasked,angrily.'WhyIwassobadtonight.WhyIwillalwaysbebad.WhyIwillneveract
wellagain.''You are ill, I suppose.When you are ill, you shouldn't act.My friends
werebored.Iwasbored.''Dorian, Dorian,' she cried, 'before I knew you, acting was the one
importantthinginmylife.ItwasonlyinthetheatrethatIlived.Ithoughtthatitwasalltrue.Tonight,forthefirsttimeinmylifeIsawthatIwasplayingatlove.Ourloveforeachotheristheonlytruelove.Takemeawaywithyou,Dorian!Idon'twanttobeanactressanymore.'
Hethrewhimselfdownonthesofa,andturnedawayhisface. 'Youhavekilledmy love,'hesaidquietly.Thenhe jumpedupandwent to thedoor. 'MyGod!HowmadIwastoloveyou!WhatafoolIhavebeen!Youarenothingtomenow.Iwillneverseeyouagain.Iwillneverthinkofyou.Iwillneverspeaktoyouagain.'
The girl went white. 'You are not serious, Dorian? You are acting?' shewhispered,puttingherhandonhisarm.
Hepushedherback.'Don'ttouchme!'hecried.Thenheturnedandlefttheroom.
Afterwalking the streets ofLondon all night, he arrivedhome just aftersunrise.Ashepassedthroughthelibrary,hesawtheportraitthatBasilHallwardhadpaintedofhim.Hestaredatitinsurpriseandwalkedonintohisbedroom.Hetookhiscoatoffandstoodnexttohisbed.Afewmomentslaterhereturnedtothepictureandlookedatitclosely.Inthepoorlightthefaceseemedtohavechangedalittle.Nowthemouthlookedcruel.Itwascertainlystrange.
Hewalkedtothewindowandopenedthecurtains.Thelightchangedtheroom,but the face stayed the same. In fact, the sunlightmade themouth lookevencrueller.
Going back to his bedroom, he found a small mirror that had been apresentfromLordHenry.Helookedathisrealfaceandsawnosignofcruelty.Whatdiditmean?
He threw himself into a chair, and began to think. Suddenly herememberedwhathehadsaidinBasilHallward'shousethedaythepicturehadbeen finished.Yes,he remembered itperfectly.Hehadasked that thepaintinggrow old so that he himself could remain young. But such things wereimpossible. It was terrible even to think about them. And, yet, there was thepictureinfrontofhim.Therewasthecrueltyinthemouth.
Cruelty!Had he been cruel?No,why think about SibylVane? Shewasnothingtohimnow.
Butthepicture?Whatwashetosayofthat?Itheldthesecretofhislife,andtoldhisstory.Ithadtaughthimtolovehisownbeauty.
Woulditteachhimtohatehisownsoul?Wouldheeverlookatitagain?Hewouldsavehimself!HewouldnotseeLordHenryagain.Hewouldgo
backtoSibylVane,marryherandtrytoloveheragain.Shehadsufferedmorethanhehad.Poor child!Hehadbeen selfish and cruel to her.Theywouldbehappytogether.Hislifewithherwouldbebeautifulandpure.
Hegotupfromhischair,andcoveredtheportrait.'Howhorrible!'hesaidtohimself,andhewalkedacrosstothewindowandopenedit.Whenhesteppedouton to thegrasshe tookadeepbreath.He thoughtonlyofSibyl.Thebirdsthatweresinginginthegardenseemedtobetellingtheflowersabouther.
CHAPTERSIX
LoveBecomesTragedy
Itwasnearlyoneo'clockthenextafternoonwhenhewokeup.Hisservantbroughthimacupofteaandsomeletters.OneofthemwasfromLordHenry,andhadbeenbroughtbyhandthatmorning.Heputittooneside.
Hewentintothelibraryforbreakfastfeelingperfectlyhappy.Thenhesawtheopenwindowandthecoveredportrait.Wasitalltrue?Orhaditjustbeenadream?Butherememberedthatcruelmouthsoclearly.
DorianGraysenthisservantawayandlockedallthedoors.Thenhepulledthecoveroffthepainting,andsawhimselffacetoface.Itwastrue.Theportraithadchanged.
Forhourshedidnotknowwhattodoorthink.Finally,hewentovertothetable and wrote a passionate letter to the girl he had loved. He asked her toforgivehimfortheterriblethingshehadsaidtoher.
Suddenlyheheardaknockonthedoor,andheheardLordHenry'svoiceoutside.'Mydearboy,Imustseeyou.Letmeinatonce.'
Hemadenoanswer,butremainedquitestill.Theknockingcontinuedandgrewlouder.Yes,itwasbettertoletLordHenryin.Hewouldexplaintohimthenewlifehewasgoingtolead.Hejumpedup,coveredthepictureandopenedthedoor.
'Iamsorryabout itall,Dorian,'saidLordHenry,asheentered. 'Butyoumustnotthinktoomuchaboutit.'
'DoyoumeanaboutSibylVine?'askedtheboy.'Yes,ofcourse,'answeredLordHenry,sittingdownandslowlypullingoff
hisyellowgloves. 'It is terrible,butyouarenot toblame.Tellme,didyougobehindandseeherafteritwasover?'
'Yes.''Ifeltsurethatyouhad.Didyouhaveanargument?''Iwascruel,Harry-terriblycruel.Butitisallrightnow.Iamnotsorryfor
anythingthathashappened.Ithastaughtmetoknowmyselfbetter.''Oh,Dorian,Iamsogladthatyouseeitthatway.'
'Iwanttobegood,Harry.Idon'twantmysoultobeugly.IamgoingtomarrySibylVine.'
'MarrySibylVine!' criedLordHenry, standingup, and staring at him insurprise.'But,mydearDorian-'
'Yes,Harry, Iknowwhatyouaregoing tosay.Somethinghorribleaboutgettingmarried.Don'tsayit!Sibylwillbemywife!'
'Your wife! Dorian!... Didn't you get my letter? I wrote to you thismorning.'
'Yourletter?Oh,yes,Iremember.Ihavenotreadityet,Harry.''Youknownothingyetthen?''Whatdoyoumean?'LordHenrywalked across the room and sat down next toDorianGray.
Takingbothhishandsinhisown,heheldthem.'Dorian,'hesaid,'myletterwastotellyouthatSibylVaneisdead.'
Acryofpaincamefromtheboy's lipsandhe jumpedtohisfeet. 'Dead!Sibyldead!Itisnottrue!Itisahorriblelie!'
'It is true,Dorian,' saidLordHenry. 'It is inall themorningnewspapers.Thepolicewillbeaskingquestions,andyoumustkeepyournameoutofanyscandal.Thingslike thatmakeamanfashionable inParis.But inLondontheyare a disaster for any gentleman. I suppose they don't knowyour name at thetheatre? If they don't, it is all right. Did anyone see you going round to herroom?'
Dorian did not answer for a fewmoments. Finally he said in a strangevoice, 'Harry, did you say that the police are asking questions?What did youmeanbythat?DidSibyl-?Oh,Harrythisisterrible!'
'Iamsurethatitwasnotanaccident,thoughitmustbedescribedthatwayofficially.Sheswallowedsomethinghorribletheyuseattheatres.'
'Harry,Harry,itisterrible!'criedtheboy.'Yes,itisverysad,ofcourse,butitisnothingtodowithyou.Comewith
metodinner,andafterwewillgotothetheatre.''SoIhavemurderedSibylVane,'saidDorianGray,halftohimself.'Yetthe
rosesarenotlesslovely.Thebirdsstillsinghappilyinmygarden.AndtonightI
willhavedinnerwithyouandgotothetheatre.Howextraordinarylife is!Myfirstpassionateloveletterwastoadeadgirl.YetwhyisitthatIcannotfeelthistragedyasmuchasIwantto?Idon'tthinkIamheartless.Doyou?'
'Youhavedonetoomanyfoolishthingsinthelastfortnighttobeheartless,Dorian,'answeredLordHenry,withhissweet,sadsmile.
Theboyfrowned. 'Idon't like thatexplanation,Harry,'hesaid, 'but Iamgladyoudon'tthinkIamheartless.'
'Awomanhaskilledherselffortheloveofyou,'saidLordHenry.'Thatisverybeautiful.'
They were silent. The evening darkened in the room. After some timeDorianGraylookedup.'Howwellyouknowme!Butwewillnottalkagainofwhathashappened.Ithasbeensomethingwonderful.Thatisall.Now,Ihavetodress, Harry. I feel too tired to eat anything, but I will join you later at thetheatre.'
AsLordHenryclosed thedoorbehindhimDorian rushed to theportraitand tore off the cover. No, therewas no further change in the picture. It hadreceivedthenewsofSibylVane'sdeathbeforehehadknownofithimself.Tearscametohiseyesasherememberedher.Hebrushedthemawayandlookedagainatthepicture.
Hefeltthetimehadcometochoose.Orhadhealreadychosen?Yes,lifehaddecidedthatforhim.Theportraitwasgoingtocarryhisshame:thatwasall.
Anhourlaterhewasatthetheatre,andLordHenrywassittingbesidehim.
CHAPTERSEVEN
'WhatIsPastIsPast?'
Ashewaseatingbreakfast thenextmorning,BasilHallwardwasshownintotheroom.
I am soglad I have foundyou,Dorian,' he said. 'I called last night, andtheytoldmethatyouwereatthetheatre.OfcourseIknewthatwasimpossible.Ihad a terrible evening worrying whether one tragedy would be followed byanother.Ican'ttellyouhowheart-brokenIamaboutthewholething.Didyougoandseethegirl'smother?Whatdidshesayaboutitall?'
'MydearBasil,Idon'tknow,'saidDorianGray.Helookedverybored. 'Iwasatthetheatre.'
'Youwenttothetheatre?'saidHallward,speakingveryslowly. 'YouwenttothetheatrewhereSibylVanewaslyingdead?'
'Stop,Basil!Iwon'thearit!'criedDorian, jumpingtohisfeet. 'Youmustnotspeakofsuchthings.Whatisdoneisdone.Whatispastispast.'
'You call yesterday the past? Dorian, this is horrible! Something haschangedyoucompletely.Youlookexactlythesameasthewonderfulboyinmypicture,butnowthereisnoheartinyou.ItisallHarry'sinfluence.Iseethat.'
The boy went to the window and looked out at the garden for a fewmoments.
'Harryhas taughtmemany things,Basil.' he said at last. 'Youhaveonlytaughtmetolovemyownbeauty.'
'Iamtrulysorryforthat,Dorian.'Idon'tknowwhatyoumean,Basil,'hesaid,turninground. 'Idon'tknow
whatyouwant.Whatdoyouwant?''IwanttheDorianGrayIusedtopaint,'saidtheartistsadly.'Basil,' said the boy, going over to him and putting his hand on his
shoulder, 'youhavecometoolate.YesterdaywhenIheardthatSibylVanehadkilledherself-'
'Killedherself!MyGod!Istherenodoubtaboutthat?'criedHallward.'MydearBasil!Ofcourseshekilledherself.'
Theoldermanputhisfaceinhishands. 'Howterrible,'hesaidinaquietvoice.
'No,' saidDorianGray, 'there isnothing terrible about it. It isoneof thegreatromantictragediesofourtime.Iknowyouaresurprisedatmetalkingtoyoulikethis.YouhavenotrealizedhowIhavechanged.Iwasaboywhenyouknewme.Iamamannow.Ihavenewpassions,newthoughts,newideas-'
'ButDorian-''Iamdifferent,butyoumustnotlikemeless.OfcourseIamveryfondof
Harry.ButIknowthatyouarebetterthanheis.Youarenotstronger-youaretooafraidof life -butyouarebetter.Andhowhappyweused tobe together!Don'tleaveme,Basil,anddon'targuewithme.IamwhatIam.'
Thepainterfeltstrangelysad.DorianGraywasextraordinarilyimportanttohim.Theboyhadchangedhisart.PerhapshiscrueltalkaboutSibylVanewasjustamoodthatwouldpassaway.Therewassomuchinhimthatwasgood.
'Well,Dorian,'hesaidwithasadsmile,'Iwon'tspeaktoyouagainaboutthishorriblething.Ionlyhopethatyournameiskeptoutofanyscandal.Havethepoliceaskedtoseeyou?'
Dorianshookhishead.'Theydon'tevenknowmyname,'heanswered.'Shedidn'tknowyourname?''Onlymyfirstname,andIamsurethatshedidnottell it toanyone.She
toldherfamilythatIwasPrinceCharming.Itwasprettyofher.YoumustdomeadrawingofSibyl,Basil.Iwouldliketohavesomethingmoreofherthanthememoryofafewkisses.'
'Iwill try anddo something,Dorian.But youmust come and sit formeagain.Ican'tworksowellwithoutyou.'
'Icanneversitforyouagain,Basil.Itisimpossible!'hecried.'Mydearboy,what is this foolishness!'Hallwardcried. 'Didyounot like
whatIdidforyou?Whereisit?Whyhaveyoucoveredit?Letmelookatit.ItisthebestthingIhaveeverdone.Itisverybadofyourservanttohidemyworklikethat.IfelttheroomlookeddifferentasIcamein.'
'Itwasnotmyservantwhocoveredit,Basil.Ididitmyself.Thelightwastoostrongontheportrait.'
'Toostrong!No,thelightisperfectinhere.Letmeseeit.'AndHallward
walkedtowardsthecorneroftheroom.A terrible cry came fromDorianGray's lips, and he rushed between the
painterandthecoveredportrait.'Basil,youmustnotlookatit!Idon'twantyouto.'
'Notlookatmyownwork!Areyouserious?Whyshouldn'tI lookatit?'criedHallward,laughing.
'Ifyoutryandlookatit,Basil,IpromiseIwillneverspeaktoyouagain.Iamveryserious.'
Hallward lookedatDorianGray in surprise.Hehadnever seenhim likethisbefore.Theboy'sfacewaswhiteandangry.
'Dorian!''Don'tspeak!''Butwhatisthematter?OfcourseIwon'tlookatitifyoudon'twantme
to,'hesaidcoldly,walkingovertothewindow.'ButitseemsratherabsurdthatIcannotseemyownworkwhenIamgoingtoexhibititinParisintheautumn.'
'Toexhibit it?Youwant to exhibit it?' criedDorianGray.A terrible fearwas building inside him.Was theworld going to see his secret?Were peoplegoingtostareatthemysteryofhislife?Thatwasimpossible.
'Yes,GeorgePetitisgoingtoexhibitallmybestpicturesinOctober.Don'tworry,itisonlyforonemonth.'
DorianGraypassedhishandacrosshis face. It felt hot andwet.He feltthat hewas about to face horrible danger. 'You toldme amonth ago that youwould never exhibit it,' he cried. 'Why have you changed your mind?' Hestopped suddenly and a cruel look came into his eyes. He had rememberedsomethingLordHenry had said to him, 'AskBasilwhyhewon't exhibit yourpicture.He toldmeonceand it isaverystrangestory.'Yes,perhapsBasil toohadhissecret.Hewouldaskhimandtry.
'Basil,' he said, comingover quite close, and looking him straight in theface. 'Weallhavesecrets.Whatwasyourreasonfornotwantingtoexhibitmypicture?'
'Dorian, if I toldyou,youmight likeme less thanyoudonow.Andyouwouldcertainly laughatme. Ifyoudon'twantmeever to lookatyourpictureagain,Iwon't.Ihavealwaysyoutolookat.Yourfriendshipismoreimportantto
methanexhibitingapainting.''No, Basil, youmust tellme,' saidDorianGray.His feeling of fear had
passedaway.NowhejustwantedtofindoutBasilHallward'smystery.'Dorian,'saidthepainter,whodidnotlookhappy.'Haveyouevernoticed
somethinginthepicture,somethingstrange?''Basil!'criedtheboy,staringathimwithwildeyes.'I seeyoudid.Dorian, fromthemoment Imetyou,yourpersonalityhad
themost extraordinary influence overme. Iworshipped you. Iwas jealous ofeveryone you spoke to. Iwanted to have you all tomyself. Iwas only happywhenIwaswithyou.Whenyouwereawayfrommeyouwerestillthereinmyart.'
'Basil-''No,don'tspeak.Imust tellyounowwhatIdidnot tellyouthen.ThatI
decided topaintawonderfulportraitofyou. Iputallmyfeelingsforyou intothatpicture.Ifelt,Dorian,thatIhadtoldtoomuch.Ihadputtoomuchofmyselfinto it.So Idecidednever toexhibit theportrait. I toldHarryandhe laughed.When thepicturewas finished,and I satalonewith it, I felt that Iwas right...Later, I thought that perhaps I was being foolish and when this Paris offercame...butIseenowthatthepicturecannotbeshown.'
DorianGraybreatheddeeply.Thecolour cameback tohis cheeksandasmilecrossedhislips.Thedangerwasoverandhewassafeforawhile.WhatasadstoryBasilhadtold.Wouldheeverbesoinfluencedbythepersonalityofafriend?LordHenryhadthecharmofbeingverydangerous.Butthatwasall.
'Itisextraordinarytome,Dorian,'saidHallward,'thatyousawthisintheportrait.'
T saw something in it,' he answered, 'something that seemed tomeverystrange.'
'Well,youdon'tmindmelookingatthethingnow?'Dorianshookhishead. 'Youmustnotaskmethat,Basil.Icannotletyou
standinfrontofthatpicture.''Youwilloneday,won'tyou?''Never.'
'Well,perhapsyouareright.Andnowgoodbye,Dorian.Youhavebeentheonepersoninmylifewhohasreallyinfluencedmyart.Butyoudon'tknowwhatitcostmetotellyouallthatIhavetoldyou.'
'My dear Basil,' said Dorian, 'what have you told me? Only that youworshippedmetoomuch.Thatisnotevenflattery.'
'It was not meant as flattery. And now that I have told you, somethingseemstohavegoneoutofme.Perhapsyoushouldneverputwhatyouworshipintowords.'
'Youmustn'ttalkaboutworship.Itisfoolish.YouandIarefriends,Basil,andwewillalwaysbefriends.'
'YouhavegotHarry.'saidthepainter,sadly.'Oh, Harry!' laughed the young man. 'Harry spends his life saying and
doing extraordinary things.He lives the sort of life Iwant to live.But I don'tthinkIwouldgotoHarryifIwasintrouble.Iwouldprefertogotoyou,Basil.'
'Youwillsitformeagain?''Impossible!Thereissomethingterribleaboutaportrait.Ithasalifeofits
own.Iwillcomeandhaveteawithyouinstead.''Well,goodbye then. Iamsorry thatyouwon't letme lookat thepicture
again.ButIunderstandwhatyoufeelaboutit.'Ashelefttheroom,DorianGraysmiledtohimself.PoorBasil!Howlittle
heknewofthetruereason.Andnowheunderstoodmorethepainter'swildandjealousfeelings,andhefeltsorry.Therewassomethingtragicinafriendshipsocorruptedbypassion.
Herangthebelltocallhisservant.Hehadtohidetheportraitimmediately.Ithadbeenmadofhimtoleaveitinaplacewhereitcouldbediscoveredbyhisfriends.
CHAPTEREIGHT
ThePortraitIsHidden
Whentheservantentered,DorianGrayaskedhimtosendMrsLeaftohiminthelibrary.MrsLeafhadbeenwithhisfamilyformanyyears.Heaskedherforthekeytotheoldschoolroom.
'Theoldschoolroom,MrDorian?'shecried. 'Butitisfullofdust!Imustcleanitfirst.'
'Idon'twantitcleaned,MrsLeaf.Ionlywantthekey.''Well,sir,you'llbecoveredwithdustifyougointoit.Ithasn'tbeenopen
fornearlyfiveyears,notsinceyourgrandfatherdied.'Hefrownedatthisreminderofhisgrandfather.Hehadbadmemoriesofall
hisfamily.'Thatdoesnotmatter,'heanswered.'Ijustwanttoseetheplace-thatisall.Givemethekey.'
'Here is thekey, sir,' said theold lady. 'Butyouarenotgoing to liveupthere,areyou,sir?'
'No,no,'hecried.'Thankyou,MrsLeaf.Youcango.'Anhourlatertwomenarrivedtomovetheportrait.'It'sveryheavy,sir,'saidoneofthemen,astheyclimbedthestairs.'Iamafraiditisratherheavy,'saidDorian,asheopenedthedooroftheold
schoolroomwherehewasgoingtohidethesecretofhiscorruptedsoul.Hehadnotenteredtheroomsincehewasachild.Itwasalargeroombuilt
by his grandfather to keep him at a distance. Every moment of his lonelychildhoodcamebacktohimashelookedround.
Itwasa roomfullof terriblememories,but itwas safe.Hehad thekey,andnootherpersoncouldenter it.Theface in theportraitcouldgrowoldandugly.Whatdiditmatter?Noonecouldseeit.Hehimselfwouldnotseeit.Hedidnothavetowatchtheterriblecorruptionofhissoul.Hewouldstayyoung-thatwasenough.
When themenhadgone,Dorian locked thedoor, andput thekey inhispocket.Hefeltsafenow.Noonewouldeverlookatthathorriblething.Onlyhewouldeverseehisshame.
HewentbacktothelibraryandfoundanotefromLordHenry.InitwasareportfromthenewspaperaboutSibylVane.Herdeathwasofficiallydescribedasanaccident.
He frowned,and tore thepaper in two.Thenhewalkedacross the roomandthrewthepiecesaway.Howuglyitallwas!Andhowhorriblyrealuglinessmadethings!
Perhaps the servant had read the report, and had begun to suspectsomething.And,yet,whatdiditmatter?WhathadDorianGraytodowithSibylVane'sdeath?Therewasnothingtobeafraidof.DorianGrayhadnotkilledher.
CHAPTERNINE
'IWillShowYoumySoul'
Manyyearspassed.YetthewonderfulbeautythathadsofascinatedBasilHallward,stayedwithDorianGray.Eventhosewhohadheardterriblerumoursagainsthim,couldnotbelievethemwhentheymethim.Healwayshadthelookofsomeonewhohadkepthimselfpure.
ManypeoplesuspectedthattherewassomethingverywrongwithDorian'slife,butonlyheknewabouttheportrait.Somenightshewouldsecretlyenterthelockedroom.Holdingamirrorinhishand,hewouldstandinfrontofthepictureBasilHallwardhadpainted.Hewouldlookfirstat thehorrible,oldfaceinthepicture,andthenatthehandsomeyoungfacethatlaughedbackathimfromthemirror.Hefellmoreandmoreinlovewithhisownbeauty.Andmoreandmoreinterestedinthecorruptionofhisownsoul.
Thensomethinghappenedthatchangedeverything.ItwasontheninthofNovember,thedaybeforehisthirty-eighthbirthday.
HewaswalkinghomefromLordHenry'sandthenightwascoldandfoggy.AtthecornerofGrosvenorSquareandSouthAudleyStreet,amanpassedhiminthefog.Hewaswalkingveryfast,andhadthecollarofhiscoatturnedup.Hehadabaginhishand.Dorianrecognizedhim.ItwasBasilHallward.AstrangefearmadeDorianwalkoffquicklyinthedirectionofhisownhouse.
ButHallwardhadseenhim.Dorianheardhimhurryingafterhim.Inafewmomentshishandwasonhisarm.
'Dorian!Whatanextraordinarypieceofluck!Ihavebeenwaitingforyouinyourlibraryeversincenineo'clock.IamgoingtoParisonthemidnighttrain,andIwantedtoseeyoubeforeIleft.Ithoughtitwasyou,oratleastyourcoat,asIpassedyou.ButIwasn'tsure.Didn'tyourecognizeme?'
'In this fog, my dear Basil? I can't even recognize Grosvenor Square. Ibelievemyhouseissomewhereabouthere,butIdon'tfeelatallcertainaboutit.Iamsorryyouaregoingaway,asIhavenotseenyouforsuchalongtime.ButIsupposeyouwillbebacksoon?'
'No,IamgoingtobeoutofEnglandforsixmonths.Hereweareatyourdoor.Letmecomeinforamoment.Ihavesomethingtosaytoyou.'
'Thatwouldbelovely.Butwon'tyoumissyourtrain?'saidDorianGray,ashewentupthestepsandopenedthedoorwithhiskey.
'I have plenty of time,' he answered. 'The train doesn't go until twelve-fifteen,anditisonlyjusteleven.AllIhavewithmeisthisbag,andIcaneasilygettoVictoriaStationintwentyminutes.'
Dorian looked at him and smiled. 'Come in or the fogwill get intomyhouse.'
HallwardfollowedDorianintothelibrary.Therewasabrightwoodfireononesideoftheroomandtwolampsontheother.
'Wouldyoulikeadrink?'askedDorian.'Nothanks,Iwon'thaveanythingmore,'saidthepainter,takinghishatand
coat off. 'And now, my dear Dorian, I want to speak to you seriously. Don'tfrownlikethat.Youmakeitsomuchmoredifficultforme.''
'Whatisitallabout?'criedDorian,throwinghimselfdownonthesofa. 'Ihope it is not aboutmyself. I am tiredofmyself tonight. Iwouldprefer tobesomebodydifferent.'
'Itisaboutyourself,'answeredHallward,inhisdeepvoice,'andImustsayittoyou.'
Dorianbreatheddeeplyandlitacigarette.'Isitreallynecessary,Basil?''Ithinkyoushouldknowsomeoftheterriblethingsthatpeoplearesaying
aboutyou.''I don't want to know anything about them. I love scandals about other
people,butscandalsaboutmyselfdon'tinterestme.''Everygentleman is interested inhisgoodname,Dorian.Youdon'twant
peopletotalkofyouassomethingterribleandcorrupt.ButIdon'tbelievetheserumoursatall.AtleastIcan'tbelievethemwhenIseeyou.Corruptionisathingthatwritesitselfacrossaman'sface.Itcannotbehidden.'
'MydearBasil-''Andyet,Irarelyseeyounowandyounevercometomyhouse.WhenI
hearalltheterriblethingspeoplearewhisperingaboutyou,Idon'tknowwhattosay.Why have so many of your friends killed themselves? Young men fromgoodfamilieslikeAdrianSingletonandthatpooryoungsoldier?'
'Stop,Basil.Youaretalkingaboutthingsofwhichyouknownothing,'saidDorian.'IknowhowpeopletalkinEngland.Thisisacountrywherepeoplehavetwo faces.Theywhisper rumours aboutpeople likemyself, and thendomuchworsethingswhenothersarenotlooking.'
'Dorian,'criedHallward, 'that isnotthequestion.IknowEnglandisbad,butthat'sthereasonIwantyoutobeagoodinfluenceonyourfriends.Insteadyou have lost all belief in goodness and honesty. You have filled those pooryoungmenwithamadnessforpleasure.'
Doriansmiled.'Howcanyousmilelikethat?Ionlywantyoutohaveacleanname.You
have awonderful influence.Let it be for good.Yet Iwonderwhether I knowyou?ButIcan'tanswerthatquestion.Iwouldneedtoseeyoursoul.'
'Toseemysoul!'criedDorianGray.Hejumpedupfromthesofa,turningalmostwhitewithfear.
'Yes,'answeredHallward.Therewasadeepsadness inhisvoice. 'Toseeyoursoul.ButonlyGodcandothat.'
A bitter laugh came from the lips of the younger man. 'You will see ityourself, tonight!'hecried,pickingupalampfromthetable. 'Come,it isyourownwork.Whyshouldn'tyoulookatit?Youcantelltheworldallaboutitafter,ifyouwant.Nobodywillbelieveyou.Iftheydobelieveyou,theywilllikemebetter for it.Come, I tellyou.Youhave talkedenoughabout corruption.Nowyouwillseeitfacetoface.'
Therewasmadness in everywordhe said.He felt a terrible delight thatsomeonewasgoing to share his secret.Themanwhohadpainted the portraitwasgoing to sharehis shame.Thepainterwould suffer for the restofhis lifewiththememoryofwhathehaddone.
'Yes,'hecontinued,comingcloser tohim. 'Iwillshowyoumysoul.YouwillseewhatyouthinkonlyGodcansee.'
Hallwardjumpedback.'Youcannotsaythingslikethat,Dorian!'hecried. 'Theyarehorribleand
theydon'tmeananything.''Youthinkso?'Helaughedagain.'Iknowso.Dorian,youhavetotellme-'
'Don'ttouchme.Finishwhatyouhavetosay.'Thepainterfeltextraordinarilysad.Hewalkedover to thefireandstood
there.'Iamwaiting,Basil,'saidtheyoungman,inahard,clearvoice.Heturnedround.'WhatIhavetosayisthis,'hecried.'Youmustgiveme
someanswer to thehorrible thingspeoplearesayingagainstyou.Tellme thatthey are not true, Dorian! Can't you see what I am going through?MyGod!Don'ttellmethatyouarebadandcorruptandshameful.'
DorianGraysmiled.'Comeupstairs,Basil,'hesaid,quietly.'Ikeepadiaryofmylifefromdaytoday.Iwillshowittoyouifyoucomeupwithme.'
'Iwillcomewithyou,Dorian,ifyouwishit.IseeIhavemissedmytrain.Itdoesnotmatter.Icangotomorrow.Butdon'taskmetoreadanythingtonight.AllIwantisasimpleanswertomyquestion.'
'Iwillgiveittoyouupstairs.Icouldnotgiveittoyouhere.Youwillnothavetoreadforlong.'
CHAPTERTEN
BasilSeesthePortrait
Hepassedoutof theroomandbeganclimbingthestairs.BasilHallwardfollowed close behind. Theywalked softly, as people always do at night. Thelampmadestrangeshadowsonthewallandstairs.
When they reached the top,Dorian put the lamp down on the floor.Hetookthekeyoutofhispocketandturneditinthelock.
'Youreallywanttoknow,Basil?'heaskedinalowvoice.'Yes.''I am delighted,' he answered, smiling. Then he added, 'You are the one
manintheworldIwanttoknoweverythingaboutme.Youhaveinfluencedmylifemorethanyouthink.'Takingupthelamp,heopenedthedoorandwentin.Coldairpassedbetweenthem. 'Shut thedoorbehindyou,'hewhispered,asheplacedthelamponthetable.
Hallward looked around the room in surprise. The room had clearly notbeenlivedinforyears.Thewholeplacewascoveredwithdust,andtherewereholesinthecarpet.Amouseranacrossthefloor.
'SoyouthinkthatitisonlyGodwhoseesthesoul,Basil.Takethecoverofftheportrait,andyouwillseemine.'
Thevoicethatspokewascoldandcruel.'Youaremad,Dorian,'saidHallward,frowning.'Youwon't take the cover off?Then Iwill do itmyself,' said the young
man,throwingtheoldpurplecurtaintotheground.A cry of fear came from the painter's lips when he saw the face in the
portrait.ItwasDorianGray'sfacehewaslookingat,anditstillhadsomeofthatwonderfulbeauty.Butnowtherewereterriblesignsofageandcorruption.Butwhohaddoneit?Heheldthelampuptothepicture.Inthelefthandcornerwashisname,paintedinred.
Whathadhappened?Hehadneverdonethat.Still,itwashisownpicture.He knew it, and it made his blood turn to ice. His own picture!What did itmean?Whyhaditchanged?Heturned,andlookedatDorianGraywiththeeyes
ofasickman.Theyoungmanwasstandingnear thewall,watchinghim.Hehad taken
thefloweroutofhiscoat,andwassmellingit.'Whatdoesthismean?'criedHallward,atlast.Hisownvoicesoundedhigh
andstrange.'Yearsago,whenIwasaboy,'saidDorianGray,closinghishandon the
flower,'youmetmeandflatteredme.Youtaughtmetolovemybeauty.Onedayyou introducedme to a friendofyours.Heexplained tomehowwonderful itwastobeyoung.Youfinishedaportraitofmethatshowedmehowwonderfulitwastobebeautiful.InamadmomentImadeawish-'
'Irememberit!Oh,howwellIrememberit!No!Thethingisimpossible.Theremustbesomethingwrongwiththepaint.Itellyouthethingisimpossible.'
'Is anything really impossible?' said the young man, going over to thewindow.
'Youtoldmeyouhaddestroyedit.''Iwaswrong.Ithasdestroyedme.''I don't believe it is my picture. There was nothing bad in it, nothing
shameful.Youwereperfecttome.Thisisafacefromhell.''It is thefaceofmysoul.EachofushasHeavenandHell inhim,Basil,'
criedDorianwildly.Hallward turned again to the portrait, and stared at it. 'MyGod! Is this
true?' he cried. 'Is thiswhat you have donewith your life?Youmust be evenworsethanpeoplesay!'
Hallwardthrewhimselfintothechairbythetableandputhisfaceinhishands.Thelampfelltothefloorandwentout.
'GoodGod,Dorian!Whatanawfullesson!Whatanawfullesson!'Therewasnoanswer,buthecouldheartheyoungmancryingatthewindow.'WemustaskGodforforgiveness.Iworshippedyoutoomuch.Iampunishedforit.Youworshippedyourselftoomuch.Wearebothpunished.'
DorianGrayturnedslowlyaroundandlookedathim.Thereweretearsinhiseyes.'Itistoolate,Basil,'hesaid.
'Butdon'tyouseethathellishthingstaringatus?'
Dorian Gray looked at the picture. Suddenly he felt that he hated BasilHallward.Hehatedthemansittingat thetablemorethanhehatedanythinginhislife.
Helookedwildlyaround.Somethingshoneontopofthepaintedcupboardthat faced him. It was a knife he had left there some days before.Hemovedslowlytowardsit,passingHallwardashedidso.Hetooktheknifeinhishandandturnedaround.Hallwardmovedinhischair.Herushedathim,andstucktheknifeintohisneckagainandagain.
He threw the knife down on the table and stood back. He could hearnothingbutthesoundofbloodfallingontothecarpet.Heopenedthedoorandwentoutontothestairs.Thehousewascompletelyquiet.Noonewasthere.
Howquicklyithadallbeendone!Feelingstrangelycalm,hewalkedovertothewindowandopenedit.Thewindhadblownthefogawayandtheskywasclear.He lookeddownand sawapolicemanwalkingdown the street.Hewasshiningalampinallthehouses.
Closing thewindow,hewentback into the room.Hedidnot lookat themurderedman.Hefeltthatthesecretofthewholethingwasnottothinkaboutitatall.Thefriendwhohadpaintedthe terribleportraithadgoneoutofhis life.Thatwasenough.
He picked up the lamp and walked out of the room, locking the doorbehindhim.Ashewalkeddownthestairshethoughtthatheheardwhatsoundedlikecriesofpain.Hestoppedseveraltimes,andwaited.No,everythingwasstill.
Whenhereachedthelibrary,hesawthebagandcoatinthecorner.Theymust be hidden away somewhere. He unlocked a secret cupboard and threwthemin.Hecouldeasilyburn themlater.Thenhepulledouthiswatch. Itwastwentyminutestotwo.
He sat down and began to think. Basil Hallward had left the house ateleven.Noonehadseenhimcomeinagain.Theservantswereinbed…Paris!Yes. Itwas toParis thatBasil hadgone.Andby themidnight train as he hadplanned. It would be months before anyone suspected anything. Months! Hecoulddestroyeverythinglongbeforethen.
Suddenlyhehadathought.Heputonhiscoatandhatandwent intothefrontroom.Fromthewindowhecouldseethepolicemanpassingthehouse.Hewaited,andheldhisbreath.
After a few moments he went out of the house, shutting the door verygently behind him. Then he began ringing the bell. In about five minutes aservantappeared.Hewashalfdressedandlookedverysleepy.
'IamsorryIhadtowakeyouup,Francis,'hesaid,steppingin.'ButIhaveforgottenmykey.Whattimeisit?'
'Tenminutespasttwo,sir,'answeredtheman,lookingataclock.'Ten minutes past two? How horribly late! You must wake me at nine
tomorrow.Ihavesomeworktodo.''Allright,sir.''Didanyonecallthisevening?''MrHallward,sir.Hestayedhereuntileleven,and thenhewentawayto
catchhistrain.''Oh!IamsorryIdidn'tseehim.Didheleaveanymessage?''No,sir.HesaidhewouldwritetoyoufromParis.''Thatisall,Francis.Don'tforgettocallmeatninetomorrow.''No,sir.'Themanwentofftohisbedroom.Dorian Gray threw his hat and coat upon the table and passed into the
library.Foraquarterofanhourhewalkedupanddowntheroom,bitinghislipandthinking.Thenhetookdownabookfromoneofthecupboards,andbeganto turn thepages. 'AlanCampbell,152HertfordStreet,Mayfair.'Yes, thatwasthemanhewanted.
CHAPTERELEVEN
TheProblemoftheBody
At nine o'clock the next morning his servant came in with a cup ofchocolate,andopenedthecurtains.Dorianwassleepingquitepeacefully,lyingwithonehandunderhischeek.
Asheopenedhiseyesasmilepassedacrosshislips.Heturnedround,andbegantodrinkhischocolate.TheNovembersuncameintotheroom,andtheskywasbright.ItwasalmostlikeamorninginMay.
Slowlyherememberedwhathadhappenedthenightbefore.Thedeadmanwas still sitting there, and in the sunlight now. How horrible that was! Suchterriblethingswereforthedarkness,nottheday.
After he had drunk his cup of chocolate, he went over to the table andwrote two letters. One he put in his pocket, and the other he handed to hisservant.
'Takethisroundto152HertfordStreet,Francis.IfMrCampbellisoutoftown,gethisaddress.'
When the servant had gone, he lit a cigarette, and began drawing on apieceofpaper.Firsthedrewflowers,thenhouses,thenhumanfaces.SuddenlyherealizedthateveryfacehedrewlookedlikeBasilHallward.Hefrownedandwentovertolieonthesofa.
An hourwent past very slowly. Every second he kept looking up at theclock. As the minutes went by he became horribly worried. He got up andwalkedaroundtheroom.Hishandswerestrangelycold.
Atlastthedooropened,andhisservantentered.'MrCampbell,sir,'saidtheman.Thecolourcamebacktohischeeks.'Askhimtocomeinatonce,Francis.'Hefelthimselfagain.Hisfearhad
goneaway.In a fewmomentsAlanCampbellwalked in.He lookedvery angry and
ratherworried.'Alan!Thisiskindofyou.Ithankyouforcoming.'
'I hoped never to enter your house again, Gray. But you said it was aquestionoflifeanddeath.'Hisvoicewashardandcold,andhekepthishandsinthepocketsofhiscoat.
'Yes,itisaquestionoflifeanddeath,Alan.Andtomorethanoneperson.Sitdown.'
Campbelltookachairbythetable,andDoriansatoppositehim.Thetwomen'seyesmet.InDorian'stherewasgreatsadness.Heknewthatwhathewasgoingtodowasterrible.
After a moment of silence, Dorian said very quietly, 'Alan, in a lockedroomatthetopofthehouse,adeadmanissittingatatable.Hehasbeendeadfor tenhoursnow.Don't stir,anddon't lookatme like that.Youdon'tneed toknowwhothismanis.Youdon'tneedtoknowhoworwhyhedied.Whatyouhavetodoisthis-'
'Stop,Gray.Idon'twanttoknowanythingmore.Idon'tcareifwhatyoutellmeistrueornottrue.Idon'twantanypartinyourlife.Keepyourhorriblesecretstoyourself.Theydon'tinterestmeanymore.'
'Alan,theywillhavetointerestyou.Iamawfullysorryforyou,Alan.ButI can't helpmyself. You are the oneman who can saveme. Alan, you are ascientist.Youknowaboutchemistry,andthingsofthatkind.Whatyouhavegottodoistodestroythethingthatisupstairs.'
'Youaremad,Dorian.Iwillhavenothingtodowiththis.''Hekilledhimself,Alan.''Iamgladofthat.Butwhomadehimdoit?You,Isuppose.''Doyoustillrefusetodothisforme?''OfcourseIrefuse.Youhavecometothewrongman.Gotosomeofyour
friends.Don'tcometome.''Alan, it was murder. I killed him. You don't know what he made me
suffer.''Murder!GoodGod,Dorian, is thatwhatyouhavecome to? Iwillhave
nothingtodowithit.''Youmusthavesomething todowith it.Don'taskanymorequestions. I
have toldyou toomuchalready.Butyoumustdo this.Wewere friendsonce,Alan.'
'Don'tspeakofthosedays,Dorian.Theyaredead.''Theywillhangmeforthis,Alan.Don'tyouunderstand?Theywillkillme
forwhatIhavedone.'Campbellgotuptoleave.'Iwillnothaveanythingtodowiththis.''Yourefuse?''Yes.'Thesame lookofsadnesscame intoDorianGray'seyes.Thenhe tooka
pieceofpaperandwrotesomethingonit.Hereaditoverandpusheditacrossthetable.Thenhegotupandwentovertothewindow.
Campbelllookedathiminsurpriseandpickedupthepaper.Ashereadit,hisfacewentwhite,andhefellbackinhischair.
Aftertwoorthreeminuteswithoutspeaking,Doriancameandstoodnexttohim.
'Iamverysorryforyou,Alan,'hesaid,puttinghishandonhisshoulder.'Butthereisnootherway.Ihavealetterwrittenalready.Hereitis.Youseetheaddress. Ifyoudon'thelpme, Iwill send it.Youknowwhatwillhappen.Butyouaregoingtohelpme.Itisimpossibleforyoutorefusenow.'
Campbellputhisfaceinhishands.'Thethingisquitesimple,Alan.Ithastobedone.Faceit,anddoit.'AterriblesoundcamefromCampbell'slips.'Come,Alan,youmustdecidenow.'Alanpausedforamoment.'Isthereafireintheroomupstairs?''Yes,thereisagasfire.''Imustgohomeandgetsome...things.''No,Alan,youmustnotleavethehouse.Writeoutwhatyouwant,andmy
servantwillgetthethingsforyou.'It was nearly two o'clock when the servant returned with an enormous
woodenboxfilledwiththethingsCampbellhadaskedfor.'Youcanhavetherestofthedaytoyourself,Francis.''Thankyou,sir.'
When the servant had left, the two men carried the box up the stairs.Doriantookoutthekeyandturneditinthelock.ThenhestoppedandCampbellsawthathiseyeswerefulloftears.'Idon'tthinkIcangoin,Alan,'hesaid.
'Idon'tneedyou,'saidCampbellcoldly.Dorianhalfopenedthedoor.Ashedidso,hesawthefaceoftheportrait
staringinthesunlight.Herememberedthatthenightbeforehehadforgottentocover the picture.Hewas about to rush forwardwhen he saw something thatmadehimjumpback.
Therewasbloodononeofthehandsintheportrait.Howhorribleitwas!Hehurriedintotheroom,tryingnottolookatthedeadman.Pickingthe
curtainoffthefloorhethrewitoverthepicture.Thenherushedoutoftheroomanddownthestairs.
ItwaslongaftersevenwhenCampbellcamebackintothelibrary.Hewasquietandwhite in theface,butverycalm. 'Ihavedonewhatyouaskedme todo,'hesaid.'Andnowgoodbye.Letusneverseeeachotheragain.'
'Youhavesavedme,Alan.Icannotforgetthat,'saidDorian,simply.WhenCampbellhad lefthewentupstairs.Therewasahorrible smell in
theroom.Butthethingthathadbeensittingatthetablewasgone.
CHAPTERTWELVE
'WhyDoYouLooksoYoung?'
'Don't tellme that you are going to be good,' cried LordHenry. 'You'requiteperfect.Don'tchange.'
Dorian Gray shook his head. 'No, Harry, I have done toomany terriblethingsinmylife.Iamnotgoingtodoanymore.Buttellme,whatishappeninghereinLondon?Ihavebeenoutofthecountryformorethanamonth.'
'PeoplearestilldiscussingpoorBasil'sdisappearance.''Aretheynotboredwiththatyet?'saidDorian,pouringoutsomewineand
frowning.'Mydearboy,theyhaveonlybeentalkingaboutitforsixweeks.The British only need one subject of conversation every three months.
Theyhavebeenvery luckyrecently, though.First therewas thescandalofmywife leaving me, and then Alan Campbell killed himself. Now there is themysteriousdisappearanceofanartist.TheBritishpolicearesayingthatBasildidtakethemidnighttrainontheninthofNovember,buttheFrenchpolicearesurethatheneverarrivedinParisatall.'
'WhatdoyouthinkhashappenedtoBasil?'askedDorian,holdinguphiswineagainstthelight.
'Ihavenoidea.IfBasilwantstohidehimself,itisnobusinessofmine.Ifhe is dead, I don'twant to think about him.Death is the only thing that everfrightensme.Ihateit.'
'Why?'saidtheyoungerman,inatiredvoice.'Because,'saidLordHenry,'itistheonlythingthatisfinal.Letushaveour
coffeeinthemusicroom,Dorian.YoumustplayChopintome.Themanwhoran away with my wife played Chopin beautifully. Poor Victoria! I was veryfondofher.Thehouseisquitelonelywithouther.'
Doriansaidnothing,butwentintothenextroomandsatatthepiano.Afterthecoffeehadbeenbroughtin,hestoppedplaying.
'Harry,' he said, looking over at Lord Henry. 'Do you think Basil wasmurdered?'
LordHenry yawned. 'Everyone likedBasil.Whowouldwant tomurderhim?Hewasnotcleverenoughtohaveenemies.Ofcoursehewasawonderfulpainter.ButamancanpaintlikeVelasquezandyetstillberatherboring.Basilwasreallyratherboring.Theonlythingthatinterestedmeabouthimwasthatheworshippedyou.'
'IwasveryfondofBasil,'saidDoriansadly.'Butdon'tpeoplesayhewasmurdered?'
'Oh, somenewspapersdo.But I don't think it is likely. I know there areawfulplacesinParis,butBasilwasnotthesortofmantogotothem.'
'Whatwouldyousay,Harry,ifItoldyouthatIhadmurderedBasil?'saidtheyoungerman.Hewatchedhimcarefullyafterhehadspoken.
'No, Dorian, you would not murder anyone. It is ordinary people whomurder.Itistheirwayoffindingtheextraordinarypleasurethatartgivesus.'
'Awayoffindingtheextraordinarypleasure?Doyouthinkthatamanwhohasmurderedcoulddoitagain.Don'ttellmethat.'
'Oh!Anythingbecomesapleasureifyoudoittoooften,'criedLordHenry,laughing.'Thatisoneofthemostimportantsecretsoflife.Ibelieve,though,thatmurderisalwaysamistake.Oneshouldneverdoanythingonecannottalkaboutafterdinner.ButletuspassfrompoorBasil.IwishIcouldbelievethathehasdiedsomeromanticdeath,butIcan't.HeprobablyfellintotheSeineoffabus.Icanseehimnowlyingonhisbackinthedirtygreenwater.Duringthelasttenyearshehadnotbeenpaintingwell.'
LordHenrywalkedacrosstheroomandtouchedtheheadofastrangegreybirdthathekeptinthemusicroom.ThenheturnedtofaceDorian.
'Yes,'hecontinued,takinghishandkerchiefoutofhispocket,'hispaintingseemed tome to have lost something.When you and he stopped being greatfriends, he stopped being a great artist. What was it that separated you? Isupposeheboredyou.Ifso,heneverforgaveyou.Bytheway,whathappenedtothatwonderfulportraithedidofyou?Idon'tthinkIhaveeverseenitsincehefinishedit.'
'Itoldyouyearsagothatitwasstolen.''Oh! I remember. You never got it back? What a shame! It really was
wonderful.IrememberIwantedtobuyit.IwishIhaditnow.'
'Ineverreallylikedit,'saidDorian.'IamsorryIsatforit.Thememoryofthethingishatefultome.'
'How sad you look! Don't be so serious. Play me some music, Dorian.And,asyouplay,tellmeinalowvoicewhyyoustilllooksoyoung.Iamonlytenyearsolderthanyouare,andIhavegreyhairandyellowskin.Youarereallywonderful,Dorian.'
'Harry,please-''Youhavenever lookedmorecharming thanyoudo tonight.Youremind
meofthedayIfirstsawyou.Youwereveryshy,andabsolutelyextraordinary.Youhavechanged,ofcourse,butnotinappearance.Youarestillthesame.'
'Iamnotthesame,Harry.''Yes,youarethesame.IwishIcouldchangeplaceswithyou,Dorian.The
worldhascriedoutagainstusboth,butithasalwaysworshippedyou.Italwayswillworshipyou.Lifehasbeenyourart.'
Doriangotupfromthepiano,andpassedhishandthroughhishair. 'Yes,lifehasbeenbeautiful,'hesaid,quietly,'butIamnotgoingtohavethesamelife,Harry. And youmust not say these things tome. You don't know everythingaboutme.Ithinkthatifyoudid,evenyouwouldturnawayfromme.Youlaugh.Don'tlaugh.'
'Whyhaveyoustoppedplaying,Dorian?Letusgototheclub.Ithasbeenacharmingevening,andwemustenditcharmingly.ThereissomeoneIwanttointroduce to you - youngLordPoole.He has already copied your ties and heverymuchwantstomeetyou.Heisquitecharmingandheremindsmeofyou.'
'I hope not,' said Dorian, with a sad look in his eyes. 'But I am tiredtonight,Harry.Iwon'tgototheclub.Itisnearlyeleven,andIwanttogotobedearly.'
'Pleasestay.Youhaveneverplayedsowellastonight.''It isbecause Iamgoing tobegood,'heanswered,smiling. 'Iama little
changedalready.''Youcan'tchangetome,Dorian,'saidLordHenry.'YouandIwillalways
befriends.Comeroundtomorrow.Weshallgotolunch.''Doyoureallywantmetocome,Harry?''Certainly.Theparkisquitelovelynow.Idon'tthinktherehavebeensuch
flowerssincetheyearImetyou.''Verywell.Ishallbehereateleven,'saidDorian.'Good-night,Harry.'
CHAPTERTHIRTEEN
'ToKillthePast'
Itwasalovelynight.Hewalkedhome,withhiscoatonhisarm,smokinghiscigarette.Twoyoungmenineveningdresspassedhim.Heheardoneofthemwhispertotheother,'ThatisDorianGray'.Herememberedhowpleasedheusedtobewhenhewasstaredat,or talkedabout.Hewas tiredofhearinghisownnamenow.
Whenhereachedhome,hefoundhisservantwaitingupforhim.Hesenthimtobed,andthrewhimselfdownonthesofainthelibrary.HebegantothinkaboutsomeofthethingsthatLordHenryhadsaidtohim.
Was it really true that one could never change? There had been a timewhenhehadbeengoodandinnocent.Hehadcorruptedhimself,andbecomeaterribleinfluenceonothers.Hehadevengotpleasurefromthiscorruption.Yethissoulhadoncebeenthepurestofall.Wasallthatgone?Wastherenohopeforhim?
Inoneterriblemomentofpassion,hehadaskedtostayyoungforalltime.Allhisfailurehadbeenbecauseofthat.Hehadnotbeenpunished,butperhapspunishmentwaswhathehadneeded.Punishmentcleanedthesoul.
ThemirrorthatLordHenryhadgiventohim,somanyyearsagonow,wasstandingonthetable.Hepickeditup,rememberingthathorriblenightwhenhehadfirstnoticed thechange in thepicture.Once,someonewhohad lovedhimpassionatelyhadwrittenhimamad letter. Ithadendedwith thesewords: 'Theworld is changedbecauseyouaremadeofgold.'He repeated them tohimselfandsuddenlyrealizedthathehatedhisownbeauty.Throwingthemirroronthefloor,hebroketheglassintolittlepieceswithhisfoot.Itwashisbeautythathadspoiledhim.
Itwasbetternottothinkofthepast.Nothingcouldchangethat.Hehadtothinkofhis future.AlanCampbellhadshothimselfonenight,andhis terriblesecrethaddiedwithhim.TheinterestinBasilHallward'sdisappearancewouldsoonpassaway.Hewasperfectlysafethere.
Whatworried himwas the death of his own soul.Basil had painted theportrait that had destroyed his life. He could not forgive him that. It was theportraitthathaddoneeverything.Themurderhadjustbeenthemadnessofthe
moment.AsforAlanCampbell,hehadkilledhimself.ItwasnothingtodowithDorianGray.
Anewlife!Thatwaswhathewanted.Thatwaswhathewaswaitingfor.Perhapsithadbegunalready.Hewouldneveragainspoilinnocence.Hewouldbegood.
Hebegantowonderiftheportraitinthelockedroomhadchanged.Wasitstillashorribleas ithadbeen?Perhaps ifhis lifebecamepure, theface in theportraitwouldbecomebeautifulagain.Hewouldgoandlook.
Hetookthelampfromthetableandwentupstairs.Asheopenedthedoor,asmileofhappinesspassedacrosshisyoungface.Yes,hewouldbegood,andthe ugly thing he had locked awaywould not frighten him anymore.He felthappieralready.
Hewentinquietly,lockingthedoorbehindhim.Walkingstraightovertotheportrait,hetookoffthepurplecurtainthatwascoveringit.Anangrycryofpaincamefromhim.Hecouldseenochange.Thethingwasstillhateful-morehateful,even,thanbefore.Theredmarkonthehandseemedbrighterandmorelikenewblood.Andwhywas the redmark larger than ithadbeen? Itwasalloverthefingersnow.Therewasbloodonthepaintedfeet,andbloodonthehandthathadnotheldtheknife.
Whatdiditallmean?Thatheshouldgotothepolice?Thatheshouldtellthewholestory,andbeputtodeath?Helaughed.Hefelttheideawasabsurd.Ifhe did tell them now,whowould believe him? Therewas nothing left of themurdered man anywhere. He had destroyed everything belonging to BasilHallward.Hehimselfhadburnedthebagandthecoat.Theywouldsimplysayhewasmad.
Wasthismurdertofollowhimallhislife?Washealwaysgoingtosufferbecauseofhispast?Yetwhatcouldhedo?Gotothepolice?Never.
There was only one thing they could use against him and that was thepictureitself.Hewoulddestroyit.Whyhadhekeptitsolong?Onceithadgivenhimpleasuretowatchitchangingandgrowingold.Recentlyhehadfeltnosuchpleasure.Ithadkepthimawakeatnight.Whenhehadbeenaway,hehadbeenfrightenedthatanotherpersonwouldseeit.Justthememoryofitspoiledmanymomentsofhappiness.Hewoulddestroyit.
HelookedaroundandsawtheknifethathadkilledBasilHallward.Hehad
cleaned itmany times until therewas nomark left on it. Itwas bright, and itshone.Ithadkilledthepainter.Nowitwouldkillthepainter'swork,andallthatitmeant.Itwouldkillthepast.Whenthatwasdeadhewouldbefree.Hepickeduptheknifeandpusheditintothepicture.
There was a cry, and a crash. The cry was so horrible that frightenedservantswokeandcameoutoftheirrooms.Twogentlemen,whowerepassingintheSquarebelow,stopped,andlookedupatthegreathouse.Theyhurriedonuntiltheymetapoliceman,andbroughthimback.Thepolicemanrangthebellseveral times, but there was no answer. Except for a light in one of the topwindows, thehousewasalldark.Aftera time,hewentawayandstood in thegardenofthenexthouseandwatched.
'Whosehouseisthat?'askedtheolderofthetwogentlemen.'MrDorianGray's,sir,'answeredthepoliceman.Theylookedateachotherastheywalkedaway,andlaughedcruelly.They
knewwhoDorianGraywas.Inside thehouse theservantswere talking in lowwhispers toeachother.
OldMrsLeafwascrying.Franciswasaswhiteasdeath.After about a quarter of an hour, they went fearfully upstairs. They
knocked, but there was no reply. They called out. Everything was still. Theytriedthedoor.Itwaslocked.Finally,theygotontheroofandcameintotheroomthroughthewindow.
Whentheyenteredtheroomtheyfoundaportraithangingonthewall.ItshowedMrDorianGrayastheyhadlastseenhim,youngandbeautiful.Lyingon the floorwasadeadman ineveningdress.Hehadaknife inhisheart.Hewas old and horribly ugly. It was not until they saw his rings that theyrecognizedwhothemanwas.
-THEEND-Hopeyouhaveenjoyedthereading!
Comebacktohttp://english-e-books.net/tofindmorefascinatingandexcitingstories!