As he was sitting at breakfast next morning, Basil Hallward was shown into the room.<\/p>\n
\u201cI am so glad I have found you, Dorian,\u201d he said gravely. \u201cI called last night, and they told me you were at the opera. Of course, I knew that was impossible. But I wish you had left word where you had really gone to. I passed a dreadful evening, half afraid that one tragedy might be followed by another. I think you might have telegraphed for me when you heard of it first. I read of it quite by chance in a late edition of The Globe<\/i> that I picked up at the club. I came here at once and was miserable at not finding you. I can\u2019t tell you how heart-broken I am about the whole thing. I know what you must suffer. But where were you? Did you go down and see the girl\u2019s mother? For a moment I thought of following you there. They gave the address in the paper. Somewhere in the Euston Road, isn\u2019t it? But I was afraid of intruding upon a sorrow that I could not lighten. Poor woman! What a state she must be in! And her only child, too! What did she say about it all?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cMy dear Basil, how do I know?\u201d murmured Dorian Gray, sipping some pale-yellow wine from a delicate, gold-beaded bubble of Venetian glass and looking dreadfully bored. \u201cI was at the opera. You should have come on there. I met Lady Gwendolen, Harry\u2019s sister, for the first time. We were in her box. She is perfectly charming; and Patti sang divinely. Don\u2019t talk about horrid subjects. If one doesn\u2019t talk about a thing, it has never happened. It is simply expression, as Harry says, that gives reality to things. I may mention that she was not the woman\u2019s only child. There is a son, a charming fellow, I believe. But he is not on the stage. He is a sailor, or something. And now, tell me about yourself and what you are painting.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou went to the opera?\u201d said Hallward, speaking very slowly and with a strained touch of pain in his voice. \u201cYou went to the opera while Sibyl Vane was lying dead in some sordid lodging? You can talk to me of other women being charming, and of Patti singing divinely, before the girl you loved has even the quiet of a grave to sleep in? Why, man, there are horrors in store for that little white body of hers!\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cStop, Basil! I won\u2019t hear it!\u201d cried Dorian, leaping to his feet. \u201cYou must not tell me about things. What is done is done. What is past is past.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou call yesterday the past?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat has the actual lapse of time got to do with it? It is only shallow people who require years to get rid of an emotion. A man who is master of himself can end a sorrow as easily as he can invent a pleasure. I don\u2019t want to be at the mercy of my emotions. I want to use them, to enjoy them, and to dominate them.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cDorian, this is horrible! Something has changed you completely. You look exactly the same wonderful boy who, day after day, used to come down to my studio to sit for his picture. But you were simple, natural, and affectionate then. You were the most unspoiled creature in the whole world. Now, I don\u2019t know what has come over you. You talk as if you had no heart, no pity in you. It is all Harry\u2019s influence. I see that.\u201d<\/p>\n
The lad flushed up and, going to the window, looked out for a few moments on the green, flickering, sun-lashed garden. \u201cI owe a great deal to Harry, Basil,\u201d he said at last, \u201cmore than I owe to you. You only taught me to be vain.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWell, I am punished for that, Dorian\u2014or shall be some day.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI don\u2019t know what you mean, Basil,\u201d he exclaimed, turning round. \u201cI don\u2019t know what you want. What do you want?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI want the Dorian Gray I used to paint,\u201d said the artist sadly.<\/p>\n
\u201cBasil,\u201d said the lad, going over to him and putting his hand on his shoulder, \u201cyou have come too late. Yesterday, when I heard that Sibyl Vane had killed herself\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cKilled herself! Good heavens! is there no doubt about that?\u201d cried Hallward, looking up at him with an expression of horror.<\/p>\n
\u201cMy dear Basil! Surely you don\u2019t think it was a vulgar accident? Of course she killed herself.\u201d<\/p>\n
The elder man buried his face in his hands. \u201cHow fearful,\u201d he muttered, and a shudder ran through him.<\/p>\n
\u201cNo,\u201d said Dorian Gray, \u201cthere is nothing fearful about it. It is one of the great romantic tragedies of the age. As a rule, people who act lead the most commonplace lives. They are good husbands, or faithful wives, or something tedious. You know what I mean\u2014middle-class virtue and all that kind of thing. How different Sibyl was! She lived her finest tragedy. She was always a heroine. The last night she played\u2014the night you saw her\u2014she acted badly because she had known the reality of love. When she knew its unreality, she died, as Juliet might have died. She passed again into the sphere of art. There is something of the martyr about her. Her death has all the pathetic uselessness of martyrdom, all its wasted beauty. But, as I was saying, you must not think I have not suffered. If you had come in yesterday at a particular moment\u2014about half-past five, perhaps, or a quarter to six\u2014you would have found me in tears. Even Harry, who was here, who brought me the news, in fact, had no idea what I was going through. I suffered immensely. Then it passed away. I cannot repeat an emotion. No one can, except sentimentalists. And you are awfully unjust, Basil. You come down here to console me. That is charming of you. You find me consoled, and you are furious. How like a sympathetic person! You remind me of a story Harry told me about a certain philanthropist who spent twenty years of his life in trying to get some grievance redressed, or some unjust law altered\u2014I forget exactly what it was. Finally he succeeded, and nothing could exceed his disappointment. He had absolutely nothing to do, almost died of ennui<\/i>, and became a confirmed misanthrope. And besides, my dear old Basil, if you really want to console me, teach me rather to forget what has happened, or to see it from a proper artistic point of view. Was it not Gautier who used to write about la consolation des arts<\/i>? I remember picking up a little vellum-covered book in your studio one day and chancing on that delightful phrase. Well, I am not like that young man you told me of when we were down at Marlow together, the young man who used to say that yellow satin could console one for all the miseries of life. I love beautiful things that one can touch and handle. Old brocades, green bronzes, lacquer-work, carved ivories, exquisite surroundings, luxury, pomp\u2014there is much to be got from all these. But the artistic temperament that they create, or at any rate reveal, is still more to me. To become the spectator of one\u2019s own life, as Harry says, is to escape the suffering of life. I know you are surprised at my talking to you like this. You have not realized how I have developed. I was a schoolboy when you knew me. I am a man now. I have new passions, new thoughts, new ideas. I am different, but you must not like me less. I am changed, but you must always be my friend. Of course, I am very fond of Harry. But I know that you are better than he is. You are not stronger\u2014you are too much afraid of life\u2014but you are better. And how happy we used to be together! Don\u2019t leave me, Basil, and don\u2019t quarrel with me. I am what I am. There is nothing more to be said.\u201d<\/p>\n
The painter felt strangely moved. The lad was infinitely dear to him, and his personality had been the great turning point in his art. He could not bear the idea of reproaching him any more. After all, his indifference was probably merely a mood that would pass away. There was so much in him that was good, so much in him that was noble.<\/p>\n
\u201cWell, Dorian,\u201d he said at length, with a sad smile, \u201cI won\u2019t speak to you again about this horrible thing, after to-day. I only trust your name won\u2019t be mentioned in connection with it. The inquest is to take place this afternoon. Have they summoned you?\u201d<\/p>\n
Dorian shook his head, and a look of annoyance passed over his face at the mention of the word \u201cinquest.\u201d There was something so crude and vulgar about everything of the kind. \u201cThey don\u2019t know my name,\u201d he answered.<\/p>\n
\u201cBut surely she did?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOnly my Christian name, and that I am quite sure she never mentioned to any one. She told me once that they were all rather curious to learn who I was, and that she invariably told them my name was Prince Charming. It was pretty of her. You must do me a drawing of Sibyl, Basil. I should like to have something more of her than the memory of a few kisses and some broken pathetic words.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI will try and do something, Dorian, if it would please you. But you must come and sit to me yourself again. I can\u2019t get on without you.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI can never sit to you again, Basil. It is impossible!\u201d he exclaimed, starting back.<\/p>\n
The painter stared at him. \u201cMy dear boy, what nonsense!\u201d he cried. \u201cDo you mean to say you don\u2019t like what I did of you? Where is it? Why have you pulled the screen in front of it? Let me look at it. It is the best thing I have ever done. Do take the screen away, Dorian. It is simply disgraceful of your servant hiding my work like that. I felt the room looked different as I came in.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cMy servant has nothing to do with it, Basil. You don\u2019t imagine I let him arrange my room for me? He settles my flowers for me sometimes\u2014that is all. No; I did it myself. The light was too strong on the portrait.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cToo strong! Surely not, my dear fellow? It is an admirable place for it. Let me see it.\u201d And Hallward walked towards the corner of the room.<\/p>\n
A cry of terror broke from Dorian Gray\u2019s lips, and he rushed between the painter and the screen. \u201cBasil,\u201d he said, looking very pale, \u201cyou must not look at it. I don\u2019t wish you to.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNot look at my own work! You are not serious. Why shouldn\u2019t I look at it?\u201d exclaimed Hallward, laughing.<\/p>\n
\u201cIf you try to look at it, Basil, on my word of honour I will never speak to you again as long as I live. I am quite serious. I don\u2019t offer any explanation, and you are not to ask for any. But, remember, if you touch this screen, everything is over between us.\u201d<\/p>\n
Hallward was thunderstruck. He looked at Dorian Gray in absolute amazement. He had never seen him like this before. The lad was actually pallid with rage. His hands were clenched, and the pupils of his eyes were like disks of blue fire. He was trembling all over.<\/p>\n
\u201cDorian!\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cDon\u2019t speak!\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBut what is the matter? Of course I won\u2019t look at it if you don\u2019t want me to,\u201d he said, rather coldly, turning on his heel and going over towards the window. \u201cBut, really, it seems rather absurd that I shouldn\u2019t see my own work, especially as I am going to exhibit it in Paris in the autumn. I shall probably have to give it another coat of varnish before that, so I must see it some day, and why not to-day?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cTo exhibit it! You want to exhibit it?\u201d exclaimed Dorian Gray, a strange sense of terror creeping over him. Was the world going to be shown his secret? Were people to gape at the mystery of his life? That was impossible. Something\u2014he did not know what\u2014had to be done at once.<\/p>\n
\u201cYes; I don\u2019t suppose you will object to that. Georges Petit is going to collect all my best pictures for a special exhibition in the Rue de S\u00e8ze, which will open the first week in October. The portrait will only be away a month. I should think you could easily spare it for that time. In fact, you are sure to be out of town. And if you keep it always behind a screen, you can\u2019t care much about it.\u201d<\/p>\n
Dorian Gray passed his hand over his forehead. There were beads of perspiration there. He felt that he was on the brink of a horrible danger. \u201cYou told me a month ago that you would never exhibit it,\u201d he cried. \u201cWhy have you changed your mind? You people who go in for being consistent have just as many moods as others have. The only difference is that your moods are rather meaningless. You can\u2019t have forgotten that you assured me most solemnly that nothing in the world would induce you to send it to any exhibition. You told Harry exactly the same thing.\u201d He stopped suddenly, and a gleam of light came into his eyes. He remembered that Lord Henry had said to him once, half seriously and half in jest, \u201cIf you want to have a strange quarter of an hour, get Basil to tell you why he won\u2019t exhibit your picture. He told me why he wouldn\u2019t, and it was a revelation to me.\u201d Yes, perhaps Basil, too, had his secret. He would ask him and try.<\/p>\n
\u201cBasil,\u201d he said, coming over quite close and looking him straight in the face, \u201cwe have each of us a secret. Let me know yours, and I shall tell you mine. What was your reason for refusing to exhibit my picture?\u201d<\/p>\n
The painter shuddered in spite of himself. \u201cDorian, if I told you, you might like me less than you do, and you would certainly laugh at me. I could not bear your doing either of those two things. If you wish me never to look at your picture again, I am content. I have always you to look at. If you wish the best work I have ever done to be hidden from the world, I am satisfied. Your friendship is dearer to me than any fame or reputation.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo, Basil, you must tell me,\u201d insisted Dorian Gray. \u201cI think I have a right to know.\u201d His feeling of terror had passed away, and curiosity had taken its place. He was determined to find out Basil Hallward\u2019s mystery.<\/p>\n
\u201cLet us sit down, Dorian,\u201d said the painter, looking troubled. \u201cLet us sit down. And just answer me one question. Have you noticed in the picture something curious?\u2014something that probably at first did not strike you, but that revealed itself to you suddenly?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBasil!\u201d cried the lad, clutching the arms of his chair with trembling hands and gazing at him with wild startled eyes.<\/p>\n
\u201cI see you did. Don\u2019t speak. Wait till you hear what I have to say. Dorian, from the moment I met you, your personality had the most extraordinary influence over me. I was dominated, soul, brain, and power, by you. You became to me the visible incarnation of that unseen ideal whose memory haunts us artists like an exquisite dream. I worshipped you. I grew jealous of every one to whom you spoke. I wanted to have you all to myself. I was only happy when I was with you. When you were away from me, you were still present in my art…. Of course, I never let you know anything about this. It would have been impossible. You would not have understood it. I hardly understood it myself. I only knew that I had seen perfection face to face, and that the world had become wonderful to my eyes\u2014too wonderful, perhaps, for in such mad worships there is peril, the peril of losing them, no less than the peril of keeping them…. Weeks and weeks went on, and I grew more and more absorbed in you. Then came a new development. I had drawn you as Paris in dainty armour, and as Adonis with huntsman\u2019s cloak and polished boar-spear. Crowned with heavy lotus-blossoms you had sat on the prow of Adrian\u2019s barge, gazing across the green turbid Nile. You had leaned over the still pool of some Greek woodland and seen in the water\u2019s silent silver the marvel of your own face. And it had all been what art should be\u2014unconscious, ideal, and remote. One day, a fatal day I sometimes think, I determined to paint a wonderful portrait of you as you actually are, not in the costume of dead ages, but in your own dress and in your own time. Whether it was the realism of the method, or the mere wonder of your own personality, thus directly presented to me without mist or veil, I cannot tell. But I know that as I worked at it, every flake and film of colour seemed to me to reveal my secret. I grew afraid that others would know of my idolatry. I felt, Dorian, that I had told too much, that I had put too much of myself into it. Then it was that I resolved never to allow the picture to be exhibited. You were a little annoyed; but then you did not realize all that it meant to me. Harry, to whom I talked about it, laughed at me. But I did not mind that. When the picture was finished, and I sat alone with it, I felt that I was right…. Well, after a few days the thing left my studio, and as soon as I had got rid of the intolerable fascination of its presence, it seemed to me that I had been foolish in imagining that I had seen anything in it, more than that you were extremely good-looking and that I could paint. Even now I cannot help feeling that it is a mistake to think that the passion one feels in creation is ever really shown in the work one creates. Art is always more abstract than we fancy. Form and colour tell us of form and colour\u2014that is all. It often seems to me that art conceals the artist far more completely than it ever reveals him. And so when I got this offer from Paris, I determined to make your portrait the principal thing in my exhibition. It never occurred to me that you would refuse. I see now that you were right. The picture cannot be shown. You must not be angry with me, Dorian, for what I have told you. As I said to Harry, once, you are made to be worshipped.\u201d<\/p>\n
Dorian Gray drew a long breath. The colour came back to his cheeks, and a smile played about his lips. The peril was over. He was safe for the time. Yet he could not help feeling infinite pity for the painter who had just made this strange confession to him, and wondered if he himself would ever be so dominated by the personality of a friend. Lord Henry had the charm of being very dangerous. But that was all. He was too clever and too cynical to be really fond of. Would there ever be some one who would fill him with a strange idolatry? Was that one of the things that life had in store?<\/p>\n
\u201cIt is extraordinary to me, Dorian,\u201d said Hallward, \u201cthat you should have seen this in the portrait. Did you really see it?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI saw something in it,\u201d he answered, \u201csomething that seemed to me very curious.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWell, you don\u2019t mind my looking at the thing now?\u201d<\/p>\n
Dorian shook his head. \u201cYou must not ask me that, Basil. I could not possibly let you stand in front of that picture.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou will some day, surely?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNever.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWell, perhaps you are right. And now good-bye, Dorian. You have been the one person in my life who has really influenced my art. Whatever I have done that is good, I owe to you. Ah! you don\u2019t know what it cost me to tell you all that I have told you.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cMy dear Basil,\u201d said Dorian, \u201cwhat have you told me? Simply that you felt that you admired me too much. That is not even a compliment.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIt was not intended as a compliment. It was a confession. Now that I have made it, something seems to have gone out of me. Perhaps one should never put one\u2019s worship into words.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIt was a very disappointing confession.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhy, what did you expect, Dorian? You didn\u2019t see anything else in the picture, did you? There was nothing else to see?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo; there was nothing else to see. Why do you ask? But you mustn\u2019t talk about worship. It is foolish. You and I are friends, Basil, and we must always remain so.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou have got Harry,\u201d said the painter sadly.<\/p>\n
\u201cOh, Harry!\u201d cried the lad, with a ripple of laughter. \u201cHarry spends his days in saying what is incredible and his evenings in doing what is improbable. Just the sort of life I would like to lead. But still I don\u2019t think I would go to Harry if I were in trouble. I would sooner go to you, Basil.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou will sit to me again?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cImpossible!\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou spoil my life as an artist by refusing, Dorian. No man comes across two ideal things. Few come across one.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI can\u2019t explain it to you, Basil, but I must never sit to you again. There is something fatal about a portrait. It has a life of its own. I will come and have tea with you. That will be just as pleasant.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cPleasanter for you, I am afraid,\u201d murmured Hallward regretfully. \u201cAnd now good-bye. I am sorry you won\u2019t let me look at the picture once again. But that can\u2019t be helped. I quite understand what you feel about it.\u201d<\/p>\n
As he left the room, Dorian Gray smiled to himself. Poor Basil! How little he knew of the true reason! And how strange it was that, instead of having been forced to reveal his own secret, he had succeeded, almost by chance, in wresting a secret from his friend! How much that strange confession explained to him! The painter\u2019s absurd fits of jealousy, his wild devotion, his extravagant panegyrics, his curious reticences\u2014he understood them all now, and he felt sorry. There seemed to him to be something tragic in a friendship so coloured by romance.<\/p>\n
He sighed and touched the bell. The portrait must be hidden away at all costs. He could not run such a risk of discovery again. It had been mad of him to have allowed the thing to remain, even for an hour, in a room to which any of his friends had access.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":299,"menu_order":10,"template":"","meta":{"pb_show_title":"on","pb_short_title":"","pb_subtitle":"","pb_authors":[],"pb_section_license":""},"chapter-type":[48],"contributor":[],"license":[],"class_list":["post-31","chapter","type-chapter","status-publish","hentry","chapter-type-numberless"],"part":3,"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/thepictureofdoriangray\/wp-json\/pressbooks\/v2\/chapters\/31","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/thepictureofdoriangray\/wp-json\/pressbooks\/v2\/chapters"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/thepictureofdoriangray\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/chapter"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/thepictureofdoriangray\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/299"}],"version-history":[{"count":5,"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/thepictureofdoriangray\/wp-json\/pressbooks\/v2\/chapters\/31\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":174,"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/thepictureofdoriangray\/wp-json\/pressbooks\/v2\/chapters\/31\/revisions\/174"}],"part":[{"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/thepictureofdoriangray\/wp-json\/pressbooks\/v2\/parts\/3"}],"metadata":[{"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/thepictureofdoriangray\/wp-json\/pressbooks\/v2\/chapters\/31\/metadata\/"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/thepictureofdoriangray\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=31"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"chapter-type","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/thepictureofdoriangray\/wp-json\/pressbooks\/v2\/chapter-type?post=31"},{"taxonomy":"contributor","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/thepictureofdoriangray\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/contributor?post=31"},{"taxonomy":"license","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/thepictureofdoriangray\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/license?post=31"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}