第4章

Howlateitwas！Hesatup，andhavingsippedsometea，turnedoverhisletters。OneofthemwasfromLordHenry，andhadbeenbroughtbyhandthatmorning。Hehesitatedforamoment，andthenputitaside。

Theothersheopenedlistlessly。Theycontainedtheusualcollectionofcards，invitationstodinner，ticketsforprivateviews，programmesofcharityconcerts，andthelikethatareshoweredonfashionableyoungmeneverymorningduringtheseason。TherewasaratherheavybillforachasedsilverLouis-Quinzetoilet-setthathehadnotyethadthecouragetosendontohisguardians，whowereextremelyold-fashionedpeopleanddidnotrealizethatweliveinanagewhenunnecessarythingsareouronlynecessities。

andtherewereseveralverycourteouslywordedcommunicationsfromJermynStreetmoney-lendersofferingtoadvanceanysumofmoneyatamoment’snoticeandatthemostreasonableratesofinterest。

Afterabouttenminuteshegotup，andthrowingonanelaboratedressing-gownofsilk-embroideredcashmerewool，passedintotheonyx-pavedbathroom。Thecoolwaterrefreshedhimafterhislongsleep。Heseemedtohaveforgottenallthathehadgonethrough。Adimsenseofhavingtakenpartinsomestrangetragedycametohimonceortwice，buttherewastheunrealityofadreamaboutit。

Assoonashewasdressed，hewentintothelibraryandsatdowntoalightFrenchbreakfastthathadbeenlaidoutforhimonasmallroundtableclosetotheopenwindow。Itwasanexquisiteday。Thewarmairseemedladenwithspices。Abeeflewinandbuzzedroundtheblue-dragonbowlthat，filledwithsulphur-yellowroses，stoodbeforehim。Hefeltperfectlyhappy。

Suddenlyhiseyefellonthescreenthathehadplacedinfrontoftheportrait，andhestarted。

ToocoldforMonsieur？askedhisvalet，puttinganomeletteonthetable。Ishutthewindow？

Dorianshookhishead。Iamnotcold，hemurmured。

Wasitalltrue？Hadtheportraitreallychanged？Orhaditbeensimplyhisownimaginationthathadmadehimseealookofevilwheretherehadbeenalookofjoy？Surelyapaintedcanvascouldnotalter？Thethingwasabsurd。ItwouldserveasataletotellBasilsomeday。Itwouldmakehimsmile。

And，yet，howvividwashisrecollectionofthewholething！Firstinthedimtwilight，andtheninthebrightdawn，hehadseenthetouchofcrueltyroundthewarpedlips。Healmostdreadedhisvaletleavingtheroom。Heknewthatwhenhewasalonehewouldhavetoexaminetheportrait。

Hewasafraidofcertainty。Whenthecoffeeandcigaretteshadbeenbroughtandthemanturnedtogo，hefeltawilddesiretotellhimtoremain。

Asthedoorwasclosingbehindhim，hecalledhimback。Themanstoodwaitingforhisorders。Dorianlookedathimforamoment。Iamnotathometoanyone，Victor，hesaidwithasigh。Themanbowedandretired。

Thenherosefromthetable，litacigarette，andflunghimselfdownonaluxuriouslycushionedcouchthatstoodfacingthescreen。Thescreenwasanoldone，ofgiltSpanishleather，stampedandwroughtwitharatherfloridLouis-Quatorzepattern。Hescanneditcuriously，wonderingifeverbeforeithadconcealedthesecretofaman’slife。

Shouldhemoveitaside，afterall？Whynotletitstaythere？

Whatwastheuseofknowing。？Ifthethingwastrue，itwasterrible。Ifitwasnottrue，whytroubleaboutit？Butwhatif，bysomefateordeadlierchance，eyesotherthanhisspiedbehindandsawthehorriblechange？WhatshouldhedoifBasilHallwardcameandaskedtolookathisownpicture？

Basilwouldbesuretodothat。No。thethinghadtobeexamined，andatonce。Anythingwouldbebetterthanthisdreadfulstateofdoubt。

Hegotupandlockedbothdoors。Atleasthewouldbealonewhenhelookeduponthemaskofhisshame。Thenhedrewthescreenasideandsawhimselffacetoface。Itwasperfectlytrue。Theportraithadaltered。

Asheoftenrememberedafterwards，andalwayswithnosmallwonder，hefoundhimselfatfirstgazingattheportraitwithafeelingofalmostscientificinterest。Thatsuchachangeshouldhavetakenplacewasincredibletohim。Andyetitwasafact。Wastheresomesubtleaffinitybetweenthechemicalatomsthatshapedthemselvesintoformandcolouronthecanvasandthesoulthatwaswithinhim？Coulditbethatwhatthatsoulthought，theyrealized？——thatwhatitdreamed，theymadetrue？Orwastheresomeother，moreterriblereason？Heshuddered，andfeltafraid，and，goingbacktothecouch，laythere，gazingatthepictureinsickenedhorror。

Onething，however，hefeltthatithaddoneforhim。Ithadmadehimconscioushowunjust，howcruel，hehadbeentoSibylVane。Itwasnottoolatetomakereparationforthat。Shecouldstillbehiswife。

Hisunrealandselfishlovewouldyieldtosomehigherinfluence，wouldbetransformedintosomenoblerpassion，andtheportraitthatBasilHallwardhadpaintedofhimwouldbeaguidetohimthroughlife，wouldbetohimwhatholinessistosome，andconsciencetoothers，andthefearofGodtousall。Therewereopiatesforremorse，drugsthatcouldlullthemoralsensetosleep。Butherewasavisiblesymbolofthedegradationofsin。

Herewasanever-presentsignoftheruinmenbroughtupontheirsouls。

Threeo’clockstruck，andfour，andthehalf-hourrangitsdoublechime，butDorianGraydidnotstir。Hewastryingtogatherupthescarletthreadsoflifeandtoweavethemintoapattern。tofindhiswaythroughthesanguinelabyrinthofpassionthroughwhichhewaswandering。Hedidnotknowwhattodo，orwhattothink。Finally，hewentovertothetableandwroteapassionatelettertothegirlhehadloved，imploringherforgivenessandaccusinghimselfofmadness。Hecoveredpageafterpagewithwildwordsofsorrowandwilderwordsofpain。Thereisaluxuryinself-reproach。

Whenweblameourselves，wefeelthatnooneelsehasarighttoblameus。Itistheconfession，notthepriest，thatgivesusabsolution。WhenDorianhadfinishedtheletter，hefeltthathehadbeenforgiven。

Suddenlytherecameaknocktothedoor，andheheardLordHenry’svoiceoutside。Mydearboy，Imustseeyou。Letmeinatonce。Ican’tbearyourshuttingyourselfuplikethis。

Hemadenoansweratfirst，butremainedquitestill。Theknockingstillcontinuedandgrewlouder。Yes，itwasbettertoletLordHenryin，andtoexplaintohimthenewlifehewasgoingtolead，toquarrelwithhimifitbecamenecessarytoquarrel，topartifpartingwasinevitable。

Hejumpedup，drewthescreenhastilyacrossthepicture，andunlockedthedoor。

Iamsosorryforitall，Dorian，saidLordHenryasheentered。

Butyoumustnotthinktoomuchaboutit。

DoyoumeanaboutSibylVane？askedthelad。

Yes，ofcourse，answeredLordHenry，sinkingintoachairandslowlypullingoffhisyellowgloves。Itisdreadful，fromonepointofview，butitwasnotyourfault。Tellme，didyougobehindandseeher，aftertheplaywasover？

Yes。

Ifeltsureyouhad。Didyoumakeascenewithher？

Iwasbrutal，Harry——perfectlybrutal。Butitisallrightnow。

Iamnotsorryforanythingthathashappened。Ithastaughtmetoknowmyselfbetter。

Ah，Dorian，Iamsogladyoutakeitinthatway！IwasafraidIwouldfindyouplungedinremorseandtearingthatnicecurlyhairofyours。

Ihavegotthroughallthat，saidDorian，shakinghisheadandsmiling。Iamperfectlyhappynow。Iknowwhatconscienceis，tobeginwith。Itisnotwhatyoutoldmeitwas。Itisthedivinestthinginus。

Don’tsneeratit，Harry，anymore——atleastnotbeforeme。Iwanttobegood。Ican’tbeartheideaofmysoulbeinghideous。

Averycharmingartisticbasisforethics，Dorian！Icongratulateyouonit。Buthowareyougoingtobegin？

BymarryingSibylVane。

MarryingSibylVane！criedLordHenry，standingupandlookingathiminperplexedamazement。But，mydearDorian——

Yes，Harry，Iknowwhatyouaregoingtosay。Somethingdreadfulaboutmarriage。Don’tsayit。Don’teversaythingsofthatkindtomeagain。TwodaysagoIaskedSibyltomarryme。Iamnotgoingtobreakmywordtoher。Sheistobemywife。

Yourwife！Dorian！……Didn’tyougetmyletter？Iwrotetoyouthismorning，andsentthenotedownbymyownman。

Yourletter？Oh，yes，Iremember。Ihavenotreadityet，Harry。

IwasafraidtheremightbesomethinginitthatIwouldn’tlike。Youcutlifetopieceswithyourepigrams。

Youknownothingthen？

Whatdoyoumean？

LordHenrywalkedacrosstheroom，andsittingdownbyDorianGray，tookbothhishandsinhisownandheldthemtightly。Dorian，hesaid，myletter——don’tbefrightened——wastotellyouthatSibylVaneisdead。

Acryofpainbrokefromthelad’slips，andheleapedtohisfeet，tearinghishandsawayfromLordHenry’sgrasp。Dead！Sibyldead！

Itisnottrue！Itisahorriblelie！Howdareyousayit？

Itisquitetrue，Dorian，saidLordHenry，gravely。Itisinallthemorningpapers。IwrotedowntoyoutoaskyounottoseeanyonetillIcame。Therewillhavetobeaninquest，ofcourse，andyoumustnotbemixedupinit。ThingslikethatmakeamanfashionableinParis。

ButinLondonpeoplearesoprejudiced。Here，oneshouldnevermakeone’sdé。butwithascandal。Oneshouldreservethattogiveaninteresttoone’soldage。Isupposetheydon’tknowyournameatthetheatre？

Iftheydon’t，itisallright。Didanyoneseeyougoingroundtoherroom？Thatisanimportantpoint。

Doriandidnotanswerforafewmoments。Hewasdazedwithhorror。

Finallyhestammered，inastifledvoice，Harry，didyousayaninquest？

Whatdidyoumeanbythat？DidSibyl——？Oh，Harry，Ican’tbearit！Butbequick。Tellmeeverythingatonce。

Ihavenodoubtitwasnotanaccident，Dorian，thoughitmustbeputinthatwaytothepublic。Itseemsthatasshewasleavingthetheatrewithhermother，abouthalf-pasttwelveorso，shesaidshehadforgottensomethingupstairs。Theywaitedsometimeforher，butshedidnotcomedownagain。Theyultimatelyfoundherlyingdeadonthefloorofherdressing-room。Shehadswallowedsomethingbymistake，somedreadfulthingtheyuseattheatres。Idon’tknowwhatitwas，butithadeitherprussicacidorwhiteleadinit。Ishouldfancyitwasprussicacid，assheseemstohavediedinstantaneously。

Harry，Harry，itisterrible！criedthelad。

Yes。itisverytragic，ofcourse，butyoumustnotgetyourselfmixedupinit。IseebyTheStandardthatshewasseventeen。I

shouldhavethoughtshewasalmostyoungerthanthat。Shelookedsuchachild，andseemedtoknowsolittleaboutacting。Dorian，youmustn’tletthisthinggetonyournerves。Youmustcomeanddinewithme，andafterwardswewilllookinattheopera。ItisaPattinight，andeverybodywillbethere。Youcancometomysister’sbox。Shehasgotsomesmartwomenwithher。

SoIhavemurderedSibylVane，saidDorianGray，halftohimself，murderedherassurelyasifIhadcutherlittlethroatwithaknife。

Yettherosesarenotlesslovelyforallthat。Thebirdssingjustashappilyinmygarden。Andto-nightIamtodinewithyou，andthengoontotheopera，andsupsomewhere，Isuppose，afterwards。Howextraordinarilydramaticlifeis！IfIhadreadallthisinabook，Harry，IthinkIwouldhaveweptoverit。Somehow，nowthatithashappenedactually，andtome，itseemsfartoowonderfulfortears。Hereisthefirstpassionatelove-letterIhaveeverwritteninmylife。Strange，thatmyfirstpassionatelove-lettershouldhavebeenaddressedtoadeadgirl。Cantheyfeel，Iwonder，thosewhitesilentpeoplewecallthedead？Sibyl！Canshefeel，orknow，orlisten？Oh，Harry，howIlovedheronce！Itseemsyearsagotomenow。

Shewaseverythingtome。Thencamethatdreadfulnight——wasitreallyonlylastnight？——whensheplayedsobadly，andmyheartalmostbroke。

Sheexplaineditalltome。Itwasterriblypathetic。ButIwasnotmovedabit。Ithoughthershallow。Suddenlysomethinghappenedthatmademeafraid。Ican’ttellyouwhatitwas，butitwasterrible。IsaidIwouldgobacktoher。IfeltIhaddonewrong。Andnowsheisdead。MyGod！MyGod！Harry，whatshallIdo？Youdon’tknowthedangerIamin，andthereisnothingtokeepmestraight。Shewouldhavedonethatforme。Shehadnorighttokillherself。Itwasselfishofher。

MydearDorian，answeredLordHenry，takingacigarettefromhiscaseandproducingagold-lattenmatchbox，theonlywayawomancaneverreformamanisbyboringhimsocompletelythathelosesallpossibleinterestinlife。Ifyouhadmarriedthisgirl，youwouldhavebeenwretched。

Ofcourse，youwouldhavetreatedherkindly。Onecanalwaysbekindtopeopleaboutwhomonecaresnothing。Butshewouldhavesoonfoundoutthatyouwereabsolutelyindifferenttoher。Andwhenawomanfindsthatoutaboutherhusband，sheeitherbecomesdreadfullydowdy，orwearsverysmartbonnetsthatsomeotherwoman’shusbandhastopayfor。Isaynothingaboutthesocialmistake，whichwouldhavebeenabject——which，ofcourse，Iwouldnothaveallowed——butIassureyouthatinanycasethewholethingwouldhavebeenanabsolutefailure。

Isupposeitwould，mutteredthelad，walkingupanddowntheroomandlookinghorriblypale。ButIthoughtitwasmyduty。Itisnotmyfaultthatthisterribletragedyhaspreventedmydoingwhatwasright。

Irememberyoursayingoncethatthereisafatalityaboutgoodresolutions——thattheyarealwaysmadetoolate。Minecertainlywere。Goodresolutionsareuselessattemptstointerferewithscientificlaws。Theiroriginispurevanity。Theirresultisabsolutelynil。Theygiveus，nowandthen，someofthoseluxurioussterileemotionsthathaveacertaincharmfortheweak。Thatisallthatcanbesaidforthem。Theyaresimplychequesthatmendrawonabankwheretheyhavenoaccount。

Harry，criedDorianGray，comingoverandsittingdownbesidehim，whyisitthatIcannotfeelthistragedyasmuchasIwantto？I

don’tthinkIamheartless。Doyou？

Youhavedonetoomanyfoolishthingsduringthelastfortnighttobeentitledtogiveyourselfthatname，Dorian，answeredLordHenrywithhissweetmelancholysmile。

Theladfrowned。Idon’tlikethatexplanation，Harry，herejoined，butIamgladyoudon’tthinkIamheartless。Iamnothingofthekind。

IknowIamnot。AndyetImustadmitthatthisthingthathashappeneddoesnotaffectmeasitshould。Itseemstometobesimplylikeawonderfulendingtoawonderfulplay。IthasalltheterriblebeautyofaGreektragedy，atragedyinwhichItookagreatpart，butbywhichIhavenotbeenwounded。

Itisaninterestingquestion，saidLordHenry，whofoundanexquisitepleasureinplayingonthelad’sunconsciousegotism，anextremelyinterestingquestion。Ifancythatthetrueexplanationisthis：Itoftenhappensthattherealtragediesoflifeoccurinsuchaninartisticmannerthattheyhurtusbytheircrudeviolence，theirabsoluteincoherence，theirabsurdwantofmeaning，theirentirelackofstyle。Theyaffectusjustasvulgarityaffectsus。Theygiveusanimpressionofsheerbruteforce，andwerevoltagainstthat。Sometimes，however，atragedythatpossessesartisticelementsofbeautycrossesourlives。Iftheseelementsofbeautyarereal，thewholethingsimplyappealstooursenseofdramaticeffect。

Suddenlywefindthatwearenolongertheactors，butthespectatorsoftheplay。Orratherweareboth。Wewatchourselves，andthemerewonderofthespectacleenthrallsus。Inthepresentcase，whatisitthathasreallyhappened？Someonehaskilledherselfforloveofyou。IwishthatIhadeverhadsuchanexperience。Itwouldhavemademeinlovewithlovefortherestofmylife。Thepeoplewhohaveadoredme——therehavenotbeenverymany，buttherehavebeensome——havealwaysinsistedonlivingon，longafterIhadceasedtocareforthem，ortheytocareforme。Theyhavebecomestoutandtedious，andwhenImeetthem，theygoinatonceforreminiscences。Thatawfulmemoryofwoman！Whatafearfulthingitis！Andwhatanutterintellectualstagnationitreveals！Oneshouldabsorbthecolouroflife，butoneshouldneverrememberitsdetails。Detailsarealwaysvulgar。

Imustsowpoppiesinmygarden，sighedDorian。

Thereisnonecessity，rejoinedhiscompanion。Lifehasalwayspoppiesinherhands。Ofcourse，nowandthenthingslinger。Ionceworenothingbutvioletsallthroughoneseason，asaformofartisticmourningforaromancethatwouldnotdie。Ultimately，however，itdiddie。Iforgetwhatkilledit。Ithinkitwasherproposingtosacrificethewholeworldforme。Thatisalwaysadreadfulmoment。Itfillsonewiththeterrorofeternity。Well——wouldyoubelieveit？——aweekago，atLadyHampshire’s，Ifoundmyselfseatedatdinnernexttheladyinquestion，andsheinsistedongoingoverthewholethingagain，anddiggingupthepast，andrakingupthefuture。Ihadburiedmyromanceinabedofasphodel。ShedraggeditoutagainandassuredmethatIhadspoiledherlife。Iamboundtostatethatsheateanenormousdinner，soIdidnotfeelanyanxiety。Butwhatalackoftastesheshowed！Theonecharmofthepastisthatitisthepast。Butwomenneverknowwhenthecurtainhasfallen。Theyalwayswantasixthact，andassoonastheinterestoftheplayisentirelyover，theyproposetocontinueit。Iftheywereallowedtheirownway，everycomedywouldhaveatragicending，andeverytragedywouldculminateinafarce。Theyarecharminglyartificial，buttheyhavenosenseofart。

YouaremorefortunatethanIam。Iassureyou，Dorian，thatnotoneofthewomenIhaveknownwouldhavedoneformewhatSibylVanedidforyou。

Ordinarywomenalwaysconsolethemselves。Someofthemdoitbygoinginforsentimentalcolours。Nevertrustawomanwhowearsmauve，whateverheragemaybe，orawomanoverthirty-fivewhoisfondofpinkribbons。

Italwaysmeansthattheyhaveahistory。Othersfindagreatconsolationinsuddenlydiscoveringthegoodqualitiesoftheirhusbands。Theyflaunttheirconjugalfelicityinone’sface，asifitwerethemostfascinatingofsins。Religionconsolessome。Itsmysterieshaveallthecharmofaflirtation，awomanoncetoldme，andIcanquiteunderstandit。Besides，nothingmakesonesovainasbeingtoldthatoneisasinner。Consciencemakesegotistsofusall。Yes。thereisreallynoendtotheconsolationsthatwomenfindinmodernlife。Indeed，Ihavenotmentionedthemostimportantone。

Whatisthat，Harry？saidtheladlistlessly。

Oh，theobviousconsolation。Takingsomeoneelse’sadmirerwhenonelosesone’sown。Ingoodsocietythatalwayswhitewashesawoman。Butreally，Dorian，howdifferentSibylVanemusthavebeenfromallthewomenonemeets！Thereissomethingtomequitebeautifulaboutherdeath。I

amgladIamlivinginacenturywhensuchwondershappen。Theymakeonebelieveintherealityofthethingsweallplaywith，suchasromance，passion，andlove。

Iwasterriblycrueltoher。Youforgetthat。

Iamafraidthatwomenappreciatecruelty，downrightcruelty，morethananythingelse。Theyhavewonderfullyprimitiveinstincts。Wehaveemancipatedthem，buttheyremainslaveslookingfortheirmasters，allthesame。Theylovebeingdominated。Iamsureyouweresplendid。I

haveneverseenyoureallyandabsolutelyangry，butIcanfancyhowdelightfulyoulooked。And，afterall，yousaidsomethingtomethedaybeforeyesterdaythatseemedtomeatthetimetobemerelyfanciful，butthatIseenowwasabsolutelytrue，anditholdsthekeytoeverything。

Whatwasthat，Harry？

YousaidtomethatSibylVanerepresentedtoyoualltheheroinesofromance——thatshewasDesdemonaonenight，andOpheliatheother。thatifshediedasJuliet，shecametolifeasImogen。

Shewillnevercometolifeagainnow，mutteredthelad，buryinghisfaceinhishands。

No，shewillnevercometolife。Shehasplayedherlastpart。

Butyoumustthinkofthatlonelydeathinthetawdrydressing-roomsimplyasastrangeluridfragmentfromsomeJacobeantragedy，asawonderfulscenefromWebster，orFord，orCyrilTourneur。Thegirlneverreallylived，andsoshehasneverreallydied。Toyouatleastshewasalwaysadream，aphantomthatflittedthroughShakespeare’splaysandleftthemlovelierforitspresence，areedthroughwhichShakespeare’smusicsoundedricherandmorefullofjoy。Themomentshetouchedactuallife，shemarredit，anditmarredher，andsoshepassedaway。MournforOphelia，ifyoulike。

PutashesonyourheadbecauseCordeliawasstrangled。CryoutagainstHeavenbecausethedaughterofBrabantiodied。Butdon’twasteyourtearsoverSibylVane。Shewaslessrealthantheyare。

Therewasasilence。Theeveningdarkenedintheroom。Noiselessly，andwithsilverfeet，theshadowscreptinfromthegarden。Thecoloursfadedwearilyoutofthings。

AftersometimeDorianGraylookedup。Youhaveexplainedmetomyself，Harry，hemurmuredwithsomethingofasighofrelief。Ifeltallthatyouhavesaid，butsomehowIwasafraidofit，andIcouldnotexpressittomyself。Howwellyouknowme！Butwewillnottalkagainofwhathashappened。Ithasbeenamarvellousexperience。Thatisall。

Iwonderiflifehasstillinstoreformeanythingasmarvellous。

Lifehaseverythinginstoreforyou，Dorian。Thereisnothingthatyou，withyourextraordinarygoodlooks，willnotbeabletodo。

Butsuppose，Harry，Ibecamehaggard，andold，andwrinkled？

Whatthen？

Ah，then，saidLordHenry，risingtogo，then，mydearDorian，youwouldhavetofightforyourvictories。Asitis，theyarebroughttoyou。No，youmustkeepyourgoodlooks。Weliveinanagethatreadstoomuchtobewise，andthatthinkstoomuchtobebeautiful。Wecannotspareyou。Andnowyouhadbetterdressanddrivedowntotheclub。Weareratherlate，asitis。

IthinkIshalljoinyouattheopera，Harry。Ifeeltootiredtoeatanything。Whatisthenumberofyoursister’sbox？

Twenty-seven，Ibelieve。Itisonthegrandtier。Youwillseehernameonthedoor。ButIamsorryyouwon’tcomeanddine。

Idon’tfeeluptoit，saidDorianlistlessly。ButIamawfullyobligedtoyouforallthatyouhavesaidtome。Youarecertainlymybestfriend。Noonehaseverunderstoodmeasyouhave。

Weareonlyatthebeginningofourfriendship，Dorian，answeredLordHenry，shakinghimbythehand。Good-bye。Ishallseeyoubeforenine-thirty，Ihope。Remember，Pattiissinging。

Asheclosedthedoorbehindhim，DorianGraytouchedthebell，andinafewminutesVictorappearedwiththelampsanddrewtheblindsdown。Hewaitedimpatientlyforhimtogo。Themanseemedtotakeaninterminabletimeovereverything。

Assoonashehadleft，herushedtothescreenanddrewitback。

No。therewasnofurtherchangeinthepicture。IthadreceivedthenewsofSibylVane’sdeathbeforehehadknownofithimself。Itwasconsciousoftheeventsoflifeastheyoccurred。Theviciouscrueltythatmarredthefinelinesofthemouthhad，nodoubt，appearedattheverymomentthatthegirlhaddrunkthepoison，whateveritwas。Orwasitindifferenttoresults？Diditmerelytakecognizanceofwhatpassedwithinthesoul？

Hewondered，andhopedthatsomedayhewouldseethechangetakingplacebeforehisveryeyes，shudderingashehopedit。

PoorSibyl！Whataromanceithadallbeen！Shehadoftenmimickeddeathonthestage。ThenDeathhimselfhadtouchedherandtakenherwithhim。Howhadsheplayedthatdreadfullastscene？Hadshecursedhim，asshedied？No。shehaddiedforloveofhim，andlovewouldalwaysbeasacramenttohimnow。Shehadatonedforeverythingbythesacrificeshehadmadeofherlife。Hewouldnotthinkanymoreofwhatshehadmadehimgothrough，onthathorriblenightatthetheatre。Whenhethoughtofher，itwouldbeasawonderfultragicfiguresentontotheworld’sstagetoshowthesupremerealityoflove。Awonderfultragicfigure？Tearscametohiseyesasherememberedherchildlikelook，andwinsomefancifulways，andshytremulousgrace。Hebrushedthemawayhastilyandlookedagainatthepicture。

Hefeltthatthetimehadreallycomeformakinghischoice。Orhadhischoicealreadybeenmade？Yes，lifehaddecidedthatforhim——life，andhisowninfinitecuriosityaboutlife。Eternalyouth，infinitepassion，pleasuressubtleandsecret，wildjoysandwildersins——hewastohaveallthesethings。Theportraitwastobeartheburdenofhisshame：thatwasall。

Afeelingofpaincreptoverhimashethoughtofthedesecrationthatwasinstoreforthefairfaceonthecanvas。Once，inboyishmockeryofNarcissus，hehadkissed，orfeignedtokiss，thosepaintedlipsthatnowsmiledsocruellyathim。Morningaftermorninghehadsatbeforetheportraitwonderingatitsbeauty，almostenamouredofit，asitseemedtohimattimes。Wasittoalternowwitheverymoodtowhichheyielded？

Wasittobecomeamonstrousandloathsomething，tobehiddenawayinalockedroom，tobeshutoutfromthesunlightthathadsooftentouchedtobrightergoldthewavingwonderofitshair？Thepityofit！thepityofit！

Foramoment，hethoughtofprayingthatthehorriblesympathythatexistedbetweenhimandthepicturemightcease。Ithadchangedinanswertoaprayer。perhapsinanswertoaprayeritmightremainunchanged。

Andyet，who，thatknewanythingaboutlife，wouldsurrenderthechanceofremainingalwaysyoung，howeverfantasticthatchancemightbe，orwithwhatfatefulconsequencesitmightbefraught？Besides，wasitreallyunderhiscontrol？Haditindeedbeenprayerthathadproducedthesubstitution？

Mighttherenotbesomecuriousscientificreasonforitall？Ifthoughtcouldexerciseitsinfluenceuponalivingorganism，mightnotthoughtexerciseaninfluenceupondeadandinorganicthings？Nay，withoutthoughtorconsciousdesire，mightnotthingsexternaltoourselvesvibrateinunisonwithourmoodsandpassions，atomcallingtoatominsecretloveorstrangeaffinity？Butthereasonwasofnoimportance。Hewouldneveragaintemptbyaprayeranyterriblepower。Ifthepicturewastoalter，itwastoalter。Thatwasall。Whyinquiretoocloselyintoit？

Fortherewouldbearealpleasureinwatchingit。Hewouldbeabletofollowhismindintoitssecretplaces。Thisportraitwouldbetohimthemostmagicalofmirrors。Asithadrevealedtohimhisownbody，soitwouldrevealtohimhisownsoul。Andwhenwintercameuponit，hewouldstillbestandingwherespringtremblesonthevergeofsummer。Whenthebloodcreptfromitsface，andleftbehindapallidmaskofchalkwithleadeneyes，hewouldkeeptheglamourofboyhood。Notoneblossomofhislovelinesswouldeverfade。Notonepulseofhislifewouldeverweaken。

LikethegodsoftheGreeks，hewouldbestrong，andfleet，andjoyous。

Whatdiditmatterwhathappenedtothecolouredimageonthecanvas？Hewouldbesafe。Thatwaseverything。

Hedrewthescreenbackintoitsformerplaceinfrontofthepicture，smilingashedidso，andpassedintohisbedroom，wherehisvaletwasalreadywaitingforhim。Anhourlaterhewasattheopera，andLordHenrywasleaningoverhischair。

ThePictureofDorianGray：Chapter9Chapter9Ashewassittingatbreakfastnextmorning，BasilHallwardwasshownintotheroom。

IamsogladIhavefoundyou，Dorian，hesaidgravely。Icalledlastnight，andtheytoldmeyouwereattheopera。Ofcourse，Iknewthatwasimpossible。ButIwishyouhadleftwordwhereyouhadreallygoneto。Ipassedadreadfulevening，halfafraidthatonetragedymightbefollowedbyanother。Ithinkyoumighthavetelegraphedformewhenyouheardofitfirst。IreadofitquitebychanceinalateeditionofTheGlobethatIpickedupattheclub。Icamehereatonceandwasmiserableatnotfindingyou。Ican’ttellyouhowheart-brokenIamaboutthewholething。Iknowwhatyoumustsuffer。Butwherewereyou？Didyougodownandseethegirl’smother？ForamomentIthoughtoffollowingyouthere。

Theygavetheaddressinthepaper。SomewhereintheEustonRoad，isn’tit？ButIwasafraidofintrudinguponasorrowthatIcouldnotlighten。

Poorwoman！Whatastateshemustbein！Andheronlychild，too！Whatdidshesayaboutitall？

MydearBasil，howdoIknow？murmuredDorianGray，sippingsomepale-yellowwinefromadelicate，gold-beadedbubbleofVenetianglassandlookingdreadfullybored。Iwasattheopera。Youshouldhavecomeonthere。ImetLadyGwendolen，Harry’ssister，forthefirsttime。Wewereinherbox。Sheisperfectlycharming。andPattisangdivinely。Don’ttalkabouthorridsubjects。Ifonedoesn’ttalkaboutathing，ithasneverhappened。Itissimplyexpression，asHarrysays，thatgivesrealitytothings。Imaymentionthatshewasnotthewoman’sonlychild。Thereisason，acharmingfellow，Ibelieve。Butheisnotonthestage。Heisasailor，orsomething。Andnow，tellmeaboutyourselfandwhatyouarepainting。

Youwenttotheopera？saidHallward，speakingveryslowlyandwithastrainedtouchofpaininhisvoice。YouwenttotheoperawhileSibylVanewaslyingdeadinsomesordidlodging？Youcantalktomeofotherwomenbeingcharming，andofPattisingingdivinely，beforethegirlyoulovedhaseventhequietofagravetosleepin？Why，man，therearehorrorsinstoreforthatlittlewhitebodyofhers！

Stop，Basil！Iwon’thearit！criedDorian，leapingtohisfeet。

Youmustnottellmeaboutthings。Whatisdoneisdone。Whatispastispast。

Youcallyesterdaythepast？

Whathastheactuallapseoftimegottodowithit？Itisonlyshallowpeoplewhorequireyearstogetridofanemotion。Amanwhoismasterofhimselfcanendasorrowaseasilyashecaninventapleasure。

Idon’twanttobeatthemercyofmyemotions。Iwanttousethem，toenjoythem，andtodominatethem。

Dorian，thisishorrible！Somethinghaschangedyoucompletely。

Youlookexactlythesamewonderfulboywho，dayafterday，usedtocomedowntomystudiotositforhispicture。Butyouweresimple，natural，andaffectionatethen。Youwerethemostunspoiledcreatureinthewholeworld。Now，Idon’tknowwhathascomeoveryou。Youtalkasifyouhadnoheart，nopityinyou。ItisallHarry’sinfluence。Iseethat。

Theladflushedupand，goingtothewindow，lookedoutforafewmomentsonthegreen，flickering，sun-lashedgarden。IoweagreatdealtoHarry，Basil，hesaidatlast，morethanIowetoyou。Youonlytaughtmetobevain。

Well，Iampunishedforthat，Dorian——orshallbesomeday。

Idon’tknowwhatyoumean，Basil，heexclaimed，turninground。

Idon’tknowwhatyouwant。Whatdoyouwant？

IwanttheDorianGrayIusedtopaint，saidtheartistsadly。

Basil，saidthelad，goingovertohimandputtinghishandonhisshoulder，youhavecometoolate。Yesterday，whenIheardthatSibylVanehadkilledherself——

Killedherself！Goodheavens！istherenodoubtaboutthat？

criedHallward，lookingupathimwithanexpressionofhorror。

MydearBasil！Surelyyoudon’tthinkitwasavulgaraccident？

Ofcourseshekilledherself。

Theeldermanburiedhisfaceinhishands。Howfearful，hemuttered，andashudderranthroughhim。

No，saidDorianGray，thereisnothingfearfulaboutit。Itisoneofthegreatromantictragediesoftheage。Asarule，peoplewhoactleadthemostcommonplacelives。Theyaregoodhusbands，orfaithfulwives，orsomethingtedious。YouknowwhatImean——middle-classvirtueandallthatkindofthing。HowdifferentSibylwas！Shelivedherfinesttragedy。Shewasalwaysaheroine。Thelastnightsheplayed——thenightyousawher——sheactedbadlybecauseshehadknowntherealityoflove。

Whensheknewitsunreality，shedied，asJulietmighthavedied。Shepassedagainintothesphereofart。Thereissomethingofthemartyrabouther。

Herdeathhasallthepatheticuselessnessofmartyrdom，allitswastedbeauty。But，asIwassaying，youmustnotthinkIhavenotsuffered。Ifyouhadcomeinyesterdayataparticularmoment——abouthalf-pastfive，perhaps，oraquartertosix——youwouldhavefoundmeintears。EvenHarry，whowashere，whobroughtmethenews，infact，hadnoideawhatIwasgoingthrough。Isufferedimmensely。Thenitpassedaway。Icannotrepeatanemotion。Noonecan，exceptsentimentalists。Andyouareawfullyunjust，Basil。Youcomedownheretoconsoleme。Thatischarmingofyou。Youfindmeconsoled，andyouarefurious。Howlikeasympatheticperson！YouremindmeofastoryHarrytoldmeaboutacertainphilanthropistwhospenttwentyyearsofhislifeintryingtogetsomegrievanceredressed，orsomeunjustlawaltered——Iforgetexactlywhatitwas。Finallyhesucceeded，andnothingcouldexceedhisdisappointment。Hehadabsolutelynothingtodo，almostdiedofennui，andbecameaconfirmedmisanthrope。Andbesides，mydearoldBasil，ifyoureallywanttoconsoleme，teachmerathertoforgetwhathashappened，ortoseeitfromaproperartisticpointofview。WasitnotGautierwhousedtowriteaboutlaconsolationdesarts？

Irememberpickingupalittlevellum-coveredbookinyourstudioonedayandchancingonthatdelightfulphrase。Well，IamnotlikethatyoungmanyoutoldmeofwhenweweredownatMarlowtogether，theyoungmanwhousedtosaythatyellowsatincouldconsoleoneforallthemiseriesoflife。Ilovebeautifulthingsthatonecantouchandhandle。Oldbrocades，greenbronzes，lacquer-work，carvedivories，exquisitesurroundings，luxury，pomp——thereismuchtobegotfromallthese。Buttheartistictemperamentthattheycreate，oratanyratereveal，isstillmoretome。Tobecomethespectatorofone’sownlife，asHarrysays，istoescapethesufferingoflife。Iknowyouaresurprisedatmytalkingtoyoulikethis。YouhavenotrealizedhowIhavedeveloped。Iwasaschoolboywhenyouknewme。

Iamamannow。Ihavenewpassions，newthoughts，newideas。Iamdifferent，butyoumustnotlikemeless。Iamchanged，butyoumustalwaysbemyfriend。Ofcourse，IamveryfondofHarry。ButIknowthatyouarebetterthanheis。Youarenotstronger——youaretoomuchafraidoflife——butyouarebetter。Andhowhappyweusedtobetogether！Don’tleaveme，Basil，anddon’tquarrelwithme。IamwhatIam。Thereisnothingmoretobesaid。

Thepainterfeltstrangelymoved。Theladwasinfinitelydeartohim，andhispersonalityhadbeenthegreatturningpointinhisart。

Hecouldnotbeartheideaofreproachinghimanymore。Afterall，hisindifferencewasprobablymerelyamoodthatwouldpassaway。Therewassomuchinhimthatwasgood，somuchinhimthatwasnoble。

Well，Dorian，hesaidatlength，withasadsmile，Iwon’tspeaktoyouagainaboutthishorriblething，afterto-day。Ionlytrustyournamewon’tbementionedinconnectionwithit。Theinquestistotakeplacethisafternoon。Havetheysummonedyou？

Dorianshookhishead，andalookofannoyancepassedoverhisfaceatthementionofthewordinquest。Therewassomethingsocrudeandvulgarabouteverythingofthekind。Theydon’tknowmyname，heanswered。

Butsurelyshedid？

OnlymyChristianname，andthatIamquitesureshenevermentionedtoanyone。ShetoldmeoncethattheywereallrathercurioustolearnwhoIwas，andthatsheinvariablytoldthemmynamewasPrinceCharming。

Itwasprettyofher。YoumustdomeadrawingofSibyl，Basil。Ishouldliketohavesomethingmoreofherthanthememoryofafewkissesandsomebrokenpatheticwords。

Iwilltryanddosomething，Dorian，ifitwouldpleaseyou。

Butyoumustcomeandsittomeyourselfagain。Ican’tgetonwithoutyou。

Icanneversittoyouagain，Basil。Itisimpossible！heexclaimed，startingback。

Thepainterstaredathim。Mydearboy，whatnonsense！hecried。

Doyoumeantosayyoudon’tlikewhatIdidofyou？Whereisit？Whyhaveyoupulledthescreeninfrontofit？Letmelookatit。ItisthebestthingIhaveeverdone。Dotakethescreenaway，Dorian。Itissimplydisgracefulofyourservanthidingmyworklikethat。IfelttheroomlookeddifferentasIcamein。

Myservanthasnothingtodowithit，Basil。Youdon’timagineIlethimarrangemyroomforme？Hesettlesmyflowersformesometimes——

thatisall。No。Ididitmyself。Thelightwastoostrongontheportrait。

Toostrong！Surelynot，mydearfellow？Itisanadmirableplaceforit。Letmeseeit。AndHallwardwalkedtowardsthecorneroftheroom。

AcryofterrorbrokefromDorianGray’slips，andherushedbetweenthepainterandthescreen。Basil，hesaid，lookingverypale，youmustnotlookatit。Idon’twishyouto。

Notlookatmyownwork！Youarenotserious。Whyshouldn’tI

lookatit？exclaimedHallward，laughing。

Ifyoutrytolookatit，Basil，onmywordofhonourIwillneverspeaktoyouagainaslongasIlive。Iamquiteserious。Idon’tofferanyexplanation，andyouarenottoaskforany。But，remember，ifyoutouchthisscreen，everythingisoverbetweenus。

Hallwardwasthunderstruck。HelookedatDorianGrayinabsoluteamazement。Hehadneverseenhimlikethisbefore。Theladwasactuallypallidwithrage。Hishandswereclenched，andthepupilsofhiseyeswerelikedisksofbluefire。Hewastremblingallover。

Dorian！

Don’tspeak！

Butwhatisthematter？OfcourseIwon’tlookatitifyoudon’twantmeto，hesaid，rathercoldly，turningonhisheelandgoingovertowardsthewindow。But，really，itseemsratherabsurdthatIshouldn’tseemyownwork，especiallyasIamgoingtoexhibititinParisintheautumn。Ishallprobablyhavetogiveitanothercoatofvarnishbeforethat，soImustseeitsomeday，andwhynotto-day？

Toexhibitit！Youwanttoexhibitit？exclaimedDorianGray，astrangesenseofterrorcreepingoverhim。Wastheworldgoingtobeshownhissecret？Werepeopletogapeatthemysteryofhislife？Thatwasimpossible。Something——hedidnotknowwhat——hadtobedoneatonce。

Yes。Idon’tsupposeyouwillobjecttothat。GeorgesPetitisgoingtocollectallmybestpicturesforaspecialexhibitionintheRuedeSeze，whichwillopenthefirstweekinOctober。Theportraitwillonlybeawayamonth。Ishouldthinkyoucouldeasilyspareitforthattime。

Infact，youaresuretobeoutoftown。Andifyoukeepitalwaysbehindascreen，youcan’tcaremuchaboutit。

DorianGraypassedhishandoverhisforehead。Therewerebeadsofperspirationthere。Hefeltthathewasonthebrinkofahorribledanger。

Youtoldmeamonthagothatyouwouldneverexhibitit，hecried。Whyhaveyouchangedyourmind？Youpeoplewhogoinforbeingconsistenthavejustasmanymoodsasothershave。Theonlydifferenceisthatyourmoodsarerathermeaningless。Youcan’thaveforgottenthatyouassuredmemostsolemnlythatnothingintheworldwouldinduceyoutosendittoanyexhibition。

YoutoldHarryexactlythesamething。Hestoppedsuddenly，andagleamoflightcameintohiseyes。HerememberedthatLordHenryhadsaidtohimonce，halfseriouslyandhalfinjest，Ifyouwanttohaveastrangequarterofanhour，getBasiltotellyouwhyhewon’texhibityourpicture。

Hetoldmewhyhewouldn’t，anditwasarevelationtome。Yes，perhapsBasil，too，hadhissecret。Hewouldaskhimandtry。

Basil，hesaid，comingoverquitecloseandlookinghimstraightintheface，wehaveeachofusasecret。Letmeknowyours，andIshalltellyoumine。Whatwasyourreasonforrefusingtoexhibitmypicture？

Thepaintershudderedinspiteofhimself。Dorian，ifItoldyou，youmightlikemelessthanyoudo，andyouwouldcertainlylaughatme。Icouldnotbearyourdoingeitherofthosetwothings。Ifyouwishmenevertolookatyourpictureagain，Iamcontent。Ihavealwaysyoutolookat。IfyouwishthebestworkIhaveeverdonetobehiddenfromtheworld，Iamsatisfied。Yourfriendshipisdearertomethananyfameorreputation。

No，Basil，youmusttellme，insistedDorianGray。IthinkIhavearighttoknow。Hisfeelingofterrorhadpassedaway，andcuriosityhadtakenitsplace。HewasdeterminedtofindoutBasilHallward’smystery。

Letussitdown，Dorian，saidthepainter，lookingtroubled。

Letussitdown。Andjustanswermeonequestion。Haveyounoticedinthepicturesomethingcurious？——somethingthatprobablyatfirstdidnotstrikeyou，butthatrevealeditselftoyousuddenly？

Basil！criedthelad，clutchingthearmsofhischairwithtremblinghandsandgazingathimwithwildstartledeyes。

Iseeyoudid。Don’tspeak。WaittillyouhearwhatIhavetosay。Dorian，fromthemomentImetyou，yourpersonalityhadthemostextraordinaryinfluenceoverme。Iwasdominated，soul，brain，andpower，byyou。Youbecametomethevisibleincarnationofthatunseenidealwhosememoryhauntsusartistslikeanexquisitedream。Iworshippedyou。Igrewjealousofeveryonetowhomyouspoke。Iwantedtohaveyoualltomyself。IwasonlyhappywhenIwaswithyou。Whenyouwereawayfromme，youwerestillpresentinmyart……Ofcourse，Ineverletyouknowanythingaboutthis。

Itwouldhavebeenimpossible。Youwouldnothaveunderstoodit。Ihardlyunderstooditmyself。IonlyknewthatIhadseenperfectionfacetoface，andthattheworldhadbecomewonderfultomyeyes——toowonderful，perhaps，forinsuchmadworshipsthereisperil，theperiloflosingthem，nolessthantheperilofkeepingthem……Weeksandweekswenton，andIgrewmoreandmoreabsorbedinyou。Thencameanewdevelopment。IhaddrawnyouasParisindaintyarmour，andasAdoniswithhuntsman’scloakandpolishedboar-spear。Crownedwithheavylotus-blossomsyouhadsatontheprowofAdrian’sbarge，gazingacrossthegreenturbidNile。YouhadleanedoverthestillpoolofsomeGreekwoodlandandseeninthewater’ssilentsilverthemarvelofyourownface。Andithadallbeenwhatartshouldbe——unconscious，ideal，andremote。Oneday，afataldayIsometimesthink，Ideterminedtopaintawonderfulportraitofyouasyouactuallyare，notinthecostumeofdeadages，butinyourowndressandinyourowntime。Whetheritwastherealismofthemethod，orthemerewonderofyourownpersonality，thusdirectlypresentedtomewithoutmistorveil，I

cannottell。ButIknowthatasIworkedatit，everyflakeandfilmofcolourseemedtometorevealmysecret。Igrewafraidthatotherswouldknowofmyidolatry。Ifelt，Dorian，thatIhadtoldtoomuch，thatIhadputtoomuchofmyselfintoit。ThenitwasthatIresolvednevertoallowthepicturetobeexhibited。Youwerealittleannoyed。butthenyoudidnotrealizeallthatitmeanttome。Harry，towhomItalkedaboutit，laughedatme。ButIdidnotmindthat。Whenthepicturewasfinished，andIsatalonewithit，IfeltthatIwasright……Well，afterafewdaysthethingleftmystudio，andassoonasIhadgotridoftheintolerablefascinationofitspresence，itseemedtomethatIhadbeenfoolishinimaginingthatIhadseenanythinginit，morethanthatyouwereextremelygood-lookingandthatIcouldpaint。EvennowIcannothelpfeelingthatitisamistaketothinkthatthepassiononefeelsincreationiseverreallyshownintheworkonecreates。Artisalwaysmoreabstractthanwefancy。Formandcolourtellusofformandcolour——thatisall。Itoftenseemstomethatartconcealstheartistfarmorecompletelythaniteverrevealshim。AndsowhenIgotthisofferfromParis，Ideterminedtomakeyourportraittheprincipalthinginmyexhibition。Itneveroccurredtomethatyouwouldrefuse。Iseenowthatyouwereright。Thepicturecannotbeshown。Youmustnotbeangrywithme，Dorian，forwhatIhavetoldyou。

AsIsaidtoHarry，once，youaremadetobeworshipped。

DorianGraydrewalongbreath。Thecolourcamebacktohischeeks，andasmileplayedabouthislips。Theperilwasover。Hewassafeforthetime。Yethecouldnothelpfeelinginfinitepityforthepainterwhohadjustmadethisstrangeconfessiontohim，andwonderedifhehimselfwouldeverbesodominatedbythepersonalityofafriend。LordHenryhadthecharmofbeingverydangerous。Butthatwasall。Hewastoocleverandtoocynicaltobereallyfondof。Wouldthereeverbesomeonewhowouldfillhimwithastrangeidolatry？Wasthatoneofthethingsthatlifehadinstore？

Itisextraordinarytome，Dorian，saidHallward，thatyoushouldhaveseenthisintheportrait。Didyoureallyseeit？

Isawsomethinginit，heanswered，somethingthatseemedtomeverycurious。

Well，youdon’tmindmylookingatthethingnow？

Dorianshookhishead。Youmustnotaskmethat，Basil。Icouldnotpossiblyletyoustandinfrontofthatpicture。

Youwillsomeday，surely？

Never。

Well，perhapsyouareright。Andnowgood-bye，Dorian。Youhavebeentheonepersoninmylifewhohasreallyinfluencedmyart。WhateverIhavedonethatisgood，Iowetoyou。Ah！youdon’tknowwhatitcostmetotellyouallthatIhavetoldyou。

MydearBasil，saidDorian，whathaveyoutoldme？Simplythatyoufeltthatyouadmiredmetoomuch。Thatisnotevenacompliment。

Itwasnotintendedasacompliment。Itwasaconfession。NowthatIhavemadeit，somethingseemstohavegoneoutofme。Perhapsoneshouldneverputone’sworshipintowords。

Itwasaverydisappointingconfession。

Why，whatdidyouexpect，Dorian？Youdidn’tseeanythingelseinthepicture，didyou？Therewasnothingelsetosee？

No。therewasnothingelsetosee。Whydoyouask？Butyoumustn’ttalkaboutworship。Itisfoolish。YouandIarefriends，Basil，andwemustalwaysremainso。

YouhavegotHarry，saidthepaintersadly。

Oh，Harry！criedthelad，witharippleoflaughter。Harryspendshisdaysinsayingwhatisincredibleandhiseveningsindoingwhatisimprobable。JustthesortoflifeIwouldliketolead。ButstillIdon’tthinkIwouldgotoHarryifIwereintrouble。Iwouldsoonergotoyou，Basil。

Youwillsittomeagain？

Impossible！

Youspoilmylifeasanartistbyrefusing，Dorian。Nomancomesacrosstwoidealthings。Fewcomeacrossone。

Ican’texplainittoyou，Basil，butImustneversittoyouagain。Thereissomethingfatalaboutaportrait。Ithasalifeofitsown。Iwillcomeandhaveteawithyou。Thatwillbejustaspleasant。

Pleasanterforyou，Iamafraid，murmuredHallwardregretfully。

Andnowgood-bye。Iamsorryyouwon’tletmelookatthepictureonceagain。Butthatcan’tbehelped。Iquiteunderstandwhatyoufeelaboutit。

Ashelefttheroom，DorianGraysmiledtohimself。PoorBasil！

Howlittleheknewofthetruereason！Andbowstrangeitwasthat，insteadofhavingbeenforcedtorevealhisownsecret，hehadsucceeded，almostbychance，inwrestingasecretfromhisfriend！Howmuchthatstrangeconfessionexplainedtohim！Thepainter’sabsurdfitsofjealousy，hiswilddevotion，hisextravagantpanegyrics，hiscuriousreticences——heunderstoodthemallnow，andhefeltsorry。Thereseemedtohimtobesomethingtragicinafriendshipsocolouredbyromance。

Hesighedandtouchedthebell。Theportraitmustbehiddenawayatallcosts。Hecouldnotrunsuchariskofdiscoveryagain。Ithadbeenmadofhimtohaveallowedthethingtoremain，evenforanhour，inaroomtowhichanyofhisfriendshadaccess。

ThePictureofDorianGray：Chapter10Chapter10Whenhisservantentered，belookedathimsteadfastlyandwonderedifhehadthoughtofpeeringbehindthescreen。Themanwasquiteimpassiveandwaitedforhisorders。Dorianlitacigaretteandwalkedovertotheglassandglancedintoit。HecouldseethereflectionofVictor’sfaceperfectly。Itwaslikeaplacidmaskofservility。Therewasnothingtobeafraidof，there。Yethethoughtitbesttobeonhisguard。

Speakingveryslowly，hetoldhimtotellthehouse-keeperthathewantedtoseeher，andthentogototheframe-makerandaskhimtosendtwoofhismenroundatonce。Itseemedtohimthatasthemanlefttheroomhiseyeswanderedinthedirectionofthescreen。Orwasthatmerelyhisownfancy？

Afterafewmoments，inherblacksilkdress，withold-fashionedthreadmittensonherwrinkledhands，Mrs。Leafbustledintothelibrary。

Heaskedherforthekeyoftheschoolroom。

Theoldschoolroom，Mr。Dorian？sheexclaimed。Why，itisfullofdust。Imustgetitarrangedandputstraightbeforeyougointoit。

Itisnotfitforyoutosee，sir。Itisnot，indeed。

Idon’twantitputstraight，Leaf。Ionlywantthekey。

Well，sir，you’llbecoveredwithcobwebsifyougointoit。

Why，ithasn’tbeenopenedfornearlyfiveyears——notsincehislordshipdied。

Hewincedatthementionofhisgrandfather。Hehadhatefulmemoriesofhim。Thatdoesnotmatter，heanswered。Isimplywanttoseetheplace——thatisall。Givemethekey。

Andhereisthekey，sir，saidtheoldlady，goingoverthecontentsofherbunchwithtremulouslyuncertainhands。Hereisthekey。

I’llhaveitoffthebunchinamoment。Butyoudon’tthinkoflivingupthere，sir，andyousocomfortablehere？

No，no，hecriedpetulantly。Thankyou，Leaf。Thatwilldo。

Shelingeredforafewmoments，andwasgarrulousoversomedetailofthehousehold。Hesighedandtoldhertomanagethingsasshethoughtbest。Shelefttheroom，wreathedinsmiles。

Asthedoorclosed，Dorianputthekeyinhispocketandlookedroundtheroom。Hiseyefellonalarge，purplesatincoverletheavilyembroideredwithgold，asplendidpieceoflateseventeenth-centuryVenetianworkthathisgrandfatherhadfoundinaconventnearBologna。Yes，thatwouldservetowrapthedreadfulthingin。Ithadperhapsservedoftenasapallforthedead。Nowitwastohidesomethingthathadacorruptionofitsown，worsethanthecorruptionofdeathitself——somethingthatwouldbreedhorrorsandyetwouldneverdie。Whatthewormwastothecorpse，hissinswouldbetothepaintedimageonthecanvas。Theywouldmaritsbeautyandeatawayitsgrace。Theywoulddefileitandmakeitshameful。

Andyetthethingwouldstillliveon。Itwouldbealwaysalive。

Heshuddered，andforamomentheregrettedthathehadnottoldBasilthetruereasonwhyhehadwishedtohidethepictureaway。BasilwouldhavehelpedhimtoresistLordHenry’sinfluence，andthestillmorepoisonousinfluencesthatcamefromhisowntemperament。Thelovethatheborehim——foritwasreallylove——hadnothinginitthatwasnotnobleandintellectual。Itwasnotthatmerephysicaladmirationofbeautythatisbornofthesensesandthatdieswhenthesensestire。ItwassuchloveasMichelangelohadknown，andMontaigne，andWinckelmann，andShakespearehimself。Yes，Basilcouldhavesavedhim。Butitwastoolatenow。Thepastcouldalwaysbeannihilated。Regret，denial，orforgetfulnesscoulddothat。Butthefuturewasinevitable。Therewerepassionsinhimthatwouldfindtheirterribleoutlet，dreamsthatwouldmaketheshadowoftheirevilreal。

Hetookupfromthecouchthegreatpurple-and-goldtexturethatcoveredit，and，holdingitinhishands，passedbehindthescreen。Wasthefaceonthecanvasvilerthanbefore？Itseemedtohimthatitwasunchanged，andyethisloathingofitwasintensified。Goldhair，blueeyes，androse-redlips——theyallwerethere。Itwassimplytheexpressionthathadaltered。Thatwashorribleinitscruelty。Comparedtowhathesawinitofcensureorrebuke，howshallowBasil’sreproachesaboutSibylVanehadbeen！——howshallow，andofwhatlittleaccount！Hisownsoulwaslookingoutathimfromthecanvasandcallinghimtojudgement。A

lookofpaincameacrosshim，andheflungtherichpalloverthepicture。

Ashedidso，aknockcametothedoor。Hepassedoutashisservantentered。

Thepersonsarehere，Monsieur。

Hefeltthatthemanmustbegotridofatonce。Hemustnotbeallowedtoknowwherethepicturewasbeingtakento。Therewassomethingslyabouthim，andhehadthoughtful，treacherouseyes。Sittingdownatthewriting-tablehescribbledanotetoLordHenry，askinghimtosendhimroundsomethingtoreadandremindinghimthattheyweretomeetateight-fifteenthatevening。

Waitforananswer，hesaid，handingittohim，andshowthemeninhere。

Intwoorthreeminutestherewasanotherknock，andMr。Hubbardhimself，thecelebratedframe-makerofSouthAudleyStreet，cameinwithasomewhatrough-lookingyoungassistant。Mr。Hubbardwasaflorid，red-whiskeredlittleman，whoseadmirationforartwasconsiderablytemperedbytheinveterateimpecuniosityofmostoftheartistswhodealtwithhim。Asarule，heneverlefthisshop。Hewaitedforpeopletocometohim。ButhealwaysmadeanexceptioninfavourofDorianGray。TherewassomethingaboutDorianthatcharmedeverybody。Itwasapleasureeventoseehim。

WhatcanIdoforyou，Mr。Gray？hesaid，rubbinghisfatfreckledhands。IthoughtIwoulddomyselfthehonourofcomingroundinperson。

Ihavejustgotabeautyofaframe，sir。Pickeditupatasale。OldFlorentine。

CamefromFonthill，Ibelieve。Admirablysuitedforareligioussubject，Mr。Gray。

Iamsosorryyouhavegivenyourselfthetroubleofcominground，Mr。Hubbard。Ishallcertainlydropinandlookattheframe——thoughI

don’tgoinmuchatpresentforreligiousart——butto-dayIonlywantapicturecarriedtothetopofthehouseforme。Itisratherheavy，soIthoughtIwouldaskyoutolendmeacoupleofyourmen。

Notroubleatall，Mr。Gray。Iamdelightedtobeofanyservicetoyou。Whichistheworkofart，sir？

This，repliedDorian，movingthescreenback。Canyoumoveit，coveringandall，justasitis？Idon’twantittogetscratchedgoingupstairs。

Therewillbenodifficulty，sir，saidthegenialframe-maker，beginning，withtheaidofhisassistant，tounhookthepicturefromthelongbrasschainsbywhichitwassuspended。And，now，whereshallwecarryitto，Mr。Gray？

Iwillshowyoutheway，Mr。Hubbard，ifyouwillkindlyfollowme。Orperhapsyouhadbettergoinfront。Iamafraiditisrightatthetopofthehouse。Wewillgoupbythefrontstaircase，asitiswider。

Heheldthedooropenforthem，andtheypassedoutintothehallandbegantheascent。Theelaboratecharacteroftheframehadmadethepictureextremelybulky，andnowandthen，inspiteoftheobsequiousprotestsofMr。Hubbard，whohadthetruetradesman’sspiriteddislikeofseeingagentlemandoinganythinguseful，Dorianputhishandtoitsoastohelpthem。

Somethingofaloadtocarry，sir，gaspedthelittlemanwhentheyreachedthetoplanding。Andhewipedhisshinyforehead。

Iamafraiditisratherheavy，murmuredDorianasheunlockedthedoorthatopenedintotheroomthatwastokeepforhimthecurioussecretofhislifeandhidehissoulfromtheeyesofmen。

Hehadnotenteredtheplaceformorethanfouryears——not，indeed，sincehehaduseditfirstasaplay-roomwhenhewasachild，andthenasastudywhenhegrewsomewhatolder。Itwasalarge，well-proportionedroom，whichhadbeenspeciallybuiltbythelastLordKelsofortheuseofthelittlegrandsonwhom，forhisstrangelikenesstohismother，andalsoforotherreasons，hehadalwayshatedanddesiredtokeepatadistance。

ItappearedtoDoriantohavebutlittlechanged。TherewasthehugeItaliancassone，withitsfantasticallypaintedpanelsanditstarnishedgiltmouldings，inwhichhehadsooftenhiddenhimselfasaboy。Therethesatinwoodbook-casefilledwithhisdog-earedschoolbooks。OnthewallbehinditwashangingthesameraggedFlemishtapestrywhereafadedkingandqueenwereplayingchessinagarden，whileacompanyofhawkersrodeby，carryinghoodedbirdsontheirgauntletedwrists。Howwellheremembereditall！Everymomentofhislonelychildhoodcamebacktohimashelookedround。Herecalledthestainlesspurityofhisboyishlife，anditseemedhorribletohimthatitwasherethefatalportraitwastobehiddenaway。

Howlittlehehadthought，inthosedeaddays，ofallthatwasinstoreforhim！

Buttherewasnootherplaceinthehousesosecurefrompryingeyesasthis。Hehadthekey，andnooneelsecouldenterit。Beneathitspurplepall，thefacepaintedonthecanvascouldgrowbestial，sodden，andunclean。Whatdiditmatter？Noonecouldseeit。Hehimselfwouldnotseeit。Whyshouldhewatchthehideouscorruptionofhissoul？Hekepthisyouth——thatwasenough。And，besides，mightnothisnaturegrowfiner，afterall？Therewasnoreasonthatthefutureshouldbesofullofshame。Somelovemightcomeacrosshislife，andpurifyhim，andshieldhimfromthosesinsthatseemedtobealreadystirringinspiritandinflesh——thosecuriousunpicturedsinswhoseverymysterylentthemtheirsubtletyandtheircharm。Perhaps，someday，thecruellookwouldhavepassedawayfromthescarletsensitivemouth，andhemightshowtotheworldBasilHallward’smasterpiece。

No。thatwasimpossible。Hourbyhour，andweekbyweek，thethinguponthecanvaswasgrowingold。Itmightescapethehideousnessofsin，butthehideousnessofagewasinstoreforit。Thecheekswouldbecomeholloworflaccid。Yellowcrow’sfeetwouldcreeproundthefadingeyesandmakethemhorrible。Thehairwouldloseitsbrightness，themouthwouldgapeordroop，wouldbefoolishorgross，asthemouthsofoldmenare。

Therewouldbethewrinkledthroat，thecold，blue-veinedhands，thetwistedbody，thatherememberedinthegrandfatherwhohadbeensosterntohiminhisboyhood。Thepicturehadtobeconcealed。Therewasnohelpforit。

Bringitin，Mr。Hubbard，please，hesaid，wearily，turninground。IamsorryIkeptyousolong。Iwasthinkingofsomethingelse。

Alwaysgladtohavearest，Mr。Gray，answeredtheframe-maker，whowasstillgaspingforbreath。Whereshallweputit，sir？

Oh，anywhere。Here：thiswilldo。Idon’twanttohaveithungup。Justleanitagainstthewall。Thanks。

Mightonelookattheworkofart，sir？

Dorianstarted。Itwouldnotinterestyou，Mr。Hubbard，hesaid，keepinghiseyeontheman。Hefeltreadytoleapuponhimandflinghimtothegroundifhedaredtoliftthegorgeoushangingthatconcealedthesecretofhislife。Ishan’ttroubleyouanymorenow。Iammuchobligedforyourkindnessincominground。

Notatall，notatall，Mr。Gray。Everreadytodoanythingforyou，sir。AndMr。Hubbardtrampeddownstairs，followedbytheassistant，whoglancedbackatDorianwithalookofshywonderinhisroughuncomelyface。Hehadneverseenanyonesomarvellous。

Whenthesoundoftheirfootstepshaddiedaway，Dorianlockedthedoorandputthekeyinhispocket。Hefeltsafenow。Noonewouldeverlookuponthehorriblething。Noeyebuthiswouldeverseehisshame。

Onreachingthelibrary，hefoundthatitwasjustafterfiveo’clockandthattheteahadbeenalreadybroughtup。Onalittletableofdarkperfumedwoodthicklyincrustedwithnacre，apresentfromLadyRadley，hisguardian’swife，aprettyprofessionalinvalidwhohadspenttheprecedingwinterinCairo，waslyinganotefromLordHenry，andbesideitwasabookboundinyellowpaper，thecoverslightlytornandtheedgessoiled。AcopyofthethirdeditionofTheSt。James’sGazettehadbeenplacedonthetea-tray。ItwasevidentthatVictorhadreturned。Hewonderedifhehadmetthemeninthehallastheywereleavingthehouseandhadwormedoutofthemwhattheyhadbeendoing。Hewouldbesuretomissthepicture——hadnodoubtmisseditalready，whilehehadbeenlayingthetea-things。Thescreenhadnotbeensetback，andablankspacewasvisibleonthewall。Perhapssomenighthemightfindhimcreepingupstairsandtryingtoforcethedooroftheroom。Itwasahorriblethingtohaveaspyinone’shouse。Hehadheardofrichmenwhohadbeenblackmailedalltheirlivesbysomeservantwhohadreadaletter，oroverheardaconversation，orpickedupacardwithanaddress，orfoundbeneathapillowawitheredflowerorashredofcrumpledlace。

Hesighed，andhavingpouredhimselfoutsometea，openedLordHenry’snote。Itwassimplytosaythathesenthimroundtheeveningpaper，andabookthatmightinteresthim，andthathewouldbeattheclubateight-fifteen。HeopenedTheSt。James’slanguidly，andlookedthroughit。Aredpencil-markonthefifthpagecaughthiseye。Itdrewattentiontothefollowingparagraph：

INQUESTONANACTRESS——AninquestwasheldthismorningattheBellTavern，HoxtonRoad，byMr。Danby，theDistrictCoroner，onthebodyofSibylVane，ayoungactressrecentlyengagedattheRoyalTheatre，Holborn。Averdictofdeathbymisadventurewasreturned。Considerablesympathywasexpressedforthemotherofthedeceased，whowasgreatlyaffectedduringthegivingofherownevidence，andthatofDr。Birrell，whohadmadethepost-mortemexaminationofthedeceased。Hefrowned，andtearingthepaperintwo，wentacrosstheroomandflungthepiecesaway。Howuglyitallwas！Andhowhorriblyrealuglinessmadethings！HefeltalittleannoyedwithLordHenryforhavingsenthimthereport。Anditwascertainlystupidofhimtohavemarkeditwithredpencil。

Victormighthavereadit。ThemanknewmorethanenoughEnglishforthat。

Perhapshehadreaditandhadbeguntosuspectsomething。And，yet，whatdiditmatter？WhathadDorianGraytodowithSibylVane’sdeath？

Therewasnothingtofear。DorianGrayhadnotkilledher。

HiseyefellontheyellowbookthatLordHenryhadsenthim。

Whatwasit，hewondered。Hewenttowardsthelittle，pearl-colouredoctagonalstandthathadalwayslookedtohimliketheworkofsomestrangeEgyptianbeesthatwroughtinsilver，andtakingupthevolume，flunghimselfintoanarm-chairandbegantoturnovertheleaves。Afterafewminuteshebecameabsorbed。Itwasthestrangestbookthathehadeverread。Itseemedtohimthatinexquisiteraiment，andtothedelicatesoundofflutes，thesinsoftheworldwerepassingindumbshowbeforehim。Thingsthathehaddimlydreamedofweresuddenlymaderealtohim。Thingsofwhichhehadneverdreamedweregraduallyrevealed。

Itwasanovelwithoutaplotandwithonlyonecharacter，being，indeed，simplyapsychologicalstudyofacertainyoungParisianwhospenthislifetryingtorealizeinthenineteenthcenturyallthepassionsandmodesofthoughtthatbelongedtoeverycenturyexcepthisown，andtosumup，asitwere，inhimselfthevariousmoodsthroughwhichtheworld-spirithadeverpassed，lovingfortheirmereartificialitythoserenunciationsthatmenhaveunwiselycalledvirtue，asmuchasthosenaturalrebellionsthatwisemenstillcallsin。Thestyleinwhichitwaswrittenwasthatcuriousjewelledstyle，vividandobscureatonce，fullofargotandofarchaisms，oftechnicalexpressionsandofelaborateparaphrases，thatcharacterizestheworkofsomeofthefinestartistsoftheFrenchschoolofSymbolistes。Therewereinitmetaphorsasmonstrousasorchidsandassubtleincolour。Thelifeofthesenseswasdescribedinthetermsofmysticalphilosophy。Onehardlyknewattimeswhetheronewasreadingthespiritualecstasiesofsomemediaevalsaintorthemorbidconfessionsofamodernsinner。Itwasapoisonousbook。Theheavyodourofincenseseemedtoclingaboutitspagesandtotroublethebrain。Themerecadenceofthesentences，thesubtlemonotonyoftheirmusic，sofullasitwasofcomplexrefrainsandmovementselaboratelyrepeated，producedinthemindofthelad，ashepassedfromchaptertochapter，aformofreverie，amaladyofdreaming，thatmadehimunconsciousofthefallingdayandcreepingshadows。