DRAMATIS PERSONAI OF THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY by Oscar Wilde DRAMATIS PERSONAI Lord Henry Watten, read by David Goldfarb Dorian Gray, read by Algi Pagg The Part of Basil, read by Anthony Sybil Vane, read by Miss Averis James Vane, read by David Horace The Duchess of Monmouth, read by Avayee Víctor, read by Martin Gheeson Francis, read by Simon Pryde Cab Driver, read by Simon Pryde Lady Agatha, read by Sarah The Duchess of Harley, read by Hannah Harris Sir Thomas Burden, read by Terence Taylor The Role of Mr. Erskine, read by Frank Booker Mrs. Vandalor, read by Mary Beth Blackburn Lady Henry, read by Susanna Mrs. Vane, read by Arielle Lipshaw Mrs. Leif, read by Rebecca Harris Mr. Hubbard, read by Frank Booker Lady Narvara, read by Elizabeth Clett Lady Ruckston, read by Mary Beth Blackburn Adrian Singleton, recorded by Joseph Lawler Woman, read by Lucy Perry Sir Jeffrey Cluston, played by Mark Smith of Simpsonville, South Carolina Gamekeeper, read by Martin Gheeson The Gardener, recorded by Joseph Lawler Young Man, read by Elizabeth Clett The Old Gentleman, played by Mark Smith of Simpsonville, South Carolina The Constable, recorded by Joseph Lawler Narrated by Martin Gheeson End of Dramatis Personae The Preface of The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde This is a LibriVox recording All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain For more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde The Preface The artist is the creator of beautiful things To reveal art and conceal the artist is art's aim The critic is he who can translate into another manner or a new material his impression of beautiful things The highest as the lowest form of criticism is a mode of autobiography Those who find ugly meanings in beautiful things are corrupt without being charming This is a fault Those who find beautiful meanings in beautiful things are the cultivated For these there is hope They are the elect to whom beautiful things mean only beauty There is no such thing as a moral or an immoral book Books are well written or badly written That is all The 19th century dislike of realism is the rage of Caliban seeing his own face in a glass The moral life of man forms part of the subject matter of the artist but the morality of art consists in the perfect use of an imperfect medium No artist desires to prove anything even things that are true can be proved The moral life of man forms part of the subject matter of the artist even things that are true can be proved No artist has ethical sympathies An ethical sympathy in an artist is an unpardonable mannerism of style No artist is ever morbid The artist can express everything Thought and language are to the artist instruments of an art Vice and virtue are to the artist materials for an art From the point of view of form the type of all the arts is the art of the musician From the point of view of feeling the actor's craft is the type All art is at once surface and symbol Those who go beneath the surface do so at their peril Those who read the symbol do so at their peril It is the spectator and not life that art really mirrors Diversity of opinion about a work of art shows that the work is new, complex and vital When critics disagree the artist is in accord with himself We can forgive a man for making a useful thing as long as he does not admire it The only excuse for making a useless thing is that one admires it intensely All art is quite useless Oscar Wilde End of the Preface Recording by Martin Giesen in Hazelmere Surrey Chapter 1 of The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde This is a LibriVox recording All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain For more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde Chapter 1 The studio was filled with the rich odour of roses and when the light summer wind stirred amidst the trees of the garden there came through the open door the heavy scent of the lilac or the more delicate perfume of the pink flowering thorn From the corner of the divan of Persian saddlebags on which he was lying smoking, as was his custom, innumerable cigarettes Lord Henry Watten could just catch the gleam of the honey-sweet and honey-coloured blossoms of a laburnum whose tremulous branches seemed hardly able to bear the burden of a beauty so flame-like as theirs and now and then the fantastic shadows of birds in flight flitted across the long tassoor silk curtains that was stretched in front of the huge window producing a kind of momentary Japanese effect and making him think of those pallid, jade-faced painters of Tokyo who through the medium of an art that is necessarily immobile seek to convey the sense of swiftness and motion the sullen murmur of the bees shouldering their way through the long, unmoan grass or circling with monotonous insistence round the dusty gilt horns of the straggling woodbine seemed to make the stillness more oppressive the dim roar of London was like the bourdon note of a distant organ in the centre of the room, clamped to an upright easel stood the full-length portrait of a young man of extraordinary personal beauty and in front of it some little distance away was sitting the artist himself, Basil Hallwood whose sudden disappearance some years ago caused at the time such public excitement and gave rise to so many strange conjectures as the painter looked at the gracious and cumbly form he had so skillfully mirrored in his art a smile of pleasure passed across his face and seemed about to linger there but he suddenly started up and closing his eyes placed his fingers upon the lids as though he sought to imprison within his brain some curious dream from which he feared he might awake it is your best work, Basil, the best thing you have ever done said Lord Henry languidly you must certainly send it next year to the grovener the academy is too large and too vulgar whenever I have gone there there have either been so many people that I have not been able to see the pictures which was dreadful so many pictures that I have not been able to see the people which was worse the grovener is really the only place I don't think I shall send it anywhere he answered, tossing his head back in that odd way that used to make his friends laugh at him at Oxford no, I won't send it anywhere Lord Henry elevated his eyebrows and looked at him in amazement to the thin blue wreaths of smoke that curled up in such fanciful halls from his heavy opium-tainted cigarette not send it anywhere? my dear fellow, why? have you any reason? what odd chaps you painters are you do anything in the world to gain a reputation as soon as you have one you seem to want to throw it away it is silly of you there is only one thing in the world worse than being talked about and that is not being talked about a portrait like this would set you far above all the young men in England and make the old men quite jealous if old men are ever capable of any emotion I know you will laugh at me he replied but I really can't exhibit it I have put too much of myself into it Lord Henry stretched himself out on the divan and laughed yes, I know you would, but it is quite true all the same too much of yourself in it upon my word, Basil, I didn't know you were so vain and I really can't see any resemblance between you with your rugged strong face and your cold black hair and this young Adonis who looks as if he was made out of ivory and rose leaves well my dear Basil, he is a narcissist and you well of course you have an intellectual expression and all that but beauty, real beauty, ends where an intellectual expression begins intellect is in itself a mode of exaggeration and destroys the harmony of any face the moment one sits down to think one becomes all nose or all forehead or something horrid look at the successful men in any of the learned professions how perfectly hideous they are well except of course in the church but then in the church they don't think a bishop keeps on saying at the age of 80 what he was told to say when he was a boy of 18 and as a natural consequence he always looks absolutely delightful your mysterious young friend whose name you have never told me but whose picture really fascinates me never thinks, I feel quite sure of that he is some brainless beautiful creature who should be always here in winter when we have no flowers to look at and always here in summer when we want something to chill our intelligence don't flatter yourself Basil, you are not in the least like him you don't understand me Harry answered the artist of course I am not like him I know that perfectly well indeed I should be sorry to look like him you shrug your shoulders I'm telling you the truth there is a fatality about all physical and intellectual distinction the sort of fatality that seems to dog through history the faltering steps of kings it is better not to be different from one's fellows the ugly and the stupid have the best of it in this world they can sit at their ease and gape at the play if they know nothing of victory they are at least spared the knowledge of defeat they live as we all should live undisturbed and different and without disquiet they neither bring ruin upon others nor ever receive it from alien hands your rank and wealth Harry my brains, such as they are my art whatever it may be worth, Dorian Grey's good looks we shall all suffer for what the gods have given us suffer terribly Dorian Grey, is that his name? asked Lord Henry, walking across the studio towards Basil Hallward yes, that is his name I didn't intend to tell it to you but why not? oh, I can't explain when I like people immensely I never tell their names to anyone it is like surrendering a part of them I've grown to love secrecy it seems to be the one thing that can make modern life mysterious or marvelous to us the commonest thing is delightful if one only hides it when I leave town now I never tell people where I'm going if I did I would lose all my pleasure it is a silly habit, I dare say but somehow it seems to bring a great deal of romance into one's life I suppose you think me awfully foolish about it not at all answered Lord Henry not at all my dear Basil you seem to forget that I am married one charm of marriage is that it makes a life of deception absolutely necessary for both parties I never know where my wife is and my wife never knows what I am doing when we meet, oh we do meet occasionally when we dine out together or go down to the dukes we tell each other the most absurd stories with the most serious faces my wife is very good at it much better in fact than I am she never gets confused over her dates and I always do but when she does find me out she makes no row at all I sometimes wish she would but she merely laughs at me I hate the way you talk about your married life, Harry said Basil Hallward strolling towards the door that led into the garden I believe that you are really a very good husband but that you are thoroughly ashamed of your own virtues you are an extraordinary fellow you never say a moral thing and you never do a wrong thing your cynicism is simply a pose being natural is simply a pose and the most irritating pose I know cried Lord Henry laughing and the two young men went out into the garden together and ensconced themselves on a long bamboo seat that stood in the shade of a tall laurel bush the sunlight slipped over the polished leaves in the grass white daisies were tremulous after a pause Lord Henry pulled out his watch I am afraid I must be going Basil he murmured and before I go I insist on your answering a question I put to you some time ago what is that? said the painter, keeping his eyes fixed on the ground you know quite well I do not, Harry well I will tell you what it is I want you to explain to me why you won't exhibit Dorian Gray's picture I want the real reason I told you the reason no you did not you said it was because there was too much of yourself in it now that is childish Harry said Basil Hallward looking him straight in the face every portrait that is painted with feeling is a portrait of the artist not the sitter the sitter is merely the accident the occasion it is not he who is revealed by the painter it is rather the painter who on coloured canvas reveals himself the reason I will not exhibit this picture is that I am afraid that I have shown in it the secret of my own soul Lord Henry laughed what is that? he asked I will tell you said Hallward but an expression of perplexity came over his face I am all expectation Basil continued his companion glancing at him oh, there is really very little to tell Harry answered the painter and I am afraid you will hardly understand it perhaps you will hardly believe it Lord Henry smiled and leaning down plucked a pink-petalled daisy from the grass and examined it I am quite sure I shall understand it he replied gazing intently at the little golden white feathered disc and as for believing things I can believe anything provided that it is quite incredible the wind shook some blossoms from the trees and the heavy lilac blooms with their clustering stars moved to and fro in the languid air a grass-hover began to chirrup by the wall and like a blue thread a long thin dragonfly floated past on its brown gore's wings Lord Henry felt as if he could hear Basil Hallward's heart beating and wondered what was coming the story is simply this said the painter after some time two months ago I went to a crush at Lady Brandon's you know we poor artists have to show ourselves in society from time to time just to remind the public that we are not savages with an evening coat and a white tie as you told me once anybody, even a stockbroker can gain a reputation for being civilized well, after I'd been in the room about ten minutes talking to huge overdressed dowagers and tedious academicians I suddenly became conscious that someone was looking at me I turned halfway around and saw Dorian Gray for the first time when our eyes met I felt that I was growing pale a curious sensation of terror came over me I knew that I had come face to face with someone whose mere personality was so fascinating that if I allowed it to do so it would absorb my whole nature my whole soul, my very art itself I did not want any external influence in my life you know yourself Harry how independent I am by nature I've always been my own master I had at least always been so till I met Dorian Gray then, but I don't know how to explain it to you something seemed to tell me that I was on the verge of a terrible crisis in my life I had a strange feeling that fate had in store for me exquisite joys and exquisite sorrows I grew afraid and turned to quit the room it was not conscience that made me do so it was sort of a cowardice I take no credit to myself for trying to escape conscience and cowardice are really the same things Basil conscience is the trade name of the firm that is all I don't believe that Harry and I don't believe you do either however, whatever was my motive and it may have been pride for I used to be very proud I certainly struggled to the door there of course I stumbled against Lady Brandon you are not going to run away so soon Mr. Hallwood she screamed out you know her curiously shrill voice yes, she is a peacock in everything but beauty said Lord Henry pulling the daisy to bits with his long nervous fingers I could not get rid of her she brought me up to royalties and people with stars and garters and elderly ladies with gigantic tiaras and parrot noses she spoke of me as her dearest friend I had only met her once before but she took it into her head to lionize me I believe some picture of mine had made a great success at the time at least had been chattered about in the penny newspapers which is the 19th century standard of immortality suddenly I found myself face to face with the young man his personality had so strangely stirred me we were quite close, almost touching our eyes met again it was reckless of me but I asked Lady Brandon to introduce me to him perhaps it was not so reckless after all it was simply inevitable we would have spoken to each other without any introduction I am sure of that Dorian told me so afterwards he too felt we were destined to know each other and how did Lady Brandon describe this wonderful young man? asked his companion I know she goes in for giving a rapid praise of all her guests I remember her bringing me up to a truculent and red-faced old gentleman covered all over with orders and ribbons and hissing into my ear in a tragic whisper which must have been perfectly audible to everybody in the room the most astounding details I simply fled I like to find out people for myself but Lady Brandon treats her guests exactly as an auctioneer treats his goods she either explains them entirely away or tells one everything about them except what one wants to know poor Lady Brandon you are hard on her Harry said Hallward listlessly my dear fellow she tried to found a salon and only succeeded in opening a restaurant how could I admire her? but tell me what did she say about Mr. Dorian Gray? oh something like charming boy poor dear mother and I absolutely inseparable quite forget what he does afraid he doesn't do anything yes, place the piano or is it the violin, dear Mr. Gray? neither of us could help laughing and we became friends at once laughter is not at all a bad beginning for a friendship and it is far the best ending for one said the young Lord plucking another daisy Hallward shook his hedge you don't understand what friendship is, Harry he murmured oh what enmity is for that matter you like everyone that is to say you are indifferent to everyone how horribly unjust of you cried Lord Henry tilting his hat back and looking up at the little clouds that like ravelled skeins of glossy white silk were drifting across the hollowed turquoise of the summer sky yes, horribly unjust of you I make a great difference between people I choose my friends for their good looks my acquaintances for their good characters and my enemies for their good intellects a man cannot be too careful in the choice of his enemies I have not got one who is a fool they are all men of some intellectual power and consequently they all appreciate me is that very vain of me oh I think it is rather vain I should think it was Harry but according to your category I must merely be in acquaintance my dear old basil you are much more than an acquaintance and much less than a friend a sort of brother I suppose oh brothers, I don't care for brothers my elder brother won't die and my younger brothers seem never to do anything else Harry exclaimed Hallward frowning my dear fellow, I'm not quite serious but I can't help detesting my relations I suppose it comes from the fact that none of us can stand other people having the same faults as ourselves I quite sympathise with the rage of the English democracy against what they call the vices of the upper orders the masses feel that drunkenness, stupidity and immorality should be their own special property and that if any one of us makes an ass of himself he is poaching on their preserves when poor Southwark got into the divorce court their indignation was quite magnificent and yet I don't suppose that 10% of the proletariat live correctly I don't agree with a single word you have said and what is more Harry I feel sure you don't either Lord Henry stroked his pointed brown beard and tapped the toe of his patent leather boot with a tassled ebony cane oh English you are Basil that is the second time you have made that observation if one puts forward an idea to a true Englishman always a rash thing to do he never dreams of considering whether the idea is right or wrong the only thing he considers of any importance is whether one believes it oneself now the value of an idea has nothing whatsoever to do with the sincerity of the man who expresses it indeed the probabilities are that the more insincere the man is the more purely intellectual will the idea be as in that case it will not be coloured by either his once his desires or his prejudices however I don't propose to discuss politics, sociology or metaphysics with you I like persons better than principles and I like persons with no principles better than anything else in the world tell me more about Mr. Dorian Gray how often do you see him every day I couldn't be happy if I didn't see him every day he is absolutely necessary to me how extraordinary I thought you would never care for anything but your art he is all my art to me now set the painter gravely I sometimes think Harry that there are only two errors of any importance in the world's history the first is the appearance of a new medium for art and the second is the appearance of a new personality for art also what the invention of oil painting was to the Venetians the face of Antonius was to the late Greek sculpture and the face of Dorian Gray will someday be to me it is not merely that I paint from him draw from him, sketch from him of course I have done all that but he is much more to me than a model or a sitter I won't tell you that I am dissatisfied with what I have done of him or that his beauty is such that art cannot express it there is nothing that art cannot express and I know that the work I have done since I met Dorian Gray is good work this is the best work of my life but in some curious way I wonder will you understand me his personality has suggested to me an entirely new manner in art an entirely new mode of style I see things differently I think of them differently I can now recreate in life in a way that was hidden from me before a dream of form and days of thought who is it who said that I forget but it is what Dorian Gray has been to me the merely visible presence of this lad for he seems to me little more than a lad though he is really over twenty his merely visible presence ugh I wonder can you realize all that means unconsciously he defines for me the lines of a fresh school a school that is to have in it all the passion of the romantic spirit all the perfection of the spirit that is Greek the harmony of soul and body how much that is we in our madness have separated the two that have invented a realism that is vulgar an ideality that is void Harry if you only knew what Dorian Gray is to me you remember that landscape of mine for which Agnew offered me such a huge price but which I would not part with it is one of the best things I have ever done and why is it so because while I was painting it Dorian Gray sat beside me some subtle influence passed from him to me and for the first time in my life I saw on the plane Woodland the wonder I had always looked for I had always missed Basil this is extraordinary I must see Dorian Gray Woolwood got up from the seat and walked up and down the garden after some time he came back Harry he said Dorian Gray is to me simply a motive in art you might see nothing in him I see everything in him he is never more present in my work than when no image of him is there he is a suggestion as I have said of a new manner I find in him the curves of certain lines in the loveliness and subtleties of certain colors that is all then why won't you exhibit his portrait asked Lord Henry because without intending it I have put into it some expression of all this curious artistic idolatry of which of course I have never cared to speak to him he knows nothing about it he shall never know anything about it but the world might guess it and I will not bear my soul to their shallow crying eyes my heart shall never be put under their microscope there is too much of myself in the thing Harry too much of myself poets are not so scrupulous as you are they know how useful passion is for publication nowadays a broken heart will run to many editions I hate them for it Cried Woolwood an artist should create beautiful things but should put nothing of his own life into them we live in an age when men treat artists if it were meant to be a form of autobiography we have lost the abstract sense of beauty someday I will show the world what it is and for that reason the world shall never see my portrait of Dorian Gray I think you are wrong Basil but I won't argue with you it is only intellectually lost whoever argue tell me is Dorian Gray very fond of you the painter considered for a few moments he likes me he answered after a pause I know he likes me of course I flatter him dreadfully I find a strange pleasure in saying things to him that I know I shall be sorry for having said as a rule he is charming to me and we sit in the studio and talk of a thousand things now and then however he is horribly thoughtless and seems to take a real delight in giving me pain then I feel Harry that I have given away my whole soul to someone who treats it as if it were a flower to put in his coat a bit of decoration to charm his vanity an ornament for summer's day days in summer basil are apt to linger murmured lord Henry perhaps you will tire sooner than he will it is a sad thing to think of but there is no doubt that genius lasts longer than beauty that accounts for the fact that we all take such pains to overeducate ourselves in the wild struggle for existence we want to have something that endures and so we fill our mind with rubbish and facts in the silly hope of keeping our place the thoroughly well informed man now that is the modern ideal and the mind of the thoroughly well informed man is a dreadful thing it is like a brick-a-brack shop all monsters and dust with everything priced above its proper value I think you will tire first all the same someday you will look at your friend and he will seem to you to be a little out of drawing or you won't like his tone of colour or something you will bitterly reproach him in your own heart and seriously think that he has behaved very badly to you the next time he calls you will be perfectly cold and indifferent it will be a great pity for it will alter you what you have told me is quite a romance a romance of art one might call it and the worst of having a romance of any kind is that it leaves one so unromantic Harry don't talk like that as long as I live the personality of Dorian Grey will dominate me you can't feel what I feel you change too often oh my dear Basil that is exactly why I can feel it those who are faithful know only the trivial side of love it is the faithless who know love's tragedies and Lord Henry struck a light on a dainty silver case and began to smoke a cigarette with a self-conscious and satisfied air as if he had summed up the world in a phrase there was a rustle of chirruping sparrows in the green lacquer leaves of the ivy and the blue cloud shadows chased themselves across the grass like swallows how pleasant it was in the garden and how delightful other people's emotions were much more delightful than their ideas it seemed to him one's own soul and the passions of one's friends those were the fascinating things in life he pictured to himself with silent amusement the tedious luncheon that he had missed by staying so long with Basil Hallward had he gone to his aunt's he would have been sure to have met Lord Goodbody there and the whole conversation would have been about the feeding of the poor and the necessity for model lodging-houses each class would have preached the importance of those virtues for whose exercise there was no necessity in their own lives the rich would have spoken on the value of thrift and the idle grown eloquent over the dignity of labour it was charming to have escaped all that as he thought of his aunt an idea seemed to strike him he turned to Hallward and said my dear fellow I have just remembered remember what Harry? where I heard the name of Dorian Gray where was it? asked Hallward with a slight frown don't look so angry Basil it was at my aunt Lady Agatha's she told me she had discovered a wonderful young man who was going to help her in the East End and that his name was Dorian Gray I am bound to state that she never told me he was good-looking women have no appreciation of good looks at least good women have not she said that he was very earnest and had a beautiful nature I had once pictured to myself a creature with spectacles and lank hair horribly freckled and tramping about on huge feet I wish I had known it was your friend I am very glad you didn't Harry why? I don't want you to meet him you don't want me to meet him? no Mr Dorian Gray is in the studio sir said the butler coming into the garden you must introduce me now cried Lord Henry laughing the painter said to his servant who stood blinking in the sunlight asked Mr Gray to wait Parker I shall be in in a few moments the man bowed and went up the walk then he looked at Lord Henry Dorian Gray is my dearest friend he said he has a simple and beautiful nature your aunt was quite right in what she said of him don't spoil him don't try to influence him your influence would be bad the world is wide and has many marvelous people in it don't take away from me the one person who gives to my art whatever charm it possesses my life as an artist depends on him mind Harry I trust you he spoke very slowly and the words seemed rung out of him almost against his will what nonsense you talk said Lord Henry smiling and taking Hallward by the arm he almost led him into the house end of chapter one chapter two of the picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde this is a LibriVox recording all LibriVox recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org the picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde chapter two as they entered they saw Dorian Gray he was seated at the piano with his back to them turning over the pages of a volume of Schumann's forest scenes he must lend me these basil he cried I want to learn them they are perfectly charming that entirely depends on how you sit today Dorian I'm tired of sitting and I don't want a life-sized portrait of myself answered the lad swinging round on the music stool in a willful, petulant manner when he caught sight of Lord Henry a faint blush coloured his cheeks for a moment and he started up it would be your pardon battle but I didn't know you had anyone with you this is Lord Henry Wooten Dorian an old Oxford friend of mine I've just been telling him what a capital city you were and now you have spoiled everything you have not spoiled my pleasure in meeting you Mr. Gray said Lord Henry stepping forward and extending his hand my aunt has often spoken to me about you you are one of her favourites and I'm afraid one of her victims also I'm in Lady Agatha's black books at present answered Dorian with a funny look of penitence I promised to go to a club in Whitechapel with her last Tuesday and I really forgot all about it we were to have played a duet together three duets I believe I don't know what she will say to me I am far too frightened to call oh I will make your peace with my aunt she is quite devoted to you oh and I don't think it really matters about your not being there the audience probably thought it was a duet when Aunt Agatha sits down to the piano she makes quite enough noise for two people that is very horrid to her and not very nice to me answered Dorian laughing Lord Henry looked at him yes he was certainly wonderfully handsome with his finely curved scarlet lips his frank blue eyes his crisp gold hair there was something in his face that made one trust him at once all the candour of youth was there as well as all youth's passionate purity one felt that he had kept himself unspotted from the world no wonder Basil Hallward worshipped him you are too charming to go in for philanthropy Mr Gray far too charming and Lord Henry flung himself down on the divan and opened his cigarette case the painter had been busy mixing his colours and getting his brushes ready he was looking worried and when he heard Lord Henry's last remark he glanced at him hesitated for a moment and then said Harry I want to finish this picture today would you think it awfully rude of me if I asked you to go away Lord Henry smiled and looked at Dorian Gray Am I to go Mr Gray? he asked oh please don't Lord Henry I see that Basil is in one of his sulky moods and I can't bear him when he sulks besides I want you to tell me why I should not go in for philanthropy I don't know that I shall tell you that Mr Gray it is so tedious a subject that one would have to talk seriously about it but I certainly shall not run away now that you have asked me to stop you don't really mind Basil do you you have often told me that you liked your sitters to have someone to chat to Hallward bit his lip if Dorian wishes it of course you must stay Dorian swims her laws to everybody except himself Lord Henry took up his hat and gloves you are very pressing Basil but I am afraid I must go I have promised to meet a man at the Orleans goodbye Mr Gray come and see me some afternoon in Curson Street I am nearly always at home at five o'clock write to me when you are coming I should be sorry to miss you Basil cried Dorian Gray if Lord Henry Watton goes I shall go too you never open your lips while you were painting and it is horribly dull to stand on a platform and trying to look pleasant ask him to stay I insist upon it stay Harry to oblige Dorian and to oblige me said Hallward gazing intently at his picture it is quite true I never talk when I am working and never listen either and it must be dreadfully tedious for my unfortunate sitters I beg you to stay but what about my man at the Orleans the painter laughed I don't think there will be any difficulty about that sit down again Harry and now Dorian get up on the platform and don't move about too much or pay any attention to what Lord Henry says he is a very bad influence over all his friends with a single exception of myself Dorian Gray stepped up on the dais with the air of a young Greek martyr and made a little moo of discontent to Lord Henry to whom he had rather taken a fancy he was so unlike Basil they made a delightful contrast and he had such a beautiful voice after a few moments he said to him have you really a very bad influence Lord Henry as bad as Basil said there is no such thing as a good influence Mr. Gray all influences immoral immoral from the scientific point of view why? because to influence a person is to give him one's own soul he does not think his natural thoughts or burn with his natural passions his virtues are not real to him his sins if there are such things as sins are borrowed he becomes an echo of someone else's music an actor of a part that has not been written for him the aim of life is self development to realize one's nature perfectly that is what each of us is here for people are afraid of themselves nowadays they have forgotten the highest of all duties the duty that one owes to oneself of course they are charitable they feed the hungry and clothe the beggar but their own souls starve and are naked courage has gone out of our race perhaps we never really had it the terror of society which is the basis of morals the terror of God which is the secret of religion these are the two things that govern us and yet just turn your head a little more to the right Dorian like a good boy said the painter deep in his work and conscious only that a look had come into the lads face that he had never seen there before and yet continued Lord Henry in his low musical voice and with that graceful wave of the hand that was always so characteristic of him and that he had even in his eaten days I believe that if one man were to live out his life fully and completely were to give form to every feeling expression to every thought reality to every dream I believe that the world would gain such a fresh impulse of joy that we would forget all the maladies of medievalism and return to the Hellenic ideal to something finer richer than the Hellenic ideal it may be but the bravest man among us is afraid of himself the mutilation of the savage has its tragic survival in the self-denial that marrs our lives we are punished for our refusals every impulse that we strive to strangle broods in the mines and poisons us the body sins once and has done with its sin for action is a mode of purification nothing remains then but the recollection of a pleasure or the luxury of a regret the only way to get rid of a temptation is to yield to it resist it and your soul grows sick with longing for the things it has forbidden to itself with desire for what its monstrous laws have made monstrous and unlawful it has been said that the great events of the world take place in the brain it is in the brain and the brain only that the great sins of the world take place also you, Mr. Gray, you yourself with your rose-red youth and your rose-white boyhood you have had passions that have made you afraid thoughts that have filled you with terror daydreams and sleeping dreams whose mere memory might stain your cheek with shame stop falter to Dorian Gray stop, you bewilder me I don't know what to say there is some answer to you but I cannot find it don't speak let me think or rather let me try not to think for nearly ten minutes he stood there motionless with parted lips and eyes strangely bright he was dimly conscious that entirely fresh influences were at work within him yet they seemed to him to have come really from himself the few words that Basil's friend had said to him words spoken by chance no doubt and with willful paradox in them had touched some secret cord that had never been touched before but that he felt was now vibrating and throbbing to curious pulses music had stirred him like that music had troubled him many times but music was not articulate it was not a new world but rather another chaos that it created in us words, mere words, how terrible they were how clear and vivid and cruel one could not escape from them and yet what a subtle magic there was in them they seemed to be able to give a plastic form to formless things and to have a music of their own as sweet as that of vile or of loot mere words was there anything so real as words yes there had been things in his boyhood that he had not understood he understood them now life suddenly became fire recoloured to him it seemed to him that he had been walking in fire why had he not known it with his subtle smile Lord Henry watched him he knew the precise psychological moment when to say nothing he felt intensely interested he was amazed at the sudden impression that his words had produced and remembering a book that he had read when he was sixteen a book which had revealed to him much that he had not known before he wondered whether Dorian Gray was passing through a similar experience he had merely shot an arrow into the air had it hit the mark how fascinating the lad was Hallward painted away with that marvellous bold touch of his that had the true refinement and perfect delicacy that in art at any rate comes only from strength he was unconscious of the silence Basil, I'm tired of standing cried Dorian Gray suddenly I must go out and sit in the garden the air is stifling here my dear fellow, I am so sorry when I am painting I can't think of anything else but you never sat better, you were perfectly still and I have caught the effect I wanted the half-parted lips and the bright look in the eyes I don't know what Harry has been saying to you but he has certainly made you have the most wonderful expression I suppose he has been paying you compliments you mustn't believe a word that he says he's certainly not been paying me compliments perhaps that is the reason that I don't believe anything he has told me you know you believe it all said Lord Henry, looking at him with his dreamy, languorous eyes I will go out to the garden with you it is horribly hot in the studio Basil, let us have something iced to drink something with strawberries in it certainly Harry, just touch the bell and when Parker comes I will tell him what you want I've got to work up this background so I will join you later on don't keep Dorian too long I have never been in better form for painting than I am today this is going to be my masterpiece it is my masterpiece as it stands Lord Henry went out to the garden and found Dorian Gray burying his face in the great cool lilac blossoms feverishly drinking in their perfume as if it had been wine he came close to him and put his hand upon his shoulder you are quite right to do that he murmured nothing can cure the soul but the senses just as nothing can cure the senses but the soul the lad started and drew back he was bareheaded and the leaves had tossed his rebellious curls and tangled all their gilded threads there was a look of fear in his eyes such as people have when they are suddenly awakened his finely chiseled nostrils quivered and some hidden nerve shook the scarlet of his lips and left them trembling yes continued Lord Henry that is one of the great secrets of life to cure the soul by means of the senses and the senses by means of the soul you are a wonderful creation you know more than you think you know less than you want to know Dorian Gray frowned and turned his head away he could not help liking the tall graceful young man who was standing by him his romantic, olive-coloured face and worn expression interested him there was something in his low languid voice that was absolutely fascinating his cool white flower-like hands even had a curious charm they moved as he spoke like music and seemed to have a language of their own but he felt afraid of him and ashamed of being afraid why had it been left for a stranger to reveal him to himself? he had known Basil Hallward for months but the friendship between them had never altered him suddenly there had come someone across his life who seemed to have disclosed to him life's mystery and yet what was there to be afraid of? he was not a schoolboy or a girl he was absurd to be frightened let us go and sit in the shade said Lord Henry Parker has brought out the drinks and if you stay any longer in this glare you will be quite spoiled and Basil will never paint you again you really must not allow yourself to become sunburnt it would be unbecoming what could it matter? it is the man Grey laughing as he sat down on the seat at the end of the garden it should matter everything to you Mr. Grey why? because you have the most marvellous youth and youth is the one thing worth having I don't feel that Lord Henry no you don't feel it now some day when you are old and wrinkled and ugly when thought has seared your forehead with its lines and passion branded your lips with its hideous fires you will feel it you will feel it terribly now wherever you go you charm the world will it always be so? you have a wonderfully beautiful face Mr. Grey don't frown you have and beauty is a form of genius is higher indeed than genius as it needs no explanation it is of the great facts of the world like sunlight or springtime or the reflection in dark waters of that silver shell we call the moon it cannot be questioned it has its divine right of sovereignty it makes princes of those who have it you smile? when you have lost it you won't smile people say sometimes that beauty is only superficial that may be so but at least it is not so superficial as thought is to me beauty is the wonder of wonders it is only shallow people who do not judge by appearances the true mystery of the world is the visible not the invisible yes Mr. Grey the gods have been good to you but what the gods give they quickly take away you have only a few years in which to live really perfectly and fully when your youth goes your beauty will go with it and then you will suddenly discover that there are no triumphs left for you or have to content yourself with those mean triumphs that the memory of your past will make more bitter than defeats every month as it wanes brings you nearer to something dreadful if time is jealous of you and wars against your lilies and your roses you will become sallow and hollow cheat and dull-eyed you will suffer horribly ah, realise your youth while you have it don't squander the gold of your days listening to the tedious trying to improve the hopeless failure or giving away your life to the ignorant the common and the vulgar these are the sickly aims the false ideals of our age live! live the wonderful life that is in you let nothing be lost upon you be always searching for new sensations be afraid of nothing a new hedonism that is what our century wants you might be its visible symbol with your personality there is nothing you could not do the world belongs to you for a season the moment I met you I saw that you were quite unconscious of what you really are what you really might be there was so much in you that charmed me that I felt I must tell you something about yourself I thought how tragic it would be if you were wasted for there is such a little time that your youth will last such a little time the common hillflowers wither but they blossom again the laburnum will be as yellow next June as it is now in a month there will be purple stars on the clematis and year after year the green night of its leaves will hold its purple stars but we never get back our youth the pulse of joy that beats in us at twenty becomes sluggish our limbs fail our senses rot we degenerate into hideous puppets haunted by the memory of the passions of which we were too much afraid and the exquisite temptations that we had not the courage to yield to youth, youth there is absolutely nothing in the world but youth Dorian Gray listened open-eyed and wondering the spray of lilac fell from his hand upon the gravel a furry bee came and buzzed round it for a moment then it began to scramble all over the oval-stellated globe of the tiny blossoms he watched it with that strange interest in trivial things that we try to develop when things of high import make us afraid or when we are stirred by some new emotion for which we cannot find expression or when some thought that terrifies us lays sudden siege to the brain and calls on us to yield after a time the bee flew away he saw it creeping into the stained trumpet of a Tyrion convolvulus the flower seemed to quiver and then swayed gently to and fro suddenly the painter appeared at the door of the studio and made staccato signs for them to come in they turned to each other and smiled I am waiting he cried do come in the light is quite perfect and you can bring your drinks they rose up and sauntered down the walk together two green and white butterflies fluttered past them and in the pear tree at the corner of the garden a thrush began to sing you are glad you have met me Mr. Gray said Lord Henry looking at him yes I'm glad now I wonder shall I always be glad always that is a dreadful word it makes me shudder when I hear it women are so fond of using it they spoil every romance by trying to make it last forever it is a meaningless word too the only difference between a capris and a lifelong passion is that the capris lasts a little longer as they entered the studio Laurie and Gray put his hand upon Lord Henry's arm in that case but our friendship be a capris he murmured flushing at his own boldness then stepped up on the platform and resumed his pose Lord Henry flung himself into a large wicker armchair and watched him the sweep and dash of the brush on the canvas made the only sound that broke the stillness except when now and then Hallward stepped back to look at his work from a distance in the slanting beams that streamed through the open doorway the dust danced and was golden the heavy scent of the roses seemed to brood over everything after about a quarter of an hour Hallward stopped painting looked for a long time at Dorian Gray and then for a long time at the picture fighting the end of one of his huge brushes and frowning it is quite finished he cried at last and snooping down he wrote his name in long vermillion letters on the left hand corner of the canvas Lord Henry came over and examined the picture it was certainly a wonderful work of art and a wonderful likeness as well my dear fellow I congratulate you most warmly it is the finest portrait of modern times Mr. Gray come over and look at yourself the lad started as if awakened from some dream is it really finished? he murmured stepping down from the platform quite finished said the painter and you have sat splendidly today I am awfully obliged to you that is entirely due to me broken Lord Henry isn't it Mr. Gray? it is the answer but passed listlessly in front of his picture and turned towards it when he saw it he drew back and his cheeks flushed for a moment with pleasure a look of joy came into his eyes as if he had recognized himself for the first time he stood there motionless and in wonder dimly conscious that Hallward was speaking to him but not catching the meaning of his words the sense of his own beauty came on him like a revelation he had never felt it before as all Hallward's compliments had seemed to him to be merely the charming exaggeration of friendship he had listened to them laughed at them forgotten them they had not influenced his nature then had come Lord Henry Watton with his strange panegyric on youth his terrible warning of its brevity that had stirred him at the time and now as he stood gazing at the shadow of his own loveliness the full reality of the description flashed across him yes there would be a day when his face would be wrinkled and whizzen his eyes dim and colorless the grace of his figure broken and deformed the scarlet would pass away from his lips and the gold steel from his hair the life that was to make his soul would mar his body he would become dreadful, hideous and uncouth as he thought of it a sharp pang of pain struck through him like a knife and made each delicate fiber of his nature quiver his eyes deepened into amethyst and across them came a mist of tears he felt as if a hand of ice had been laid upon his heart don't you like it? cried Hallward at last stung a little by the lad's silence not understanding what it meant of course he likes it said Lord Henry who wouldn't like it it is one of the greatest things in modern art I will give you anything you like to ask for it I must have it it is not my property Harry whose property is it? Dorian's, of course answered the painter he is a very lucky fellow how sad it is murmured Dorian Gray with his eyes still fixed upon his own portrait how sad it is I shall grow old and horrible and dreadful but this picture will remain always young it will never be older than this particular day of June if it were only the other way if it were I who was to be always young and the picture that was to grow old for that for that I would give everything yes there is nothing in the whole world I would not give I would give my soul for that you would hardly care for such an arrangement Basil cried Lord Henry laughing it would be rather hard lines on your work I should object very strongly Harry said Hallward Dorian Gray turned and looked at him I believe you would Basil you like your art better than your friends I am no more to you than a green bronze figure hardly as much I dare say the painter stared in amazement it was so unlike Dorian to speak like that what had happened he seemed quite angry his face was flushed and his cheeks burning yes he continued I am less to you than your ivory Hermes or your silver form you will like them always how long will you like me till I have my first wrinkle I suppose I know now that when one loses one's good looks whatever they may be one loses everything your picture has taught me that Lord Henry Watten is perfectly right youth is the only thing worth having when I find that I am growing old I shall kill myself Hallward turned pale and caught his hand Dorian Dorian he cried don't talk like that I have never had such a friend as you and I shall never have such another you are not jealous of material things are you you who are finer than any of them I am jealous of everything whose beauty does not die I am jealous of the portrait you have painted of me why should it keep what I must lose every day that passes take something from me and give something to it oh if it were only the other way if the picture could change and I could be always what I am now why did you paint it it will mock me some day mock me horribly the hot tears welled into his eyes he tore his hand away and flinging himself on the divan he buried his face in the cushions as though he was praying this is your doing Harry said the painter Bitterly Lord Henry shrugged his shoulders it is the real Dorian Gray that is all it is not if it is not what have I to do with it you should have gone away when I asked you he muttered I stayed when you asked me was Lord Henry's answer Harry I can't quarrel with my two best friends at once but between you both you have made me hate the finest piece of work I have ever done and I will destroy it what is it but canvas and color I will not let it come across our three lives and mar them Dorian Gray lifted his golden head from the pillow and with pallid face and tear stained eyes looked at him as he walked over to the deal painting table that was set beneath the high curtained window what was he doing there his fingers were straying about among the litter of tin tubes and dry brushes seeking for something yes it was for the long pallet knife with its thin blade of lithe steel he had found it at last he was going to rip up the canvas with a stifled sob the lad leaped from the couch and rushing over to Hallward tore the knife out of his hand and flung it to the end of the studio don't bezel don't he cried it would be murder I am glad you appreciate my work at last Dorian said the painter coldly when he had recovered from his surprise I never thought you would appreciate it I am in love with it bezel I am just part of myself I feel that well as soon as you are dry you shall be varnished and framed and sent home then you can do what you like with yourself and he walked across the room and rang the bell for tea you will have tea of course Dorian and so will you Harry or do you object to such simple pleasures I adore simple pleasures said Lord Henry they are the last refuge of the complex but I don't like scenes except on the stage you fellows you are both of you I wonder who it was defined man as a rational animal it was the most premature definition ever given man is many things but he is not rational I am glad he is not after all though I wish you chaps would not squabble over the picture you'd much better let me have it Basil this silly boy doesn't really want it and I really do if you let anyone have it but me Basil I shall never forgive you cried Dorian Gray and I don't allow people to call me a silly boy you know the picture is yours Dorian I gave it to you before it existed and you know you have been a little silly Mr. Gray and that you don't really object to being reminded that you were extremely young I should have objected very strongly this morning Lord Henry ah this morning you have lived since then there came a knock at the door and the butler entered with a laden tea tray and set it down upon a small Japanese table there was a rattle of cups and saucers and the hissing of a fluted Georgian urn two globe-shaped china dishes were brought in by a page Dorian Gray went over and poured out the tea the two men sauntered languidly to the table and examined what was under the covers let us go to the theatre tonight said Lord Henry there is sure to be something on somewhere I have promised to Dine at White's but it is only with an old friend so I can send him a wire to say that I am ill or that I am prevented from coming in consequence of a subsequent engagement I think that would be a rather nice excuse it would have all the surprise of candor it is such a bore putting on one's dress clothes muttered Hallward and when one has them on they are so horrid yes answered Lord Henry dreamily the costume of the 19th century is detestable it is so sombre so depressing sin is the only real color element left in modern life you really must not say things like that before Dorian Harry before which Dorian the one who was pouring out tea for us or the one in the picture before either I should like to come to the theatre with you Lord Henry said the lad then you shall come and you will come too Basil won't you I can't really I would sooner or not I have a lot of work to do well then you and I will go alone Mr. Gray I should like that warfully the painter bit his lip and walked over cup in hand to the picture I shall stay with a real Dorian he said sadly this is the real Dorian cried the original of the portrait strolling across to him am I really like that yes you are just like that how wonderful Basil at least you are like it in appearance but it will never alter sighed Hallward that is something what a fuss people make about fidelity exclaimed Lord Henry why even in love it is purely a question for physiology it has nothing to do with our own will young men want to be faithful and are not old men want to be faithless and cannot that is all one can say don't go to the theatre tonight Dorian said Hallward stop and dine with me I can't Basil why because I have promised Lord Henry Watten to go with him he won't like you any better for keeping your promises he always breaks his own I beg you not to go Dorian Gray laughed and shook his head I entreat you the lad hesitated and looked over at Lord Henry who was watching them from the tea table with an amused smile I must go Basil he answered very well said Hallward and he went over and laid down his cup on the tray it is rather late and as you have to dress you had better lose no time goodbye Harry goodbye Dorian come and see me soon come tomorrow certainly you won't forget no of course not cried Dorian and Harry yes Basil remember what I asked you when we were in the garden this morning I have forgotten it I trust you I wish I could trust myself said Lord Henry laughing come Mr. Gray my handsome is outside and I can drop you at your own place goodbye Basil it has been a most interesting afternoon as the door closed behind them the painter flung himself down on a sofa and a look of pain came into his face end of chapter 2 chapter 3 of the picture of Dorian Gray this is a LibriVox recording all LibriVox recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org the picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde chapter 3 at half past 12 next day Lord Henry Watton strolled from Curson Street over to the Albany to call on his uncle Lord Fermor a genial if somewhat rough mannered old bachelor whom the outside world called selfish because it derived no particular benefit from him but who was considered generous by society as he fed the people who amused him his father had been our ambassador at Madrid when Isabella was young and prime unthought of but had retired from the diplomatic service in a capricious moment of annoyance on not being offered the Embassy at Paris a post to which he considered that he was fully entitled by reason of his birth, his indolence the good English of his dispatches and his inordinate passion for pleasure the son who had been his father's secretary had resigned along with his chief somewhat foolishly as was thought at the time and on succeeding some months later to the title had set himself to the serious study of the great aristocratic art of doing absolutely nothing he had two large townhouses but preferred to live in chambers as it was less trouble and took most of his meals at his club he paid some attention to the management of his collieries in the Midland counties excusing himself for this taint of industry on the ground that the one advantage of having coal was that it enabled a gentleman to afford the decency of burning wood on his own hearth in politics he was a Tory except when the Tories were in office during which period he roundly abused them for being a pack of radicals he was a hero to his valet who bullied him and a terror to most of his relations whom he bullied in turn only England could have produced him and he always said that the country was going to the docks his principles were out of date but there was a good deal to be said for his prejudices when Lord Henry entered the room he found his uncle sitting in a rough shooting-coat smoking a sheroot and grumbling over the times well Harry said the old gentleman what brings you out so early I thought you dandies never got up till two and were not visible till five your family affection I assure you uncle George I want to get something out of you money I suppose said Lord Fermor making a rye face well sit down tell me about it young people nowadays imagine that money is everything yes mum at Lord Henry settling his buttonhole in his coat and when they grow older they know it but I don't want money it is only people who pay their bills who want that uncle George and I never pay mine credit is the capital of a younger son and one lives charmingly upon it besides I always deal with Dartmoors tradesmen and consequently they never bother me what I want is information not useful information of course useless information well I can tell you anything that is in the English blue book Harry although those fellows nowadays write a lot of nonsense when I was in the diplomatic things were much better but I hear they let them in by examination what can you expect examination sir a pure humbug from beginning to end if a man is a gentleman he knows it quite enough and if he's not a gentleman whatever he knows is bad for him Mr. Dorian Gray does not belong to blue books Uncle George said Lord Henry languidly Mr. Dorian Gray who is he asked Lord Fermor knitting his bushy white eyebrows that is what I've come to learn Uncle George or rather I know who he is he is the last Lord Kelso's grandson his mother was a devourer Lady Margaret Devourer I want you to tell me about his mother what was she like whom did she marry you have known nearly everybody in your time so you might have known her I am very much interested in Mr. Gray at present I've only just met him Kelso's grandson echoed the old gentleman Kelso's grandson of course I knew his mother intimately I believe I was at her christening she was an extraordinary beautiful girl Margaret Devourer they made all the men frantic by running away with a penniless young fellow I mean nobody sir a subaltern and a foot regimen or something of that kind certainly I remember the whole thing as if it happened yesterday the poor chap was killed in a duel at the spa few months after the marriage there was an ugly story about it they said Kelso got some rascally adventurer some bilge and brute to insult his son-in-law in public paid him sir to do it paid him and that the fellow spitted his man as if he had been a pigeon the thing was hushed up buddy Kelso ate his chop alone at the club for some time afterwards he brought his daughter back with him I was told and she never spoke to him again oh yes it was a bad business the girl died too died within a year so she left a son did she I'd forgotten that what sort of boy is he if he is like his mother he must be a good looking chap he is very good looking assented lord Henry I hope he will fall into proper hands continued the old man he should have a pot of money waiting for him if Kelso did the right thing by him his mother had money too all the sobie property came to her through her grandfather her grandfather hated Kelso thought of my mean dog he was too came to Madrid once when I was there he got I was ashamed of him the queen used to ask me about the English noble who was always quarreling with the cat man about their fares they made quite a story of it I didn't dare show my face at court for a month I hope he treated his grandson better than he did the Jarvis I don't know answered lord Henry I fancy that the boy will be well off he's not of age yet he has selby I know he told me so and his mother was very beautiful Margaret Devereaux was one of the loveliest creatures I ever saw Harry what on earth induced her to behave as she did I never could understand she could have married anybody she chose carlington was mad after her she was a romantic though all the women of the family were a poor lot but he got the women were wonderful carlington went on his knees to her told me so himself she laughed at him and there wasn't a girl in London at the time who wasn't after him and by the way Harry talking about silly marriages what is this humbug your father tells me about Dartmoor wanting to marry an American ain't English girls good enough for him it is rather fashionable to marry Americans just now uncle George I'll back English woman against the world Harry said Lord Farmore striking the table with his fist the betting is on the Americans they don't last I'm told muttered his uncle a long engagement exhausts them but they are capital of the steeplechase they take things flying I don't think Dartmoor has a chance who are her people grumble to the old gentleman has she got any Lord Henry shook his head American girls are as clever at concealing their parents as English women are at concealing their past they are porkpackers I suppose I hope so uncle George for Dartmoor's sake I am told that porkpacking is the most lucrative profession in America after politics is she pretty she behaves as if she was beautiful most American women do it is the secret of their charm why can't these American women stay in their own country they were always telling us that is the paradise for women it is that is the reason why like Eve they're so excessively anxious to get out of it said Lord Henry good-bye uncle George I shall be late for lunch if I stop any longer thanks for giving me the information I wanted I always like to know everything about my new friends and nothing about my old ones where are you lunching Harry at Aunt Agatha's I have asked myself and Mr. Gray he is her latest protégé tell your Aunt Agatha Harry not to bother me anymore with her charity appeals I'm sick of them why the good woman thinks I have nothing to do by right checks for her silly fads all right uncle George I'll tell her but it won't have any effect philanthropic people lose all sense of humanity it is their distinguishing characteristic the old gentleman growled approvingly and rang the bell for his servant Lord Henry passed up the low arcade into Burlington Street and turned his steps in the direction of Barkley Square so that was the story of Dorian Gray's parentage crudely as it had been told to him it had yet stirred him by its suggestion of a strange almost modern romance a beautiful woman risking everything for a mad passion a few wild weeks of happiness cut short by a hideous treacherous crime months of voiceless agony and then a child born in pain the mother snatched away by death the boy left to solitude and the tyranny of an old and loveless man yes it was an interesting background it posed the lad made him more perfect as it were behind every exquisite thing that existed there was something tragic worlds had to be in travail that the meanest flower might blow and how charming he had been at dinner the night before as with startled eyes and lips parted in frightened pleasure he had sat opposite to him at the club the red candle shade staining to a richer rose the wakening wonder of his face talking to him was like playing upon an exquisite violin he answered to every touch and thrill of the bow there was something terribly enthralling in the exercise of influence no other activity was like it to project one's soul into some gracious form and let it tarry there for a moment to hear one's intellectual views echoed back to one with all the added music of passion and youth to convey one's temperament into another as though it were a subtle fluid or a strange perfume there was a real joy in that perhaps the most satisfying joy left to us in an age so limited and vulgar as our own an age grossly carnal in its pleasures and grossly common in its aims he was a marvellous type too this lad whom by so curious a chance he had met in Basil's studio or could be fashioned into a marvellous type at any rate Grace was his and the white purity of boyhood and beauty such as old Greek marbles kept for us there was nothing that one could not do with him he could be made a titan or a toy what a pity it was that such beauty was destined to fade and Basil from a psychological point of view how interesting he was in a new manner in art the fresh mode of looking at life suggested so strangely by the merely visible presence of one who was unconscious of it all the silent spirit that dwelt in dim woodland and walked unseen in open field suddenly showing herself dryad-like and not afraid because in his soul who sought for her there had been wakened that wonderful vision to which alone our wonderful things revealed the mere shapes and patterns of things becoming as it were refined and gaining a kind of symbolical value as though they were themselves patterns of some other and more perfect form whose shadow they made real how strange it all was he remembered something like it in history was it not Plato that artist in thought who had first analyzed it was it not Buonarrotti who had carved it in the coloured marbles of a sonnet sequence but in our own century it was strange yes he would try to be to Dorian Grey what without knowing it the lad was to the painter who had fashioned the wonderful portrait he would seek to dominate him had already indeed half done so he would make that wonderful spirit his own there was something fascinating in this son of love and death suddenly he stopped and glanced up at the houses he found that he had passed his aunt some distance and smiling to himself turned back when he entered the somewhat somber hall the butler told him that they had gone into lunch he gave one of the footmen his hat and stick and passed into the dining room late as usual Harry cried his aunt shaking her head at him he invented a facile excuse and having taken the vacant seat next to her looked round to see who was there Dorian bowed to him shyly from the end of the table a flush of pleasure stealing into his cheek opposite was the Duchess of Harley a lady of admirable good nature and good temper much liked by everyone who knew her and of those ample architectural proportions but in women who are not Duchesses are described by contemporary historians as stoutness next to her sat on her right Sir Thomas Burden a radical member of parliament who followed his leader in public life and in private life followed the best cooks dining with the Tories and thinking with the Liberals in accordance with a wise and well-known rule the post on her left was occupied by Mr. Erskine of Treadley an old gentleman of considerable charm and culture who had fallen however into bad habits of silence having as he explained once to Lady Agatha said everything that he had to say before he was 30 his own neighbour was Mrs. Vandelaar one of his aunt's oldest friends a perfect saint amongst women but so dreadfully dowdy that she reminded one of a badly bound hymn-book fortunately for him she had on the other side Lord Fordle a most intelligent middle-aged mediocrity as bored as a ministerial statement in the House of Commons with whom she was conversing in that intensely earnest manner which is the one unpardonable error as he remarked once himself that all really good people fall into and from which none of them ever quite escape you're talking about poor Dharma Lord Henry cried to the Duchess nodding pleasantly to him across the table do you think you will really marry this fascinating young person I believe she has made up her mind to propose to him Duchess how dreadful exclaimed Lady Agatha really someone should interfere I'm told on excellent authority that her father keeps an American dry good store said Sir Thomas Burden looking supercilious my uncle has already suggested porkpacking Sir Thomas dry goods what are American dry goods asked the Duchess raising her large hands in wonder and accentuating the verb American novels answered Lord Henry helping himself to some quail the Duchess looked puzzled don't mind him my dear whispered Lady Agatha he never means anything that he says when America was discovered said the radical member and he began to give some weary some facts like all people who try to exhaust a subject he exhausted his listeners the Duchess sighed and exercised her privilege of interruption I wish to goodness had never been discovered at all she exclaimed really our girls have no chance nowadays it is most unfair perhaps after all America never has been discovered said Mr. Erskine I myself would say that it had merely been detected oh but I have seen specimens of the inhabitants answered the Duchess vaguely I must confess that most of them are extremely pretty and they dress well too they get all their dresses in Paris I wish I could afford to do the same they say that when good Americans die they go to Paris chuckled Sir Thomas who had a large wardrobe of humours cast off clothes really where do bad Americans go when they die inquired the Duchess they go to America murmured Lord Henry Sir Thomas frowned I'm afraid that your nephew is prejudiced against that great country he said to Lady Agatha I have travelled all over it in cars provided by the directors who in such matters are extremely civil I assure you it is an education to visit it but must we really see Chicago in order to be educated asked Mr. Erskine plaintively I don't feel up to the journey Sir Thomas waved his hand Mr. Erskine of Treadley has the world on his shelves we practical men like to see things not to read about them the Americans are an extremely interesting people they're absolutely reasonable I think that is their distinguishing characteristic yes Mr. Erskine an absolutely reasonable people I assure you there's no nonsense about the Americans how dreadful cried Lord Henry I can stand brute force but brute reason is quite unbearable there is something unfair about its use it is hitting below the intellect I do not understand you said Sir Thomas growing rather red I do Lord Henry murmured Mr. Erskine with a smile paradoxes are all very well in their way rejoined the baronet was that a paradox asked Mr. Erskine I did not think so perhaps it was well the way paradoxes is the way of truth to test reality we must see it on a tightrope when the velities become acrobats we can judge them yummy how you men argue said Lady Agatha I'm sure I never can make out what you're talking about oh Harry I'm quite vets with you why do you try to persuade our nice Mr. Dorian Grey to give up this end I assure you he would be quite invaluable they would love his playing I want him to play to me cried Lord Henry smiling and he looked down the table and caught a bright answering glance but they are so unhappy in White Shepherd continued Lady Agatha I can sympathise with everything except suffering said Lord Henry shrugging his shoulders I cannot sympathise with that it is too ugly, too horrible, too distressing there is something terribly morbid in the modern sympathy with pain one should sympathise with the colour, the beauty, the joy of life the less said about life sores the better still the east end is a very important problem remarked to Thomas with a grave shake of the head quite so answered the young Lord it is the problem of slavery I will solve it by amusing the slaves the politician looked at him keenly what change do you propose then? he asked Lord Henry laughed I don't desire to change anything in England except the weather he answered I am quite content with philosophic contemplation but as the 19th century has gone bankrupt through an over-expenditure of sympathy I would suggest that we should appeal to science to put us straight the advantage of the emotions is that they lead us astray and the advantage of science is that it is not emotional but we have such grave responsibilities ventured Mrs. Vandela timidly carry me grief echoed Lady Agatha Lord Henry looked over at Mr. Erskine humanity takes itself too seriously it is the world's original sin if the caveman had known how to laugh history would have been different you are really very comforting warbled the Duchess I have always felt rather guilty when I came to see your dear aunt for I take no interest at all in the East End for the future I shall be able to look her in the face without a blush a blush is very becoming Duchess remarked Lord Henry only when one is young she answered when an old woman like myself blushes it is a very bad sign ah Lord Henry I wish you would tell me how to become young again he thought for a moment can you remember any great error that you committed in your early days Duchess he asked great many I fear she cried then commit them over again he said gravely to get back one's youth one has merely to repeat one's follies a delightful theory she exclaimed I was put into practice a dangerous theory came from Sir Thomas's tight lips Lady Agatha shook her head but could not help being amused Mr. Erskine listened yes he continued that is one of the great secrets of life nowadays most people die of a sort of creeping common sense and discover when it is too late that the only things one never regrets are one's mistakes a laugh ran round the table he played with the idea and grew willful tossed it into the air and transformed it let it escape and recaptured it made it iridescent with fancy and winged it with paradox the praise of folly as he went on soared into a philosophy and philosophy herself became young and catching the mad music of pleasure wearing one might fancy her wine stained robe and wreath of ivy danced like a vacante over the hills of life and mocked the slow sidelaness for being sober facts fled before her like frightened forest things her white feet trod the huge press at which wise Omar sits till the seething grape juice rose round her bare limbs in waves of purple bubbles or crawled in red foam over the vats black dripping sloping sides it was an extraordinary improvisation he felt that the eyes of Dorian Gray were fixed on him and the consciousness that amongst his audience there was one whose temperament he wished to fascinate seemed to give his wit, keenness and to lend colour to his imagination he was brilliant, fantastic, irresponsible he charmed his listeners out of themselves and they followed his pipe, laughing Dorian Gray never took his gaze off him but sat like one under a spell smiles chasing each other over his lips and wonder growing grave in his darkening eyes at last, liveried in the costume of the age reality entered the room in the shape of a servant to tell the Duchess that her carriage was waiting she wrung her hands in mock despair how annoying she cried I must go, I have to call for my husband at the club to take him to some absurd meeting at Willis's rooms where he is going to be in the chair if I am late he is sure to be furious and I couldn't have a scene in this bonnet this far too fragile, a harsh word would ruin it no I must go dear Agatha goodbye Lord Henry, you are quite delightful and dreadfully demoralising I'm sure I don't know what to say about your views you must come and die with us some night Tuesday, are you disengaged Tuesday? for you I would throw over anybody Duchess said Lord Henry with a bow ah that is very nice and very wrong of you she cried so mind you come and she swept out of the room followed by Lady Agatha and the other ladies when Lord Henry had sat down again Mr. Erskine moved round and taking a chair close to him placed his hand upon his arm you talk books away he said why don't you write one I am too fond of reading books to care to write them Mr. Erskine I should like to write a novel certainly a novel that would be as lovely as a Persian carpet and as unreal but there is no literary public in England for anything except newspapers, primers and encyclopedias of all people in the world the English have the least sense of the beauty of literature I fear you are right answered Mr. Erskine I myself used to have literary ambitions but I gave them up long ago and now my dear young friend if you will allow me to call you so may I ask if you really meant all that you said to us at lunch I quite forget what I said smiles Lord Henry was it all very bad very bad indeed in fact I consider you extremely dangerous and if anything happens to our good duchess we should all look on you as being primarily responsible but I should like to talk to you about life the generation into which I was born was tedious some day when you are tired of London come down too treadly it's bound to me your philosophy of pleasure over some admirable burgundy I am fortunate enough to possess I shall be charmed a visit to treadly would be a great privilege it has a perfect host and a perfect library you will complete it answer to the old gentleman with a courteous bow and now I must bid goodbye to your excellent aunt I am due at the Athenean it is the hour when we sleep there all of you Mr. Erskine 40 of us in 40 armchairs we are practicing for an English Academy of Letters Lord Henry laughed and rose I'm going to the park he cried as he was passing out of the door Dorian Gray touched him on the arm let me come with you he murmured but I thought you had promised Basil how word to go and see him answered Lord Henry I would sooner come with you yes I feel I must come with you do let me and you will promise to talk to me all the time no one talks so wonderfully as you do ah I have talked quite enough for today said Lord Henry smiling all I want now is to look at life you may come and look at it with me if you care to end of chapter 3 chapter 4 of the picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde this is a LibriVox recording all LibriVox recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org the picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde chapter 4 one afternoon a month later Dorian Gray was reclining in a luxurious armchair in the little library of Lord Henry's house in Mayfair it was in its way a very charming room with its high paneled wainscoting of olive-stained oak its cream-coloured frieze and ceiling of raised plasterwork and its brick-dust felt carpet strewn with silk-long-fringed Persian rugs on a tiny satin-wood table stood a statuette by Claudion and beside it lay a copy of Lissin-Nouvelle bound for Margaret of Valois by Clovis Ev and powdered with the gilt daisies that Queen had selected for her device some large blue china jars and parrot tulips were ranged on the mantel shelf and through the small leaded panes of the window streamed the apricot-coloured light of a summer day in London Lord Henry had not yet come in he was always late on principle his principle being that punctuality is the thief of time so the lad was looking rather sulky as with listless fingers he turned over the pages of an elaborately illustrated edition of Manolesco that he had found in one of the book cases the formal monotonous ticking of the Louis Qatar's clock annoyed him once or twice he thought of going away at last he heard a step outside and the door opened How late you are, Harry? he murmured I am afraid it is not, Harry, Mr. Gray answered a shrill voice he glanced quickly round and rose to his feet I beg your pardon, I thought you thought it was my husband it is only his wife he must let me introduce myself I know you quite well by your photographs I think my husband has got seventeen of them he has got seventeen, Lady Henry well, eighteen then and I saw you with him the other night at the opera she laughed nervously as she spoke and watched him with her vague forget-me-not eyes she was a curious woman whose dresses always looked as if they had been designed in a rage and put on in a tempest she was usually in love with somebody and as her passion was never returned she had kept all her illusions she tried to look picturesque but only succeeded in being untidy her name was Victoria and she had a perfect mania for going to church that was at Lowengren, Lady Henry, I think yes, it was at Dear Lowengren I like Wagner's music better than anybody's it is so loud that one can talk the whole time without other people hearing what one says that is a great advantage, don't you think so, Mr Gray? the same nervous staccato laugh broke from her thin lips and her fingers began to play with a long tortoiseshell paper knife Dorian smiled and shook his head I'm afraid I don't think so, Lady Henry I never talk during music at least during good music if one hears bad music it is one's duty to drown it in conversation ah, that is one of Harry's views, isn't it, Mr Gray? I always hear Harry's views from his friends it is the only way I get to know of them but you must not think I don't like good music I adore it but I am afraid of it it makes me too romantic I have simply worshipped pianists too at a time, sometimes Harry tells me I don't know what it is about them perhaps it is that they are foreigners they all are, ain't they? even those that are born in England become foreigners at a time, don't they? it is so clever of them and such a compliment to art makes it quite cosmopolitan, doesn't it? you have never been to any of my parties, have you, Mr Gray? you must come I can't afford orchids but I share no expense in foreigners they make one's rooms look so picturesque but here is Harry Harry, I came in to look for you to ask you something forget what it was and I found Mr Gray here we have had such a pleasant chat about music we have quite the same ideas no, I think our ideas are quite different but he has been most pleasant I am so glad I've seen him he has charmed my love, quite charmed said Lord Henry, elevating his dark crescent-shaped eyebrows and looking at them both with an amused smile so sorry I'm late Dorian I went to look after a piece of old brocade in Warder Street and had to bargain for hours for it nowadays people know the price of everything and the value of nothing I am afraid I must be going exclaimed Lady Henry breaking an awkward silence with her silly sudden laugh I have promised to drive with the Duchess goodbye Mr Gray, goodbye Harry you are dining out I suppose so am I perhaps I shall see you at Lady Thornbury's I dare say my dear said Lord Henry shutting the door behind her as looking like a bird of paradise that had been out all night in the rain she flitted out of the room leaving a faint odour of frangipane then he lit a cigarette and flung himself down on the sofa never marry a woman with straw-coloured hair Dorian he said after a few puffs why Harry because they are so sentimental but I like sentimental people never marry at all Dorian men marry because they are tired women because they are curious both are disappointed I don't think I'm likely to marry Harry I am too much in love that is one of your aphorisms I am putting it into practice as I do everything that you say who are you in love with asked Lord Henry after a pause with an actress said Dorian Gray blushing Lord Henry shrunked his shoulders that is a rather commonplace debut you would not say so if you saw her Harry who is she her name is Sibyl Vane never heard of her no one has people will some day however no woman is a genius my dear boy no woman is a genius women are a decorative sex they never have anything to say but they say it charmingly women represent the triumph of matter over mind just as men represent the triumph of mind over morals Harry how can you my dear Dorian it is quite true I am analysing women at present so I ought to know the subject is not so obstruous as I thought it was I find that ultimately there are only two kinds of women Sibyl Vane and the coloured the plain women are very useful if you want to gain a reputation for respectability you have merely to take them down to supper the other women are very charming they commit one mistake however they paint in order to try and look young our grandmothers painted in order to try and talk brilliantly rouge and esprit used to go together that is all over now as long as a woman can look ten years younger than her own daughter she is perfectly satisfied as for conversation there are only five women in London worth talking to and two of those can't be admitted into decent society however tell me about your genius how long have you known her ah Harry your views terrify me never mind that how long have you known her about three weeks and where did you come across her I will tell you Harry but you mustn't be unsympathetic about it after all it never would have happened if I had not met you I knew the wild desire to know everything about life for days after I met you something seemed to throb in my vein as I lounged in the park or strolled down Piccadilly I used to look at everyone who passed me and wonder with a mad curiosity what sort of lives they led some of them fascinated me others filled me with terror there was an exquisite poison in the air I had a passion for sensations well one evening about seven o'clock I determined to go out in search of some adventure I felt that this grey monstrous London of owls with its myriads of people its sordid sinners and its splendid sins as you once phrased it must have something in store for me I fancied a thousand things the mere danger gave me a sense of delight I remembered what you had said to me on that wonderful evening when we first dined together about the search for beauty the real secret of life I don't know what I expected but I went out and wandered eastward soon losing my way in a labyrinth of grimy streets and black grassless squares about half past eight I passed by an absurd little theatre with great flaring gas jets and gaudy playbills the hideous Jew in the most amazing waistcoat I ever beheld in my life was standing at the entrance smoking a vile cigar he had greasy ringlets and an enormous diamond blazed in the centre of a soiled shirt ever boxed my Lloyd? he said when he saw me and he took off his hat with an air of gorgeous civility there was something about him, Harry, that amused me he was such a monster you will laugh at me, I know but I really went in and paid a whole guinea for the stage box to the present day I can't make out why I did so and yet if I hadn't my dear Harry, if I hadn't I should have missed the greatest romance of my life I see you are laughing it is horrid of you I am not laughing, Dorian at least I am not laughing at you but you should not say the greatest romance of your life you should say the first romance of your life you will always be loved and you will always be in love with love a grande passion is the privilege of people who have nothing to do that is the one use of the idle classes of a country don't be afraid there are exquisite things in store for you this is merely the beginning do you think my nature so shallow? try to Dorian Gray angrily no, I think your nature so deep how do you mean? my dear boy, the people who love only once in their lives are really the shallow people what they call their loyalty and their fidelity I call either the lethargy of custom or their lack of imagination faithfulness is to the emotional life what consistency is to the life of the intellect simply a confession of failure faithfulness I must analyze it some day the passion for property is in it there are many things that we would throw away if we were not afraid that others might pick them up oh but I don't want to interrupt you go on with your story I found myself seated in a hard little private box with a vulgar drop seen staring me in the face I looked out from behind the curtain and surveyed the house it was a taudry affair all cupids and cornucerpias like a third rate wedding cake the gallery and pit were fairly full but the two rows of dingy stalls were quite empty and was hardly a person in what I supposed they called the dress circle women went about with oranges and ginger beer and it was a terrible consumption of nuts going on it must have been just like the palmy days of the British drama just like I should fancy and very depressing I began to wonder what on earth I should do when I caught sight of the playbill what do you think the play was, Hattie? I should think the idiot boy or dumb but innocent our fathers used to lack that sort of peace I believe the longer I lived Dorian the more keenly I feel that whatever was good enough for our fathers is not good enough for us in art as in politics les grands-pères ont toujours tort this play was good enough for us, Hattie? it was Romeo and Juliet I must admit that I was rather annoyed at the idea of seeing Shakespeare done in such a wretched whole of a place still I felt interested in a sort of way at any rate I determined to wait for the first act as a dreadful orchestra presided over by a young Hebrew who sat at a cracked piano that nearly drove me away but at last the drop scene was drawn up and the play began Romeo was a stout elderly gentleman with corked eyebrows a husky tragedy voice and a figure like a beer barrel Mercutio was almost as bad he was played by the low comedian who had introduced gags of his own and was on most friendly terms with the pit they were both as grotesque as a scenery and that looked as if it had come out of a country boo but Juliet Harry, imagine a girl hardly 17 years of age with a little flower-like face a small Greek head with plaited coils of dark brown hair eyes with violet wells of passion lips that were like the petals of a rose she was the loveliest thing I had ever seen in my life you said to me once that Pathos left you unmoved but that beauty, mere beauty could fill your eyes with tears I tell you Harry I could hardly see this girl for the mist of tears that came across me and her voice I never heard such a voice it was very low at first with deep mellow notes that seemed to fall singly upon one's ear then it became a little louder and sounded like a flute or a distant oboe in the garden scene it had all the tremulous ecstasy that one hears just before dawn when nightingales are singing there were moments later on when it had the wild passion of violins you know how a voice can stir one your voice and the voice of Sybil Vane are two things that I shall never forget when I close my eyes I hear them and each of them says something different which to follow why should I not love her Harry I do love her she is everything to me in life night after night I go to see her play one evening she is Rosalind and the next evening she is Imogen I have seen her die in the gloom of an Italian tomb sucking the poison from her lover's lips I have watched her wandering through the forest of Arden disguised as a pretty boy in hoes and doublet and dainty cap and has come into the presence of a guilty king and given him root-aware and bitter herbs to taste of she has been innocent and the black hands of jealousy have crushed her red-like throat I have seen her in every age and in every costume ordinary women never appeal to one's imagination they are limited to their century no glamour ever transfigures them one knows their minds as easily as one knows their bonnets one can always find them there is no mystery in any of them they ride in the park in the morning and chatter at tea parties in the afternoon they have their stereotype smile and their fashionable manner they are quite obvious but an actress how different an actress is Harry why didn't you tell me that the only thing worth loving is an actress because I have loved so many of them Dorian oh yes with dyed hair and painted faces don't run down dyed hair and painted faces there is an extraordinary charm in them sometimes said Lord Henry I wish now I had not told you about Sybil Vane you could not have helped telling me Dorian all through your life you will tell me everything you do yes Harry I believe that is true I cannot help telling you things you have a curious influence over me if I ever did a crime and confess it to you you would understand me people like you the willful sunbeams of life don't commit crimes Dorian but I am much obliged for the compliment all the same and now tell me reach me the matches like a good boy thanks what are your actual relations with Sybil Vane Dorian Grey leaped to his feet with flushed cheeks and burning eyes Harry Sybil Vane is sacred it is only the sacred things that are worth touching Dorian said Lord Henry with a strange touch of pathos in his voice but why should you be annoyed I suppose she will belong to you some day when one is in love one always begins by deceiving oneself and one always ends by deceiving others that is what the world calls a romance you know her at any rate I suppose of course I know her on the first night I was at the theatre the horrid old Jew came round to the box after the performance was over and offered to take me behind the scenes and introduced me to her I was furious with him and told him that Juliet had been dead for hundreds of years and that her body was lying in a marble tomb in Verona I think from his blank look of amazement that he was under the impression that I had taken too much champagne or something I am not surprised then he asked me if I wrote for any of the newspapers I told him I never even read them he seemed terribly disappointed at that and confided to me that all the dramatic critics were in a conspiracy against him and that they were every one of them to be bought I should not wonder if he was quite right there but on the other hand judging from their appearance most of them cannot be at all expensive well he seemed to think they were beyond his mean laughed Dorian by this time however the lights were being put out in the theatre and I had to go to the bar of cigars that he strongly recommended I declined the next night of course I arrived at the place again when he saw me he made a low bow and assured me that I was a munificent patron of art he was the most offensive brute though he had an extraordinary passion for Shakespeare he told me once with an error of pride that his five bankruptcies were entirely due to the bard calling him he seemed to think it a distinction it was a distinction my dear Dorian a great distinction most people become bankrupt through having invested too heavily in the prose of life to have ruined oneself over poetry as an honour but when did you first speak to Miss Sybil Vane the third night she had been playing Rosalind I could not help going round I had thrown her some flowers and she had looked at me at least I fancied that she had persisted he seemed determined to take me behind so I consented it was curious my not wanting to know her wasn't it no I don't think so my dear Hattie why I will tell you some other time now I want to know about the girl Sybil, oh she was so shy and so gentle there's something of a child about her her eyes open wide in exquisite wonder when I told her what I thought of her performance and she seemed quite unconscious of her power I think we were both rather nervous the old Jews stood grinning at the doorway of the dusty green room making elaborate speeches about us both while we stood looking at each other like children he would insist on calling me my lord so I had to assure Sybil that I was not anything of the kind she said quite simply to me you look more like Prince I must call you Prince Charming upon my word Dorian Miss Sybil knows how to pay compliments you don't understand her Hattie she regarded me merely as a person in a play she knows nothing of life she lives with her mother a faded tired woman who played Lady Capulet in a sort of magenta dressing wrapper on the first night a look since she had seen better day I know that look it depresses me murmured Lord Henry examining his rings I wanted to tell me her history but I said it did not interest me you were quite right there is always something infinitely mean about other people's tragedies Sybil is the only thing I care about what is it to me where she came from from her little head to her little feet she is absolutely and entirely divine every night of my life I go to see her act and every night she is more marvellous and I suppose that you never dine with me now I thought you must have some curious romance on hand you have but it is not quite what I expected my dear Hattie we either lunch or supper together every day and I have been to the opera with you several times said Dorian opening his blue eyes in wonder you always come dreadfully late well I can't help going to see Sybil play he cried even if it is only for a single act I get hungry for her presence and when I think of the wonderful soul that is hidden away in that little ivory body I am filled with awe you can dine with me tonight Dorian can't you he shook his head tonight she is Imogen he answered and tomorrow night she will be Juliet when is she Sybil Vane never I congratulate you how horrid you are she is more than an individual you laugh but I tell you she has genius I love her and I must make her love me you who know all the secrets of life tell me how to charm Sybil Vane to love me I want to make Romeo jealous I want the dead lovers of the world to hear our laughter and grow sad I want a breath of our passion to stir their dust into consciousness to wake their ashes into pain my god Harry how I worship her he was walking up and down the room as he spoke hectic spots of red burned on his cheeks he was terribly excited Lord Henry watched him with a subtle sense of pleasure how different he was now from the shy frightened boy he had met in Basil Hallward studio his nature had developed like a flower like blossoms of scarlet flame out of its secret hiding place had crept his soul and desire had come to meet it on the way and what do you propose to do said Lord Henry at last I want you and Basil to come with me some night and see her act I have not the slightest fear of the result you are certain to acknowledge her genius then we must get her out of the Jews hand she is bound to him for three years at least for two years and eight months from the present time I shall have to pay him something of course when all that is settled I shall take a West End theatre and bring her out properly she will make the world as mad as she has made me that would be impossible my dear boy yes she will she has not merely art consummate art instinct in her but she has personality also and you have often told me that it is personalities not principles that move the age well what night shall we go let me see today is Tuesday let us fix tomorrow she plays Juliet tomorrow all right the Bristol at eight o'clock and I will get Basil not eight Harry please half past six we must be there before the curtain rises you must see her in the first act where she meets Romeo half past six or it will be like having a meat tea or reading an English novel it must be seven no gentlemen dines before seven shall you see Basil between this and then or shall I write to him dear Basil I have not laid eyes on him for a week it is rather horrid of me as he has sent me my portrait in the most wonderful frame specially designed by himself and though I am a little jealous of the picture for being a whole month younger than I am I must admit that I delight in it perhaps you had better write to him I don't want to see him alone he says things that annoy me he gives me good advice Lord Henry smiled people are very fond of giving away what they need most themselves it is what I call the depth of generosity oh Basil is the best of fellows but he seems to me to be just a bit of a Philistine since I have known you Harry I have discovered that Basil my dear boy I have noticed everything that is charming in him into his work the consequence is that he has nothing left for life but his prejudices his principles and his common sense the only artists I have ever known who are personally delightful are bad artists good artists exist simply in what they make and consequently are perfectly uninteresting in what they are a great poet, a really great poet is the most un-poetical of all creatures the worse their rhymes are the more picturesque they look the mere fact of having published a book of second rate sonnets makes a man quite irresistible he lives the poetry that he cannot write the others write the poetry that they dare not realize I wonder is that really so Harry said Dorian Gray putting some perfume on his handkerchief out of a large gold topped bottle that stood on the table it must be if you say it and now I am off Imogen is waiting for me don't forget about tomorrow goodbye as he left the room Lord Henry's heavy eyelids drooped and he began to think certainly few people had ever interested him so much as Dorian Gray and yet the lads mad adoration of someone else caused him not the slightest pang of annoyance or jealousy he was pleased by it it made him a more interesting study he had been always enthralled by the methods of natural science but the ordinary subject matter of that science had seemed to him trivial and of no import and so he had begun by vivisecting himself as he had ended by vivisecting others human life that appeared to him one thing worth investigating compared to it there was nothing else of any value it was true that as one watched life in its curious crucible of pain and pleasure one could not wear over one's face a mask of glass nor keep the sulphurous fumes from troubling the brain and making the imagination turbid with monstrous fancies and misshapen dreams there were poisons so subtle that to know their properties one had to sicken of them there were maladies so strange that one had to pass through them if one sought to understand their nature and yet what a great reward one received how wonderful the whole world became to one to note the curious hard logic of passion and the emotional colored life of the intellect to observe where they met and where they separated at what point they were in unison and at what point they were at discord there was a delight in that what matter what the cost was one could never pay too high a price for any sensation he was conscious and the thought brought a gleam of pleasure into his brown agate eyes that it was through certain words of his musical words said with musical utterance that Dorian Gray's soul had turned to this white girl and bowed in worship before her to a large extent the lad was his own creation he had made him premature that was something ordinary people waited till life disclosed to them its secrets but to the few to the elect the mysteries of life were revealed before the veil was drawn away sometimes this was the effect of art and chiefly of the art of literature which dealt immediately with the passions and the intellect but now and then a complex personality took the place and assumed the office of art was indeed in its way a real work of art life having its elaborate masterpieces just as poetry has or sculpture or painting yes the lad was premature he was gathering his harvest while it was yet spring the pulse and passion of youth were in him but he was becoming self-conscious it was delightful to watch him with his beautiful face and his beautiful soul he was a thing to wonder at it was no matter how it all ended or was destined to end he was like one of those gracious figures in a pageant or a play whose joys seem to be remote from one but whose sorrows stir a one sense of beauty and whose wounds are like red roses soul and body body and soul how mysterious they were there was animalism in the soul and the body had its moments of spirituality the senses could refine and the intellect could degrade who could say where the fleshly impulse ceased or the psychical impulse began how shallow were the arbitrary definitions of ordinary psychologists and yet how difficult to decide between the claims of the various schools was the soul a shadow seated in the house of sin or was the body really in the soul as Giordano Bruno thought the separation of spirit from matter was a mystery and the union of spirit with matter was a mystery also he began to wonder whether we could ever make psychology so absolute a science that each little spring of life would be revealed to us as it was we always misunderstood ourselves and rarely understood others experience was of no ethical value the men gave to their mistakes moralists had as a rule regarded it as a mode of warning had claimed for it a certain ethical efficacy in the formation of character had praised it as something that taught us what to follow and showed us what to avoid but there was no motive power in experience it was as little of an active cause as conscience itself all that it really demonstrated was that our future would be the same as our past and that the sin we had done once and with loathing we would do many times and with joy it was clear to him that the experimental method was the only method by which one could arrive at any scientific analysis of the passions and certainly Dorian Grey was a subject made to his hand and seemed to promise rich and fruitful results his sudden mad love for Sibyl Vane was a psychological phenomenon of no small interest there was no doubt that curiosity had much to do with it curiosity and the desire for new experiences yet it was not a simple but rather a very complex passion what there was in it of the purely sensuous instinct of boyhood had been transformed by the workings of the imagination changed into something that seemed to the lad himself to be remote from sense and was for that very reason all the more dangerous it was the passions about whose origin we deceived ourselves that tyrannized most strongly over us our weakest motifs were those of whose nature we were conscious it often happened that when we thought we were experimenting on others we were really experimenting on ourselves while Lord Henry sat dreaming on these things a knock came to the door and his valet entered and reminded him that it was time to dress for dinner he got up and looked out into the street the sunset had smitten into scarlet gold the upper windows of the houses opposite the panes glowed like plates of heated metal the sky above was like a faded rose he thought of his friend's young, fiery coloured life and wondered how it was all going to end when he arrived home about half past twelve o'clock he saw a telegram lying on the hall table he opened it and found it was from Dorian Gray it was to tell him that he was engaged to be married to Sybil Vane end of chapter four chapter five of The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde this is a LibriVox recording all LibriVox recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde chapter five mother mother I am so happy whispered the girl burying her face in the lap of the faded, tired looking woman who with back turned to the shrill, intrusive light was sitting in the one-armed chair that their dingy sitting-room contained I am so happy she repeated and you must be happy too Mrs. Vane winced and put her thin, bismuth white and hands on her daughter's head happy I am only happy, Sybil, when I see you act you must not think of anything but you're acting Mr. Isaacs has been very good to us and we owe him money the girl looked up and pouted money, mother she cried what does money matter love is more than money Mr. Isaacs has advanced us fifty pounds to pay off our debts and to get a proper outfit for James you must not forget that, Sybil fifty pounds is a very large sum Mr. Isaacs has been most considerate he is not a gentleman, mother said the girl rising to her feet and going over to the window I don't know how we could manage without him answered the elder woman querulously Sybil Vane tossed her head and laughed we don't want him anymore mother Prince Charming rules life for us now then she paused a rose shook in her blood and shadowed her cheeks quick breath parted the petals of her lips they trembled some southern wind of passion swept over her and stirred the dainty folds of her dress I love him she said simply foolish child foolish child was the parrot phrase flung in answer the waving of crooked false jeweled fingers gave grotesqueness to the words the girl laughed again the joy of a caged bird was in her voice her eyes caught the melody and echoed it in radiance then closed for a moment as though to hide their secret when they opened the mist of a dream had passed across them thin lipped wisdom spoke at her from the worn chair hinted at prudence quoted from that book of cowardice whose author apes the name of human sense she did not listen she was free in her prison of passion her prince, prince charming was with her she had called on memory to remake him she had sent her soul to search for him and it had brought him back his kiss burned again upon her mouth her eyelids were warm with his breath then wisdom altered the method and spoke of espile and discovery this young man might be rich if so marriage should be thought of against the shell of her ear broke the waves of worldly cunning the arrows of craft shot by her she saw the thin lips moving and smiled suddenly she felt the need to speak the wordy silence troubled her mother, mother she cried why does he love me so much I know why I love him I love him because he is like what love himself should be but what does he see in me I am not worthy of him and yet why I cannot tell though I feel so much beneath him I don't feel humble I feel proud, terribly proud mother did you love my father as I love prince charming the elder woman grew pale beneath the coarse powder that daubed her cheeks and her dry lips twitched with a spasm of pain Sibyl rushed to her flung her arms around her neck and kissed her forgive me mother I know it pains you to talk about our father but it only pains you because you loved him so much don't look sad I am as happy today as you were twenty years ago ah let me be happy forever you are far too young to think of falling in love besides what do you know of this young man you don't even know his name the whole thing is most inconvenient and really when James is going away to Australia and I have so much to think of I must say that you should have shown more consideration however as I said before if he is rich ah mother, mother let me be happy Mrs. Vane glanced at her and with one of those false theatrical gestures that so often become a mode of second nature to a stage player clasped her in her arms at this moment the door opened and a young lad with rough brown hair came into the room he was thick set of figure and his hands and feet were large and somewhat clumsy in movement he was not so finely bred as his sister one would hardly have guessed the close relationship that existed between them Mrs. Vane fixed her eyes on him and intensified her smile she mentally elevated her son to the dignity of an audience she felt sure that the tableau was interesting you might keep some of your kisses for me Sybil I think said the lad with a good natured grumble ah but you don't like being kissed Jim she cried you are a dreadful old bear and she ran across the room and hugged him James Vane looked into his sister's face with tenderness I want you to come out with me for a walk Sybil I don't suppose I shall ever see this horrid London again I am sure I don't want to my son don't say such dreadful things murmured Mrs. Vane taking up a tawdry theatrical dress with a sigh and beginning to patch it she felt a little disappointed that he had not joined the group it would have increased the theatrical picturesqueness of the situation why not mother I mean it you pain me my son our trust you will return from Australia in a position of affluence I believe there is no society of any kind in the colonies nothing that I would call society so when you have made your fortune you must come back and assert yourself in London I don't want to know anything about that I should like to make some money to take you and Sybil off the stage I hate it oh Jim said Sybil laughing how unkind of you but are you really going for a walk with me that will be nice I was afraid you were going to say goodbye to some of your friends to Tom Hardy who gave you that hideous pipe or Ned Langton who makes fun of you for smoking it it is very sweet of you to let me have your last afternoon where shall we go let us go to the park I am too shabby only swell people go to the park nonsense Jim she whispered stroking the sleeve of his coat he hesitated for a moment very well he said at last but don't be too long dressing she danced out of the door one could hear her singing as she ran upstairs her little feet pattered overhead he walked up and down the room two or three times then he turned to the still figure in the chair mother are my things ready he asked quite ready James she answered keeping her eyes on her work for some months past she had felt ill at ease when she was alone with this rough stern son of hers her shallow secret nature was troubled when their eyes met she used to wonder if he suspected anything the silence for he made no other observation became intolerable to her she began to complain women defend themselves by attacking just as they attack by sudden and strange surrenders I hope you will be contented James with your seafaring life she said you must remember that it is your own choice you might have entered a solicitor's office solicitors are a very respectable class and in the country often dine with the best families I hate offices and I hate clerks he replied but you are quite right I have chosen my own life all I say is watch over Sibyl don't let her come to any harm mother you must watch over her James you really talk very strangely of course I watch over Sibyl I hear a gentleman comes every night to the theatre and goes behind to talk to her is that right? what about that? you are speaking about things you don't understand James in the profession we are accustomed to receive a great deal of most gratifying attention I myself used to receive many bouquets at one time that was when acting was really understood as for Sibyl I do not know at present whether her attachment is serious or not but there is no doubt that the young man in question is a perfect gentleman he is always most polite to me besides he has the appearance of being rich and the flowers he sends are lovely you don't know his name though said the lad harshly no answered his mother with a placid expression in her face he has not yet revealed his real name I think it is quite romantic of him he is probably a member of the aristocracy James Vain bit his lip watch over Sibyl mother he cried watch over her my son you distress me very much Sibyl is always under my special care of course if this gentleman is wealthy there is no reason why she should not contract an alliance with him our trusty is one of the aristocracy he has all the appearance of it I must say it might be a most brilliant marriage for Sibyl they would make a charming couple his good looks are really quite remarkable everybody notices them the lad muttered something to himself and drummed on the window-pane with his coarse fingers he had just turned round to say something when the door opened and Sibyl ran in how serious you both are she cried what is the matter? nothing he answered I suppose one must be serious sometimes goodbye mother I will have my dinner at five o'clock everything is packed except my shirts goodbye my son she answered with a bow of strained statelyness she was extremely annoyed at the tone he had adopted with her and there was something in his look that made her feel afraid kiss me mother said the girl her flower-like lips touched the withered cheek and warmed its frost my child my child cried Mrs. Vane feeling in search of an imaginary gallery come Sibyl said her brother impatiently he hated his mother's affectations they went out into the flickering wind-blown sunlight and strolled down the dreary Euston road the passers-by glanced in wonder at the sullen heavy youth who in coarse ill-fitting clothes was in the company of such a graceful, refined-looking girl he was like a common gardener walking with a rose Jim frowned from time to time when he caught the inquisitive glance of some stranger he had that dislike of being stared at which comes on geniuses late in life and never leaves the common place Sibyl however was quite unconscious of the effect she was producing her love was trembling in laughter on her lips she was thinking of Prince Charming and that she might think of him all the more she did not talk of him but prattled on about the ship in which Jim was going to sail about the gold he was certain to find about the wonderful heiress whose life he was to save from the wicked red-shirted bush-rangers for he was not going to remain a sailor or a super cargo or whatever he was going to be oh no! a sailor's existence was dreadful fancy being cooped up in a horrid ship with the horse humpbacked waves trying to get in and a black wind blowing the masts down and tearing the sails into long screaming ribbons he was to leave the vessel at Melbourne bid a polite goodbye to the captain and go off at once to the gold fields before a week was over he was to come across a large nugget of pure gold the largest nugget that had ever been discovered and bring it down to the coast in a wagon guarded by six mounted policemen the bush-rangers were to attack them three times and be defeated with immense slaughter oh no! he was not to go to the gold fields at all in these places where men got intoxicated and shot each other in bar rooms and used bad language he was to be a nice sheep farmer and one evening as he was riding home he was to see the beautiful heiress being carried off by a robber on a black horse and give chase and rescue her of course she would fall in love with him and he with her and they would get married and live in an immense house in London yes they were delightful things in store for him but he must be very good and not lose his temper or spend his money foolishly she was only a year older than he was but she knew so much more of life he must be sure also to write to her by every mail and to say his prayers each night before he went to sleep he would be good and would watch over him she would pray for him too and in a few years he would come back quite rich and happy the lad listened sulkily to her and made no answer he was heart sick at leaving home yet it was not this alone that made him gloomy and morose inexperienced though he was he had still a strong sense of the danger of Sibyl's position this young dandy who was making love to her could mean her no good he was a gentleman and he hated him for that hated him through some curious race instinct for which he could not account and which for that reason was all the more dominant within him he was conscious also of the shallowness and vanity of his mother's nature and in that saw infinite peril for Sibyl and Sibyl's happiness children begin by loving their parents as they grow older they judge them sometimes they forgive them his mother he had something on his mind to ask of her something that he had brooded on for many months of silence a chance phrase that he had heard at the theatre a whispered sneer that had reached his ears one night as he waited at the stage door had set loose a train of horrible thoughts he remembered it as if it had been the lash of a hunting crop across his face his brows knit together into a wedge-like furrow and with a twitch of pain he bit his underlip you are not listening to a word I am saying Jim cried Sibyl and I am making the most delightful plans for your future do say something what do you want me to say oh but you will be a good boy and not forget us she answered smiling at him he shrugged his shoulders you are more likely to forget me than I am to forget you Sibyl she flushed what do you mean Jim? she asked you have a new friend I hear why have you not told me about him he means you no good you must not say anything against him I love him why you don't even know his name answered the lad who is he I have a right to know he is called Prince Charming don't you like the name oh you silly boy you should never forget it if you only saw him you would think him the most wonderful person in the world someday you will meet him when you come back from Australia you will like him so much everybody likes him and I love him I wish you could come to the theater tonight he is going to be there and I am to play Juliet oh how I shall play it fancy Jim to be in love and play Juliet to have him sitting there to play for his delight I am afraid I may frighten the company frighten or enthrall them to be in love is to surpass oneself poor dreadful Mr. Isaacs will be shouting genius to his loafers at the bar he has preached me as a dogma tonight he will announce me as a revelation I feel it and it is all his his only Prince Charming my wonderful lover my god of graces but I am poor beside him poor what does that matter when poverty creeps in at the door love flies in through the window a proverb's won't rewriting they were made in winter and it is summer now springtime for me I think a very dance of blossoms in blue skies he is a gentleman a prince she cried musically what more do you want he wants to enslave you I shudder at the thought of being free I want you to be aware of him to see him is to worship him to know him is to trust him Sybil you are mad about him she laughed and took his arm you dear old Jim you talk as if you were a hundred someday you will be in love yourself then you will know what it is don't look so sulky surely you should be glad to think that though you are going away you leave me happier than I have ever been before life has been hard for us both terribly hard and difficult but it will be different now you are going to a new world and I have found one here are two chairs let us sit down and see the smart people go by they took their seats amidst a crowd of watchers the tulip beds across the road and the wings of fire a white dust tremulous cloud of Oris root it seemed, hung in the panting air the brightly colored parasols danced and dipped like monstrous butterflies she made her brother talk of himself his hopes his prospects he spoke slowly and with effort they passed words to each other as players at a game pass counters Sibyl felt oppressed she could not communicate her joy a faint smile curving that sullen mouth was all the echo she could win after some time she became silent suddenly she caught a glimpse of golden hair and laughing lips and in an open carriage with two ladies Dorian Gray drove past she started to her feet there he is she cried Prince Charming she answered looking after the Victoria he jumped up and seized her roughly by the arm show him to me which is he, point him out, I must see him he exclaimed but at that moment the Duke of Barracks four in hand came between and when it had left the space clear the courage had swept out of the park he is gone murmured Sibyl sadly I wish you had seen him I wish I had, for as sure as there is a God in heaven, if he ever does you anything wrong I shall kill him she looked at him in horror he repeated his w