CHAPTER ONE

The studio was fil ed with the rich perfume of flowers. Lord Henry Wotton
lay smoking. Everything was stil .

In the centre of the room was a portrait* of a beautiful young man. The
artist, Basil Hal ward, was sitting in front of it, smiling.

'It is your best work,' said Lord Henry. 'Show it at the Grosvenor.

'No, I can't. There is too much of me in it,' answered Hal ward.

'You don't look like the picture!' said Lord Henry. 'You have an intel ectual
face but this young man is an Adonis. He is beautiful. He never thinks, I am
sure. You are not like him at al .*

'You don't understand, replied Hal ward. I know I don't look like him, I
would be sorry to.

Dorian Gray's beauty wil disappear. It is better to be ugly and stupid, and
live in peace.

'Is that his name? asked Lord Henry.

'Yes,' answered Hal ward. I didn't want to tel you. I prefer secrets, they are
more romantic."

'I agree, 'said Lord Henry. I know nothing about my wife, and she knows
nothing about me.

The two young men laughed and went into the garden where they sat in the
shade.

portrait (noun, count.) a picture of a person, especial y of his/her face

'Why do you refuse to show the painting? asked Lord Henry.

I told you, replied Hal ward. There is too much of me in it. A good portrait
is a portrait of the artist, not the sitter. I am afraid I show my soul in this
painting. You see, two months ago I went to a party at Lady Brandon's
house. Her parties are boring, but it is important to keep society* contacts.
As you say, even a stockbroker in elegant clothes looks civilized. I spoke to
boring people for ten minutes and then I saw Dorian Gray. I was terrified. I
wanted to escape, but I asked Lady Brandon to introduce us."

'What did she say about him? asked Lord Henry.

She said: 'He plays the piano,' answered Hal ward. "Dorian and I laughed.'

'Laughter is a good start and the best ending for a friendship,' said Lord
Henry.' I choose my friends for their beauty, my acquaintances* for their
character and my enemies for their intel igence. My enemies al respect me."

'Do you real y believe that? asked Hal ward.

'How English you are! answered Lord Henry. "The English think you must
believe what you say, but that isn't important. If an idea is not sincere, but
purely intel ectual, it is an excel ent idea. Do you see Dorian Gray often?'

Every day' answered Hal ward.

"Extraordinary,' said Lord Henry. 'I thought you only loved art.

'He is my art,' replied Hal ward. 'I draw. paint, sketch* from him.

My work with him is the best of my life. I see things differently. I paint in a
new way.'

'Basil, I must meet Dorian Gray, said Lord Henry. And you must show his
portrait.'

'I cannot,' said Hal ward. I am afraid people wil see my soul. Art must be
beautiful but not personal.'

And does Dorian Gray like you? asked Lord Henry.

'I think so, replied Hal ward. 'Sometimes he is horrible to me. I feel I have
given my soul to someone who treats it like a flower on a summer's day, a
bit of a decoration.*

'Summer days are long, said Lord Henry. 'You wil tire first.

Genius lasts longer than Beauty. One day you wil become cold and he wil
be angry. What a pity."

'You are wrong, said Hal ward.

It was pleasant in the garden. Lord Henry found Hal ward's emotions more
interesting than his invitation to a boring lunch at Aunt Agatha's house. He
was happy to miss the lunch.

"Basil!' he said, 'Iknow where I have heard Dorian Gray's name! Aunt
Agatha knows him. He helps her with the poor. She didn't say he's
beautiful.' I don't want you to meet him,' said Hal ward.

The butler* came into the garden.

'Mr Dorian Gray is in the studio, sir,' he said to Hal ward.

'Thank you. Ask him to wait for a moment,' answered Hal ward.

'I must meet him!' said Lord Henry.

'Dorian Gray is my best friend,' said Hal ward. You are a bad influence,
don't take away my friend.

They went into the house together.

Dorian Gray was at the piano. He caught sight of Lond Hens

'I'm sorry, Basil. I didn't know you had company, he said.

Pleased to meet you, Mr Gray, said Lord Henry, You are 3 favourite of my
aunt, Lady Agatha.'
Lord Henry thought Dorian Gray was very handsome.

Hal ward was worried. 'Henry, he said, '1 am sorry to be rude but I must
work, Could you leave us?

'Must I go? Lord Henry asked Dorian.

"Oh no,' said Dorian.

'Can I stay? Lord Henry asked Hal ward.

'If Dorian wants,' replied Hal ward. 'Dorian, Lord Henry is a bad influence.'

'Are you real y? asked Dorian.

Al influence is immoral, said Lord Henry. 'If you influence a person. he

does not think his natural thoughts. People are afraid of themselves.

Fear of society, or morals, and fear of God, or religion, govern us.

Hal ward saw a new expression on Dorians face.

'We must have the courage to be ourselves,' continued Lord Henry Dorian
stood in silence.

His eyes were bright. He felt something new inside himself. Sometimes
music disturbed him like that, but this was different. Words! So clear, so
vivid, so cruel!

Lord Henry watched, fascinated. Hal ward painted in silence.

the garden."

'I am tired of standing! said Dorian suddenly. I want to go into

'I wil come with you, said Lord Henry.

Dorian was fascinated by Lord Henry Much more than by Basil Hal ward.
Why was he frightened?
'Only the senses cure the soul,' said Lord Henry, 'only the sou cures the
senses. Don't sit in the sun. You wil get sunburnt*. You have youth and
beauty, they are important. You smile?

One day you wil not smile. People love you because you are beautiful. One
day you wil lose that, you wil become ugly. Then you wil suffer horribly.
Live! Live now! The world is yours for a season. You don't realise that, you
don't understand. There is absolutely nothing in the world but youth!'

Dorian listened. He felt a new emotion.

Basil Hal ward cal ed them from the door. Dorian and Lord Henry went into
the studio.

Hal ward painted for about fifteen minutes.

Then he stopped. He looked at Dorian for a long time, then he looked at the
painting for a long time.

It is finished,' he said.

Real y? asked Dorian. He looked at the painting. His eyes fil ed with joy.
He didn't move. For the first time, he saw his beauty. He never real y
believed Basil Hal ward's compliments, but Lord Henry's words about
youth were disturbing. And now he realised they were true.

"I wil be ugly, hideous,' he thought and tears fil ed his eyes.

'Don't you like it? asked Hal ward.

"It's sad,' said Dorian. I wil grow old and horrible but this painting wil stay
young. If only I could stay young forever and the painting grow old, not me.
I would give my soul for that!'

'I object answered Hal ward.

'Dorian looked at him. You like your painting more than your friends! he
said.'
Hal ward was amazed. Dorian seemed quite angry.

'How long wil you like me? asked Dorian. Til I have my first wrinkle I
suppose. When I start to grow old, I wil kil myself!

'Dorian, don't talk like that,' cried Hal ward. I have never had such a friend
as you!'

'I am jealous of everything whose beauty does not die,' said Dorian.

'You have made me hate my finest piece of work, 'said Hal ward. I wil
destroy it.' He took a knife. Dorian ran to him and took it.

'Don't, Basil! he shouted. 'It's murder! I am in love with the painting.

'It is yours,' said Hal ward coldly. 'Would you like tea?

'Yes,' said Lord Henry, 'and let me have the painting too.

'No!' cried Dorian. 'It's mine!'

The butler entered with the tea.

'Let's go to the theatre tonight,' said Lord Henry.

'I must work this evening, said Hal ward. 'Stay for dinner, Dorian.'

'No, said Dorian, 'I want to go to the theatre with Lord Henry.' Hal ward
walked to the painting. 'I wil stay with the real Dorian, he said sadly. Lord
Henry, remember what I said in the garden this morning.

Lord Henry laughed. 'I have forgotten it. Good bye, Basil. Come Mr Gray,
my carriage is outside, I can take you home.' He and Dorian left.

As the door closed behind them, the painter threw himself onto the sofa,
and a look of pain came into his eyes.
CHAPTER TWO
The next day at half past twelve, Lord Henry Wotton strol ed to the Albany
Hotel to cal on his uncle, Lord Fermor, an elderly bachelor.

Lord Fermor had two large houses, but preferred to live in the hotel.

His father had been Ambassador to Madrid and resigned when not offered
the post of Ambassador in Paris which he believed was his right. Lord
Fermor had resigned at the same time and was now retired* in London. He
paid some attention to his coal* mines in the north of England, because he
believed that the advantage of having coal was being able to afford to burn
wood in his own home.

"Hel o, Henry, said Lord Fermor to his nephew. What brings you out so
early? I thought you never got up til two and were not visible til five.'
Affection, uncle, replied Lord Henry. And I want something.'

'Money? asked Lord Fermor.

"No, said Lord Henry. I never pay my bil s. No, I want information.

About Mr Dorian Gray, Lord Kelso's grandson.'

'Lord Kelso's grandson! replied Lord Fermor. 'I knew his mother very wel ,
Lady Margaret Devereux. She was extraordinarily beautiful.

Al the young men wanted to marry her, but she ran away with a penniless
soldier. They say Kelso paid a Belgian man to kil the soldier in a duel. An
ugly story. It was hushed up, but Kelso ate alone for

some time. Poor Margaret died soon after, and left her son alone. Is he as
good-looking as his mother?'

"He is very good-looking,' answered Lord Henry.

'Henry, I hear that Lord Dartmoor wants to marry an American girl, is it
true? asked Lord Fermor.

'It is very fashionable to marry Americans at the moment, replied Lord

Henry.

Why don't they stay in America? said Lord Fermor. English girls are better.
Does she have a good family?'

American girls are as clever at concealing their parents as English girls are
at concealing their past. Good-bye, uncle, I must go to lunch at Aunt
Agatha's, said Lord Henry.

So that was the story of Dorian Gray. He was interesting. Lord Henry
decided to dominate him, to possess the spirit of this boy. The son of Love
and Death.

Lord Henry arrived late at his aunt's house. The other guests were already at
table. There was the Duchess of Harley, a very nice, popular and very fat
lady. On her right was Sir Thomas Burdon, a Radical member of
Parliament. He liked good cooking. On her left was Mr Erskine of Treadly,
an old man who was intel igent and charming, but very silent. His
neighbour was Mrs Vandeleur, his aunt's friend and a saint who dressed
badly. On her other side was Lord Faudel, intel igent, mediocre and middle-
aged. There was also Dorian.

Lord Henry, cried the Duchess. We are talking about Lord Dartmoor. Do
you think he wil he marry the American girl?

I believe she intends to propose to him, replied Lord Henry.

'How terrible! said Lady Agatha. We must interfere!'

American girls dress wel ; said the Duchess. 'They buy their dresses in
Paris.'

ewien good Americans die,' said Sir Thomas, 'they go to Paris: Where bad
Americans die they go to America, laughed Lord Hey treaty: said Lady
Agatha.

Why did you tel Dorian to stop playing. the piano with me for the poor?
They love his music.'

unt, we cannot solve the problem of slavery* by amusing the slaves.

Lord Henry spoke wel . Everyone laughed. He was clever and funny. He
knew Dorian was listening, and he was happy. At last Reality entered the
room and stopped the conversation: a servant told the Duchess that her
carriage was there.

'Goodbye, Aunt,' said Lord Henry. 'I am going to the park

'I want to come with you, said Dorian.

'But Basil is expecting you' said Lord Henry.

'I prefer to come with you. You talk better than anyone.'

One month later, Dorian Gray was sitting in Lord Henry's library.

Lord Henry was late, Dorian was angry. He decided to leave. Suddenly the
door opened.

'You are late, Henry!' he said.

'Tam not Henry, I am his wife, said a voice.

Dorian stood up. 'Iam sorry, Lady Henry, he said. 'My name is.."

'Iknow who you are, said Lady Henry. 'My husband has seventeen
photographs of you.'

Lady Henry was a strange lady. She wanted to be picturesque but her
clothes were always untidy. She was always in love with someone, but the
love was never returned. Her name was Victoria.
Tsaw you athe Opera, with my husband; she said. Wasit Wagner Yes, it was
Lohengrin, Lady Henry answered Dorian.

I like Wagner. The music is loud. You can have a conversation and no one
hears you.' said Lady Henry.

'I like listening to the music,' said Dorian and he smiled. 'I only talk if the
music is bad.'

You talk like my husband, said Lady Henry. 'I love pianists.

Perhaps because they are foreign*. They are so interesting. I never have
orchids at my parties, but I always have foreigners. They decorate the room
very wel . But here is Henry!'

Lord Henry entered the room.

'I am having an interesting conversation with Mr Gray, said Lady Henry.

'He is very pleasant.'

'I am very happy, my love,' said Lord Henry. Dorian, I am sorry I am late. I
spent a long time in a shop. The problem is that today people know the
price of everything and the value of nothing.

'Good-bye, said Lady Henry.

Lord Henry closed the door after his wife.

'Do not marry, Dorian! said Lord Henry.

'Lord Henry, I am in love, said Dorian.

'Who are you in love with? asked Lord Henry.

'An actress,' replied Dorian. Her name is Sibyl Vane. She is a genius.'

'No woman is a genius, said Lord Henry. 'In London there are only five intel
igent women, and two of them cannot enter polite society. When did you
meet her?'
"Three weeks ago, answered Dorian. 'After I met you, I wanted to learn
everything about life, to know the secret of life. One evening I walked to
the East End and I saw a miserable little theatre. There was a strange old
Jewish man outside, with a huge diamond and a dirty.

shirt. Take a box, my lord, he said. I took the box next to the stage.

And the biggest love of my life began.'

"No, not the biggest, said Lord Henry. The first, it's different. Tel the story.

I found myself in a horrid little private box. The play was Romeo and Juliet.
Romeo was a fat old actor, and Hercutio was a vulgar comedian. The music
was terrible. But Juliet! She was beautiful. About seventeen with a face like
a flower, a smal Greek head, dark brown hair, eyes like violets, a mouth like
a rose. Her voice is beautiful. If I close my eyes I hear it. I cried when I saw
her, she was so lovely. Now I go every evening to see her at the theatre.

Ordinary women are so boring, so obvious. But an actress! Why didn't you
tel me that the only thing worth loving is an actress?'

Because I have loved so many of them! replied Lord Henry. Did you meet
Sibyl Vane?'

On the first evening, the old Jewish man offered to introduce me to her,
replied Dorian. I was angry. I said no, Juliet is dead! He thought I was mad.
I returned the next evening and he

was happy to see me. I first spoke to Sibyl on the third night. She was very
shy, like a child.

She said I was Prince Charming.'

'She is good at paying compliments!' said Lord Henry.

'She is very innocent, replied Dorian. 'She lives with her tired, old mother.
She is divine.'
"That is why you never have dinner with me!' answered Lord Henry. 'Eat
with me tonight!'

No, I must go and see Sibyl. Tonight she is playing Imogen, and tomorrow
she is playing Juliet,' said Dorian.

'And when is she Sibyl Vane? asked Lord Henry.

"Never! answered Dorian. Come with me and see her! I want to bring her to
a big theatre in the centre of London. I want to make her a success.'

'Tomorrow,' said Lord Henry.

And I wil bring Basil Hal ward too, said Dorian. 'Goodbye, I must go to the
theatre.'

As he left the room, Lord Henry began to think. He had never been so
interested in a person as in Dorian Gray, but Dorian's mad adoration for
Sibyl Vane did not make him jealous. It made Dorian an interesting study.
Lord Henry was interested in natural science and for him human life was
the only thing worth investigating. The logic of passion, the colour of the
intel ect - to observe where they met. A sensation at any cost!

Lord Henry knew that Dorian was his creation, and it was through him that
Dorian worshipped this girl. Dorian was premature. The passion of youth
was in him, but he was becoming self-conscious.

Soul and body, body and soul, how mysterious they were! There was an
animal in the soul, and the body had its moments of spirituality.

Experience was of no ethical value. It was only the name men gave to their
mistakes.

It was clear to Lord Henry that the experimental method was the only way
to arrive at a scientific analysis of the passions, and Dorian promised good
results.

flis valet knocked on the door. It was time to dress for dinner.
He went out, and when he returned, he found a telegram. It was from
Dorian. He was engaged* to Sibyl Vane.
CHAPTER THREE
Mother, mother, I am so happy, whispered the girl. She sat on the foor next
to a tired woman in the only armchair in the poor siting room. And you
must be happy too!'

Sibyl, said the woman. "Think of your acting. Mr Isaacs has been very good
to us. We owe him money.'

What does money matter? cried Sibyl. Love is more important than money.'

Mr Isaacs has lent us fifty pounds to pay our debts and buy clothes for
James. You must not forget that, Sibyl, it is a very large sum, said Mrs
Vane.

'He is not a gentleman! I hate him!' replied Sibyl. 'Now I have Prince
Charming. I love him!

'Foolish child! said her mother.

Sibyl did not listen. She was free in her prison of passion. And he was
probably rich. She could marry him! She smiled.

Mother!" she said. Why does he love me so much? I am so proud of his

love. Did you love my father like I love Prince Charming" There was pain
on Mrs Vane's face. Sibyl kissed her.

Forgive me, Mother; she said. " know it pains you to talk about my father.
But that is because you loved him. I want to be happy!

'You are too young,' said Mrs Vane. 'Your brother James is going to
Australia, and I have so much to think of.'

The door opened and James entered. He had rough brown hair, he was
heavy and his hands and feet were large. He was not so fine as his beautiful
sister but he looked at her with tenderness.
'I want you to come out with me for a walk Sibyl, he said. 'I don't suppose I
wil ever see this horrible London again. I am sure I don't want to.'

Don't say that,' said Mrs Vane. 'You must get rich in Australia and return to
London. There is no elegant society in Australia.'

'Idon't want to know anything about society, said James. I want to make
some money to take you and Sibyl off the stage. I hate it.'

'It is very sweet of you to give me your last afternoon,' said Sibyl.

"Where shal we go? Let's go to the Park!'

She went upstairs to prepare. James remained with his mother.

'Mother,' he said. 'Watch over Sibyl. I hear a gentleman comes every night
to the theatre, and goes behind to talk to her.'

'He is a perfect gentleman and appears to be rich, said Mrs Vane.

'I do not know if they have serious intentions, but he is a good marriage for
Sibyl.'

'But you don't know his name, said James.

'Isn't that romantic?' asked Mrs Vane.

James was irritated, he disliked his mother's false manner.

James and Sibyl went to the Park. Sibyl talked about James' future and
invented fantastic adventures for him. James was heartsick. He was sure
Sibyl was in danger, that her new friend meant her no good.

And he knew his mother was vain* and shal ow*. In the beginning children
love their parents, then they judge them. Sometimes they forgive them.

'Sibyl; he said, I hear you have a new friend. Be careful. He means you no
good.'
James, replied Sibyl. 'Ilove him. He is coming to the theatre tonight.

I am poor, but what does that matter? When poverty walks through the
door, love flies through the window!'

'You are mad!' said James.

They sat in the park and watched the fashionable people go by.

James talked about his plans and hopes. Suddenly Dorian Gray passed in an
open carriage with two ladies.

Look!' cried Sibyl. 'It is Prince Charming!'

James tried to look, but another carriage passed in front of him.

'I am sorry I didn't see him, said James. 'Sibyl, if he ever does you any
harm, I wil kil him.

'You are jealous and unkind, said Sibyl in horror. 'You don't understand
love.

'I understand that Mother cannot protect you, said James. I don't want to go
to Australia. I want to stay here and protect you.' They went home. Sibyl
went to her room to rest before the theatre. She said good-bye to her
brother. There were tears in his eyes as he went downstairs to his mother.

Mother, I want to ask a question,' said James. Were you married to my

father?'

Mrs Vane knew the question was direct. She gave a direct answer.

She didn't act.

No, she said. But! loved him and he loved me. I knew he was not free:

'He was a bad man!' said James.

No, said Mrs Vane. 'He was married, but he was rich. If he had lived, he
would have provided for us. He wasn't bad. And I had no mother.
Remember that Sibyl has a mother.'

James was touched.

Mother, I am sorry for you, but if that man hurts Sibyl, I wil kil him!

Now you have only one child to look after. Look after Sibyl; he said.

Mrs Vane was sad. She real y admired her son and wanted a great
opportunity for him. What a waste! James carried his trunk to the cab at the
door.

He kissed his mother and left the house. Mrs Vane waved her handkerchief*

'Sibyl, said Mrs Vane later to her daughter, 'I am desolate. Now I have only
one child to look after.' She remembered James words. She liked them.
They were dramatic and theatrical.

The same evening, Lord Henry arrived at a private dining room at the
Bristol Hotel.

'Do you know the news, Basil? he asked Basil Hal ward.

No, answered Hal ward, T hope it isn't about politics. They dont interest
me.'

'Dorian Gray is engaged to be married, said Lord Henry.

'Impossible!' replied Hal ward.

'It is perfectly true,' said Lord Henry.

"To who?' asked Hal ward.

A little actress,' answered Lord Henry.

'I can't believe it. Dorian is too sensible,' said Hal ward.
'Dorian is intel igent, so he does sil y things now and then,' said Lord Henry.

'Marriage is not something you do now and then! answered Hal ward.

Except in America, said Lord Henry.

'This is absurd!' said Hal ward. 'I hope the girl is good.'

Better than good, said Lord Henry. 'She is beautiful. Your portrait made him
love beauty. We are seeing her at the theatre tonight. I hope Dorian marries
her, loves her for six months, and then fal s in love with another girl. It wil
be very interesting to watch."

'You don't mean that, said Hal ward. 'It wil spoil* his life.'

'Only a life that doesn't develop is spoiled,' said Lord Henry.

Dorian arrived.

'Congratulate me! he said to his friends. I am so happy! It is sudden, but I

feel that I have looked for it al my life!'

You are late for dinner but I forgive you, said Lord Henry. 'Sit down and tel
us everything.'

'I went to see her yesterday, said Dorian. 'She played Rosalind.

She was in boy's clothes: a green velvet jacket with brown sleeves, brown
tights, a little green hat with a feather and a jewel, and a red cloak. Her
acting was wonderful. She is a true artist. Then I went to speak to her after
the play. We sat together and suddenly we kissed. I was fil ed with perfect
joy. Of course the engagement is a secret. Her mother doesn't know. My
guardians wil be very angry. I am right to love her and marry her, aren't I?'

"I suppose so, said Lord Henry slowly. 'Did you see her today?'

'No,' answered Dorian. 'I wil see her tonight.'

And what did you say about marriage? asked Lord Henry. Do you
remember?'

I did not make a formal proposal, answered Dorian. I said I loved her, and
she said she was not worthy to be my wife.'

Very practical, said Lord Henry. In those situations we forget to talk about
marriage, but women remind* us!'

'Don't, Henry,' said Hal ward. You are annoying Dorian. He does not want
to bring misery to anyone. His nature is too fine.'

'But I have a theory,' said Lord Henry. 'I think it is real y women who
propose* to us. We men do not real y propose to women. Except in the
middle classes. They are not modern.

Dorian laughed. 'It is impossible to be angry with you, Henry; he said.

'When you see Sibyl Vane you wil realize that any man who hurts her is a
beast. I cannot understand how anyone can hurt the thing he loves. When I
am with her I regret al you have taught me.

I am different, I have changed. The touch of Sibyls hand makes me forget al

your wrong, fascinating, poisonous, delightful theories.

And those are..? asked Lord Henry, taking some salad.

Al your theories about life, your theories about love, your theories about
pleasure. Al your theories in fact!'

'Pleasure is the only thing worth having a theory about,' said Lord henry.
But it is not my theory. It belongs to nature. When we are happy, we are
always good, answered Lord Henry.

But when we alt good, we are not always happy.

"What do you mean by good?' asked Basil Hal ward.

To be good is to be in harmony with one's self, said Lord Hen Pleasure is to

adore someone"
said Dorian. Let's go to the theatre now

'Yes,' said Lord Henry. 'I like acting. It is more real than life.' Hal ward was
worried. He didn't like the idea of the marriage, but it seemed better than
many other things that could happen to Dorian.

He felt that Dorian was lost to him. He felt old.

CHAPTER FOUR
For some reason the theatre was crowded* that night. The manager escorted
Dorian, Hal ward and Lord Henry to their box*. Dorian hated him, but Lord
Henry liked him and shook his hand. The manager talked loudly while Hal
ward amused himself looking at the people in the theatre. He thought they
were vulgar, poor men and badly-dressed women.

What a place to find a goddess!' said Lord Henry.

Yes,' said Dorian, it was here I found her. When she acts you wil forget
everything. These common, coarse* people watch Sibyl in silence. She
makes them as responsive as a violin.

'I believe you,' said Hal ward. 'I understand what you mean, and I believe in
this girl. I am sure she is fine and noble. This marriage is quite right.'

"Thanks, Basil, said Dorian. Now, the orchestra. It is terrible, but only lasts
five minutes.'

A quarter of an hour later, Sibyl stepped onto the stage. Lord Henry thought
she was very beautiful, perhaps the most beautil git he knew. He said,
'Charming' Hal ward stood up and applauded.

Dorian was total y stil .

But Sibyl was strange. She showed no sien of joy. Her acting wasartificial.
Dorian was anxious, his friends were horribly disappointed.

Hal ward and Lord Henry thought Sibyl was incompetent. But the true test
of Juliet is the balcony scene. They waited for it. It was a complete failure.

'She is beautiful,' said Lord Henry, but she can't act.'

'Perhaps she is il , said Hal ward.

No, said Dorian, 'she is not il . She is cold. Yesterday she was a great
actress. Today she is bad.'

'Don't say that if you love her, said Hal ward. Love is more wonderful than
Art.'

'Her acting is not important,' said Lord Henry. She is beautiful, that's
enough. Let's go to the club.'

'Go away,' said Dorian. 'I want to be alone.'

When the play finished, Dorian went to see Sibyl. She was very happy.

'I acted very badly tonight!' Sibyl laughed.

"You were terrible!' replied Dorian. 'Ridiculous. We were bored.'

'Do you understand why? asked Sibyl. 'Before I knew you, acting was real.
Joy on stage was real joy to me. The painted scenes were my world. Then
you came and freed me from prison. Tonight, for the first time, everything
on stage was false. Now I understand what love is! Take me away, Dorian!'

'You kil ed my love, said Dorian. He looked away from her.

Sibyl laughed. She didn't understand.

'I loved you because you were marvel ous. You had genius and intel ect.
Now I see that you are shal ow and stupid. I was mad to love you!' said
Dorian. 'I wil never see you again. I wil never think of you.

What are you now? A bad actress with a pretty face!' Sibyl's face was
white. 'You are not serious!' she said.

She tried to touch him. "Don't touch me!' said Dorian.

She went down on her knees on the floor. 'Dorian, don't leave mel' she
cried. 'I wil be better, I wil try! Forgive me! My brothe...

no, never mind. You are right! Don't leave me!'

Dorian thought she was ridiculous. I cannot see you again, he said. 'You are
a disappointment. He left the theatre and walked al night. At dawn, he was
at Covent Garden, at the flower market. The perfume of the flowers helped
him. Final y he went home.

He went to his luxurious bedroom, passing in front of his portrait.

He was surprised and stopped. He went into his bedroom but then returned
to the portrait.

The face was different. The mouth was cruel. He looked at his face in the
mirror. The mouth in the mirror was not cruel. What did it mean?

He looked again at the painting. He was sure. The expression was different.
Dorian thought for a moment.

Suddenly he remembered the day in Basil Hal ward's studio when the
portrait was finished.

He remembered his mad wish to remain young while the portrait grew old.
But it was impossible! And yet the mouth was cruel.

Had he been cruel to Sibyl? But it was Sibyl's fault. She had made him
suffer. She was nothing to him now. But the picture! He felt pity.

Not for himself, for the image in the picture. He decided to return to Sibyl,
to love her and marry her. He covered the portrait and went into his garden.
He repeated Sibyl's name. The birds sang.

Dorian woke up after midday. His butler brought him a cup of ted and his
post. Dorian drank the tea and saw a letter from Lord Henry

He didn't read it. The other letters were al invitations. He got up and put on
a cashmere dressing gown. After washing in his onyx bathroom he sat next
to the window in his sitting room and ate breakfast. It was warm and there
were beautiful yel ow roses in the room. He was perfectly happy.

Suddenly he remembered the portrait. Was it true? Was it absurd?

He didn't want to look at the portrait. After some time, he removed the
cover. It was true, the portrait was different. He felt afraid. He remembered
Sibyl and his cruelty to her. He decided to return to her, try to love her, to be
noble and generous, not like the image in the portrait.

He wrote a letter to Sibyl. He said he loved her, he was sorry, he was mad.
He felt better.

Someone knocked at the door. It was Lord Henry.

'I must see you, Dorian,' he said. 'Let me in!'

Dorian opened the door.

'I am very sorry about last night,' said Lord Henry. But it was not your
fault*. Don't think about it.

After the play, did you speak to her?'

Yes,' said Dorian. I was cruel. But I am sorry now. I have learned my
lesson. I want to be good. Not ugly.'

'I am happy,' replied Lord Henry. How wil you begin?'

'I wil marry Sibyl Vane, answered Dorian.

'But, my dear Dorian...' said Lord Henry.

'Don't speak, don't say horrible things about marriage,' said Dorian. 'I asked
her to marry me, and I wil marry her.'

'Didn't you read my letter" asked Lord Henry. I wrote to you!

Don't you know? Sibyl Vane is dead!

'Dead!' cried Dorian. 'It is not true! It is a horrible lie!'

'It is true, replied Lord Henry. 'It is in the newspapers. Did anyonesee you at
the theatre? You must avoid scandal! It is fashionable in Paris, but a
problem in London.'

'But how... but did she...?' Dorian was horrified.

'It was not an accident, answered Lord Henry. 'She went to her room in the
theatre and drank something. She died immediately.

Dorian, don't be sad. Come to the Opera, my sister has a box. Her friends
are elegant.'

'I have murdered Sibyl Vane,' said Dorian. 'How strange! This is so
dramatic. This is the love letter I wrote to her. My first love letter, to a dead
girl. Can she feel now? Or know, or listen? I loved her, and then last night
she ended my love. She explained why. It was pathetic. I was not moved.
And now she is dead. I am in terrible danger, Henry! She was selfish to kil
herself!

'It was a mistake to marry her, Dorian, said Lord Henry.

'But it was my duty, answered Dorian. Why do I not feel very bad about her
death? Am I cruel?'

'It is a beautiful tragedy, said Lord Henry. 'Interesting to watch. I would like
someone to kil herself for me! But the women who adore me live for a long
time, and are boring. Last week

at dinner I met a lady I loved once. She talked about our romance. She said
I spoiled* her life. What bad taste! But she ate a big dinner. No sense of art.'

'But I was cruel to Sibyl, said Dorian.

'Women like cruelty,' said Lord Henry. "They are primitive. Sibyl Vane
never real y lived. Don't cry for her.'

"Thank you, now I understand,' said Dorian. You know me very wel It was
a marvel ous experience, nothing more. Wil I have more marvel ous
experiences? Or wil I grow old and ugly?"
'Don't lose your good looks!' answered Lord Henry. And come tothe Opera.
My sister's box is number twenty-seven.'

'Thank you, you are my best friend,' said Dorian.

Lord Henry left. Dorian ran to the portrait and looked at it again.

Poor Sibyl. What a romance.

He must decide. Eternal youth, passion, pleasure, joy and sin* for him. Age
and shame for the portrait. That was al . He felt pain for the portrait. It was
beautiful. 'I wil watch it, he thought. 'I wil watch the changes in my face
and in my soul. I wil be safe. That is everything.

He covered the portrait again and smiled. An hour later, he was at the Opera
with Lord Henry.
CHAPTER FIVE
As Dorian was sitting at breakfast next morning, Basil Hal ward arrived at
Dorian's house.

'I am glad I have found you at home, Dorian, said Hal ward, I cal ed last
night, and they told me you were at the Opera. Of course I knew it was
impossible. But I wish you had said where you real y went. I had a terrible
evening. I read the news in the newspaper at the club and came here at
once. I was miserable not to find you. I know how sad you must feel.

Where were you? Did you go to the girl's mother? For a moment I thought
of fol owing you there, buston Road isn't it? But I was afraid I could not
help. Did you visit the girls mother?

Poor woman! Her only child! What did she say about it al '

"Dear Basil, answered Dorian, drinking some wine and looking very bored.
'How do I know? I was at the Opera. I met Lady Gwendoline, Henry's
sister, for the first time. We were in her box.

She is very charming and the opera singer, Patti, was very good.

Don't speak about horrible subjects. If you don't speak about them, they
never happened.

And the mother also has a son, but he is not an actor I think he is a sal or".
Now, how are you, Basil? Tel me what you are painting.'

You went to the Opera" asked Hal ward very slowly, with pain inhis voice.
You went to the Opera while Sibyl Vane was lying dead?

You can talk to me of other women being charming and of Patti singing
before the girl you loved has a grave*?

Stop Basil! I won't hear it!' cried Dorian. What is done is done.
What is past is past.'

Yesterday is the past? asked Hal ward.

'What does time matter? asked Dorian. Only shal ow people need time to
lose an emotion. A man who is master of himself can end a sorrow as easily
as he can invent a pleasure. I want to use my emotions, to enjoy them and
dominate them.

Dorian, this is horrible. Something has changed you completely.

In the past you were simple, natural and good. Now you have no heart. This
is Henry's influence.'

"Henry has taught me a lot, said Dorian. You taught me to be vain.

And I am punished for it,' answered Hal ward. I want the Dorian Gray I
used to paint.

"Too late, answered Dorian. 'Yesterday Sibyl Vane kil ed herself...

'Kil ed herself! cried Hal ward. Is it true? He buried his face in his hands.

It was not a vulgar accident,' answered Dorian. 'It was a romantic tragedy
Sibyl was a tragic heroine. When she found her first true love, she died, like
Juliet. Now she is art. Yesterday at half past five, or perhaps a quarter to six,
I was very sad. I cried. Then it stopped, and I cannot repeat an emotion. I
am better. Thank you for coming, Basil, but I am better. I love beautiful
things that I can touch, beautiful places I can see. And I love artistic people
more.

To be a spectator of your life means to escape the suffering of your life.

When youmet me, I was a boy. Now I am a man now. I have new passions,
new thoughts, new ideas. I am different, but do not like me less. I have
changed but you must always be my friend. Don't leave me Basil and don't
quarrel with me. I am what I am. There is nothing more to say.

Hal ward was sad. He liked Dorian very much. There was so much in him
that was good, so much in him that was noble. "This moment wil pass,' he
thought.

'Wel Dorian, I won't speak to you again about this horrible thing. Come and
sit for me again, he said.

'No!' cried Dorian. 'Never again! It is impossible.' Hal ward was surprised.
My dear boy, what nonsense. Don't you like my work? Where is it? Why
have you covered the picture?

Let me look at it. It is the best thing I have even done.' He tried to see the
portrait, but Dorian stopped him.

"No! You must not look at it!' he cried. I wil never speak to you again!

'Not look at my own work? Why shouldn't I look at it? I want to show it in
Paris in the autumn,' said Hal ward.

'You want to exhibit it? asked Dorian. He felt he was in terrible danger. 'You
said you didn't want to show it! Why?'

"Dorian, do you see anything strange in the picture? Anything you didn't
see at first? asked Hal ward.

Dorian was surprised.

'Don't speak, Dorian. When I met you, I was dominated, soul and brain, by
you. I was jealous of everyone you spoke to, I wanted you total y for
myself. I was only happy when I was with you. When you were away from
me you were stil present in al my art. I wasabsorbed by you. I painted you
many times in costumes. Weeks and weeks passed, and then there was new
development. Then I decided to paint a wonderful portrait of you as you
actual y are, not in the costume of dead ages, but in your own dress and
your own time. I saw that I had put too much of myself in it. I didn't want
the world to see this. But now I have seen mistake. The portrait is form and
colour, that is al . So I have decided to show the portrait in Paris. But I wil
not, if you are unhappy.'

Dorian smiled. There was no danger. He was sorry for Basil.

'Did you real y see my soul in the painting, Dorian? Extraordinary!' said Hal
ward. 'Can I see the portrait now?'

'No, Basil, said Dorian. "That is not possible.'

Wel , good-bye, Dorian,' said Hal ward. It was difficult to tel you these
things. But now something is different. You are different, lam different.'

'Basil, we must be friends!' said Dorian.

'You have got Henry, said Hal ward sadly.

'Henry spends his days saying incredible things and his evenings doing
improbable things!

laughed Dorian. But if I have a problem I wil not go to Henry. I wil come to
you.

Hal ward left. Dorian smiled. Poor Basil! Now he understood why
sometimes Basil was strange. A romantic friendship, how tragic!

He rang the bel . The portrait must be hidden at al costs.

The butler entered. "Tel the housekeeper* I want to see her;' sald Dorian.
And then tel the frame* maker to send two of his men. Did the butler look
at the portrait as he left or was it Dorian's

imagination?

The housekeeper arrived, and Dorian asked for the key to the schoolroom.

'It was closed five years ago!' said the housekeeper. I closed it when your
grandfather died, I must clean it first!' Dorian did not like to hear of his
grandfather. He had bad memories of him.

I just want to see the place,' he said. 'Give me the key.'

Here it is,' said the old lady. She had a lot of keys. 'Just a moment.
Please don't live up there. You are comfortable here.'

"No, no!' said Dorian.

The housekeeper asked him a question about the house. Dorian said she
must do as she wanted. She left, happy.

Dorian saw a purple satin cover with a gold decoration. It was Italian, two
hundred years old.

Dorian decided it was perfect to cover the portrait.

Perhaps in the past it covered the dead. Now it covered something worse
than the dead.

The portrait was horrible, and it was alive.

Dorian thought about Basil Hal ward for a moment. Perhaps it was a
mistake not to tel Basil about the portrait. Basil's love was noble, intel
ectual, real. It was not admiration of beauty.

Basil loved like Shakespeare, Michelangelo and Montaigne. Perhaps Basil

could save him from evil. But it was too late.

He looked at the painting again. Was it different? No, it was the same.

Gold hair, blue eyes, red mouth. Only the expression was different.

It was cruel, horrible. He hated it, and covered it. At that moment someone
knocked at the door.

"The people are here,' said the servant.

The frame maker and his assistants entered.

What can I do for you, Mr Gray? he asked. "I have a beautiful frame for
sale, from Florence.'
Thank you, but I don't want a new frame,' said Dorian. Please carry this
picture to the top of the house for me. It is heavy, I need help:

No trouble, said the frame maker. Together the three men carried the
painting upstairs. The frame maker did not want Dorian to help. He didn't
like to see gentlemen work. He preferred to see them do nothing.

Dorian entered the schoolroom for the first time in four years. It was a large
room, first a playroom and then a schoolroom. Lord Kelso made it for his
grandson. He hated his grandson because he looked like his dead mother.
He didn't want to see him. Dorian saw the large Italian chest he played with
as a child, and his old books.

He remembered his lonely* childhood. As a child he was pure. How sad to

hide the portrait here.

But there was no other place in the house. He had the key. No one could
enter the room. No one could see the portrait. He could not see it. And
perhaps in the future he could be better, fal in love.

No, it was impossible. Every hour, every week, the thing in the portrait was
older. 'It wil be horrible,' thought Dorian. It wil be like my grandfather.'

'Can I look at the picture, sir?' asked the frame maker.

'It is of no interest, answered Dorian. "Thank you for your help: They left.
Dorian felt safe. It was five o'clock, time for tea. There was a letter from
Lord Henry. It said there was an inquest* into the death of Sibyl Vane.
Dorian threw the letter away. There was also a book from Lord Henry.
Dorian started to read the book.

It was a novel, with no story and one character, a young man from Paris.
Dorian liked it very much. He didn't see the evening arrive. He read and
read. Later, he went to meet Lord Henry for dinner. He was very late, and
Lord Henry was bored.

'I am sorry, Henry, he said, but it is your fault. The book is fascinating.
'Iam happy you like it,' said Lord Henry.

'I didn't say I like it, answered Dorian. 'I said I was fascinated. It is
different.'

"I am happy you understand that!' said Lord Henry. And they went into the
dining room for dinner.
CHAPTER SIX
For years Dorian Gray could not free himself from the influence of this
book. It is perhaps more true to say that he never tried to free himself from
it. He bought nine copies in Paris.

He made covers for them in different colours. The colour of the day
depended on his mood*.

He could not control his moods. He loved the hero of the novel who came
from Paris and was both artistic and scientific. The hero seemed to be
himself. The book seemed to contain the story of his life. But Dorian was
luckier than the hero - he was not afraid to look at mirrors, metal surfaces or
water. He stayed young. He read the tragic end of the book with cruel joy.
He read of the hero's sorrow and despair. The hero was old and ugly. He had
lost his most dearly valued possession.

His beauty, the beauty that fascinated Basil Hal ward and many others,
never left him.

People said terrible things about him but when he entered the room they
were silent. The terrible things were difficult to believe. Dorian's face was
beautiful, young and pure. He could not be evil. There was something in the
purity of his face that recal ed innocence. People wondered how a person so
charming and graceful could escape age.

He often went to look at the portrait when he returned home from one of his
mysterious absences. He crept upstairs to the locked room, opened the door
with the key that never left him, and stood in front of the portrait with a
mirror, looking now at the evil and aging face in the picture, and now at the
beautiful young face that laughed from the mirror. The contrast pleased
him. He loved his beauty more and more, became more and more interested
in the corruption of his soul. With monstrous, terrible delight, with minute
care, he examined the lines on the face and mouth of the portrait. He put his
white hands next to the fat hands in the picture and smiled.
'Which are worse?' he thought, looking at the horrible face in the picture.
"The signs of age or the signs of evil?' The ugly, evil face in the picture
fascinated him.

There were moments at night when he lay awake in his room or in some
horrible tavern, under a false name, and thought of the ruin of his soul, and
it seemed a pity. But these

moments were rare. His curiosity increased. The more he knew, the more he
desired to know.

He had mad hungers, and when he fed them they became hungrier.

But he was not careless. He was careful of his relations with society.

Once or twice every month during the winter, and each Wednesday evening
during the social season, he gave a fashionable dinner. The most famous
musicians of the day entertained his guests with their art. His dinners were
famous: his house was beautiful, the table was wonderful, the people were
interesting. He was very careful about choosing his guests and placing them
at table. Lord Henry always helped him. His taste was famous: the table
was decorated with exote flovers and embroidered tablecloths, the
asdecorateantague, and silver. Young men admired him, he was their model.
They had dreamed of men like him when they were at school and
university.

They copied his manners and his clothes. He seemed to them to combine
the culture of the scholar with the grace, distinction and perfect manner of
the citizen of the world.

For Dorian, Life itself was the first, the greatest of the arts, and al other arts
seemed to be only a preparation for it. Dorian was happy to accept his
position in society, but he did not live for fashion. He wanted to create a
new way of life with a philosophy and principles.

Dorian lived for the senses. The senses were his philosophy. They were
elements of a new spirituality. The most important thing for him was
beauty, he did not want self-control. Terrible ignorance! He wanted strange,
fascinating new sensations, a life like a dream*. Life, not intel ect. He
wanted to teach people to think about the moments of life, because life is
only a moment.

Sometimes when we wake, we are stil in a dream. We are not in the real
world, but in a strange dream world. Then slowly we realise that the world
around us is the same as we left it. The mirrors, the candles, the book, the
flower, the letter, al the things we left. Nothing has changed. But we would
like a new world, with new shapes and colours, other secrets, no past.
Dorian wanted to live in this strange dream world. He wanted experiences
to be new and strange.

For a time he was interested in the Roman Catholic Church. He Often went
to church because he liked the sensations. He liked the cod loos, the
incense*, the colour red, the lace. He was fascinated by the confessionalst.
Bur he neuered, de the mistake of joining a church. The church stopped the
intel ect. He was fascinated by thebeauty of the church for a time, but then
studied Darwin's ideas.

He changed interest often. For a period he studied perfume. He studied the

secrets of how to make it. He discovered that there was a perfume for every
mood. Then he studied music, and invited strange, foreign musicians to his
home to give concerts: Indians, Mexicans, Aztecs. Strange musicians,
strange instruments, strange music. After that he was interested in jewels
and col ected many of them. He had a costume with five hundred and sixty
pearls.

His col ection of stones was famous.

He read wonderful stories about jewels. He read a story about a snake with
jewel eyes, and about a dragon with a jewel in its brain.

He read about magic diamonds, an enormous ruby, golden apples.

The King of Malabar had a rosary with three hundred and four pearls, one
for every god he believed in. The Duke de Valentinois covered his horse
with gold leaves. Richard II had a coat covered with rubies.
James I gave his favourites gold earrings with emeralds. Edward I gave his
friend Piers Gaveston gold armour. A Duke had a hat with pearls and
sapphires.

For a time Dorian loved tapestry* and embroidery*, so he col ected silks,
velvets, satins and brocades from al over the world. Spain, India, China,
Japan, Sicily.

Sometimes he was sad. He read about beautiful objects from the past. Time
destroyed them.

But he was stil young. Time did not destroy him.

Sometimes he forgot the portrait, and was happy. But sometimes he went to
horrible, squalid places in the worst areas of London like Blue Gate Fields.
He stayed in a terrible, ugly room and did not comehome for days. No one
knew where he went or what he did. Then le wentto look at the picture. He
had a house in France and another in Algiers with Lord Henry for the
winter. But he did not like to stay outside England. Sometimes he invited
friends to his big house in the country, and they had wonderful parties. They
were very expensive, and the country people were very surprised by them.
But sometimes he suddenly returned to London. He wanted to see the
portrait.

Dorian was afraid: he was afraid that someone would see the portrait. He
was afraid that someone would guess his secret. He was afraid of spies* and
thieves*

But perhaps the world already knew his secret.

Many people were fascinated by him, but many people disliked him. In one
club, he was almost banned. In another, when he entered the room, the
Duke of Berwick and other gentlemen stood up and left. People told strange
stories about him. They said he went to the worst places in London and met
criminals. He disappeared for periods. When he returned, gentlemen looked
at him coldly. They whispered about him.
Dorian paid no attention to these people. But men who were his good
friends often started to avoid him. Many women loved him, but later were
horrified if he entered the room.

Other people thought he was more interesting because of these sories. They
thought manners were more important than morals.

They thought a good chef was more important than a good name.

And of course Dorian was very, very rich. Rich and fascinating, Cangerous
and charming.

Society never refuses a rich, charming Person. Form is essential. Insincerity

is not terrible.

Sometimes Dorian looked at the old pictures in his country house They
were of his family, his ancestors. Flere was Philip Herbert, famous at the
time of Queen Elizabeth for his beauty. Was it Herberts beauy he had? And
here was Sir Anthony Sherard, the lover of Giovanna of Naples. Did he live
the dreams of Sir Anthony? And here was Lady Elizabeth Devereux. A
flower in her right hand, a jewel in her left hand, and a mandolin and apple
on a table next to her. There were many stories about her strange life, about
her many lovers.

Was he the same as Lady Elizabeth? And here was George Wil oughby,
with his evil, sensual face. He had beautiful clothes, and many rings on his
fingers.

And here was Lord Beckenham, friend of the Prince Regent, proud and
handsome. Did Dorian have his passion? And his wife, thin, pale and
dressed in black. She was his ancestor too. How strange! And here, final y,
was his beautiful mother, Lady Margaret Devereux. Her eyes were
wonderful, deep and bril iant. He knew what he had from her his beauty and
his passion for the beauty of other people.

There was a chapter in his book that Dorian loved, chapter seven.
It told how the young man from Paris tried to live like a Roman emperor.
He sat in a garden in Capri and read books like Tiberius. He ate with his
horse like Caligula. He walked up and down a corridor of mirrors like
Domitian. He went to the circus, he painted his face with colours. Dorian
read this chapter very often. He also liked the next two chapters. They told
stories about beautiful people who became monsters or went mad. Stories
of violent murders, of beauty and death in Renaissance Italy. Stories about
the Duke of Milan who kil ed his wife and her lover; about Gian Maria
Visconti who chased men with dogs, and then

about the young Cardinal of Florence who wasbeautiful and immoral;

Charles VI who loved his brother's wife and went mad; Sigismondo
Malatesta who kil ed Polyssena and Ginevra d'Este, and many, many others.
He was fascinated. He saw them at night. They troubled him by day.

The Renaissance knew about poison, and had many strange ways to poison:
a helmet, a glove, a fan, a jewel.

Dorian Gray was poisoned by a book. There were moments when he saw
evil as a way to have beauty.
CHAPTER SEVEN
It was the ninth of November, about eleven o'clock in the evening.

The next day was Dorian's thirty-eighth birthday. He walked home from
Lord Henry's house.

It was cold and foggy. Suddenly he saw

Basil Hal ward. He was afraid. He continued to walk.

But Basil saw him.

'Dorian!' said Hal ward. 'How lucky! I am leaving for Paris on the midnight
train. I wanted to see you. I want to say something to you.'

"Come in,' said Dorian. 'I hope it isn't serious.

'Yes, it is, answered Hal ward. 'It is about you. People in London are saying
terrible things about you.'

'I don't want to know, said Dorian.

'You must know, answered Hal ward. I don't believe them, but it is
important. Why does the Duke of Berwick leave the room when you enter?
Why do many good men in London refuse to go to your house or invite
you? You were a friend of Lord Stavely. Now he says no woman can go
near you. Another friend kil ed himself. Sir Henry Ashton left England with
a bad*

name. Lord Kent's son is finished. The Duke of Perth too.'

'Stop!' cried Dorian. "This is nothing to me. I am not responsible for these
people's decisions.

The people who speak about me are hypocrites.

Dorian, your friends al lose their good names. You teach them bad ways.
And then you smile! You are Lord Henry's friend, but you made his sister a
scandal! When you met Lady Gwendoline she had a good fame. Now no
one sees her, her children don't live with her. You go to terrible places in
London. You make scandal in the country. I read a terrible letter from a
dying woman about you. I didn't want to believe the stories. I said I knew
you. But to know you I must see your soul.'

"Then come and look at my soul! It is your work!' said Dorian.

'Come, Basil!

'Dorian, answer me. Don't tel me you are bad! said Hal ward.

Come upstairs with me, said Dorian. 'I wil give you an answer.' Hal ward
went upstairs with Dorian. They entered the schoolroom.

'Does only God see the soul, Basil? asked Dorian. 'Pul back that cover. You
wil see my soul.'

Hal ward looked at the picture. He cried in horror. It was Dorian, but it was
disgusting, horrible! It was Dorian, but different, a monster.

Then he saw his name on the painting. His picture! What did it mean?

Why was it different?

'What does it mean? shouted Hal ward.

'Years ago, when I was young, you taught me to love my beauty. I made a
wish.?

"I remember!' cried Hal ward. 'But this is impossible! You said you
destroyed the picture.'

"The picture has destroyed me, answered Doran.

'It is a Devil, said Hal ward.

'We al have Heaven* and Hel * inside us, answered Dorian.

'Then pray: Dorian, prayi'said Hal ward. He started to say a prayer.

'Too late, said Dorian. He saw a knife on the table. He took it, and stabbed*
Hal ward in the neck, again and again. He left the room. There was silence.
Then he went back into the room and locked the door. He felt calm. He
wanted to ignore the dead man. He went away again, locking the door.
Downstairs he saw Basil's coat and bag. They must disappear, He thought
for a moment. No one knew Hal ward was at his house. Everyone thought
he had left for Paris.

He went outside into the street and rang his bel . His servant answered the
door.

'I am sorry to wake you,' said Dorian, 'but I forgot my key. Wake me up at
nine o'clock tomorrow.'

He went into his library and looked for an address. He found it: Alan
Campbel , 152 Hertford St, London.

That night he slept wel , peaceful y, and at nine o'clock his servant woke
him. Then he remembered the dead man sitting upstairs. He must not think
about it! He didn't want to go mad! He ate a long breakfast and read his
letters. Then he wrote a letter to Alan Campbel , and told his servant to
deliver it.

He read some poetry by Gautier in French about Venice. It was beautiful.

He waited for Alan Campbel . In the past Campbel had been his good
friend. He was a good musician and a good scientist.

Now he never spoke to Dorian. If Dorian arrived at a party, he went home.

He never played music. He only had time for science.

Dorian waited, and time was slow. He became worried, then terrified. And
if Campbel was not in England? What could he do?

Final y Campbel arrived.

I did not want to come to your house again, he said to Dorian,

'But you say it is a question of life and death.'

'Yes,' said Dorian. 'Sit down.

The two men sat opposite each other. Dorian said very quietly, 'On the top
floor of this house is a dead man. He has been dead for ten hours. Who he
is, why, and how he died, do not concern you.'

'Stop Gray, keep your horrible secrets to yourself. You are mad' Alan, it was
murder. I kil ed him. You must destroy the thing upstairs. Nobody saw him
come into the house.'

I refuse to help you.

Dorian wrote something on a piece of paper and pushed it across the table.
Campbel looked in surprise. After two or three minutes of terrible silence
Dorian put his hand on Campbel 's shoulder.

"You leave me no alternative, Alan. The letter is written. You see the
address. If you don't help me I must send it. You have no choice.' Campbel
hesitated. 'Is there a fire upstairs? I must go home and get my things.'

No, Alan, you must not leave this house. My servant wil bring the things
you need. You have saved my life,' said Dorian.

After about ten minutes the servant knocked on the door and entered with
the things.

"Thank you, Francis, said Dorian to the servant. And Francis, go to

Richmond and order more orchids. And tel the man I don't want white ones.
It's a lovely day, and Richmond is very pretty. You can have the day for
yourself, I am not dining at home. Just leave my clothes out

They went to the schoolroom with the things. Dorian took out the key and
turned it in the lock.

Then he stopped.
'I don't think I can go in.'

It's nothing to me, I don't need you, said Campbel coldly.

Dorian opened the door and saw the portrait. He had not hidden the picture.
He went to cover it but stopped in horror. One of the hands was red and
wet. He breathed deeply and walked quickly to cover the picture.

'Leave me now,' said Campbel .

Dorian turned and left. It was after seven when Campbel came back to the
library. He was pale but calm.

Thave done what you asked, he said. I never want to see you again.' You
have saved me,'

said Dorian. I cannot forget that.' He went upstairs. There was a smel of
nitric acid, but the thing

was gone.

That evening at eight-thirty, beautiful y dressed, Dorian Gray arrived at

Lady Narborough's party. He had a headache and he felt madly excited, but
his manner was easy and calm. The party was smal . Lady Narborough was
very clever and very ugly. Her husband had been a boring ambassador but
was dead. Her daughters were married to rich old men. Now she devoted
herself to French fiction, French cookery and French esprit.

Dorian was bored until Lord Henry arrived. But at dinner he could not eat
anything. He drank a lot of champagne.

'What is the matter with you?' asked Lord Henry.

'I believe he is in love, cried Lady Narborough.

" have not been in love for a week, said Dorian. Since Madame de Ferrol
left London.'
We must look for a suitable* wife for him. I wil make a list of fable young
ladies, said Lady Narborough.

With their ages? asked Dorian.

Only slightly changed, replied Lady Narborough.

A man can be happy with any woman if he does not love her,' said Lord
Henry. 'I like men with a future and women with a past.' Later, Lord Henry
asked Dorian about the evening before.

'You left early last night. Did you go home?'

'I did not get home until three,' answered Dorian.

Did you go to the club?'

Yes, I mean, no. I walked about. I don't remember. I went home at half past
two. I forgot my key and the servant opened the door for me.'

'Dorian, come to lunch tomorrow. The pretty little Duchess is coming. She
likes you very much.'

'I wil try to be there.'

At home, Dorian took a smal Chinese box from a secret drawer. haside was
a green paste.

He smiled strangely. At midnight he left his

house and stopped a cab*.

"Too far, said the driver.

Dorian oftered him more money and the man drove towards the river.
CHAPTER EIGHT
A cold rain began to fal . The street lamps were horrible in the rain. It was
time for the public houses* to close. People came out in groups, some
laughed and some were drunk.

Dorian sat in the back of the cab. He watched the city pass. He repeated the
words of Lord Henry, on the day they met: to cure the soul with the senses,
the senses with the soul. Yes, that was the secret.

Dorian heard the words again and again. His soul was sick. Could his
senses cure it? He was responsible for the death of an innocent man. No one
could forgive him. But he could forget. Basil said horrible, terrible things.
Basil could not judge others.

The cab was too slow. He told the man to drive faster. He was hungry for
opium*. He hit the horse and the driver laughed.

They arrived in a dark, lonely part of the city. He saw shadows.

They were monsters, he hated them. They turned a corner and a woman
shouted from an open door. Two men ran after the cab for a moment. The
driver hit them.

Dorian looked at the ugly place. This was real. Art was not real, it was a
dream. He wanted ugly reality to help him forget. 'In three days I wil be
free, he thought.

Suddenly the cab stopped. There were ships in the distance.

'is near here, isn't it? asked the man.

his wil do, answered Dorian. He gave the driver the extra money and
walked in the direction of the river. Sometimes he looked back, o see if
anyone was fol owing him. After seven or eight minutes, he aried at a smal
house. There was a lamp at the window. He knocked, in a particular way.
the door opened quietly and he entered. He pul ed back a green urtain* and
entered a long, low room. It was dark and very dirty.

Some foreign men sat at the fire. A sailor sat with his head on his arms.
Two women at the bar were talking to an old man. At the end was a smal
flight of stairs. Dorian went upstairs and entered the opium den. There was
a young man with fair hair.

You here, Adrian? asked Dorian.

Where can I go?' said Adrian Singleton. 'No one speaks to me. My brother
has paid my bil s, but I have no friends. I don't need friends. I have this.' He
was smoking a pipe.

There were other people in the room, ugly and horrible, lost in Strange
dreams. Dorian did not want to stay. Adrian knew him. He wanted to go
where no one knew him.

'Tam going to the other place, he said.

"The mad cat wil be there. She can't come here now, said Adrian. lam tired
of women who love me, said Dorian. 'Women who hate me are more
interesting. And the opium is better.

He bought a

glass of brandy for Adrian.

Ioritwant to go home; said Adrian. "1 am happy here: Wite o me if you

want anything, said Dorian. Good night.

A woman at the bar laughed.

'God right, Prince Charming" she shouted. You like that name, don't you'
When she spoke, the sleeping sailor woke. He ran after Dorian who was
walking quickly in the rain.

Dorian was thinking about Adrian Singleton. Did he destroy the young
man? Was Basil Hal ward right? For a few seconds his eyes were sad. But
after al , was it important? He was not responsible for another man's
mistakes. Everyone must live his own life.

Cruel, concentrated, hungry for sin, Dorian Gray walked on, faster and
faster. But suddenly someone took him from behind and pushed him against
the wal . There was a hand at his throat. He felt a gun. It was the sailor from
the opium den.

'What do you want?' he asked.

'You destroyed Sibyl Vane, the sailor said. 'Sibyl was my sister. She kil ed
herself but you are responsible for her death. I have looked for you for
years. Al I knew was the name she gave you, Prince Charming.

I heard it tonight. Pray to God, because now I wil kil you.'

Dorian was afraid. 'I didn't know her!' he said. You are mad!

'Tam James Vane and I wil kil you! answered the sailor.

There was a horrible moment. Dorian didn't know what to say or do

"Down on your knees! said the man. I give you one minute to pray. Tonight
I'm leaving for India, and I must do my job first. One minute. That's al .'

Dorian was terrified. He couldn't move. Suddenly he felt hope.

'Stop!' he cried. 'When did your sister die? Quick, tel me!'

'Eighteen years ago, answered Vane. "Why do you ask me?

'Eighteen years ago! said Dorian. 'Look at my face!'

James Vane looked at Dorian. There was a mistake. Dorian Was young, a
boy of twenty. He could not be the man responsible for Sibyl's death.

My God!' he said. 'I almost kil ed you! I am sorry!' Go home, said Dorian
and walked away.
James watched him.

Then a smal , dark shadow arrived. It was the woman from the bar, She put
her hand on James arm.

'Why didn't you kil him? she asked. 'He has a lot of money and he's very
bad.'

'He is not the man I am looking for,' answered Vane. 'I don't want money. I
want a man's life.

But that man is almost forty now. This man is a boy. Thank God, I have not
got his blood on my hands.' Little more than a boy!' the woman laughed.
Prince Charming destroyed me eighteen years ago!'

'No!' cried Vane.

'It is the truth,' she said. 'He is the worst man who comes here. They say he
sold his soul to the devil for a pretty face. I met him eighteen years ago. He
is the same now. He hasn't changed. But I've changed.'

'Is this true, before God? asked Vane.

'Before God,' said the woman. 'But don't tel him I said these things. I am
afraid of him. Give me some money!'

Vane ran to the corner of the street, but he could not see Dorian Gray.

A week later Dorian was at his country house. He was talking to the pretty
Duchess of Monmouth, a guest at his house. Her husband was talking to
Lady Narborough. Three young men passed cakes to the ladies. There were
twelve people.

What are you talking about? asked Lord Henry. 'Gladys, I want to change
the names of everything, he said to the Duchess.

'I don't want a new name, answered the Duchess. "Tlike my name and I am
sure that Dorian likes his name.'
Your names are perfect. I am thinking of flowers. Yesterday I picked a
flower. It was beautiful. I asked the gardener its name. He said
Robinsoniana, a terrible name. Names must be beautiful And what name do
you want? asked the Duchess.

'His name is Prince Paradox, answered Dorian.

'You give beauty too much importance,' said the Duchess.

It is better to be beautiful than good. But it is better to be good than ugly!'

answered Lord Henry.

And what of Art?' asked the Duchess.

An il ness,' answered Lord Henry.

And love?' asked the Duchess.

An il usion, said Lord Henry.

'Religion? asked the Duchess.

'A substitute for belief, answered Lord Henry.

'What are you? asked the Duchess.

'If you define me, you limit me, said Lord Henry. Years ago, Dorian was
named Prince Charming.'

'Don't remind me!' said Dorian.

'You are horrible this evening!' said the Duchess. You think the Duke
married me because I am a beautiful butterfly!'

'I hope he doesn't stick pins into you!' said Dorian.

"No, my maid* does that, answered the Duchess. 'But I can't send her away,
because she makes beautiful hats for me. Women rule the world, you know.
And we love with our ears.
You men love with your eyes. If you real y love.'

'We never do anything else!' answered Dorian.

You never real y love, Mr Gray, said the Duchess. And are you happy?"'
She looked at Dorian strangely.

don't look for happiness, answered Dorian. 1look for pleasure And do you
find it? asked the Duchess.

'Often, too often' answered Dorian.

'Tam looking for peace, said the Duchess. 'And now I must go and dress for
dinner.'

'wil bring you flowers," said Dorian, and went to his conservatory.

There was a groan* and the sound of a fal . Everyone went to the
conservatory. Dorian was on the floor.

'What happened? asked Dorian. 'Am I safe?'

You fainted*, answered Lord Henry. 'Go to bed, don't come down to dinner.'

'No, no, I prefer to come to dinner. I must not be alone!' answered Dorian.

He went to his room and dressed. He was happy at dinner, but now and then
he felt terror when he remembered the white face of James Vane at the
conservatory window.
CHAPTER NINE
The next day Dorian did not leave the house. He spent most of the time in
his room. He closed his eyes, and saw Vane's face at the window. There was
horror in his heart.

But perhaps it was only his imagination. Yes, it was his imagination.

James Vane was not there.

But how horrible to kil Basil Hal ward! What a terrible memory!

When Lord Henry came to his room at six o'clock, he found Dorian in tears.

Dorian stayed at home for three days. On a beautiful winter morning he felt
better. He had breakfast and walked in the garden with the Duchess for an
hour. Then he joined the shooting party*. He was happy. He walked with
Sir Geoffrey Clouston, the Duchess's brother.

Suddenly a hare jumped out. It was beautiful.

'Don't shoot it, let it live!' cried Dorian, but Sir Geoffrey shot it.

There was the sound of the hare in pain, terrible. And the sound of a man in
agony, worse.

'I have hit a man!' shouted Sir Geoffrey. 'Stop shooting!

Other men pul ed the dead man out of the wood. Dorian turned away.

We must stop the shooting for today Dorian, said Lord Henry. I does not
look good to continue.

please stop shooting forever!' said Dorian. ' It is horrible and cruel!

Is the man..?"
Tam sorry, yes, answered Lord Henry. 'Come home.' tris terrible, said
Dorian.

Only boredom is terrible, answered Lord Henry. We must not talk about the
death at dinner.

It wil be boring. You have everything in the world, Dorian. Everyone wants
to be you.'

Idon't want to be me!' answered Dorian. 'Don't laugh, Henry. It is the truth.'

Are you in trouble? Tel me, you know I wil help you,' said Lord Henry.

'Ican't tel you, Henry,' said Dorian. Look, here is the Duchess.'

"How horrible!' said the Duchess. Poor Geoffrey is terribly sad.'

'It is boring, said Lord Henry. And it was an accident. He isn't even a
murderer. A real murderer is more interesting. I would like to meet one.'

Dorian felt unwel . Please excuse me, he said. I must go and lie down.'
Dorian lay on the sofa in his room, terror in his heart. Life was too horrible.
A servant came to the room.

'sitabout the accident? asked Dorian. Was the poor man married?

Did he have a family? I wil give them al the money they need.

We don't know who he is, sir, answered the servant.

'What do you mean? asked Dorian.

We have never seen him before. We think he is a sailor, answered the

servant.

Where is the bodysy asked Dorian. I must see it!

It is on the Home Farm, in a stable, sir'answered the servant.

Dorian took a horse and went to the Home Farm. He went to the stable.
There was the man's body, wearing a shirt and blue trousers. there was a
spotted handkerchief over the face. "Take it off the face, I wish to see it, he
said to the servant. Dorian gave a cry of joy.

The man was James Vane. He knew he was safe.

Many months later Dorian was in Lord Henry's house.

Dorian, don't tel me you want to be good. You are perfect. Don't change.'

No Henry, I have done many terrible things in my life. I wil change. I began
my good actions yesterday.

Where were you yesterday? asked Lord Henry.

"In the country,' answered Dorian.

'It is easy to be good in the country, said Lord Henry. There is no

temptation.'

'I was seeing a girl, Hetty, two or three times a week. She is a girl from a vil
age. I real y loved her. I think I loved her. We had decided to go away
together this morning. But then I decided not to destroy her. Ileft her.'

'You gave her good advice and broke her heart,' said Lord Henry.

'I did not break her heart! said Dorian. I saved her. She can live in her vil
age, pure. Now tel me the news in town.'

Everyone is talking about Basil Hal ward's disappearance, said Lord Henry.
They have a lot to talk about. My divorce, Alan Campbels suicide and
Basil's disappearance. Now, come to the music room and play Chopin. My
wife ran away with a man who played Chopin verywel or Victorial I liked
her. The house is empty now. Of course harriage is a bad habit*, but bad
habits are an important part of us.

Dorian played the piano but stopped for coffee.

Henry, he said. 'Do you think someone murdered Basil Why? asked Lord
Henry. 'Basil didn't have any enemies.' What if I say that I murdered him?
asked Dorian.

Murder is vulgar. It is not in you, Dorian. Don't be offended, you are not
capable. And never do things that you cannot talk about after dinner. Basil
probably fel into the Seine in Paris.

During the last ten years his painting wasn't very good.'

Dorian sighed.

Yes, his painting lost something, continued Henry. When you stopped being
great friends, he stopped being a great artist. What separated you? I suppose
he bored you. And what about that wonderful portrait he painted of you? I
wanted to buy it. It was Basil's best.

'Inever real y liked it, said Dorian. Why do you talk of it? It reminds me of
the lines from Hamlet.'

'Like the painting of a sorrow,

A face without a heart.'

'Isit good if a man has the world but loses his soul?'

Why do you ask me? said Dorian in surprise. "The soul is real.

You can buy and sel it. There is a soul in al of us. I know It.

Play some more, Dorian. And tel me how you are stil young.

said Lord Henry. Tam only ten years older than you but I am old. You are
the same as the first day I met you.

'I am not the same,' said Dorian.

'Yes: you are the same, said Lord Henry. 'What wil the rest of your life be
like? Now you are perfect. You are art, your life is art.'
'But now I want to change, said Dorian. 'I want to go to bed. I am tired.'

'You cannot change for me,' said Lord Henry. 'You and I wil always be
friends.'

You poisoned me with a book, Henry,' said Dorian. Never give that book to
anyone again!'

You and I, are what we are, Dorian, answered Lord Henry. Come here
tomorrow at eleven.

The Park is lovely. We wil have lunch with the Duchess.'

'I wil be here at eleven, said Dorian. Good night, Henry:' He stopped for a
moment. Perhaps he wanted to say more. Then he went out.

It was a lovely, warm night. Dorian walked home. Two young men passed
him, and one whispered That is Dorian Gray! In the past Dorian was happy
when people talked about him but now he was tired.

When he arrived home he lay on his sofa and thought about the things Lord
Henry had said.

Was it true that he could not change? He knew he was evil, and felt joy
about it. Was there no hope for him?

He looked in the mirror, but he hated his beauty now. He broke the mirror.
It was better not to think of the past, he could not change It.

airhe could change the future. James Vane and Alan Campbel were dead.
No one spoke about Basil now.

new life! That was what he wanted. He had already saved the gil from the
vil age. He had not ruined her. He was good. And the portrait? Was it
different? He went upstairs.

He entered the room and locked the door. He looked at the portrait and cried
in pain. There was no difference! It was more horrible than before! Was he
good to the vil age girl? Or did he only want a new sensation?
Now there was blood on the other painted hand, on the feet.

'Must I confess?' he asked himself. 'Never! There is no evidence* against

me! No, I wil destroy the picture. It gives me no pleasure now. It wakes me
at night. I wil destroy the picture!' He looked around and saw the knife he
used to kil Basil. It was bright and clean.

It kil ed the painter, now it wil kil his work! thought Dorian. 'It wil il the
past, and when it is dead I wil be free.'

He stabbed the painting. There was a horrible cry*. The servants Caime
upstairs, afraid. Two gentlemen outside heard che cry and cal ed policeman.
The policeman rang the bel , but there was no answer.

Whose house is that? asked one of the two gentlemen.

laughed.

Mr Dorian Gray's; answered the policeman. The two gentlemen The servans
knocked on the door upstairs. There was no reply. After some time they
climbed onto the roof*, then onto the balcony and in through the window.
When they entered, they found a beautiful portrait of their master. On the
floor was a dead man, with a knite in his heart. He was old and very ugly.
They only recognised him, as Dorian when they looked at his rings.