CHAPTER I.

y,andthatifanyoneofusmakesanassofhimself,heispoachingontheirpreserves.WhenpoorSouthwarkgotintothedivorcecourt,theirindignationwasquitemagnificent.AndyetIdon’tsupposethattenpercentoftheproletariatlivecorrectly.” “Idon’tagreewithasinglewordthatyouhavesaid,and,whatismore,Harry,Ifeelsureyoudon’teither.” LordHenrystrokedhispointedbrownbeardandtappedthetoeofhispatent-leatherbootwithatasselledebonycane.“HowEnglishyouareBasil!Thatisthesecondtimeyouhavemadethatobservation.IfoneputsforwardanideatoatrueEnglishman—alwaysarashthingtodo—heneverdreamsofconsideringwhethertheideaisrightorwrong.Theonlythingheconsidersofanyimportanceiswhetheronebelievesitoneself.Now,thevalueofanideahasnothingwhatsoevertodowiththesincerityofthemanwhoexpressesit.Indeed,theprobabilitiesarethatthemoreinsincerethemanis,themorepurelyintellectualwilltheideabe,asinthatcaseitwillnotbecolouredbyeitherhiswants,hisdesires,orhisprejudices.However,Idon’tproposetodiscusspolitics,sociology,ormetaphysicswithyou.Ilikepersonsbetterthanprinciples,andIlikepersonswithnoprinciplesbetterthananythingelseintheworld.TellmemoreaboutMr.DorianGray.Howoftendoyouseehim?” “Everyday.Icouldn’tbehappyifIdidn’tseehimeveryday.Heisabsolutelynecessarytome.” “Howextraordinary!Ithoughtyouwouldnevercareforanythingbutyourart.” “Heisallmyarttomenow,”saidthepaintergravely.“Isometimesthink,Harry,thatthereareonlytwoerasofanyimportanceintheworld’shistory.Thefirstistheappearanceofanewmediumforart,andthesecondistheappearanceofanewpersonalityforartalso.Whattheinventionofoil-paintingwastotheVenetians,thefaceofAntinouswastolateGreeksculpture,andthefaceofDorianGraywillsomedaybetome.ItisnotmerelythatIpaintfromhim,drawfromhim,sketchfromhim.Ofcourse,Ihavedoneallthat.Butheismuchmoretomethanamodelorasitter.Iwon’ttellyouthatIamdissatisfiedwithwhatIhavedoneofhim,orthathisbeautyissuchthatartcannotexpressit.Thereisnothingthatartcannotexpress,andIknowthattheworkIhavedone,sinceImetDorianGray,isgoodwork,isthebestworkofmylife.Butinsomecuriousway—Iwonderwillyouunderstandme?—hispersonalityhassuggestedtomeanentirelynewmannerinart,anentirelynewmodeofstyle.Iseethingsdifferently,Ithinkofthemdifferently.Icannowrecreatelifeinawaythatwashiddenfrommebefore.‘Adreamofformindaysofthought’—whoisitwhosaysthat?IforgetbutitiswhatDorianGrayhasbeentome.Themerelyvisiblepresenceofthislad—forheseemstomelittlemorethanalad,thoughheisreallyovertwenty—hismerelyvisiblepresence—ah!Iwondercanyourealizeallthatthatmeans?Unconsciouslyhedefinesformethelinesofafreshschool,aschoolthatistohaveinitallthepassionoftheromanticspirit,alltheperfectionofthespiritthatisGreek.Theharmonyofsoulandbody—howmuchthatis!Weinourmadnesshaveseparatedthetwo,andhaveinventedarealismthatisvulgar,anidealitythatisvoid.Harry!ifyouonlyknewwhatDorianGrayistome!Yourememberthatlandscapeofmine,forwhichAgnewofferedmesuchahugepricebutwhichIwouldnotpartwith?ItisoneofthebestthingsIhaveeverdone.Andwhyisitso?Because,whileIwaspaintingit,DorianGraysatbesideme.Somesubtleinfluencepassedfromhimtome,andforthefirsttimeinmylifeIsawintheplainwoodlandthewonderIhadalwayslookedforandalwaysmissed.” “Basil,thisisextraordinary!ImustseeDorianGray.” Hallwardgotupfromtheseatandwalkedupanddownthegarden.Aftersometimehecameback.“Harry,”hesaid,“DorianGrayistomesimplyamotiveinart.Youmightseenothinginhim.Iseeeverythinginhim.Heisnevermorepresentinmyworkthanwhennoimageofhimisthere.Heisasuggestion,asIhavesaid,ofanewmanner.Ifindhiminthecurvesofcertainlines,inthelovelinessandsubtletiesofcertaincolours.Thatisall.” “Thenwhywon’tyouexhibithisportrait?”askedLordHenry. “Because,withoutintendingit,Ihaveputintoitsomeexpressionofallthiscuriousartisticidolatry,ofwhich,ofcourse,Ihavenevercaredtospeaktohim.Heknowsnothingaboutit.Heshallneverknowanythingaboutit.Buttheworldmightguessit,andIwillnotbaremysoultotheirshallowpryingeyes.Myheartshallneverbeputundertheirmicroscope.Thereistoomuchofmyselfinthething,Harry—toomuchofmyself!” “Poetsarenotsoscrupulousasyouare.Theyknowhowusefulpassionisforpublication.Nowadaysabrokenheartwillruntomanyeditions.” “Ihatethemforit,”criedHallward.“Anartistshouldcreatebeautifulthings,butshouldputnothingofhisownlifeintothem.Weliveinanagewhenmentreatartasifitweremeanttobeaformofautobiography.Wehavelosttheabstractsenseofbeauty.SomedayIwillshowtheworldwhatitisandforthatreasontheworldshallneverseemyportraitofDorianGray.” “Ithinkyouarewrong,Basil,butIwon’targuewithyou.Itisonlytheint