CHAPTER I.

ellectuallylostwhoeverargue.Tellme,isDorianGrayveryfondofyou?” Thepainterconsideredforafewmoments.“Helikesme,”heansweredafterapause“Iknowhelikesme.OfcourseIflatterhimdreadfully.IfindastrangepleasureinsayingthingstohimthatIknowIshallbesorryforhavingsaid.Asarule,heischarmingtome,andwesitinthestudioandtalkofathousandthings.Nowandthen,however,heishorriblythoughtless,andseemstotakearealdelightingivingmepain.ThenIfeel,Harry,thatIhavegivenawaymywholesoultosomeonewhotreatsitasifitwereaflowertoputinhiscoat,abitofdecorationtocharmhisvanity,anornamentforasummer’sday.” “Daysinsummer,Basil,areapttolinger,”murmuredLordHenry.“Perhapsyouwilltiresoonerthanhewill.Itisasadthingtothinkof,butthereisnodoubtthatgeniuslastslongerthanbeauty.Thataccountsforthefactthatwealltakesuchpainstoover-educateourselves.Inthewildstruggleforexistence,wewanttohavesomethingthatendures,andsowefillourmindswithrubbishandfacts,inthesillyhopeofkeepingourplace.Thethoroughlywell-informedman—thatisthemodernideal.Andthemindofthethoroughlywell-informedmanisadreadfulthing.Itislikeabric-à-bracshop,allmonstersanddust,witheverythingpricedaboveitspropervalue.Ithinkyouwilltirefirst,allthesame.Somedayyouwilllookatyourfriend,andhewillseemtoyoutobealittleoutofdrawing,oryouwon’tlikehistoneofcolour,orsomething.Youwillbitterlyreproachhiminyourownheart,andseriouslythinkthathehasbehavedverybadlytoyou.Thenexttimehecalls,youwillbeperfectlycoldandindifferent.Itwillbeagreatpity,foritwillalteryou.Whatyouhavetoldmeisquitearomance,aromanceofartonemightcallit,andtheworstofhavingaromanceofanykindisthatitleavesonesounromantic.” “Harry,don’ttalklikethat.AslongasIlive,thepersonalityofDorianGraywilldominateme.Youcan’tfeelwhatIfeel.Youchangetoooften.” “Ah,mydearBasil,thatisexactlywhyIcanfeelit.Thosewhoarefaithfulknowonlythetrivialsideoflove:itisthefaithlesswhoknowlove’stragedies.”AndLordHenrystruckalightonadaintysilvercaseandbegantosmokeacigarettewithaself-consciousandsatisfiedair,asifhehadsummeduptheworldinaphrase.Therewasarustleofchirrupingsparrowsinthegreenlacquerleavesoftheivy,andthebluecloud-shadowschasedthemselvesacrossthegrasslikeswallows.Howpleasantitwasinthegarden!Andhowdelightfulotherpeople’semotionswere!—muchmoredelightfulthantheirideas,itseemedtohim.One’sownsoul,andthepassionsofone’sfriends—thosewerethefascinatingthingsinlife.HepicturedtohimselfwithsilentamusementthetediousluncheonthathehadmissedbystayingsolongwithBasilHallward.Hadhegonetohisaunt’s,hewouldhavebeensuretohavemetLordGoodbodythere,andthewholeconversationwouldhavebeenaboutthefeedingofthepoorandthenecessityformodellodging-houses.Eachclasswouldhavepreachedtheimportanceofthosevirtues,forwhoseexercisetherewasnonecessityintheirownlives.Therichwouldhavespokenonthevalueofthrift,andtheidlegrowneloquentoverthedignityoflabour.Itwascharmingtohaveescapedallthat!Ashethoughtofhisaunt,anideaseemedtostrikehim.HeturnedtoHallwardandsaid,“Mydearfellow,Ihavejustremembered.” “Rememberedwhat,Harry?” “WhereIheardthenameofDorianGray.” “Wherewasit?”askedHallward,withaslightfrown. “Don’tlooksoangry,Basil.Itwasatmyaunt,LadyAgatha’s.ShetoldmeshehaddiscoveredawonderfulyoungmanwhowasgoingtohelpherintheEastEnd,andthathisnamewasDorianGray.Iamboundtostatethatshenevertoldmehewasgood-looking.Womenhavenoappreciationofgoodlooksatleast,goodwomenhavenot.Shesaidthathewasveryearnestandhadabeautifulnature.Iatoncepicturedtomyselfacreaturewithspectaclesandlankhair,horriblyfreckled,andtrampingaboutonhugefeet.IwishIhadknownitwasyourfriend.” “Iamverygladyoudidn’t,Harry.” “Why?” “Idon’twantyoutomeethim.” “Youdon’twantmetomeethim?” “No.” “Mr.DorianGrayisinthestudio,sir,”saidthebutler,comingintothegarden. “Youmustintroducemenow,”criedLordHenry,laughing. Thepainterturnedtohisservant,whostoodblinkinginthesunlight.“AskMr.Graytowait,Parker:Ishallbeininafewmoments.”Themanbowedandwentupthewalk. ThenhelookedatLordHenry.“DorianGrayismydearestfriend,”hesaid.“Hehasasimpleandabeautifulnature.Yourauntwasquiterightinwhatshesaidofhim.Don’tspoilhim.Don’ttrytoinfluencehim.Yourinfluencewouldbebad.Theworldiswide,andhasmanymarvellouspeopleinit.Don’ttakeawayfrommetheonepersonwhogivestomyartwhatevercharmitpossesses:mylifeasanartistdependsonhim.Mind,Harry,Itrustyou.”Hespokeveryslowly,andthewordsseemedwrungoutofhimalmostagainsthiswill. “Whatnonsenseyoutalk!”saidLordHenry,smiling,andtakingHallwardbythearm,healmostledhimintothehouse.