CHAPTER II.

acefulyoungmanwhowasstandingbyhim.Hisromantic,olive-colouredfaceandwornexpressioninterestedhim.Therewassomethinginhislowlanguidvoicethatwasabsolutelyfascinating.Hiscool,white,flowerlikehands,even,hadacuriouscharm.Theymoved,ashespoke,likemusic,andseemedtohavealanguageoftheirown.Buthefeltafraidofhim,andashamedofbeingafraid.Whyhaditbeenleftforastrangertorevealhimtohimself?HehadknownBasilHallwardformonths,butthefriendshipbetweenthemhadneveralteredhim.Suddenlytherehadcomesomeoneacrosshislifewhoseemedtohavedisclosedtohimlife’smystery.And,yet,whatwastheretobeafraidof?Hewasnotaschoolboyoragirl.Itwasabsurdtobefrightened. “Letusgoandsitintheshade,”saidLordHenry.“Parkerhasbroughtoutthedrinks,andifyoustayanylongerinthisglare,youwillbequitespoiled,andBasilwillneverpaintyouagain.Youreallymustnotallowyourselftobecomesunburnt.Itwouldbeunbecoming.” “Whatcanitmatter?”criedDorianGray,laughing,ashesatdownontheseatattheendofthegarden. “Itshouldmattereverythingtoyou,Mr.Gray.” “Why?” “Becauseyouhavethemostmarvellousyouth,andyouthistheonethingworthhaving.” “Idon’tfeelthat,LordHenry.” “No,youdon’tfeelitnow.Someday,whenyouareoldandwrinkledandugly,whenthoughthassearedyourforeheadwithitslines,andpassionbrandedyourlipswithitshideousfires,youwillfeelit,youwillfeelitterribly.Now,whereveryougo,youcharmtheworld.Willitalwaysbeso?...Youhaveawonderfullybeautifulface,Mr.Gray.Don’tfrown.Youhave.Andbeautyisaformofgenius—ishigher,indeed,thangenius,asitneedsnoexplanation.Itisofthegreatfactsoftheworld,likesunlight,orspring-time,orthereflectionindarkwatersofthatsilvershellwecallthemoon.Itcannotbequestioned.Ithasitsdivinerightofsovereignty.Itmakesprincesofthosewhohaveit.Yousmile?Ah!whenyouhavelostityouwon’tsmile....Peoplesaysometimesthatbeautyisonlysuperficial.Thatmaybeso,butatleastitisnotsosuperficialasthoughtis.Tome,beautyisthewonderofwonders.Itisonlyshallowpeoplewhodonotjudgebyappearances.Thetruemysteryoftheworldisthevisible,nottheinvisible....Yes,Mr.Gray,thegodshavebeengoodtoyou.Butwhatthegodsgivetheyquicklytakeaway.Youhaveonlyafewyearsinwhichtolivereally,perfectly,andfully.Whenyouryouthgoes,yourbeautywillgowithit,andthenyouwillsuddenlydiscoverthattherearenotriumphsleftforyou,orhavetocontentyourselfwiththosemeantriumphsthatthememoryofyourpastwillmakemorebitterthandefeats.Everymonthasitwanesbringsyounearertosomethingdreadful.Timeisjealousofyou,andwarsagainstyourliliesandyourroses.Youwillbecomesallow,andhollow-cheeked,anddull-eyed.Youwillsufferhorribly....Ah!realizeyouryouthwhileyouhaveit.Don’tsquanderthegoldofyourdays,listeningtothetedious,tryingtoimprovethehopelessfailure,orgivingawayyourlifetotheignorant,thecommon,andthevulgar.Thesearethesicklyaims,thefalseideals,ofourage.Live!Livethewonderfullifethatisinyou!Letnothingbelostuponyou.Bealwayssearchingfornewsensations.Beafraidofnothing....AnewHedonism—thatiswhatourcenturywants.Youmightbeitsvisiblesymbol.Withyourpersonalitythereisnothingyoucouldnotdo.Theworldbelongstoyouforaseason....ThemomentImetyouIsawthatyouwerequiteunconsciousofwhatyoureallyare,ofwhatyoureallymightbe.TherewassomuchinyouthatcharmedmethatIfeltImusttellyousomethingaboutyourself.Ithoughthowtragicitwouldbeifyouwerewasted.Forthereissuchalittletimethatyouryouthwilllast—suchalittletime.Thecommonhill-flowerswither,buttheyblossomagain.ThelaburnumwillbeasyellownextJuneasitisnow.Inamonththerewillbepurplestarsontheclematis,andyearafteryearthegreennightofitsleaveswillholditspurplestars.Butwenevergetbackouryouth.Thepulseofjoythatbeatsinusattwentybecomessluggish.Ourlimbsfail,oursensesrot.Wedegenerateintohideouspuppets,hauntedbythememoryofthepassionsofwhichweweretoomuchafraid,andtheexquisitetemptationsthatwehadnotthecouragetoyieldto.Youth!Youth!Thereisabsolutelynothingintheworldbutyouth!” DorianGraylistened,open-eyedandwondering.Thesprayoflilacfellfromhishanduponthegravel.Afurrybeecameandbuzzedrounditforamoment.Thenitbegantoscrambleallovertheovalstellatedglobeofthetinyblossoms.Hewatcheditwiththatstrangeinterestintrivialthingsthatwetrytodevelopwhenthingsofhighimportmakeusafraid,orwhenwearestirredbysomenewemotionforwhichwecannotfindexpression,orwhensomethoughtthatterrifiesuslayssuddensiegetothebrainandcallsonustoyield.Afteratimethebeeflewaway.HesawitcreepingintothestainedtrumpetofaTyrianconvolvulus.Theflowerseemedtoquiver,andthenswayedgentlytoandfro. Suddenlythepainterappearedatthedoorofthestudioandmadestaccatosignsforthemtocomein.Theyturnedtoeachotherandsmiled. “Iamwaiting,”hecried.“Docomein.Thelightisquiteperfect,andyoucanbringyourdrinks.” Theyroseupandsauntereddownthewalktogether.Twogreen-and-whitebutterfliesflutteredpastthem,andinthepear-treeatthecornerofthegardenathrushbegantosing. “Youaregladyouhavemetme,Mr.Gray,”saidLordHenry,lookingathim. “Yes,Iamgladnow.IwondershallIalwaysbeglad?” “Always!Thatisadreadfulword.ItmakesmeshudderwhenIhearit.Womenaresofondofusingit.Theyspoileveryromancebytryingtomakeitlastforever.Itisameaninglessword,too.Theonlydifferencebetweenacapriceandalifelongpassionisthatthecapricelastsal