reason I will not exhibit this picture is that I am afraid I have shown in it the secret of my own soul.”
Lord Wotton laughed. “And what is that?” He asked.
“I will tell you,” said Basil; but an expression of perplexity came over his face.
“I am all expectation, Basil,” continued his companion, glancing at him.
DORIAN GRAY
• 8 •
“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 Wotton smiled. “I am quite sure I shall understand it, and as for believing things, I can believe anything, provided that is quite incredible. I must meet this Dorian Gray.”
Basil got up from his 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 him in the curves of certain lines, in the loveliness and subtleties of certain colors. That is all.”
“Then why don’t you exhibit his portrait?” Asked Lord Wotton.
“Because, without intending it, I have put into some expression of all this curious artistic adoration, 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 bare my soul to their shallow prying eyes. My heart shall never be put under a microscope. There is too much of myself in the thing. Too much of myself!”
“Poets are not so scrupulous as you are.” Replied Lord Wotton. “They know how useful passion is for publication. Nowadays a broken heart will run to many editions.”
JOHN GRAVAGLIA
• 9 •
“I hate them for it,” cried Basil. “An artist should create beautiful things, but should put nothing of his own life into them. We live in an age when men treat art as it were meant to be a form of autobiography. We have lost the abstract sense of beauty. Some day 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 the intellectually lost who ever argue. Tell me, is Dorian Gray very fond of you?”
The painter considered for a few moments. “He likes me,” he answered, breaking the silence between him and his very good friend. “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 fell, 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 a summer’s day.”
“Days in summer, Basil, are apt to linger,” murmured Lord Wotton. “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 minds
DORIAN GRAY
• 10 •
with rubbish and facts, in the silly hope of keeping our place. The thoroughly well informed man and his mind is a dreadful thing. Some day you will look at your friend, and he will seems to you to be a little out of drawing, or you won’t like this tone of color, or something. 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 Gray will dominate me. You can’t feel what I feel. You change too often.”
“Ah, 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.” Lord Wotton struck a light on a dainty silver case and began to smoke a cigarette. Then an idea came to him. “I just remembered.”
“Remembered what, Harry?”
“Where I heard the name of Dorian Gray.”
“Where was it?” Asked Basil, 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 such things. At least, good women have not. She said that he was very earnest and had
JOHN GRAVAGLIA
• 11 •
a beautiful nature. I at 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.”
Lord Wotton raised his eyebrows. “You don’t want me to meet him?”
“No.”
The butler walked into the studio. “Mr. Dorian Gray has arrived, sir.”
Lord Wotton smiled. “You must introduce me now.” He laughed.
The artist turned to his servant, who stood blinking in the sunlight. “Ask Mr. Gray to wait, Parker. I shall be in a few moments.”
The man bowed and went up the walk.
Basil looked at Lord Wotton. “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 or influence him. Your guidance would result very badly.”
“Complete nonsense!” Exclaimed Lord Wotton, smiling and taking Basil by the arm.
The butler showed Dorian Gray into the room. The young man immediately sat at the piano, turning over the pages of a Mozart sonata. His boyish features struck both Basil and Lord Wotton. He
DORIAN GRAY
• 12 •
was certainly handsome, with blue eyes and dark brown hair. He had an aura of purity and youth that enveloped him.
“You must lend me this sheet music, Basil. I want to learn it. It is beautiful!” Dorian announced.
“That
