The Picture Of Dorian Gray - Chapter 17

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Episode Transcript

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Chapter seventeen of the Picture of DorrianGray by Oscar Wilde bred by Bobnufound.
A week later, Dorrian Gray weresitting in the conservatory at Selby Royal talking
to the pretty Duchess of Monmouth,who, with her husband, a jaded
looking man of sixty, was amongsthis guests. It was tea time,

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and the mellow light of the hugelace covered lamp that stood on the table
lit up the delicate china and hammeredsilver of the service at which the Duchess
was presiding. Her white hands weremoving daintily among the cups, and her
full red lips were smiling at somethingthat Dorian had whispered to her. Lord

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Henry was lying back in a silkdraped wicker chair, looking at them.
On a peach colored divan sat LadyNarborough, pretending to listen to the Duke's
description of the last Brazilian beetle thathe had added to his collection. Three
young men in elaborate smoking suits werehanding tea cakes to some of the women.
The house party consisted of twelve people, and they were more expected to

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arrive on the next day. Whatare you two talking about, said Lord
Henry, strolling over to the tableand putting his cup down. I hope
Dorian has told you about my planfor rechristening everything, Gladys. It is
a delightful idea, but I don'twant to be rechristened. Harry rejoined the

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Duchess, looking up at him withher wonderful eyes. I am quite satisfied
with my own name, and Iam sure mister Gray should be satisfied with
his. My dear Gladys, Iwould not alter either name for the world.
They are both perfect. I wasthinking chiefly of flowers yesterday. I

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cut an orchid from my buttonhole.It is a marvelous spotted thing. As
effect there was the Seven Deadly Sins. In a thoughtless moment, I asked
one of the gardeners what it wascalled. He told me it was a
fine specimen of Robinsoniana, or somethingdreadful of that kind. It is a

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sad truth, but we have lostthe faculty of giving lovely names to things.
Names are everything. I never quarrelwith actions. My one quarrel is
with words. That is the reasonI hate vulgar realism in literature. The

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man who would call a spade aspade should be compelled to use one.
It is the only thing he isfit for. Then what should we call
you, Harry, she asked.His name is Prince Paradox, said Dorian.
I recognize him in a flash,exclaimed the Duchess. I won't hear

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of it, laughed Lord Henry,sinking into a chair from a labor There
is no escape. I refuse thetitle royalties. May not abdicate fell as
a warding from pretty lips. Youwish me to defend my throne, then
yes, I give the truths ofto morrow. I prefer the mistakes of

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to day, she answered. Youdisarm me, gladys, he cried,
catching the wilfulness of her mood.Of your shield, Harry, not of
your spear. I never tilt againstbeauty, he said, with a wave
of his hand. That is yourerror, Harry, believe me, you

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value beauty far too much. Howcan you say that? I admit that
I think it is better to bebeautiful than to be good. But on
the other hand, no one ismore better than I am to acknowledge that
it is better to be good thanto be ugly. Holiness is one of
the seven deadly sins. Then,cried the duchess, what becomes of yours

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simile about the orchid? Ugliness isone of the seven deadly virtues, Gladys,
You, as a good Tory,must not underrate them. Beer,
the Bible, and the seven deadlyvirtues have made our England what she is.
You don't like your country, then, she asked, I live in

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it, that you may censure it. The better. Would you have me
take the verdict of Europe on it? He inquired? What do they say
of us that Tartuf has emigrated toEngland and opened a shop? Is that
yours? Harry? I give itto you. I could not use it.

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It is too true. You neednot be afraid. Our countryman never
recognize a description. They are practical, are more cunning than practical when they
make up their ledger. They balancestupidity by wealth and vice by hypocrisy.

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Still we have done great things.Great things have been thrust upon us,
Gladys. We have carried their burdenonly as far as the stock exchange.
She shook her head. I believein the race, she cried. It
represents the survival of the pushing.It has development. Decay fascinates me more.

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What of art, she asked,it is a malady. Love and
illusion. Religion the fashionable substitute forbelief. You are a skeptic. Never,
skepticism is the beginning of faith.What are you to defy is to

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limit? Give me a clue,threads snap, you would lose your way
in the labyrinth. You bewilleder me. Let us talk of someone else.
Our host is a delightful topic.Years ago he was christened Prince Charming.

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Ah, don't remind me of that, cried Dorian Gray. Our host is
rather horrid this evening, answered theduchess, coloring. I believe he thinks
that Monmouth married me on purely scientificprinciples, as the best specimen he could
find of a modern butterfly. Well, I hope he won't stick pins into

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you, duchess, laughed Dorian.Oh, my maid does that already,
mister Gray, when she is annoyedwith me? And what does she get
annoyed with you about? Duchess forthe most trivial things, mister Gray,
I assure you, usually as Icome in at ten minutes to nine and
tell her that I must be dressedby half past eight, how unreasonable lover

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you should give her warning. Idaren't, mister Gray, why she invents
hats for me? You remember theone I wore it Lady Hilstone's garden party.
You don't, but it is niceof you to pretend that you do
well. She made it out ofnothing. All good hats are made out

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of nothing, like all good reputations, Gladys interrupted, Lord Henry. Every
effect that one produces gives one anenemy. To be popular, one must
be a mediocrity. Not with women, said the Duchess, shaking her head.
And women rule the world, Iassure you we can't bear mediocrits.

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We women, as someone says,love with our ears, just as you
men love with your eyes. Ifyou ever love at all, it seems
to me that we never do anythingelse, murmured Dorian. Ah, and
you never really love, mister Gray, answered the Duchess with mock sadness.

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My dear gladness, cried Lord Henry. How can you say that romance lives
by repetition, and repetition converts anappetite into an art. Besides, each
time that one loves is the onlytime one has ever loved. Difference of
object does not alter singleness of passion, but merely intensifies it. We can

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have in life but one great experienceat best, and the secret of life
is to reproduce that experience as oftenas possible, even one who has been
wounded by it, Harry asked theDuchess after a pause, especially when one
has been wounded by it, answeredLord Henry. The Duchess turned and looked

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at Dorrian Gray with a curious expressionin her eyes. What do you say
to that, mister Gray, sheinquired. Dorian hesitated for a moment's then
he threw his head back and laughed. I always agree with Harry, Duchess,
even when he is wrong. Harryis never wrong, Duchess. And

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does his philosophy make you happy?I have never searched for happiness. Who
wants happiness? I have searched forpleasure and found it, mister Gray,
often too often, the Duchess sighed. I am searching for peace, she

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said, and if I don't goand dress, I shall have none this
evening. Let me get you someorchids, Duchess, cried Dorian, starting
to his feet and walking down theconservatory. You are flirting disgracefully with him,
said Lord Henry to his cousin.You had better take care. He
is very fascinating. If he werenot, there would be no pattle.

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Greek meets Greek. Then I amon the side of the Trojans. They
fought for a woman. They weredefeated. There are worse things than capture,
she answered. You gallop with aloose rein pace gives life. Was

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the repost. I shall write itin my diary to night. What that
a burnt child loves the fire?I am not even singed. My wings
are untouched. You use them foreverything except flight. Courage has passed from

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men to women. It is anew experience for us. You have a
rival who he laughed, Lady Narborough, he whispered. She perfectly adores him.
You fill me with apprehension. Theappeal to antiquity is fatal to us
who are romanticists. Romanticists, youhave all the methods of science. Men

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have educated us, must not explained. You describe us as a sex was
her challenge. Sphinxes without secrets.She looked at him, smiling. How
long mister Gray is, she said, Let us go and help him.

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I have not yet told him thecolor of my frock. Ah, you
must suit your frock to his flowers, Gladys, that would be a premature
surrender. Romantic art begins with itsclimax. I must keep an opportunity for
retreat. In the Parthian manner,they found safety in the desert. I

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could not do that. Women arenot always a louder choice, he answered.
But hardly had he finished the sentencebefore from the far end of the
conservatory came a stifled groan, followedby the dull sound of a heavy fall.
Everybody started up. The Duchess stoodmotionless in horror and with fear in

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his eyes. Lord Henry rushed throughthe flapping palms to find Dorrian Gray lying
face downwards on the tiled floor ina deathlike swoon. He was carried at
once into the blue drawing room andlaid upon one of the sofas. After
a short time, he came tohimself and looked round with a dazed expression.

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What has happened? He asked,Oh, I remember? Am I
safe here? Harry? He beganto tremble. My dear Dorian answered,
Lord Henry, you merely fainted,that was all. You must have overtired

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yourself. You had better not comedown to dinner. I will take your
place. No, I will comedown, he said, struggling to his
feet. I would rather come down. I must not be alone. He
went to his room and dressed.There was a wild recklessness of gaiety in
his manner as he sat at table. But now and then a thrill of

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terror ran through him when he rememberedthat pressed against the window of the conservatory
like a white handkerchief, he hadseen the face of James Van watching him,
And of Chapter seventeen,