The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde Chapter 07

Episode Transcript

Speaker 1 (00:00):
The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde, chapter seven.
As you were sitting at breakfast next morning, Basil Hallward
was shown into the room. I am so glad that
I have found you, Dorian, he said gravely. I called

(00:21):
last night and they told me you were at the opera.
Of course I knew that was impossible, but I wish
you had left word where you had really gone to.
I passed a dreadful evening, half afraid that one tragedy
might be followed by another. I think you might have
telegraphed for me when you heard of it first. I
read of it quite by chance, in the late edition

(00:42):
of the Globe that I picked up at the club.
I came here at once and was miserable at not
finding you. I can't tell you how heart broken I
am about the whole thing. I know what you must suffer.
But where were you? Did you go down and see
the girl's mother? For a moment I thought to following
you there. They gave the address in the paper, somewhere

(01:04):
in Euston Road, isn't it? But I was afraid of
intruding upon a sorrow that I could not lighten. Poor woman,
What a state she must be in and her only
child too. What did she say about it all? My
dear Basil, how do I know? Murmured Dorian, sipping some
pale yellow wine from a delicate gold beaded bubble of

(01:25):
Venetian glass and looking dreadfully bored. I was of the opera.
You should have come on there. I met Lady Gwendolen,
Harry's sister, for the first time. We were in her box.
She's perfectly charming, and Patty sang divinely. Don't talk about
horrid subjects. If one doesn't talk about a thing, it

(01:46):
has never happened. It is simply expression, as Harry says,
that gives reality to things. Tell me about yourself and
what you are painting. You went to the opera, said Holwart,
speaking very slowly and with a strained touch of pain
in his voice. You went to the opera when Sybil

(02:08):
Vane was lying dead in some sordid lodging. You can
talk to me of other women being charming, and of
Patty singing divinely before the girl you loved has even
the quiet of a grave to sleep in. I men,
there are horrors in store for that little white body

(02:29):
of hers. Stop basil. I won't hear it, cried Dorian,
leaping to his feet. You must not tell me those things.
What is done is done, What is past has passed.
You called yesterday the past. What has the actual lapse
of time got to do with it. It is only

(02:51):
shallow people who require years to get rid of an emotion.
A man who is master of himself can end his
sorrow is easily as he can invent a pleasure. I
don't want to be at the mercy of my emotions.
I want to use them, to enjoy them, and to
dominate them. Dorian, this is horrible. Something has changed you completely.

(03:16):
You look exactly the same wonderful boy who used to
come down to my studio day after day to sit
for his picture. But you were simple, natural and an affectionate.
Then you were the most unspoiled creature in the whole world.
Now I don't know what has come over you. You
talk as if you had no heart, no pity in you.

(03:38):
It is all Harry's influence. I can see that the
lad flushed up and going to the window, looked out
on the green, flickering garden for a few moments. I
owe a great deal to Harry, Basil, he said, at last,
more than I owe you, you ownly taught me to

(04:00):
be vain. Well. I am punished for that, Dorian, or
shall be some day. I don't know what you mean, Basil,
he exclaimed, turning round. I don't know what you want.
What do you want? I want the Dorian Graya used
to know, Basil said the lad, going over to him

(04:23):
and putting his hand on his shoulder. You have come
too late yesterday when I heard that Sybil Vain had
killed herself. Killed herself. Good heavens, is there no doubt
about that, cried Hallward, looking up at him with an
expression of horror. My dear Basil, surely you don't think

(04:45):
it was a vulgar accident. Of course, she killed herself
is one of the great romantic tragedies of the age.
As a rule, people who act lead the most commonplace lives.
They are good husbands, or faithful or something tedious, you
know what I mean, Middle class virtue and all that

(05:07):
kind of thing. How different Sibyl was she lived her
finest tragedy. She was always a heroine. The night she
played the night you saw her, she acted badly because
she had known the reality of love. When she knew
its unreality, she died as Juliet might have died, She

(05:30):
passed into the sphere of art. There is something of
the martyr about her. Her death has all the pathetic
uselessness of martyrdom, all its wasted beauty. But as I
was saying, you must not think I have not suffered.
If you had come in yesterday at a particular moment,

(05:50):
about half past five perhaps or a quarter to six,
you would have found me in tears. Even Harry, who
was here who brought me the news, in fact, had
no idea what I was going through. I suffered immensely,
then it passed away. I cannot repeat an emotion, no

(06:13):
one can, except sentimentalists. And you are awfully unjust, Basil.
You come down here to console me. That is charming
of you. You find me consoled, and you are furious. Oh,
like a sympathetic person. You remind me of a story
Harry told me about a certain philanthropist who spent twenty
years of his life in trying to get some grievance

(06:35):
redressed or some unjust law altered. I forget exactly what
it was. Finally he succeeded, and nothing could exceed his disappointment,
He had absolutely nothing to do, almost died of nnui
and became a confirmed misanthrope. And besides, my dear old Basil,
if you really want to console me, teach me rather

(06:58):
to forget what has happened, or to see it from
a proper artistic point of view. Was it not Gautier
who used to write about la consolation des art? I
remember picking up a little vellum colored book in your
studio one day and chancing on that delightful phrase. Well,

(07:20):
I am not like that young man you told me
of when we were down at Marlow together, the young
man who used to say that yellow satin could console
one for all the miseries of life. I love beautiful
things that one can touch and handle. Old brigades, green
bronzes of lacquer work, carved ivories, exquisite surroundings, a luxury pomp.

(07:43):
There is much to be gotten from all of these,
But the artistic temperament that they create, or at any
rate reveal, is still more to me. To become the
spectator of one's own life, as Harry says, is to
escape the suffering of life. I know you are surprised
at my talking to you like this, You've not realized

(08:05):
how I have developed. I was a schoolboy when you
knew me. I am a man now. I have new passions,
new thoughts, new ideas. I am different, but you must
not like me less. I am changed, but you must
always be my friend. Of course, I'm very fond of Harry,
but I know that you are better than he is.

(08:27):
You are not stronger, not too much afraid of life,
but you are better and how happy we used to
be together. Don't leave me, Basil, and don't quarrel with me.
I am what I am. There is nothing more to
be said. Allward felt strangely moved, rugged and straightforward as

(08:50):
he was, there was something in his nature that was
purely feminine in its tenderness. The lad was infinitely dear
to him, and his personality had been the great turning
point of his art. He could not bear the idea
of reproaching him any more. After all, his indifference was
probably merely a mood that would pass away. There was

(09:14):
so much in him that was good, so much in
him that was noble. Well Dorian, he said at length,
with a sad smile, I won't speak to you again
about this horrible thing after to day. I only trust
your name won't be mentioned in connection with it. The
inquest is to take place this afternoon, if they summoned you.

(09:36):
Dorian shook his head and a look of annoyance passed
over his face at the mention of the word inquest.
There was something so crude and vulgar about everything of
the kind. They don't know my name, he answered, But
surely she did only my Christian name, and that I
am quite sure she never mentioned any one. She told

(09:58):
me once that they were all rather cueurious to learn
who I was, and that she invariably told them my
name was Prince Charming. It was very pretty of her.
You must do me a drawing of her, Basil. I
should like to have something more of her than the
memory of a few kisses and some broken, pathetic words.

(10:20):
I will try and do something, Dorrian, if it would
please you. But you must come and sit to me
yourself again. I can't get on without you. I'll never
sit to you again, Basil, it is impossible, he exclaimed,
starting back alward. Stared at him. My dear boy, what nonsense,

(10:41):
he cried, Do you mean to say you don't like
what I did of you? Where is it? Why have
you pulled that screen in front of it? Let me
look at it. It is the best thing I have
ever painted. To take that screen away, Dorrian, it is
simply horrid of your servant hiding my work like that.
I felt that the room looked different as I came in.

(11:05):
My servant has nothing to do with Basil, you don't imagine.
I let him arrange my room for me. He settles
my flowers for me. Sometimes that is all. No, I
did it myself. The light was too strong on the portrait.
Too strong. Impossible, my dear fellow. It is an admirable
place for it. Let me see it. And Hollward walked

(11:27):
towards the corner of the room. A cry of terror
broke from Dorian Gray's lips, and he rushed between Hallward
and the screen Basil, he said, looking very pale, You
must not look at it. I don't wish you to
not look at my own work. You are not serious.
Why should I look at it, exclaimed Hollward, laughing. If

(11:48):
you try to look at it, Basil, on my word
of honor, I will never speak to you again as
long as I live. I am quite serious. I don't
offer an explanation, and you are not to ask. But remember,
if you touch this screen, everything is over between us.
Hallward was thunderstruck. He looked at dorry In in absolute amazement.

(12:13):
He had never seen him like this before. The lad
was absolutely pallid with rage. His hands were clenched, and
the pupils of his eyes were like disks of blue fire.
He was trembling all over. Dory don't speak, but what
is the matter. Of course, I won't look at it
if you don't want me to, he said, rather coldly,

(12:36):
turning on his heel and going over towards the window.
But really it seems rather absurd that I shouldn't see
my own work, especially as I'm going to exhibit it
in Paris in the autumn. I should probably have to
give it to another coat of varnish before that, so
I must see it some day. And why not to

(12:56):
day to exhibit it? You want to exhibit it? Exclaimed
Dorian Gray, a strange sense of terror creeping over him.
Was the world going to be shown his secret? Were
people to gape at the mystery of his life? Though
that was impossible something he did not know what had

(13:18):
to be done? At once. Yes, I don't suppose you
will object to that. George Pettier is going to collect
all my best pictures for a special exhibition in the
Rue des Says, which will open the first week in October.
The portrait will only be away a month. I should
think you could easily spare it for that time. In fact,

(13:40):
you are sure to be out of town. And if
you hide it always behind a screen, you can't care
much about it. Dorr and Gray passed his hand over
his head. There were beads of perspiration there. He felt
that he was on the brink of a horrible danger.
You told me a month ago that you would never

(14:02):
exhibit it. Why have you changed your mind? You people
who go in for being consistent have just as many
moods as others. The only difference is that your moods
are rather meaningless. You can't have forgotten that you assured
me most solemnly, that nothing in the world would reduce
you descended to any exhibition. You told Harry exactly the

(14:23):
same thing. He stopped suddenly, and a gleam of light
came into his eyes. He remembered that Lord Henry had
said to him once half seriously and half in jest.
If you want to have an interesting quarter of an hour,
get Basil to tell you why he won't exhibit your picture.
He told me why he wouldn't, and it was a

(14:43):
revelation to me. Yes, perhaps Basil too had a secret.
He would ask him, and try, Basil, he said, coming
over quite close and looking him straight in the face.
We have each of us a secret. Let me know yours,
and I will tell you mine. What was your reason

(15:07):
for refusing to exhibit my picture? Hollward shuddered in spite
of himself. Dorian, if I told you, you might like
me less than you do, and you would certainly laugh
at me. I could not bear your doing either of
those two things. If you wish me to never look
at your picture again, I am content. I have always

(15:28):
you to look at. If you wish the best work
I've ever done to be hidden from the world, I
am satisfied. Your friendship is dearer to me than any
fame or reputation. No, Basil, you must tell me, murmured
Dorry and Gray. I think I have a right to know.
His feeling of terror had passed away and curiosity had

(15:48):
taken its place. He was determined to find out Basil
Hallward's mystery. Let us sit down, Dorian said Holward, looking
pale and pained. Let us sit down. I will sit
in the shadow, and you shall sit in the sunlight.
Our lives are like that. Just answer me one question.

(16:10):
Have you noticed in the picture something that you did
not like? A something that probably at first did not
strike you, but it revealed itself to you? Suddenly Basil
cried the lad, clutching the arms of his chair with
trembling hands and gazing at him with wild, startled eyes.
I see you did. Don't speak, Wait till you hear

(16:33):
what I have to say. It is quite true that
I have worshiped you with far more romance of feeling
than a man usually gives to a friend. Somehow, I
had never loved a woman. I suppose I never had time. Perhaps,
as Harry says, grand passion is the privilege of those

(16:55):
who have nothing to do, and that is the use
of idle classes in a country. Well, for the moment
I met you, your personality had the most extraordinary influence
over me. I admit that I adored you madly, extravagantly, absurdly.
I was jealous of every one to whom you spoke.

(17:15):
I wanted to have you all to myself. I was
only happy when I was with you. When I was
away from you, you were still present in my art.
It was all wrong and foolish. It is all wrong
and foolish still, of course, I never let you know
anything about this. It would have been impossible. You would
not have understood it. I did not understand it myself.

(17:39):
One day I determined to paint a wonderful portrait of you.
It was to have been my masterpiece. It is my masterpiece.
But as I worked at it, every flake and film
of color seemed to reveal my secret. I grew afraid
that the world would know of my idolatry. I felt
dorian that I had told too much. Then it was

(18:04):
that I resolved never to allow the picture to be exhibited.
You were a little annoyed, but that you did not
realize all that it meant to me. Harry, to whom
I talked about it, laughed at me, but I did
not mind that. When the picture was finished and I
sat alone with it, I felt that I was right well.

(18:25):
After a few days, the portrait left my studio, and
as soon as I got rid of the intolerable fascination
of its presence. It seemed to me that I had
been foolish in imagining that I had not said anything
in it more than you were extremely good looking, and
that I could paint. Even now, I cannot help feeling
that it is a mistake to think that the passion

(18:48):
one feels in creation is ever really shown in the
work one creates. Art is more abstract than we fancy.
Form and color, tell us of form and color, that
is all. It often seems to me that art conceals
the artist far more completely than it ever reveals him.

(19:09):
And so when I got this offer from Paris, I
determined to make your portrait the principal thing in my exhibition.
It never occurred to me that you would refuse. I
see now that you are right. The picture must not
be shown. You must not be angry with me, Dorian,
for what I have told you. As I said to Harry,
once you were made to be worshiped. Dorian Gray drew

(19:34):
a long breath. The color came back to his cheeks,
and his smile played across his lips. The peril was over.
He was safe for the time, Yet he could not
help feel infinite pity for the young man who had
just made this strange confession to him. He wondered if

(19:55):
he would ever be so dominated by the personality of
a friend. Lord Harry had the charm of being very dangerous,
but that was all. It was too clever and too
cynical to be really fond of. Would there ever be
some one who would fill him with a strange idolatry?

(20:16):
Was that one of the things that life had in store?
It is extraordinary to me, Dorian said Holward that you
should have seen this in the picture. Did you really
see it? Of course I did. Well, you don't mind
my looking at it now, Dorry Grace shook his head.

(20:38):
You must not ask me that, Basil, I could not
possibly let you stand in front of that picture. You
will some day, surely never Well, perhaps you are right,
and now good bye, Dorian. You have been the one

(20:59):
person in my life of whom I have been really fond.
I don't suppose I shall often see you again. You
don't know what it cost me to tell you all
that I have told you, My dear Basil, cried Dorian.
What if you told me simply that you felt that

(21:19):
you liked me too much? That is not even a compliment.
It was not intended as a compliment. It was a confession,
a very disappointing one. Why what did you expect, Dorrion?
You didn't see anything else in that picture? Did you?
There's nothing else to see? No, there was nothing else

(21:42):
to see. Why do you ask? But you mustn't talk
about not meeting me again or anything of that kind.
You and I are friends, Basil. We must always remain.
So you've got Harry, said Hallward sadly. Oh Harry, cried
the lad with a ripple of laughter. Harry spends his
days in saying what is incredible, and his evenings in

(22:04):
doing what is improbable. Just a sort of life I
would like to lead. But still I don't think I
would go to Harry. If I was in trouble, I
would sooner go to you, Basil. But you won't sit
to me again. Impossible. You spoil my life as an
artist by refusing Dorian. No man comes across two ideal things.

(22:29):
Few comes across one. I can't explain it to you, Basil,
but I must never sit to you again. I will
come and have tea with you. This will be just
as pleasant pleasanter for you, I'm afraid, murmured Hallward regretfully,
and now good bye. I am sorry you won't let
me look at the picture once again, but that can't
be helped. I quite understand what you feel about it.

(22:54):
As he left the room, Dorry and Gray smiled to himself,
Poor Basil till he knew of the true reason, And
how strange it was that, instead of being forced to
reveal his own secret, he had succeeded, almost by chance,
in wrestling a secret from his friend. How much that

(23:16):
strange confession explained to him Basil's absurd fits of jealousy,
his wild devotion, his extravagant panegyrics, his curious reticences. He
understood them all now, and he felt sorry. There was
something tragic in a friendship so colored by romance. He

(23:36):
sighed and touched the bell. The portrait must be hidden
away at all costs. He could not run such a
risk of discovery again. It had been mad of him
to have the thing remain even for an hour, in
a room to which any of his friends had access.

(23:56):
End of Chapter seven of the Picture of Dorian Gray
by Oscar Wilde