Chapter 12 - The Picture of Dorian Gray

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Chapter twelve. It was on theninth of November, the eve of his
own thirty eighth birthday, as heoften remembered afterwards. He was walking home
about eleven o'clock from Lord Henry's,where he had been dining, and was
wrapped in heavy firs as the nightwas cold and foggy. At the corner

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of Grosvenor Square and South Audley Street, a man passed him in the mist,
walking very fast and with the collarof his gray ulster turned up.
He had a bag in his hand. Dorrian recognized him. It was Basil
Hallward. A strange sense of fearfor which he could not account, came

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over him. He made no signof recognition and went on quickly in the
direction of his own house. ButHolwood had seen him. Dorian heard him,
first stopping on the pavement, andthen hurrying after him. In a
few moments, his hand was onhis arm. Dorian, one extraordinary piece

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of luck. I have been waitingfor you in your library ever since nine
o'clock. Finally I took pity onyour tired servant and told him to go
to bed. As he let meout, I am off to Paris by
the midnight train. And I particularlywanted to see you before I left.
I thought it was you, orrather your fur a coat, as you
passed me, but I wasn't quitesure. Didn't you recognize me in this

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fog? My dear Basil, WhyI can't even recognize groven A Square.
I believe my house is somewhere abouthere, but I don't feel at all
certain about it. I'm sorry youare going away, as I have not
seen you for ages, but Isuppose you will be back soon. Now
I am going to be out ofEngland for six months. I intend to

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take a studio in Paris and shutmyself up till I have finished a great
picture I have in my head.However, it wasn't about myself. I
wanted to talk. Here. Weare at your door. Let me come
in for a moment. I havesomething to say to you. I shall
be charmed. But won't you missyour train? Said Dorian Gray languidly,
as he passed up the steps andopened the door with his latch key.

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The lamplight struggled out through the fog, and Holwood looked at his watch.
I have heaps of time, heanswered. The train doesn't go till twelve
fifteen, and it is only justeleven. In fact, I was on
my way to the club to lookfor you when I met you. You
see, I shan't have any delayabout luggage, as I have sent on
my heavy things. All I havewith me is in this bag, and

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I can easily get to Victorian twentyminutes. Dorian looked at him and smiled.
What a way for a fashion willpay to travel a gledgtone bag and
an alster. Come in or thefog will get into the house. And
mind you don't talk about anything serious. Nothing is serious nowadays, at least

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nothing should be. Hollwood shook hishead as he entered and followed Dorian into
the library. There was a brightwood fire blazing in the large open hearth.
The lamps were lit, and anopen Dutch silver spirit case stood with
some siphons of soda water and largecut glass tumblers on a little marketry table.

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You see, your servant made mequite at harm, Dorian. He
gave me everything I wanted, includingyour best gold tip cigarettes. He is
a most hospitable creature. I likehim much better than the Frenchman you used
to have. What has become ofthe frenchman by and by, Dorian shrugged
his shoulders. I believe he marriedLady Radley's maid and has established her in

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Paris as an English dressmaker. Englomaniais very fashionable over there now, I
hear it seems silly of the French, doesn't it. But do you know
he was not at all a badservant. I never liked him, but
I had nothing to complain about.One often imagined things that are quite absurd.

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He was really very diverted to me, and seemed quite sorry when he
went away. Have another brandy andsoda? Or would you like hock and
Seltzer. I always take hock andSeltzer myself. There's sure to be some
in the next room. Thanks,I won't have anything more, said the
painter, taking his cap and coatoff and throwing them on the back that

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he had placed in the corner.And now, my dear fellow, I
want to speak to you seriously.Don't frown like that. You make it
so much more difficult for me.What is it all about, cried Dorian
in his petulant way, flinging himselfdown on the sofa. I hope it
is not about myself. I amtired of myself to night. I should

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like to be somebody else. Itis about yourself, answered Hollward in his
grave, deep voice, And Imust say it to you. I shall
only keep half an hour, Doriansside and lit a cigarette. Half an
hour, he murmured. It isnot much to ask of you, Dorian.
And it is entirely for your ownsake that I am speaking. I

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think it right that you should knowthat the most dreadful things are being said
against you in London. I don'twish to know anything about them. I
love scandals about other people, butscandals about myself don't interest me. They
have not got the charm of novelty. They must interest you, Dorian.
Every gentleman is interested in his goodname. You don't want people to talk

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of you as something vile and degraded. Of course you have your position and
your wealth and all that kind ofthing. But position and wealth are not
everything, mind you. I don'tbelieve these rumors at all. At least
I can't believe them when I seeyou. Sin as a thing that writes
itself across a man's face. Itcannot be concealed. People talk sometimes of

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secret vices. There are no suchthings. If a wretched man has a
vice, it shows itself in thelines of his mouth, the droop of
his eyelids, the molding of hishands. Even somebody I won't mention his
name, but you know him,came to me last year to have his
portrait done. I had never seenhim before and had never heard anything about

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him at the time, though Ihave heard a good deal. Since he
offered an extravagant price, I refusedhim. There was something in the shape
of his fingers that I hated.I know now that I was quite right
in what I fancied about him.His life is dreadful. But you,
Dorian, with your pure, bright, innocent face and your marvelous, untroubled

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youth, I can't believe anything againstyou. And yet I see you very
seldom, and you never come downto the studio. Now, and when
I am away from you, andI hear all these hideous things that people
are whispering about you, I don'tknow what to say. Why is it,
Dorian, that a man like theDuke of Berwick leaves the room of
a club when you enter it.Why is it that so many gentlemen in

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London will neither go to your houseor invite you to theirs. You used
to be a friend of Lord Stavely. I met him at dinner last week.
Your name happened to come up inconversation in connection with the miniatures you
have lent to the exhibition at Dudley. Stavely curled his lip and said that
you might have the most artistic tastes, but that you were a man whom

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no pure minded girl should be allowedto know, and whom no chaste woman
should sit in the same room with. I reminded him that I was a
friend of yours and asked him whathe meant. He told me. He
told me right out before everybody.It was horrible. Why is your friendship
so fatal to young men? Therewas that wretched boy in the Guards who

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committed suicide. You were his greatfriend. There were Sir Henry Ashton who
had to leave England with a tarnishedname. You and he were in separable.
What about Adrian Singleton and his dreadfulAnd what about Lord Kent's only son
and his career. I met hisfather yesterday in Saint James's Street. He
seemed broken with shame and sorrow.What about the young Duke of Perth.

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What sort of life has he got? Now? What gentleman would associate with
him? Stop, Basil, youare talking about things of which you know
nothing, said Dorian Gray, bitinghis lip and with a note of infinite
contempt in his voice. You askme why Berryke leaves a room when I
enter it. It is because Iknow everything about his life, not because

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he knows anything about mine. Withsuch blood as he has in his veins,
how could his record be clean?You ask me about Henry Ashton and
Young Perth. Did I teach theone his vices and the other his debauchery?
If Kent's silly's son takes his wifefrom the streets, what is that
to me? If Adrian Singleton writeshis friends name across a bill, am

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I his keeper? I know howpeople chatter in England. The middle classes
air their moral prejudices over their grosstdinner tables, and whisper about what they
call a profligacies of their betters inorder to try and pretend they are in
smart society and on intimate terms withthe people. By slander. In this

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country it is enough for a manto have distinction and brains for every common
tongue to wag against him. Andwhat sort of lives to these people who
pose as being moral lead themselves,My dear fellow, you forget that we
are in the native land of thehypocrite. Dorian cried Hollward. That is
not the question. England is badenough, I know, and English society

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is all wrong. That is thereason why I want you to be fine.
You have not been fine. Onehas the right to judge over a
man by the effect he has overhis friends. Yours seems to lose all
sense of honor, of goodness,of purity. You have filled them with
a madness for pleasure. They havegone down in the depths. You led

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them there, Yes, you ledthem there. And yet you can smile
as you are smiling now, andthere is worse behind. I know you
and Harry are in separable. Surelyfor that reason, if for no other,
you should not have made his sister'sname a byword. Take care battel
you gay Toosha. I must speak, and you must listen. You shall

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listen. When you met Lady Gwendolen, not a breath of scandal had ever
touched her. Is there a singledecent woman in London Now, who drive
with her in the park? Whyeven her children are not allowed to live
with her? Then there are otherstories, stories that you have been seen
creeping at dawn out of dreadful housesand slinking in disguise into the foulest dens

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in London. Are they true?Can they be true? When I first
heard them I laughed. I hearthem now and they make me shudder.
What about your country house and thelife that is led there, Dorian?
You don't know what is said aboutyou. I won't tell you that.
I don't want to preach to you. I remember Harry saying once that every

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man who turned himself into an amateurcurate for the moment, always began by
saying that, and then proceeded tobreak his word. I do want to
preach to you. I want youto lead such a life as will make
the world respect you. I wantyou to have a clean name and a
fair record. I want you toget rid of the dreadful people you associate

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with. Don't shrug your shoulders likethat. Don't be so indifferent. You
have a wonderful influence. You letit be for good, not for evil.
They say that you corrupt every onewith whom you become intimate, and
that it is quite sufficient for youto enter a house for shame of some
kind to follow after. I don'tknow whether it is so or not.

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How should I know, But itis said of you. I am told
things that it seemed impossible to doubt. Lord Gloucester was one of my greatest
friends at Oxford. He showed mea letter that his wife had written to
him when she was dying alone inher villa. At mentone, your name
was implicated in the most terrible confessionI ever read. I told him that
it was absurd that I knew youthoroughly, and that you were incapable of

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anything of the kind. Know you? I wonder do I know you?
Before I could answer that I shouldhave to see your soul? To see
my soul, muttered Dorian Gray,starting up from the sofa and turning almost
white from fear. Yes, answeredHollwood, gravely, and with deep toned

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sorrow in his voice, to seeyour soul. But only God can do
that. A bitter laugh of mockerybroke from the lips of the younger man.
Ha ha, ha, you shallsee it yourself tonight, he cried,
seizing a lamp from the table.Come, it is your own handiwork.

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Why shouldn't you look at it?You can tell the world all about
it afterwards, if you choose,nobody would believe you. If they did
believe you, thou would like meall the better for it. I know
the age better than you do,though you will prate about it so tediously.
Come, I tell you you've chattedenough about corruption. Now you shall

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look on it face to face.There was the madness of pride in every
word he uttered. He stamped hisfoot upon the ground in his boyish,
insolent manner. He felt a terriblejoy at the thought that someone else was
to share his secret, and thatthe man who had painted the portrait that

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was the origin of all his shamewas to be burdened for the rest of
his life with the hideous memory ofwhat he had done. Yes, he
continued, coming closer to him andlooking steadfastly into his stern eyes. I
shall show you my soul. Youshall see the thing that you facially God

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can see. Hallward started back.This is blasphemy, Dorian, he cried.
You must not say things like that. They are horrible, and they
don't mean anything you think, so, he laughed again. I know so.
As for what I said to youtonight, I said it for your
good. You know I have alwaysbeen a stanch friend to you. Don't

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touch me. Finish what you haveto say. A twisted flash of pains
shot across the painter's face. Hepaused for a moment, and a wild
feeling of pity came over him.After all, what right had he to
pry into the life of Dorian Gray? If he had done a tithe of

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what was rumored about him, howmuch he must have suffered. Then he
straightened hi himself up and walked overto the fireplace and stood there, looking
at the burning locks with their frostlike ashes and their throbbing cores of flame.
I am waiting, Basil, saidthe young man in a hard,

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clear voice. He turned round.What I have to say is this,
he cried. You must give mesome answer to these horrible charges that I
made against you. If you tellme they are absolutely and true from beginning
to end, I shall believe you. Deny, then, Dorian, deny
them. Can't you see what I'mgoing through? My God, don't tell

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me that you are bad and corruptand shameful, Dorian Gray smiled. There
was a curl of contempt in hislips. Come upstairs, Basil, he
said quietly. I keep a dieof my life from day to day,
and it never leaves the room inwhich it is written. I shall shut
you if you come with me.I shall. I'll come with you,

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Dorian, if you wish it.I see I've missed my train. That
makes no matter. I can gotomorrow. But don't ask me to read
anything tonight. All I want isa plain answer to my question that shall
be given to you upstairs. Icould not give it here. You will
not have to read long end ofchapter twelve.