March 18, 2022 • 18 mins
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Episode Transcript
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(00:00):
Chapter thirteen. He passed out ofthe room and began the ascent basile,
Hallward following close behind. They walkedsoftly, as men do instinctively at night.
The lamp cast fantastic shadows on thewall and staircase. A rising wind
(00:23):
made some of the windows rattle.When they reached the top, landing,
Dorian set the lamp down on thefloor, and taking out the key,
turned it in the lock. Youinsist unknowing battle, he asked in a
low voice. Yes, I amdelighted, he answered, smiling. Then
(00:45):
he added, somewhat harshly, youare the one man in the world who
is entitded to know everything about me. You have had more to do with
my life than you think. Andtaking up the lamp, he opened the
door and went in. A coldcurrent of air passed them, and the
light shot up for a moment ina flame of murky orange. He shuddered.
(01:10):
Shut the door behind you, hewhispered, as he placed the lamp
on the table. Hallward glanced roundhim with a puzzled expression. The room
looked as if it had not beenlived in for years. A faded Flemish
tapestry, a curtained picture, anold Italian cassone, and an almost empty
(01:34):
bookcase that was all that it seemedto contain, besides a chair and a
table. As Dorian Gray was lightinga half burned candle that was standing on
a mantel shelf, he saw thatthe whole place was covered with dust,
and that the carpet was in holes. A mouse ran scuffling behind the wainscoting.
(01:59):
There was a damp odor of mildew. So you think that it is
only God he sees the soul battle. Draw that curtain back and you will
see mine. The voice that spokewas cold and cruel. You are mad,
Dorian were playing a part, mutteredHollward, frowning. You won't,
(02:20):
then I must do it myself,said the young man, and he tore
the curtain from its rot and flungit on the ground. An exclamation of
horror broke from the painter's lips ashe saw in the dim light the hideous
face on the canvas grinning at him. There was something in its expression that
(02:43):
filled him with disgust and loathing.Good Heavens, it was Dorian Gray's own
face that he was looking at.The horror, whatever it was, had
not yet entirely spoiled that mother asbeauty. There was still some gold in
the thinning hair, and some scarleton the sensual mouse. The sodden eyes
(03:09):
had kept something of the loveliness oftheir blue. The noble curves had not
yet completely passed away from chiseled nostrilsand from plastic throat. Yes, it
was Dorian himself, But who haddone it? He seemed to recognize his
(03:31):
own brushwork, and the frame washis own design. The idea was monstrous,
yet he felt afraid. He seizedthe lighted candle and held it to
the picture. In the left handcorner was his own name, traced in
(03:51):
long letters of bright vermilion. Itwas some foul parody, some infamous,
ignoble tire. He had never donethat. Still it was his own picture.
He knew it, and he feltas if his blood had changed in
a moment, from fire to sluggishice. His own picture. What did
(04:16):
it mean? Why had it altered? He turned and looked at Dorian Gray
with the eyes of a sick man. His mouth twitched, and his parched
tongue seemed unable to articulate. Hepassed his hand across his forehead. It
was dank with clammy sweat. Theyoung man was leaning against the mantelshelf,
(04:45):
watching him with that strange expression thatone sees on the faces of those who
are absorbed in a play when somegreat artist is acting. There was neither
real sorrow in it, nor realjoy. There was simply the passion of
the spectator, with perhaps a flickerof triumph in his eyes. He had
(05:08):
taken the flower out of his coatand was smelling it, or pretending to
do so. What does this mean? Cried Holward at last, his own
voice sounded shrill and curious in hisears. Years ago, when I was
a boy, said Dorian Gray,crushing the flower in his hand, you
(05:29):
met me, flattered me, andtaught me to be vain of my good
looks. One day you introduced meto a friend of yours who explained to
me the wonder of youth, Andyou finished a portrait of me that revealed
to me the wonder of beauty.In a mad moment that even now I
don't know whether I regret or not, I made a wish. Perhaps you
(05:50):
would call it a prayer. Iremember it, oh well, I remember
it. No, The thing isimpossible. The room is damp mildew has
gotten into the canvas. The paintsI used had some wretched middle poison in
them. I tell you the thingis impossible. Ah, what is impossible?
Murmured the young man, going overto the window and leaning his forehead
(06:14):
against the cold, miststained glass.You told me you had destroyed it.
I was wrong. It has destroyedme. I don't believe it is my
picture. Can't you see your idealin it? Said Dorian bitterly, My
ideal as you call it. Asyou called it, there was nothing evil
in it, nothing shameful. Youwere to me such an ideal as I
(06:36):
shall never meet again. This isthe face of a sadder. It is
the face of my soul Christ.What a thing I must have worshiped.
It has the eyes of a devil. Each of us has Heaven and Hell
in him, Basil, cried Dorian, with a wild gesture of despair.
Holwood turned again to the portrait andgazed at it. My hard if it
(07:00):
is true, he exclaimed, andthis is what you have done with your
life? Why you must be worseeven than those who talk against you.
Fits you to be. He heldthe light up again to the canvas and
examined it. The surface seemed tobe quite undisturbed, and as he had
left it, it was from within, apparently that the foulness and horror had
(07:24):
come through some strange quickening of innerlife. The leprosies of sin were slowly
eating the thing away. The rottingof a corpse in a watery grave was
not so fearful. His hand shook, and the candle fell from its socket
(07:46):
on the floor and lay there,sputtering. He placed his foot on it
and put it out. Then heflung himself into the rickety chair that was
standing by the table, and buriedhis face in his hands. Good God,
Dorian, what a lesson, Whatan awful lesson? There was no
answer, but he could hear theyoung man's sobbing at the window. Pray,
(08:11):
Dorian, Pray. He murmured,what is it that one was taught
to say one's boyhood? Lead usnot into temptation, forgive us our sins,
wash away our iniquities. Let ussay that together the prayer of your
pride has been answered. The prayerof your repentance will be answered. Also.
I worshiped you too much. Iam punished for it. You worshiped
(08:33):
yourself too much. We are bothpunished. Dorian Gray turned slowly around and
looked at him with tear dimmed eyes. It is too late, Basil,
he faltered. It is never toolate, Dorian. Let us kneel down
and try if we cannot remember aprayer. Isn't there reverse somewhere? Though
(08:54):
your sins be as scarlet, yetall make them as wet as snow.
Those words mean nothing to me.Now, hush, don't say that you
have done enough evil in your life? My god, don't you see that
a cursing leering at us. DorianGray glanced at the picture, and suddenly
an uncontrollable feeling of hatred for BasilHallwood came over him, as though it
(09:18):
had been suggested to him by theimage on a canvas, whispered into his
ear by those grinning limps. Themad passions of a hunted animal stirred within
him, and he loathed the manwho was seated at the table more than
in his whole life he had everloathed anything. He glanced wildly around something
(09:45):
glimmered on the top of the paintedchest that faced him. His eye fell
on it. He knew what itwas. It was a knife that he
had brought up some days before tocut a piece of cord and had forgotten
to take away with him. Hemoved slowly towards it, passing Hollward as
(10:05):
he did so. As soon ashe got behind him, he seized it
and turned round. Holward stirred inhis chair as if he was going to
rise. He rushed at him anddug the knife into the great vein that
is behind the ear, crashing theman's head down on the table and stabbing
(10:28):
again and again. There was astifled groan and a horrible sound of someone
choking with blood. Three times.The outstretched arms shot up convulsively, waving
grotesque, stiff fingered hands in theair. He stabbed him twice more,
(10:52):
but the man did not move.Something began to trickle on the floor.
He waved it for a moment,still pressing the head down. Then he
threw the knife on the table andlistened. He could hear nothing but the
drip drip on the threadbare carpet.He opened the door and went out on
(11:16):
the landing. The house was absolutelyquiet, No one was about. For
a few seconds, he stood,bending over the balustrade and peering down into
the black, seething well of darkness. Then he took out the key and
returned to the room, locking himselfin as he did so. The thing
(11:41):
was still seated in the chair,straining over the table with bowed head and
humped back and long fantastic arms.Had it not been for the red,
jagged tear in the neck and theclotted black pool that was slowly widening on
(12:01):
the table, one would have saidthat the man was simply asleep. How
quickly it had all been done,he felt strangely calm, and walking over
to the window, opened it andstepped out on the balcony. The wind
had blown the fog away, andthe sky was like a monstrous peacock's tail,
(12:26):
starred with myriads of golden eyes.He looked down and saw the policeman
going his round and flashing the longbeam of his lantern on the doors of
the silent houses. The crimson spotof a prowling hansom gleamed at the corner
and then vanished. A woman ina fluttering shawl was creeping slowly by the
(12:52):
railings, staggering as she went.Now and then she stopped and peered back.
Once she began to sing in ahoarse voice. The policeman strolled over
and said something to her. Shestumbled away, laughing. A bitter blast
(13:13):
swept across the square. The gaslamps flickered and became blue, and the
leafless trees shook their black iron branchesto and fro. He shivered and went
back, closing the window behind him. Having reached the door, he turned
the key and opened it. Hedid not even glance at the murdered man.
(13:39):
He felt that the secret of thewhole thing was not to realize the
situation. The friend who had paintedthe fatal portrait to which all his misery
had been due had gone out ofhis life. That was enough. Then
he remembered the lamp. It wasrather curious, one of Moorish workmanship,
(14:03):
made of dull silver inlaid with arabesquesof burnished steel, and studded with coarse
turquoises. Perhaps it might be missedby the servant, and questions would be
asked. He hesitated for a moment. Then he turned back and took it
from the table. He could nothelp seeing the dead thing, how still
(14:30):
it was, how horribly white thelong hands looked. It was like a
dreadful wax image. Having locked thedoor behind him, he crept quietly downstairs.
The woodwork creaked and seemed to cryout, as if in pain.
He stopped several times and waited.No, everything was still. It was
(14:58):
merely the sound of his own footsteps. When he reached the library, he
saw the bag and coat in thecorner. They must be hidden away somewhere.
He unlocked a secret press that wasin the wainscoting, a press in
which he kept his own curious disguises, and put them into it. He
(15:22):
could easily burn them afterwards. Thenhe pulled out his watch. It was
twenty minutes to two. He satdown and began to think. Every year,
every months, almost men were strangledin England for what he had done.
There had been a madness of murderin the air. Some red star
(15:48):
had come too close to the earth. And yet what evidence was there against
him. Basil Hallward had left thehouse at eleven. No one had seen
him come in again. Most ofthe servants were at Selby Royal. His
valet had gone to bed. Paris. Yes, it was to Paris that
(16:11):
Basil had gone, and by themidnight train, as he had intended with
his curious reserved habits. It wouldbe months before any suspicions would be roused.
Months everything could be destroyed long beforethen, A sudden thought struck him.
(16:32):
He put on his fur coat andhat and went out into the hall.
There he paused, hearing the slow, heavy tread of the policeman on
the pavement outside, and seeing theflash of the bull's eye reflected in the
window. He waited and held hisbreath. After a few moments, he
(16:55):
drew back the latch and slipped out, shutting the door very gently behind him.
Then he began ringing the bell.In about five minutes, his valet
appeared, half dressed and looking verydrowsy. I'm sorry to have head to
wake you, Frances, he said, stepping in, But I had forgotten
(17:17):
my latch key. What time isit? Ten minutes past two, sir,
answered the man, looking at theclock and blinking. Ten minutes past
two, How horribly late. Youmust wake me at nine to morrow.
I have some work to do,all right, sir? Did anyone call
this evening? Mister Howard? Sir? He stayed here to eleven, and
then he went away to catch histrain. Oh I'm sorry I didn't see
(17:41):
him. Did he leave any message, Nosa, except that he would write
you from Paris if he did notfind you at the club. That will
do, Frances, don't forget tocall me at nine to morrow, Nosa.
The man shambled down the passage inhis slippers. Dorian Gray threw his
hat and coat upon the table andpassed into the library. For a quarter
(18:04):
of an hour, he walked upand down the room, biting his lip
and thinking. Then he took downthe Blue Book from one of the shelves
and began to turn over the leaves. Alan Campbell, one hundred and fifty
two Hartford Street, Mayfair. Yes, that was the man he wanted.
(18:32):
End of Chapter thirteen.
Chapter thirteen. He passed out ofthe room and began the ascent basile,
Hallward following close behind. They walkedsoftly, as men do instinctively at night.
The lamp cast fantastic shadows on thewall and staircase. A rising wind
(00:23):
made some of the windows rattle.When they reached the top, landing,
Dorian set the lamp down on thefloor, and taking out the key,
turned it in the lock. Youinsist unknowing battle, he asked in a
low voice. Yes, I amdelighted, he answered, smiling. Then
(00:45):
he added, somewhat harshly, youare the one man in the world who
is entitded to know everything about me. You have had more to do with
my life than you think. Andtaking up the lamp, he opened the
door and went in. A coldcurrent of air passed them, and the
light shot up for a moment ina flame of murky orange. He shuddered.
(01:10):
Shut the door behind you, hewhispered, as he placed the lamp
on the table. Hallward glanced roundhim with a puzzled expression. The room
looked as if it had not beenlived in for years. A faded Flemish
tapestry, a curtained picture, anold Italian cassone, and an almost empty
(01:34):
bookcase that was all that it seemedto contain, besides a chair and a
table. As Dorian Gray was lightinga half burned candle that was standing on
a mantel shelf, he saw thatthe whole place was covered with dust,
and that the carpet was in holes. A mouse ran scuffling behind the wainscoting.
(01:59):
There was a damp odor of mildew. So you think that it is
only God he sees the soul battle. Draw that curtain back and you will
see mine. The voice that spokewas cold and cruel. You are mad,
Dorian were playing a part, mutteredHollward, frowning. You won't,
(02:20):
then I must do it myself,said the young man, and he tore
the curtain from its rot and flungit on the ground. An exclamation of
horror broke from the painter's lips ashe saw in the dim light the hideous
face on the canvas grinning at him. There was something in its expression that
(02:43):
filled him with disgust and loathing.Good Heavens, it was Dorian Gray's own
face that he was looking at.The horror, whatever it was, had
not yet entirely spoiled that mother asbeauty. There was still some gold in
the thinning hair, and some scarleton the sensual mouse. The sodden eyes
(03:09):
had kept something of the loveliness oftheir blue. The noble curves had not
yet completely passed away from chiseled nostrilsand from plastic throat. Yes, it
was Dorian himself, But who haddone it? He seemed to recognize his
(03:31):
own brushwork, and the frame washis own design. The idea was monstrous,
yet he felt afraid. He seizedthe lighted candle and held it to
the picture. In the left handcorner was his own name, traced in
(03:51):
long letters of bright vermilion. Itwas some foul parody, some infamous,
ignoble tire. He had never donethat. Still it was his own picture.
He knew it, and he feltas if his blood had changed in
a moment, from fire to sluggishice. His own picture. What did
(04:16):
it mean? Why had it altered? He turned and looked at Dorian Gray
with the eyes of a sick man. His mouth twitched, and his parched
tongue seemed unable to articulate. Hepassed his hand across his forehead. It
was dank with clammy sweat. Theyoung man was leaning against the mantelshelf,
(04:45):
watching him with that strange expression thatone sees on the faces of those who
are absorbed in a play when somegreat artist is acting. There was neither
real sorrow in it, nor realjoy. There was simply the passion of
the spectator, with perhaps a flickerof triumph in his eyes. He had
(05:08):
taken the flower out of his coatand was smelling it, or pretending to
do so. What does this mean? Cried Holward at last, his own
voice sounded shrill and curious in hisears. Years ago, when I was
a boy, said Dorian Gray,crushing the flower in his hand, you
(05:29):
met me, flattered me, andtaught me to be vain of my good
looks. One day you introduced meto a friend of yours who explained to
me the wonder of youth, Andyou finished a portrait of me that revealed
to me the wonder of beauty.In a mad moment that even now I
don't know whether I regret or not, I made a wish. Perhaps you
(05:50):
would call it a prayer. Iremember it, oh well, I remember
it. No, The thing isimpossible. The room is damp mildew has
gotten into the canvas. The paintsI used had some wretched middle poison in
them. I tell you the thingis impossible. Ah, what is impossible?
Murmured the young man, going overto the window and leaning his forehead
(06:14):
against the cold, miststained glass.You told me you had destroyed it.
I was wrong. It has destroyedme. I don't believe it is my
picture. Can't you see your idealin it? Said Dorian bitterly, My
ideal as you call it. Asyou called it, there was nothing evil
in it, nothing shameful. Youwere to me such an ideal as I
(06:36):
shall never meet again. This isthe face of a sadder. It is
the face of my soul Christ.What a thing I must have worshiped.
It has the eyes of a devil. Each of us has Heaven and Hell
in him, Basil, cried Dorian, with a wild gesture of despair.
Holwood turned again to the portrait andgazed at it. My hard if it
(07:00):
is true, he exclaimed, andthis is what you have done with your
life? Why you must be worseeven than those who talk against you.
Fits you to be. He heldthe light up again to the canvas and
examined it. The surface seemed tobe quite undisturbed, and as he had
left it, it was from within, apparently that the foulness and horror had
(07:24):
come through some strange quickening of innerlife. The leprosies of sin were slowly
eating the thing away. The rottingof a corpse in a watery grave was
not so fearful. His hand shook, and the candle fell from its socket
(07:46):
on the floor and lay there,sputtering. He placed his foot on it
and put it out. Then heflung himself into the rickety chair that was
standing by the table, and buriedhis face in his hands. Good God,
Dorian, what a lesson, Whatan awful lesson? There was no
answer, but he could hear theyoung man's sobbing at the window. Pray,
(08:11):
Dorian, Pray. He murmured,what is it that one was taught
to say one's boyhood? Lead usnot into temptation, forgive us our sins,
wash away our iniquities. Let ussay that together the prayer of your
pride has been answered. The prayerof your repentance will be answered. Also.
I worshiped you too much. Iam punished for it. You worshiped
(08:33):
yourself too much. We are bothpunished. Dorian Gray turned slowly around and
looked at him with tear dimmed eyes. It is too late, Basil,
he faltered. It is never toolate, Dorian. Let us kneel down
and try if we cannot remember aprayer. Isn't there reverse somewhere? Though
(08:54):
your sins be as scarlet, yetall make them as wet as snow.
Those words mean nothing to me.Now, hush, don't say that you
have done enough evil in your life? My god, don't you see that
a cursing leering at us. DorianGray glanced at the picture, and suddenly
an uncontrollable feeling of hatred for BasilHallwood came over him, as though it
(09:18):
had been suggested to him by theimage on a canvas, whispered into his
ear by those grinning limps. Themad passions of a hunted animal stirred within
him, and he loathed the manwho was seated at the table more than
in his whole life he had everloathed anything. He glanced wildly around something
(09:45):
glimmered on the top of the paintedchest that faced him. His eye fell
on it. He knew what itwas. It was a knife that he
had brought up some days before tocut a piece of cord and had forgotten
to take away with him. Hemoved slowly towards it, passing Hollward as
(10:05):
he did so. As soon ashe got behind him, he seized it
and turned round. Holward stirred inhis chair as if he was going to
rise. He rushed at him anddug the knife into the great vein that
is behind the ear, crashing theman's head down on the table and stabbing
(10:28):
again and again. There was astifled groan and a horrible sound of someone
choking with blood. Three times.The outstretched arms shot up convulsively, waving
grotesque, stiff fingered hands in theair. He stabbed him twice more,
(10:52):
but the man did not move.Something began to trickle on the floor.
He waved it for a moment,still pressing the head down. Then he
threw the knife on the table andlistened. He could hear nothing but the
drip drip on the threadbare carpet.He opened the door and went out on
(11:16):
the landing. The house was absolutelyquiet, No one was about. For
a few seconds, he stood,bending over the balustrade and peering down into
the black, seething well of darkness. Then he took out the key and
returned to the room, locking himselfin as he did so. The thing
(11:41):
was still seated in the chair,straining over the table with bowed head and
humped back and long fantastic arms.Had it not been for the red,
jagged tear in the neck and theclotted black pool that was slowly widening on
(12:01):
the table, one would have saidthat the man was simply asleep. How
quickly it had all been done,he felt strangely calm, and walking over
to the window, opened it andstepped out on the balcony. The wind
had blown the fog away, andthe sky was like a monstrous peacock's tail,
(12:26):
starred with myriads of golden eyes.He looked down and saw the policeman
going his round and flashing the longbeam of his lantern on the doors of
the silent houses. The crimson spotof a prowling hansom gleamed at the corner
and then vanished. A woman ina fluttering shawl was creeping slowly by the
(12:52):
railings, staggering as she went.Now and then she stopped and peered back.
Once she began to sing in ahoarse voice. The policeman strolled over
and said something to her. Shestumbled away, laughing. A bitter blast
(13:13):
swept across the square. The gaslamps flickered and became blue, and the
leafless trees shook their black iron branchesto and fro. He shivered and went
back, closing the window behind him. Having reached the door, he turned
the key and opened it. Hedid not even glance at the murdered man.
(13:39):
He felt that the secret of thewhole thing was not to realize the
situation. The friend who had paintedthe fatal portrait to which all his misery
had been due had gone out ofhis life. That was enough. Then
he remembered the lamp. It wasrather curious, one of Moorish workmanship,
(14:03):
made of dull silver inlaid with arabesquesof burnished steel, and studded with coarse
turquoises. Perhaps it might be missedby the servant, and questions would be
asked. He hesitated for a moment. Then he turned back and took it
from the table. He could nothelp seeing the dead thing, how still
(14:30):
it was, how horribly white thelong hands looked. It was like a
dreadful wax image. Having locked thedoor behind him, he crept quietly downstairs.
The woodwork creaked and seemed to cryout, as if in pain.
He stopped several times and waited.No, everything was still. It was
(14:58):
merely the sound of his own footsteps. When he reached the library, he
saw the bag and coat in thecorner. They must be hidden away somewhere.
He unlocked a secret press that wasin the wainscoting, a press in
which he kept his own curious disguises, and put them into it. He
(15:22):
could easily burn them afterwards. Thenhe pulled out his watch. It was
twenty minutes to two. He satdown and began to think. Every year,
every months, almost men were strangledin England for what he had done.
There had been a madness of murderin the air. Some red star
(15:48):
had come too close to the earth. And yet what evidence was there against
him. Basil Hallward had left thehouse at eleven. No one had seen
him come in again. Most ofthe servants were at Selby Royal. His
valet had gone to bed. Paris. Yes, it was to Paris that
(16:11):
Basil had gone, and by themidnight train, as he had intended with
his curious reserved habits. It wouldbe months before any suspicions would be roused.
Months everything could be destroyed long beforethen, A sudden thought struck him.
(16:32):
He put on his fur coat andhat and went out into the hall.
There he paused, hearing the slow, heavy tread of the policeman on
the pavement outside, and seeing theflash of the bull's eye reflected in the
window. He waited and held hisbreath. After a few moments, he
(16:55):
drew back the latch and slipped out, shutting the door very gently behind him.
Then he began ringing the bell.In about five minutes, his valet
appeared, half dressed and looking verydrowsy. I'm sorry to have head to
wake you, Frances, he said, stepping in, But I had forgotten
(17:17):
my latch key. What time isit? Ten minutes past two, sir,
answered the man, looking at theclock and blinking. Ten minutes past
two, How horribly late. Youmust wake me at nine to morrow.
I have some work to do,all right, sir? Did anyone call
this evening? Mister Howard? Sir? He stayed here to eleven, and
then he went away to catch histrain. Oh I'm sorry I didn't see
(17:41):
him. Did he leave any message, Nosa, except that he would write
you from Paris if he did notfind you at the club. That will
do, Frances, don't forget tocall me at nine to morrow, Nosa.
The man shambled down the passage inhis slippers. Dorian Gray threw his
hat and coat upon the table andpassed into the library. For a quarter
(18:04):
of an hour, he walked upand down the room, biting his lip
and thinking. Then he took downthe Blue Book from one of the shelves
and began to turn over the leaves. Alan Campbell, one hundred and fifty
two Hartford Street, Mayfair. Yes, that was the man he wanted.
(18:32):
End of Chapter thirteen.
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On Purpose with Jay Shetty
I’m Jay Shetty host of On Purpose the worlds #1 Mental Health podcast and I’m so grateful you found us. I started this podcast 5 years ago to invite you into conversations and workshops that are designed to help make you happier, healthier and more healed. I believe that when you (yes you) feel seen, heard and understood you’re able to deal with relationship struggles, work challenges and life’s ups and downs with more ease and grace. I interview experts, celebrities, thought leaders and athletes so that we can grow our mindset, build better habits and uncover a side of them we’ve never seen before. New episodes every Monday and Friday. Your support means the world to me and I don’t take it for granted — click the follow button and leave a review to help us spread the love with On Purpose. I can’t wait for you to listen to your first or 500th episode!