March 18, 2022 • 23 mins
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(00:00):
Chapter nineteen. There is no useyour telling me that you are going to
be good, cried Lord Henry,dipping his white fingers into a red copper
bowl filled with rose water. Youare quite perfect. Pray. Don't change,
Dorrian Gray shook his head. No, Harry, I've done too many
(00:24):
dreadful things in my life. I'mnot going to do any more. I
began my good actions yesterday. Wherewere you yesterday in the country, Harry.
I was staying at a little innby myself, my dear boy,
said Lord Henry, smiling. Anybodycan be good in the country. There
are no temptations there. That isthe reason why people who live out of
(00:47):
town are so absolutely uncivilized. Civilizationis not, by any means an easy
thing to attain to. There areonly two ways by which man can reach
it. One is by being cultured, the other by being corrupt. Country
people have no opportunity of being either, so they stagnate. Culture and corruption,
(01:12):
echoed Dorian. I've known something ofboth. It seems terrible to me
now that they should ever be foundtogether. For I have a new ideal,
Harry. I am going to alter. I think I have altered.
You have not yet told me whatyour good action was? Or did you
say you are done? More thanone, asked his companion, as he
(01:34):
spilled into his plate a little crimsonpyramid of seeded strawberries, and through a
perforated shell shaped spoon, snowed whitesugar upon them. I can tell you,
Harry, it is not a storyI could tell to anyone else.
I spared somebody. It sounds vain, but you understand what I mean.
(01:57):
She was quite beautiful and wonderfully likeSybil Vane. I think it was that
which first attracted me to her.You remember Sybil, don't you? How
long ago? That seems? Well? Hetty was not one of our own
class. Of course, she wassimply a girl in a village. But
I really loved her. I amquite sure that I loved her, or
(02:20):
d in this wonderful may that wehave been having. I used to run
down and see her two or threetimes a week. Yesterday she met me
in a little orchard. The appleblossoms kept tumbling down on her hair,
and she was laughing. We wereto have gone away together this morning at
dawn. Suddenly I determined to leaveher as flowerlike as I had found her.
(02:43):
I should think The novelty of theemotion must have given you a thrill
of real pleasure, Dorian interrupted,Lord Henry. But I can finish your
idol for you. You gave hergood advice and broke her heart. That
was the beginning of your reformation.Harry, you are horrible. You mustn't
say these dreadful things. Hetty's heartis not broken. Of course, she
(03:07):
cried and all that, but thereis no disgrace upon her. She can
live like perditor in her garden ofmint and marigold, and weep over a
faithless Florazelle, said Lord Henry,laughing as he leaned back in his chair.
My dear Dorian, you have themost curiously boyish moods. Do you
(03:30):
think this girl will ever be reallycontent now with any one of her own
rank? I suppose she will bemarried some day to a rough carter or
a grinning plowman. Well, thefact of having met you and loved you
will teach her to despise her husband, and she will be wretched. From
(03:51):
a moral point of view. Icannot say that I think much of your
great renunciation, even as the beginningit is poor. But sir, how
do you know that Hetty isn't floatingat the present moment in some starlit mill
pond with lovely water lilies round herlike Ophelia. I can't bear this,
Harry, You mock at everything andthen suggest the most serious tragedies. I'm
(04:15):
sorry, I told you now.I don't care what you say to me.
I know I was right in actingas I did poor Hetty. As
I rode past the farm this morning, I saw her white face at the
window like a spray of jasmine.Don't let us talk about it any more,
and don't try to persuade me thatthe first good action I have done
(04:35):
for years, the first little bitof self sacrifice I've ever known, is
really a sort of sin. Iwant to be better. I am going
to be better. Tell me somethingabout yourself. What is going on in
town? I have not been tothe club for days. The people are
still discussing poor Basil's disappearance. Ishould have thought they had got tired of
(04:58):
that by this time, said Dorian, pouring himself out some wine and frowning
slightly. My dear boy, theyhave only been talking about it for six
weeks, and the British public arereally not equal to the mental strain of
having more than one topic every threemonths. They have been very fortunate lately,
however, they have had my owndivorce case and Alan Campbell's suicide.
(05:24):
Now they have got the mysterious disappearanceof an artist. Scotland Yard still insists
that the man in the gray ulsterwho left for Paris by the midnight train
on the ninth of November was poorBasil, and the French police declare that
Basil never arrived in Paris at all. I suppose in about a fortnight we
shall be told that he has beenseen in San Francisco. It is an
(05:46):
odd thing, but everyone who disappearsis said to be seen at San Francisco.
It must be a delightful city andpossess all the attractions of the next
world. What do you think hashappened to Battil, asked Dorian, holding
up his Burgundy against the light andwondering how it was that he could discuss
(06:06):
the matter so calmly. I havenot the slightest idea. If Basil chooses
to hide himself, it is nobusiness of mine. If he is dead,
I don't want to think about him. Death is the only thing that
ever terrifies me. I hate it, why, said the younger man wearily,
(06:26):
Because, said Lord Henry, passingbeneath his nostrils, the guilt tredis
of an open vinigrette box. Onecan survive everything nowadays, except that death
and vulgarity are the only two factsin the nineteenth century that one cannot explain
away. Let us have our coffeein the music room, Dorian, you
(06:47):
must play Chopin to me. Theman with whom my wife ran away played
Chopin exquisitely. Poor Victoria, Iwas very fond of her, house is
rather lonely without her. Of course, married life is merely a habit,
a bad habit. But then oneregrets the loss, even of one's worst
(07:11):
habits. Perhaps one regrets them themost they are such an essential part of
one's personality. Dorrian said nothing,but rose from the table, and,
passing into the next room, satdown to the piano and let his fingers
stray across the white and black ivoryof the keys. After the coffee had
been brought in, he stopped,and, looking over at Lord Henry,
(07:35):
said, Harry, did it everoccur to you that Basil was murdered?
Lord Henry yawned. Basil was verypopular and always wore a waterbory watch.
Why should he have been murdered?He was not clever enough to have enemies.
Of course, he had a wonderfulgenius for painting. But a man
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can paint like vela square and yetbe as dull as possible. Basil was
really rather dull. He only interestedme once, and that was when he
told me years ago that he hada wild adoration for you, and that
you were a dominant motive of hisart. I was very fond of Basil,
said Dorian, with a note ofsadness in his voice. But don't
(08:22):
people say that he was murdered,Oh, some of the papers do.
It does not seem to me tobe at all probable. I know there
are dreadful places in Paris, butBasil was not the sort of man to
have gone to them. He hadno curiosity. It was his chief defect.
What would you say, Haddie,if I told you that I had
(08:43):
murdered Basil, said the younger man. He watched him intently after he had
spoken. I would say, mydear fellow, that you were posing for
a character that doesn't suit you.All crime is vulgar, just as all
vulgarity is crime. It is notin you, Dorian, to commit a
murder. I'm sorry if I hurtyour vanity by saying so, But I
(09:07):
assure you it is true. Crimebelongs exclusively to the lower orders. I
don't blame them in the smallest degree. I should fancy that crime was to
them what art is to us,simply a method of procuring extraordinary sensations,
a method of procuring sensations. Don'tyou think, then, that a man
(09:28):
who has once committed a murder couldpossibly do the same crime again. Don't
tell me that, oh, anythingbecomes a pleasure if one does it too
often, cried Lord Henry, laughing. That is one of the most important
secrets of life. I should fancy, however, that murder is always a
mistake. One should never do anythingthat one cannot talk about after dinner.
(09:52):
But let us pass from poor Basil. I wish I could believe that he
had come to such a really romanticend as you suggest, but I can't.
I dare say he fell into thesen off an omnibus, and that
the conductor hushed up the scandal.Yes, I should fancy that was his
(10:13):
end. I see him lying nowon his back under those dull green waters,
with the heavy barges floating over him, and long weeds catching in his
hair. Do you know, Idon't think he would have done much more
good work during the last ten years. His painting had gone off very much.
(10:35):
Dorrian heaved a sigh, and LordHenry strolled across the room and began
to stroke the head of a curiousjaver parrot, a large gray plumaged bird
with pink crest and tail that wasbalancing itself upon a bamboo perch. As
his pointed fingers touched it, itdropped the white scarf of crinkled lids over
(11:00):
a glass like eyes, and beganto sway backwards and forwards. Yes,
he continued, turning round and takinghis handkerchief out of his pocket. His
painting had quite gone off. Itseemed to me to have lost something.
It had lost an ideal. Whenyou and he ceased to be great friends,
(11:22):
he ceased to be a great artist. What was it separated you?
I suppose he bored you. Ifso, he never forgave you. It's
a habit bores have, By theway, What has become of that wonderful
portrait he did of you. Idon't think I have ever seen it since
he finished it. Oh, Iremember your telling me years ago that you
(11:46):
had sent it down to Selby andthat had gotten a sleigh or stolen on
the way. You never got itback, or what a pity? It
was really a masterpiece. I remember. I wanted to buy it. I
wish I had now. It belongedto Basle's best period Since then his work
was that curious mixture of bad paintingand good intentions that always entitles a man
(12:09):
to be called a representative British artist. Did you advertise for it? You
should, I forget, said Dorian. I suppose I did, but I
never really liked it. I'm sorryI sat for it. The memory of
the thing is hateful to me.Why do you talk of it? It
used to remind me those curious linessome play Hamlet, I think, how
(12:33):
do they run? Like the paintingof a sorrow faced without a heart?
Yes, that is what he waslike, Lord Henry laughed. If a
man treats life artistically, his brainis his heart, he answered. Sinking
into an arm chair, Dorian Grayshook his hat and struck some soft chords
(12:54):
on the piano, like a paintingof a sorrow. He repeated her face
without a heart. The elder manlay back and looked at him with half
closed eyes. By the way,Dorian, he said, after a pause,
what does it profit a man ifhe gain the whole world and lose?
(13:16):
How does the quotation run his ownsoul? The music jarred, and
Dorian Gray started and stared at hisfriend. Why do you ask me that,
Hardie, my dear fellow, saidLord Henry, elevating his eyebrows in
surprise. I asked you because Ithought you might be able to give me
(13:37):
an answer, That is all.I was going through the park last Sunday,
and close by the marble arch therestood a little crowd of shabby looking
people listening to some vulgar street preacher. As I passed by, I heard
the man yelling out that question tohis audience. Struck me as being rather
dramatic. London is very rich incurious effects of that kind. A wet
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sunday, an uncouth Christian in amackintosh, a ring of sickly white faces
under a broken roof of dripping umbrellas, and a wonderful phrase flung into the
air by shrill, hysterical lips.It was really very good in its way,
quite a suggestion. I thought oftelling the prophet that Art had a
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soul, but that man had not. I am afraid, however, he
would not have understood me. Don'tharry. The soul is a terrible reality.
It can be bought and sold andbartered away. It can be poisoned
or made perfect. There is asoul in each one of us. I
know it. Do you feel quitesure of that, Dorian? Quite sure?
(14:45):
Ah? Then it must be anillusion. The things one feels absolutely
certain about are never true. Thatis the fatality of faith and the lesson
of romance. How grave you are, don't be so serious. What have
you or I to do with thesuperstitions of our age? No, we
(15:05):
have given up our belief in thesoul. Play me something, Play me
a knock turn, Dorian, Andas you play, tell me in a
low voice, how you have keptyour youth. You must have some secret.
I am only ten years older thanyou are, and I am wrinkled
and worn and yellow. You arereally wonderful, Dorian. You have never
(15:31):
looked more charming than you do.To night. You remind me of the
day I saw you first. Youwere rather cheeky, very shy, and
absolutely extraordinary. You have changed,of course, but not in appearance.
I wish you would tell me yoursecret to get back my youth. I
(15:52):
would do anything in the world excepttake exercise, get up early, or
be respectable youth. There is nothinglike it. It's absurd to talk of
the ignorance of youth. The onlypeople to whose opinions I listen now with
any respect are people much younger thanmyself. They seem in front of me
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life has revealed to them her latestwonder. As for the aged, I
always contradict the aged. I doit on principle. If you ask them
their opinion on something that happened yesterday, they solemnly give you the opinions current
in eighteen twenty, when people worehigh stocks, believed in everything, and
new absolutely nothing. How lovely thatthing you are playing is. I wonder
(16:41):
did Chopin write it at Majorca,with the sea weeping round the villa and
the salt spray dashing against the panes. It is marvelously romantic. What a
blessing it is that there is oneart left to us that is not imitative.
Don't stop. I want music tonight. It seems to me that
(17:03):
you are the young Apollo, andthat I am Marsius. Listening to you.
I have sorrows, Dorian, ofmy own, that even you know
nothing of the tragedy of old age. Is not that one is old,
but that one is young. Iam amazed sometimes at my own sincerity.
Ah, Dorian, how happy youare. What an exquisite life you have
(17:27):
had. You have drunk deeply ofeverything, you have crushed the grapes against
your palette. Nothing has been hiddenfrom you, and it has all been
to you, no more than thesound of music. It has not marred
you. You are still the same. I am not the same, Hattie.
(17:48):
Yes you are the same. Iwonder what the rest of your life
will be. Don't spoil it byrenunciations. At present you are a perfect
type. Don't make yourself incomplete.You are quite flawless. Now. You
need not shake your head. Youknow you are. Besides, Dorian,
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don't deceive yourself. Life is notgoverned by will or intention. Life is
a question of nerves and fibers andslowly built up cells in which thought hides
itself, and passion has its dreams. You may fancy yourself safe and think
yourself strong. But a chance toneof color in a room or a morning
(18:33):
sky, a particular perfume that youhad once loved and that brings subtle memories
with it, A line from aforgotten poem that you had come across again,
a cadence from piece of music thatyou had ceased to play. I
tell you, Dorian, that itis on things like these that our lives
depend. Browning writes about that somewhere, but our own senses will imagine them
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for us. There are moments whenthe odor of Lilla Blanc passes suddenly across
me, and I have to livethe strangest month of my life over again.
I wish I could change places withyou, Dorian. The world has
cried out against us both, butit has always worshiped you. It always
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will worship you. You are thetype of what the age is searching for
and what it is afraid it hasfound. I am so glad that you
have never done anything, never carveda statue or painted a picture, or
produced anything outside of yourself. Lifehas been your art. You have set
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yourself to music. Your days areyour sonnets. Dorian rose up from the
piano and passed his hand through hishair. Yes, life has been exquisite,
he murmured. But I am notgoing to have the same life,
Haddie. You must not say theextravagant things to him. You don't know
everything about me. I think thatif you did, even you would turn
(20:04):
from me. You laugh, don'tlaugh? Why have you stopped playing,
Dorian, Go back and give methe knock. Turn over again. Look
at that great honey colored moon thathangs in the dusky air. She is
waiting for you to charm her,and if you play, she will come
closer to the earth. He won'tlet us go to the club. Then
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it has been a charming evening,and we must end it charmingly. There
is some one at White's who wantsimmensely to know you, young Lord poole
Burnamouth's eldest son. He has alreadycopied your neckties and has begged me to
introduce him to you. He isquite delightful and rather reminds me of you,
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I hope not, said Dorian,with a sad look in his eyes.
But I'm tired to night, Haddie. I shan't go to the club.
It is nearly eleven, and Iwant to go to bed early.
Do stay. You were played sowell as to night. There was something
in your touch that was wonderful.It had more expression than I had ever
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heard from it before. It isbecause I am going to be good,
he answered, smiling. I'm alittle changed already. You cannot change to
me, Dorian said, Lord Henry, you and I will always be friends.
Yet you poison me with a bookonce. I should not forgive that.
Harry, promise me that you willnever lend that book to anyone it
(21:30):
does harm my dear boy, youare really beginning to moralize. You will
soon be going about like the convertedand the revivalist, warning people against all
the sins of which you have growntired. You are much too delightful to
do that. Besides, it isno use. You and I are what
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we are, and will be whatwe will be. As for being poisoned
by a book, there is nosuch thing as that. Art has no
influence upon action. It annihilates thedesire to act. It is superbly sterile.
The books that the world calls immoralare books that show the world its
(22:14):
own shame. That is all.Oh but we won't discuss literature. Come
round tomorrow. I'm going to rideat eleven. We might go together,
and I will take you to lunchafterwards with Lady Branksome. She is a
charming woman and wants to consult youabout some tapestries she is thinking of buying.
Mind you come, or shall welunch with our little duchess? She
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says, she never sees you now. Perhaps you're tired of Gladys. I
thought you would be a clever tonguegets on one's nerves. Well. In
any case, be here at eleven, Must I really come, Harry?
Certainly the park is quite lovely now, I don't think there have been such
lilacs since the year I met you. Very well, I shall be here
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at eleven, said Dorian. Goodnight Harry. As he reached the door,
he hesitated for a moment, asif he had something more to say.
Then he sighed and went out.End of Chapter nineteen.
Chapter nineteen. There is no useyour telling me that you are going to
be good, cried Lord Henry,dipping his white fingers into a red copper
bowl filled with rose water. Youare quite perfect. Pray. Don't change,
Dorrian Gray shook his head. No, Harry, I've done too many
(00:24):
dreadful things in my life. I'mnot going to do any more. I
began my good actions yesterday. Wherewere you yesterday in the country, Harry.
I was staying at a little innby myself, my dear boy,
said Lord Henry, smiling. Anybodycan be good in the country. There
are no temptations there. That isthe reason why people who live out of
(00:47):
town are so absolutely uncivilized. Civilizationis not, by any means an easy
thing to attain to. There areonly two ways by which man can reach
it. One is by being cultured, the other by being corrupt. Country
people have no opportunity of being either, so they stagnate. Culture and corruption,
(01:12):
echoed Dorian. I've known something ofboth. It seems terrible to me
now that they should ever be foundtogether. For I have a new ideal,
Harry. I am going to alter. I think I have altered.
You have not yet told me whatyour good action was? Or did you
say you are done? More thanone, asked his companion, as he
(01:34):
spilled into his plate a little crimsonpyramid of seeded strawberries, and through a
perforated shell shaped spoon, snowed whitesugar upon them. I can tell you,
Harry, it is not a storyI could tell to anyone else.
I spared somebody. It sounds vain, but you understand what I mean.
(01:57):
She was quite beautiful and wonderfully likeSybil Vane. I think it was that
which first attracted me to her.You remember Sybil, don't you? How
long ago? That seems? Well? Hetty was not one of our own
class. Of course, she wassimply a girl in a village. But
I really loved her. I amquite sure that I loved her, or
(02:20):
d in this wonderful may that wehave been having. I used to run
down and see her two or threetimes a week. Yesterday she met me
in a little orchard. The appleblossoms kept tumbling down on her hair,
and she was laughing. We wereto have gone away together this morning at
dawn. Suddenly I determined to leaveher as flowerlike as I had found her.
(02:43):
I should think The novelty of theemotion must have given you a thrill
of real pleasure, Dorian interrupted,Lord Henry. But I can finish your
idol for you. You gave hergood advice and broke her heart. That
was the beginning of your reformation.Harry, you are horrible. You mustn't
say these dreadful things. Hetty's heartis not broken. Of course, she
(03:07):
cried and all that, but thereis no disgrace upon her. She can
live like perditor in her garden ofmint and marigold, and weep over a
faithless Florazelle, said Lord Henry,laughing as he leaned back in his chair.
My dear Dorian, you have themost curiously boyish moods. Do you
(03:30):
think this girl will ever be reallycontent now with any one of her own
rank? I suppose she will bemarried some day to a rough carter or
a grinning plowman. Well, thefact of having met you and loved you
will teach her to despise her husband, and she will be wretched. From
(03:51):
a moral point of view. Icannot say that I think much of your
great renunciation, even as the beginningit is poor. But sir, how
do you know that Hetty isn't floatingat the present moment in some starlit mill
pond with lovely water lilies round herlike Ophelia. I can't bear this,
Harry, You mock at everything andthen suggest the most serious tragedies. I'm
(04:15):
sorry, I told you now.I don't care what you say to me.
I know I was right in actingas I did poor Hetty. As
I rode past the farm this morning, I saw her white face at the
window like a spray of jasmine.Don't let us talk about it any more,
and don't try to persuade me thatthe first good action I have done
(04:35):
for years, the first little bitof self sacrifice I've ever known, is
really a sort of sin. Iwant to be better. I am going
to be better. Tell me somethingabout yourself. What is going on in
town? I have not been tothe club for days. The people are
still discussing poor Basil's disappearance. Ishould have thought they had got tired of
(04:58):
that by this time, said Dorian, pouring himself out some wine and frowning
slightly. My dear boy, theyhave only been talking about it for six
weeks, and the British public arereally not equal to the mental strain of
having more than one topic every threemonths. They have been very fortunate lately,
however, they have had my owndivorce case and Alan Campbell's suicide.
(05:24):
Now they have got the mysterious disappearanceof an artist. Scotland Yard still insists
that the man in the gray ulsterwho left for Paris by the midnight train
on the ninth of November was poorBasil, and the French police declare that
Basil never arrived in Paris at all. I suppose in about a fortnight we
shall be told that he has beenseen in San Francisco. It is an
(05:46):
odd thing, but everyone who disappearsis said to be seen at San Francisco.
It must be a delightful city andpossess all the attractions of the next
world. What do you think hashappened to Battil, asked Dorian, holding
up his Burgundy against the light andwondering how it was that he could discuss
(06:06):
the matter so calmly. I havenot the slightest idea. If Basil chooses
to hide himself, it is nobusiness of mine. If he is dead,
I don't want to think about him. Death is the only thing that
ever terrifies me. I hate it, why, said the younger man wearily,
(06:26):
Because, said Lord Henry, passingbeneath his nostrils, the guilt tredis
of an open vinigrette box. Onecan survive everything nowadays, except that death
and vulgarity are the only two factsin the nineteenth century that one cannot explain
away. Let us have our coffeein the music room, Dorian, you
(06:47):
must play Chopin to me. Theman with whom my wife ran away played
Chopin exquisitely. Poor Victoria, Iwas very fond of her, house is
rather lonely without her. Of course, married life is merely a habit,
a bad habit. But then oneregrets the loss, even of one's worst
(07:11):
habits. Perhaps one regrets them themost they are such an essential part of
one's personality. Dorrian said nothing,but rose from the table, and,
passing into the next room, satdown to the piano and let his fingers
stray across the white and black ivoryof the keys. After the coffee had
been brought in, he stopped,and, looking over at Lord Henry,
(07:35):
said, Harry, did it everoccur to you that Basil was murdered?
Lord Henry yawned. Basil was verypopular and always wore a waterbory watch.
Why should he have been murdered?He was not clever enough to have enemies.
Of course, he had a wonderfulgenius for painting. But a man
(07:58):
can paint like vela square and yetbe as dull as possible. Basil was
really rather dull. He only interestedme once, and that was when he
told me years ago that he hada wild adoration for you, and that
you were a dominant motive of hisart. I was very fond of Basil,
said Dorian, with a note ofsadness in his voice. But don't
(08:22):
people say that he was murdered,Oh, some of the papers do.
It does not seem to me tobe at all probable. I know there
are dreadful places in Paris, butBasil was not the sort of man to
have gone to them. He hadno curiosity. It was his chief defect.
What would you say, Haddie,if I told you that I had
(08:43):
murdered Basil, said the younger man. He watched him intently after he had
spoken. I would say, mydear fellow, that you were posing for
a character that doesn't suit you.All crime is vulgar, just as all
vulgarity is crime. It is notin you, Dorian, to commit a
murder. I'm sorry if I hurtyour vanity by saying so, But I
(09:07):
assure you it is true. Crimebelongs exclusively to the lower orders. I
don't blame them in the smallest degree. I should fancy that crime was to
them what art is to us,simply a method of procuring extraordinary sensations,
a method of procuring sensations. Don'tyou think, then, that a man
(09:28):
who has once committed a murder couldpossibly do the same crime again. Don't
tell me that, oh, anythingbecomes a pleasure if one does it too
often, cried Lord Henry, laughing. That is one of the most important
secrets of life. I should fancy, however, that murder is always a
mistake. One should never do anythingthat one cannot talk about after dinner.
(09:52):
But let us pass from poor Basil. I wish I could believe that he
had come to such a really romanticend as you suggest, but I can't.
I dare say he fell into thesen off an omnibus, and that
the conductor hushed up the scandal.Yes, I should fancy that was his
(10:13):
end. I see him lying nowon his back under those dull green waters,
with the heavy barges floating over him, and long weeds catching in his
hair. Do you know, Idon't think he would have done much more
good work during the last ten years. His painting had gone off very much.
(10:35):
Dorrian heaved a sigh, and LordHenry strolled across the room and began
to stroke the head of a curiousjaver parrot, a large gray plumaged bird
with pink crest and tail that wasbalancing itself upon a bamboo perch. As
his pointed fingers touched it, itdropped the white scarf of crinkled lids over
(11:00):
a glass like eyes, and beganto sway backwards and forwards. Yes,
he continued, turning round and takinghis handkerchief out of his pocket. His
painting had quite gone off. Itseemed to me to have lost something.
It had lost an ideal. Whenyou and he ceased to be great friends,
(11:22):
he ceased to be a great artist. What was it separated you?
I suppose he bored you. Ifso, he never forgave you. It's
a habit bores have, By theway, What has become of that wonderful
portrait he did of you. Idon't think I have ever seen it since
he finished it. Oh, Iremember your telling me years ago that you
(11:46):
had sent it down to Selby andthat had gotten a sleigh or stolen on
the way. You never got itback, or what a pity? It
was really a masterpiece. I remember. I wanted to buy it. I
wish I had now. It belongedto Basle's best period Since then his work
was that curious mixture of bad paintingand good intentions that always entitles a man
(12:09):
to be called a representative British artist. Did you advertise for it? You
should, I forget, said Dorian. I suppose I did, but I
never really liked it. I'm sorryI sat for it. The memory of
the thing is hateful to me.Why do you talk of it? It
used to remind me those curious linessome play Hamlet, I think, how
(12:33):
do they run? Like the paintingof a sorrow faced without a heart?
Yes, that is what he waslike, Lord Henry laughed. If a
man treats life artistically, his brainis his heart, he answered. Sinking
into an arm chair, Dorian Grayshook his hat and struck some soft chords
(12:54):
on the piano, like a paintingof a sorrow. He repeated her face
without a heart. The elder manlay back and looked at him with half
closed eyes. By the way,Dorian, he said, after a pause,
what does it profit a man ifhe gain the whole world and lose?
(13:16):
How does the quotation run his ownsoul? The music jarred, and
Dorian Gray started and stared at hisfriend. Why do you ask me that,
Hardie, my dear fellow, saidLord Henry, elevating his eyebrows in
surprise. I asked you because Ithought you might be able to give me
(13:37):
an answer, That is all.I was going through the park last Sunday,
and close by the marble arch therestood a little crowd of shabby looking
people listening to some vulgar street preacher. As I passed by, I heard
the man yelling out that question tohis audience. Struck me as being rather
dramatic. London is very rich incurious effects of that kind. A wet
(14:01):
sunday, an uncouth Christian in amackintosh, a ring of sickly white faces
under a broken roof of dripping umbrellas, and a wonderful phrase flung into the
air by shrill, hysterical lips.It was really very good in its way,
quite a suggestion. I thought oftelling the prophet that Art had a
(14:22):
soul, but that man had not. I am afraid, however, he
would not have understood me. Don'tharry. The soul is a terrible reality.
It can be bought and sold andbartered away. It can be poisoned
or made perfect. There is asoul in each one of us. I
know it. Do you feel quitesure of that, Dorian? Quite sure?
(14:45):
Ah? Then it must be anillusion. The things one feels absolutely
certain about are never true. Thatis the fatality of faith and the lesson
of romance. How grave you are, don't be so serious. What have
you or I to do with thesuperstitions of our age? No, we
(15:05):
have given up our belief in thesoul. Play me something, Play me
a knock turn, Dorian, Andas you play, tell me in a
low voice, how you have keptyour youth. You must have some secret.
I am only ten years older thanyou are, and I am wrinkled
and worn and yellow. You arereally wonderful, Dorian. You have never
(15:31):
looked more charming than you do.To night. You remind me of the
day I saw you first. Youwere rather cheeky, very shy, and
absolutely extraordinary. You have changed,of course, but not in appearance.
I wish you would tell me yoursecret to get back my youth. I
(15:52):
would do anything in the world excepttake exercise, get up early, or
be respectable youth. There is nothinglike it. It's absurd to talk of
the ignorance of youth. The onlypeople to whose opinions I listen now with
any respect are people much younger thanmyself. They seem in front of me
(16:14):
life has revealed to them her latestwonder. As for the aged, I
always contradict the aged. I doit on principle. If you ask them
their opinion on something that happened yesterday, they solemnly give you the opinions current
in eighteen twenty, when people worehigh stocks, believed in everything, and
new absolutely nothing. How lovely thatthing you are playing is. I wonder
(16:41):
did Chopin write it at Majorca,with the sea weeping round the villa and
the salt spray dashing against the panes. It is marvelously romantic. What a
blessing it is that there is oneart left to us that is not imitative.
Don't stop. I want music tonight. It seems to me that
(17:03):
you are the young Apollo, andthat I am Marsius. Listening to you.
I have sorrows, Dorian, ofmy own, that even you know
nothing of the tragedy of old age. Is not that one is old,
but that one is young. Iam amazed sometimes at my own sincerity.
Ah, Dorian, how happy youare. What an exquisite life you have
(17:27):
had. You have drunk deeply ofeverything, you have crushed the grapes against
your palette. Nothing has been hiddenfrom you, and it has all been
to you, no more than thesound of music. It has not marred
you. You are still the same. I am not the same, Hattie.
(17:48):
Yes you are the same. Iwonder what the rest of your life
will be. Don't spoil it byrenunciations. At present you are a perfect
type. Don't make yourself incomplete.You are quite flawless. Now. You
need not shake your head. Youknow you are. Besides, Dorian,
(18:10):
don't deceive yourself. Life is notgoverned by will or intention. Life is
a question of nerves and fibers andslowly built up cells in which thought hides
itself, and passion has its dreams. You may fancy yourself safe and think
yourself strong. But a chance toneof color in a room or a morning
(18:33):
sky, a particular perfume that youhad once loved and that brings subtle memories
with it, A line from aforgotten poem that you had come across again,
a cadence from piece of music thatyou had ceased to play. I
tell you, Dorian, that itis on things like these that our lives
depend. Browning writes about that somewhere, but our own senses will imagine them
(18:57):
for us. There are moments whenthe odor of Lilla Blanc passes suddenly across
me, and I have to livethe strangest month of my life over again.
I wish I could change places withyou, Dorian. The world has
cried out against us both, butit has always worshiped you. It always
(19:18):
will worship you. You are thetype of what the age is searching for
and what it is afraid it hasfound. I am so glad that you
have never done anything, never carveda statue or painted a picture, or
produced anything outside of yourself. Lifehas been your art. You have set
(19:41):
yourself to music. Your days areyour sonnets. Dorian rose up from the
piano and passed his hand through hishair. Yes, life has been exquisite,
he murmured. But I am notgoing to have the same life,
Haddie. You must not say theextravagant things to him. You don't know
everything about me. I think thatif you did, even you would turn
(20:04):
from me. You laugh, don'tlaugh? Why have you stopped playing,
Dorian, Go back and give methe knock. Turn over again. Look
at that great honey colored moon thathangs in the dusky air. She is
waiting for you to charm her,and if you play, she will come
closer to the earth. He won'tlet us go to the club. Then
(20:26):
it has been a charming evening,and we must end it charmingly. There
is some one at White's who wantsimmensely to know you, young Lord poole
Burnamouth's eldest son. He has alreadycopied your neckties and has begged me to
introduce him to you. He isquite delightful and rather reminds me of you,
(20:47):
I hope not, said Dorian,with a sad look in his eyes.
But I'm tired to night, Haddie. I shan't go to the club.
It is nearly eleven, and Iwant to go to bed early.
Do stay. You were played sowell as to night. There was something
in your touch that was wonderful.It had more expression than I had ever
(21:07):
heard from it before. It isbecause I am going to be good,
he answered, smiling. I'm alittle changed already. You cannot change to
me, Dorian said, Lord Henry, you and I will always be friends.
Yet you poison me with a bookonce. I should not forgive that.
Harry, promise me that you willnever lend that book to anyone it
(21:30):
does harm my dear boy, youare really beginning to moralize. You will
soon be going about like the convertedand the revivalist, warning people against all
the sins of which you have growntired. You are much too delightful to
do that. Besides, it isno use. You and I are what
(21:52):
we are, and will be whatwe will be. As for being poisoned
by a book, there is nosuch thing as that. Art has no
influence upon action. It annihilates thedesire to act. It is superbly sterile.
The books that the world calls immoralare books that show the world its
(22:14):
own shame. That is all.Oh but we won't discuss literature. Come
round tomorrow. I'm going to rideat eleven. We might go together,
and I will take you to lunchafterwards with Lady Branksome. She is a
charming woman and wants to consult youabout some tapestries she is thinking of buying.
Mind you come, or shall welunch with our little duchess? She
(22:37):
says, she never sees you now. Perhaps you're tired of Gladys. I
thought you would be a clever tonguegets on one's nerves. Well. In
any case, be here at eleven, Must I really come, Harry?
Certainly the park is quite lovely now, I don't think there have been such
lilacs since the year I met you. Very well, I shall be here
(23:00):
at eleven, said Dorian. Goodnight Harry. As he reached the door,
he hesitated for a moment, asif he had something more to say.
Then he sighed and went out.End of Chapter nineteen.
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