Howlateitwas！Hesatup，andhavingsippedsometea，turnedoverhisletters。OneofthemwasfromLordHenry，andhadbeenbroughtbyhandthatmorning。Hehesitatedforamoment，andthenputitaside。
Theothersheopenedlistlessly。Theycontainedtheusualcollectionofcards，invitationstodinner，ticketsforprivateviews，programmesofcharityconcerts，andthelikethatareshoweredonfashionableyoungmeneverymorningduringtheseason。TherewasaratherheavybillforachasedsilverLouis-Quinzetoilet-setthathehadnotyethadthecouragetosendontohisguardians，whowereextremelyold-fashionedpeopleanddidnotrealizethatweliveinanagewhenunnecessarythingsareouronlynecessities。
andtherewereseveralverycourteouslywordedcommunicationsfromJermynStreetmoney-lendersofferingtoadvanceanysumofmoneyatamoment’snoticeandatthemostreasonableratesofinterest。
Afterabouttenminuteshegotup，andthrowingonanelaboratedressing-gownofsilk-embroideredcashmerewool，passedintotheonyx-pavedbathroom。Thecoolwaterrefreshedhimafterhislongsleep。Heseemedtohaveforgottenallthathehadgonethrough。Adimsenseofhavingtakenpartinsomestrangetragedycametohimonceortwice，buttherewastheunrealityofadreamaboutit。
Assoonashewasdressed，hewentintothelibraryandsatdowntoalightFrenchbreakfastthathadbeenlaidoutforhimonasmallroundtableclosetotheopenwindow。Itwasanexquisiteday。Thewarmairseemedladenwithspices。Abeeflewinandbuzzedroundtheblue-dragonbowlthat，filledwithsulphur-yellowroses，stoodbeforehim。Hefeltperfectlyhappy。
Suddenlyhiseyefellonthescreenthathehadplacedinfrontoftheportrait，andhestarted。
ToocoldforMonsieur？askedhisvalet，puttinganomeletteonthetable。Ishutthewindow？
Dorianshookhishead。Iamnotcold，hemurmured。
Wasitalltrue？Hadtheportraitreallychanged？Orhaditbeensimplyhisownimaginationthathadmadehimseealookofevilwheretherehadbeenalookofjoy？Surelyapaintedcanvascouldnotalter？Thethingwasabsurd。ItwouldserveasataletotellBasilsomeday。Itwouldmakehimsmile。
And，yet，howvividwashisrecollectionofthewholething！Firstinthedimtwilight，andtheninthebrightdawn，hehadseenthetouchofcrueltyroundthewarpedlips。Healmostdreadedhisvaletleavingtheroom。Heknewthatwhenhewasalonehewouldhavetoexaminetheportrait。
Hewasafraidofcertainty。Whenthecoffeeandcigaretteshadbeenbroughtandthemanturnedtogo，hefeltawilddesiretotellhimtoremain。
Asthedoorwasclosingbehindhim，hecalledhimback。Themanstoodwaitingforhisorders。Dorianlookedathimforamoment。Iamnotathometoanyone，Victor，hesaidwithasigh。Themanbowedandretired。
Thenherosefromthetable，litacigarette，andflunghimselfdownonaluxuriouslycushionedcouchthatstoodfacingthescreen。Thescreenwasanoldone，ofgiltSpanishleather，stampedandwroughtwitharatherfloridLouis-Quatorzepattern。Hescanneditcuriously，wonderingifeverbeforeithadconcealedthesecretofaman’slife。
Shouldhemoveitaside，afterall？Whynotletitstaythere？
Whatwastheuseofknowing。？Ifthethingwastrue，itwasterrible。Ifitwasnottrue，whytroubleaboutit？Butwhatif，bysomefateordeadlierchance，eyesotherthanhisspiedbehindandsawthehorriblechange？WhatshouldhedoifBasilHallwardcameandaskedtolookathisownpicture？
Basilwouldbesuretodothat。No。thethinghadtobeexamined，andatonce。Anythingwouldbebetterthanthisdreadfulstateofdoubt。
Hegotupandlockedbothdoors。Atleasthewouldbealonewhenhelookeduponthemaskofhisshame。Thenhedrewthescreenasideandsawhimselffacetoface。Itwasperfectlytrue。Theportraithadaltered。
Asheoftenrememberedafterwards，andalwayswithnosmallwonder，hefoundhimselfatfirstgazingattheportraitwithafeelingofalmostscientificinterest。Thatsuchachangeshouldhavetakenplacewasincredibletohim。Andyetitwasafact。Wastheresomesubtleaffinitybetweenthechemicalatomsthatshapedthemselvesintoformandcolouronthecanvasandthesoulthatwaswithinhim？Coulditbethatwhatthatsoulthought，theyrealized？——thatwhatitdreamed，theymadetrue？Orwastheresomeother，moreterriblereason？Heshuddered，andfeltafraid，and，goingbacktothecouch，laythere，gazingatthepictureinsickenedhorror。
Onething，however，hefeltthatithaddoneforhim。Ithadmadehimconscioushowunjust，howcruel，hehadbeentoSibylVane。Itwasnottoolatetomakereparationforthat。Shecouldstillbehiswife。
Hisunrealandselfishlovewouldyieldtosomehigherinfluence，wouldbetransformedintosomenoblerpassion，andtheportraitthatBasilHallwardhadpaintedofhimwouldbeaguidetohimthroughlife，wouldbetohimwhatholinessistosome，andconsciencetoothers，andthefearofGodtousall。Therewereopiatesforremorse，drugsthatcouldlullthemoralsensetosleep。Butherewasavisiblesymbolofthedegradationofsin。
Herewasanever-presentsignoftheruinmenbroughtupontheirsouls。
Threeo’clockstruck，andfour，andthehalf-hourrangitsdoublechime，butDorianGraydidnotstir。Hewastryingtogatherupthescarletthreadsoflifeandtoweavethemintoapattern。tofindhiswaythroughthesanguinelabyrinthofpassionthroughwhichhewaswandering。Hedidnotknowwhattodo，orwhattothink。Finally，hewentovertothetableandwroteapassionatelettertothegirlhehadloved，imploringherforgivenessandaccusinghimselfofmadness。Hecoveredpageafterpagewithwildwordsofsorrowandwilderwordsofpain。Thereisaluxuryinself-reproach。
Whenweblameourselves，wefeelthatnooneelsehasarighttoblameus。Itistheconfession，notthepriest，thatgivesusabsolution。WhenDorianhadfinishedtheletter，hefeltthathehadbeenforgiven。
Suddenlytherecameaknocktothedoor，andheheardLordHenry’svoiceoutside。Mydearboy，Imustseeyou。Letmeinatonce。Ican’tbearyourshuttingyourselfuplikethis。
Hemadenoansweratfirst，butremainedquitestill。Theknockingstillcontinuedandgrewlouder。Yes，itwasbettertoletLordHenryin，andtoexplaintohimthenewlifehewasgoingtolead，toquarrelwithhimifitbecamenecessarytoquarrel，topartifpartingwasinevitable。
Hejumpedup，drewthescreenhastilyacrossthepicture，andunlockedthedoor。
Iamsosorryforitall，Dorian，saidLordHenryasheentered。
Butyoumustnotthinktoomuchaboutit。
DoyoumeanaboutSibylVane？askedthelad。
Yes，ofcourse，answeredLordHenry，sinkingintoachairandslowlypullingoffhisyellowgloves。Itisdreadful，fromonepointofview，butitwasnotyourfault。Tellme，didyougobehindandseeher，aftertheplaywasover？
Yes。
Ifeltsureyouhad。Didyoumakeascenewithher？
Iwasbrutal，Harry——perfectlybrutal。Butitisallrightnow。
Iamnotsorryforanythingthathashappened。Ithastaughtmetoknowmyselfbetter。
Ah，Dorian，Iamsogladyoutakeitinthatway！IwasafraidIwouldfindyouplungedinremorseandtearingthatnicecurlyhairofyours。
Ihavegotthroughallthat，saidDorian，shakinghisheadandsmiling。Iamperfectlyhappynow。Iknowwhatconscienceis，tobeginwith。Itisnotwhatyoutoldmeitwas。Itisthedivinestthinginus。
Don’tsneeratit，Harry，anymore——atleastnotbeforeme。Iwanttobegood。Ican’tbeartheideaofmysoulbeinghideous。
Averycharmingartisticbasisforethics，Dorian！Icongratulateyouonit。Buthowareyougoingtobegin？
BymarryingSibylVane。
MarryingSibylVane！criedLordHenry，standingupandlookingathiminperplexedamazement。But，mydearDorian——
Yes，Harry，Iknowwhatyouaregoingtosay。Somethingdreadfulaboutmarriage。Don’tsayit。Don’teversaythingsofthatkindtomeagain。TwodaysagoIaskedSibyltomarryme。Iamnotgoingtobreakmywordtoher。Sheistobemywife。
Yourwife！Dorian！……Didn’tyougetmyletter？Iwrotetoyouthismorning，andsentthenotedownbymyownman。
Yourletter？Oh，yes，Iremember。Ihavenotreadityet，Harry。
IwasafraidtheremightbesomethinginitthatIwouldn’tlike。Youcutlifetopieceswithyourepigrams。
Youknownothingthen？
Whatdoyoumean？
LordHenrywalkedacrosstheroom，andsittingdownbyDorianGray，tookbothhishandsinhisownandheldthemtightly。Dorian，hesaid，myletter——don’tbefrightened——wastotellyouthatSibylVaneisdead。
Acryofpainbrokefromthelad’slips，andheleapedtohisfeet，tearinghishandsawayfromLordHenry’sgrasp。Dead！Sibyldead！
Itisnottrue！Itisahorriblelie！Howdareyousayit？
Itisquitetrue，Dorian，saidLordHenry，gravely。Itisinallthemorningpapers。IwrotedowntoyoutoaskyounottoseeanyonetillIcame。Therewillhavetobeaninquest，ofcourse，andyoumustnotbemixedupinit。ThingslikethatmakeamanfashionableinParis。
ButinLondonpeoplearesoprejudiced。Here，oneshouldnevermakeone’sdé。butwithascandal。Oneshouldreservethattogiveaninteresttoone’soldage。Isupposetheydon’tknowyournameatthetheatre？
Iftheydon’t，itisallright。Didanyoneseeyougoingroundtoherroom？Thatisanimportantpoint。
Doriandidnotanswerforafewmoments。Hewasdazedwithhorror。
Finallyhestammered，inastifledvoice，Harry，didyousayaninquest？
Whatdidyoumeanbythat？DidSibyl——？Oh，Harry，Ican’tbearit！Butbequick。Tellmeeverythingatonce。
Ihavenodoubtitwasnotanaccident，Dorian，thoughitmustbeputinthatwaytothepublic。Itseemsthatasshewasleavingthetheatrewithhermother，abouthalf-pasttwelveorso，shesaidshehadforgottensomethingupstairs。Theywaitedsometimeforher，butshedidnotcomedownagain。Theyultimatelyfoundherlyingdeadonthefloorofherdressing-room。Shehadswallowedsomethingbymistake，somedreadfulthingtheyuseattheatres。Idon’tknowwhatitwas，butithadeitherprussicacidorwhiteleadinit。Ishouldfancyitwasprussicacid，assheseemstohavediedinstantaneously。
Harry，Harry，itisterrible！criedthelad。
Yes。itisverytragic，ofcourse，butyoumustnotgetyourselfmixedupinit。IseebyTheStandardthatshewasseventeen。I
shouldhavethoughtshewasalmostyoungerthanthat。Shelookedsuchachild，andseemedtoknowsolittleaboutacting。Dorian，youmustn’tletthisthinggetonyournerves。Youmustcomeanddinewithme，andafterwardswewilllookinattheopera。ItisaPattinight，andeverybodywillbethere。Youcancometomysister’sbox。Shehasgotsomesmartwomenwithher。
SoIhavemurderedSibylVane，saidDorianGray，halftohimself，murderedherassurelyasifIhadcutherlittlethroatwithaknife。
Yettherosesarenotlesslovelyforallthat。Thebirdssingjustashappilyinmygarden。Andto-nightIamtodinewithyou，andthengoontotheopera，andsupsomewhere，Isuppose，afterwards。Howextraordinarilydramaticlifeis！IfIhadreadallthisinabook，Harry，IthinkIwouldhaveweptoverit。Somehow，nowthatithashappenedactually，andtome，itseemsfartoowonderfulfortears。Hereisthefirstpassionatelove-letterIhaveeverwritteninmylife。Strange，thatmyfirstpassionatelove-lettershouldhavebeenaddressedtoadeadgirl。Cantheyfeel，Iwonder，thosewhitesilentpeoplewecallthedead？Sibyl！Canshefeel，orknow，orlisten？Oh，Harry，howIlovedheronce！Itseemsyearsagotomenow。
Shewaseverythingtome。Thencamethatdreadfulnight——wasitreallyonlylastnight？——whensheplayedsobadly，andmyheartalmostbroke。
Sheexplaineditalltome。Itwasterriblypathetic。ButIwasnotmovedabit。Ithoughthershallow。Suddenlysomethinghappenedthatmademeafraid。Ican’ttellyouwhatitwas，butitwasterrible。IsaidIwouldgobacktoher。IfeltIhaddonewrong。Andnowsheisdead。MyGod！MyGod！Harry，whatshallIdo？Youdon’tknowthedangerIamin，andthereisnothingtokeepmestraight。Shewouldhavedonethatforme。Shehadnorighttokillherself。Itwasselfishofher。
MydearDorian，answeredLordHenry，takingacigarettefromhiscaseandproducingagold-lattenmatchbox，theonlywayawomancaneverreformamanisbyboringhimsocompletelythathelosesallpossibleinterestinlife。Ifyouhadmarriedthisgirl，youwouldhavebeenwretched。
Ofcourse，youwouldhavetreatedherkindly。Onecanalwaysbekindtopeopleaboutwhomonecaresnothing。Butshewouldhavesoonfoundoutthatyouwereabsolutelyindifferenttoher。Andwhenawomanfindsthatoutaboutherhusband，sheeitherbecomesdreadfullydowdy，orwearsverysmartbonnetsthatsomeotherwoman’shusbandhastopayfor。Isaynothingaboutthesocialmistake，whichwouldhavebeenabject——which，ofcourse，Iwouldnothaveallowed——butIassureyouthatinanycasethewholethingwouldhavebeenanabsolutefailure。
Isupposeitwould，mutteredthelad，walkingupanddowntheroomandlookinghorriblypale。ButIthoughtitwasmyduty。Itisnotmyfaultthatthisterribletragedyhaspreventedmydoingwhatwasright。
Irememberyoursayingoncethatthereisafatalityaboutgoodresolutions——thattheyarealwaysmadetoolate。Minecertainlywere。Goodresolutionsareuselessattemptstointerferewithscientificlaws。Theiroriginispurevanity。Theirresultisabsolutelynil。Theygiveus，nowandthen，someofthoseluxurioussterileemotionsthathaveacertaincharmfortheweak。Thatisallthatcanbesaidforthem。Theyaresimplychequesthatmendrawonabankwheretheyhavenoaccount。
Harry，criedDorianGray，comingoverandsittingdownbesidehim，whyisitthatIcannotfeelthistragedyasmuchasIwantto？I
don’tthinkIamheartless。Doyou？
Youhavedonetoomanyfoolishthingsduringthelastfortnighttobeentitledtogiveyourselfthatname，Dorian，answeredLordHenrywithhissweetmelancholysmile。
Theladfrowned。Idon’tlikethatexplanation，Harry，herejoined，butIamgladyoudon’tthinkIamheartless。Iamnothingofthekind。
IknowIamnot。AndyetImustadmitthatthisthingthathashappeneddoesnotaffectmeasitshould。Itseemstometobesimplylikeawonderfulendingtoawonderfulplay。IthasalltheterriblebeautyofaGreektragedy，atragedyinwhichItookagreatpart，butbywhichIhavenotbeenwounded。
Itisaninterestingquestion，saidLordHenry，whofoundanexquisitepleasureinplayingonthelad’sunconsciousegotism，anextremelyinterestingquestion。Ifancythatthetrueexplanationisthis：Itoftenhappensthattherealtragediesoflifeoccurinsuchaninartisticmannerthattheyhurtusbytheircrudeviolence，theirabsoluteincoherence，theirabsurdwantofmeaning，theirentirelackofstyle。Theyaffectusjustasvulgarityaffectsus。Theygiveusanimpressionofsheerbruteforce，andwerevoltagainstthat。Sometimes，however，atragedythatpossessesartisticelementsofbeautycrossesourlives。Iftheseelementsofbeautyarereal，thewholethingsimplyappealstooursenseofdramaticeffect。
Suddenlywefindthatwearenolongertheactors，butthespectatorsoftheplay。Orratherweareboth。Wewatchourselves，andthemerewonderofthespectacleenthrallsus。Inthepresentcase，whatisitthathasreallyhappened？Someonehaskilledherselfforloveofyou。IwishthatIhadeverhadsuchanexperience。Itwouldhavemademeinlovewithlovefortherestofmylife。Thepeoplewhohaveadoredme——therehavenotbeenverymany，buttherehavebeensome——havealwaysinsistedonlivingon，longafterIhadceasedtocareforthem，ortheytocareforme。Theyhavebecomestoutandtedious，andwhenImeetthem，theygoinatonceforreminiscences。Thatawfulmemoryofwoman！Whatafearfulthingitis！Andwhatanutterintellectualstagnationitreveals！Oneshouldabsorbthecolouroflife，butoneshouldneverrememberitsdetails。Detailsarealwaysvulgar。
Imustsowpoppiesinmygarden，sighedDorian。
Thereisnonecessity，rejoinedhiscompanion。Lifehasalwayspoppiesinherhands。Ofcourse，nowandthenthingslinger。Ionceworenothingbutvioletsallthroughoneseason，asaformofartisticmourningforaromancethatwouldnotdie。Ultimately，however，itdiddie。Iforgetwhatkilledit。Ithinkitwasherproposingtosacrificethewholeworldforme。Thatisalwaysadreadfulmoment。Itfillsonewiththeterrorofeternity。Well——wouldyoubelieveit？——aweekago，atLadyHampshire’s，Ifoundmyselfseatedatdinnernexttheladyinquestion，andsheinsistedongoingoverthewholethingagain，anddiggingupthepast，andrakingupthefuture。Ihadburiedmyromanceinabedofasphodel。ShedraggeditoutagainandassuredmethatIhadspoiledherlife。Iamboundtostatethatsheateanenormousdinner，soIdidnotfeelanyanxiety。Butwhatalackoftastesheshowed！Theonecharmofthepastisthatitisthepast。Butwomenneverknowwhenthecurtainhasfallen。Theyalwayswantasixthact，andassoonastheinterestoftheplayisentirelyover，theyproposetocontinueit。Iftheywereallowedtheirownway，everycomedywouldhaveatragicending，andeverytragedywouldculminateinafarce。Theyarecharminglyartificial，buttheyhavenosenseofart。
YouaremorefortunatethanIam。Iassureyou，Dorian，thatnotoneofthewomenIhaveknownwouldhavedoneformewhatSibylVanedidforyou。
Ordinarywomenalwaysconsolethemselves。Someofthemdoitbygoinginforsentimentalcolours。Nevertrustawomanwhowearsmauve，whateverheragemaybe，orawomanoverthirty-fivewhoisfondofpinkribbons。
Italwaysmeansthattheyhaveahistory。Othersfindagreatconsolationinsuddenlydiscoveringthegoodqualitiesoftheirhusbands。Theyflaunttheirconjugalfelicityinone’sface，asifitwerethemostfascinatingofsins。Religionconsolessome。Itsmysterieshaveallthecharmofaflirtation，awomanoncetoldme，andIcanquiteunderstandit。Besides，nothingmakesonesovainasbeingtoldthatoneisasinner。Consciencemakesegotistsofusall。Yes。thereisreallynoendtotheconsolationsthatwomenfindinmodernlife。Indeed，Ihavenotmentionedthemostimportantone。
Whatisthat，Harry？saidtheladlistlessly。
Oh，theobviousconsolation。Takingsomeoneelse’sadmirerwhenonelosesone’sown。Ingoodsocietythatalwayswhitewashesawoman。Butreally，Dorian，howdifferentSibylVanemusthavebeenfromallthewomenonemeets！Thereissomethingtomequitebeautifulaboutherdeath。I
amgladIamlivinginacenturywhensuchwondershappen。Theymakeonebelieveintherealityofthethingsweallplaywith，suchasromance，passion，andlove。
Iwasterriblycrueltoher。Youforgetthat。
Iamafraidthatwomenappreciatecruelty，downrightcruelty，morethananythingelse。Theyhavewonderfullyprimitiveinstincts。Wehaveemancipatedthem，buttheyremainslaveslookingfortheirmasters，allthesame。Theylovebeingdominated。Iamsureyouweresplendid。I
haveneverseenyoureallyandabsolutelyangry，butIcanfancyhowdelightfulyoulooked。And，afterall，yousaidsomethingtomethedaybeforeyesterdaythatseemedtomeatthetimetobemerelyfanciful，butthatIseenowwasabsolutelytrue，anditholdsthekeytoeverything。
Whatwasthat，Harry？
YousaidtomethatSibylVanerepresentedtoyoualltheheroinesofromance——thatshewasDesdemonaonenight，andOpheliatheother。thatifshediedasJuliet，shecametolifeasImogen。
Shewillnevercometolifeagainnow，mutteredthelad，buryinghisfaceinhishands。
No，shewillnevercometolife。Shehasplayedherlastpart。
Butyoumustthinkofthatlonelydeathinthetawdrydressing-roomsimplyasastrangeluridfragmentfromsomeJacobeantragedy，asawonderfulscenefromWebster，orFord，orCyrilTourneur。Thegirlneverreallylived，andsoshehasneverreallydied。Toyouatleastshewasalwaysadream，aphantomthatflittedthroughShakespeare’splaysandleftthemlovelierforitspresence，areedthroughwhichShakespeare’smusicsoundedricherandmorefullofjoy。Themomentshetouchedactuallife，shemarredit，anditmarredher，andsoshepassedaway。MournforOphelia，ifyoulike。
PutashesonyourheadbecauseCordeliawasstrangled。CryoutagainstHeavenbecausethedaughterofBrabantiodied。Butdon’twasteyourtearsoverSibylVane。Shewaslessrealthantheyare。
Therewasasilence。Theeveningdarkenedintheroom。Noiselessly，andwithsilverfeet，theshadowscreptinfromthegarden。Thecoloursfadedwearilyoutofthings。
AftersometimeDorianGraylookedup。Youhaveexplainedmetomyself，Harry，hemurmuredwithsomethingofasighofrelief。Ifeltallthatyouhavesaid，butsomehowIwasafraidofit，andIcouldnotexpressittomyself。Howwellyouknowme！Butwewillnottalkagainofwhathashappened。Ithasbeenamarvellousexperience。Thatisall。
Iwonderiflifehasstillinstoreformeanythingasmarvellous。
Lifehaseverythinginstoreforyou，Dorian。Thereisnothingthatyou，withyourextraordinarygoodlooks，willnotbeabletodo。
Butsuppose，Harry，Ibecamehaggard，andold，andwrinkled？
Whatthen？
Ah，then，saidLordHenry，risingtogo，then，mydearDorian，youwouldhavetofightforyourvictories。Asitis，theyarebroughttoyou。No，youmustkeepyourgoodlooks。Weliveinanagethatreadstoomuchtobewise，andthatthinkstoomuchtobebeautiful。Wecannotspareyou。Andnowyouhadbetterdressanddrivedowntotheclub。Weareratherlate，asitis。
IthinkIshalljoinyouattheopera，Harry。Ifeeltootiredtoeatanything。Whatisthenumberofyoursister’sbox？
Twenty-seven，Ibelieve。Itisonthegrandtier。Youwillseehernameonthedoor。ButIamsorryyouwon’tcomeanddine。
Idon’tfeeluptoit，saidDorianlistlessly。ButIamawfullyobligedtoyouforallthatyouhavesaidtome。Youarecertainlymybestfriend。Noonehaseverunderstoodmeasyouhave。
Weareonlyatthebeginningofourfriendship，Dorian，answeredLordHenry，shakinghimbythehand。Good-bye。Ishallseeyoubeforenine-thirty，Ihope。Remember，Pattiissinging。
Asheclosedthedoorbehindhim，DorianGraytouchedthebell，andinafewminutesVictorappearedwiththelampsanddrewtheblindsdown。Hewaitedimpatientlyforhimtogo。Themanseemedtotakeaninterminabletimeovereverything。
Assoonashehadleft，herushedtothescreenanddrewitback。
No。therewasnofurtherchangeinthepicture。IthadreceivedthenewsofSibylVane’sdeathbeforehehadknownofithimself。Itwasconsciousoftheeventsoflifeastheyoccurred。Theviciouscrueltythatmarredthefinelinesofthemouthhad，nodoubt，appearedattheverymomentthatthegirlhaddrunkthepoison，whateveritwas。Orwasitindifferenttoresults？Diditmerelytakecognizanceofwhatpassedwithinthesoul？
Hewondered，andhopedthatsomedayhewouldseethechangetakingplacebeforehisveryeyes，shudderingashehopedit。
PoorSibyl！Whataromanceithadallbeen！Shehadoftenmimickeddeathonthestage。ThenDeathhimselfhadtouchedherandtakenherwithhim。Howhadsheplayedthatdreadfullastscene？Hadshecursedhim，asshedied？No。shehaddiedforloveofhim，andlovewouldalwaysbeasacramenttohimnow。Shehadatonedforeverythingbythesacrificeshehadmadeofherlife。Hewouldnotthinkanymoreofwhatshehadmadehimgothrough，onthathorriblenightatthetheatre。Whenhethoughtofher，itwouldbeasawonderfultragicfiguresentontotheworld’sstagetoshowthesupremerealityoflove。Awonderfultragicfigure？Tearscametohiseyesasherememberedherchildlikelook，andwinsomefancifulways，andshytremulousgrace。Hebrushedthemawayhastilyandlookedagainatthepicture。
Hefeltthatthetimehadreallycomeformakinghischoice。Orhadhischoicealreadybeenmade？Yes，lifehaddecidedthatforhim——life，andhisowninfinitecuriosityaboutlife。Eternalyouth，infinitepassion，pleasuressubtleandsecret，wildjoysandwildersins——hewastohaveallthesethings。Theportraitwastobeartheburdenofhisshame：thatwasall。
Afeelingofpaincreptoverhimashethoughtofthedesecrationthatwasinstoreforthefairfaceonthecanvas。Once，inboyishmockeryofNarcissus，hehadkissed，orfeignedtokiss，thosepaintedlipsthatnowsmiledsocruellyathim。Morningaftermorninghehadsatbeforetheportraitwonderingatitsbeauty，almostenamouredofit，asitseemedtohimattimes。Wasittoalternowwitheverymoodtowhichheyielded？
Wasittobecomeamonstrousandloathsomething，tobehiddenawayinalockedroom，tobeshutoutfromthesunlightthathadsooftentouchedtobrightergoldthewavingwonderofitshair？Thepityofit！thepityofit！
Foramoment，hethoughtofprayingthatthehorriblesympathythatexistedbetweenhimandthepicturemightcease。Ithadchangedinanswertoaprayer。perhapsinanswertoaprayeritmightremainunchanged。
Andyet，who，thatknewanythingaboutlife，wouldsurrenderthechanceofremainingalwaysyoung，howeverfantasticthatchancemightbe，orwithwhatfatefulconsequencesitmightbefraught？Besides，wasitreallyunderhiscontrol？Haditindeedbeenprayerthathadproducedthesubstitution？
Mighttherenotbesomecuriousscientificreasonforitall？Ifthoughtcouldexerciseitsinfluenceuponalivingorganism，mightnotthoughtexerciseaninfluenceupondeadandinorganicthings？Nay，withoutthoughtorconsciousdesire，mightnotthingsexternaltoourselvesvibrateinunisonwithourmoodsandpassions，atomcallingtoatominsecretloveorstrangeaffinity？Butthereasonwasofnoimportance。Hewouldneveragaintemptbyaprayeranyterriblepower。Ifthepicturewastoalter，itwastoalter。Thatwasall。Whyinquiretoocloselyintoit？
Fortherewouldbearealpleasureinwatchingit。Hewouldbeabletofollowhismindintoitssecretplaces。Thisportraitwouldbetohimthemostmagicalofmirrors。Asithadrevealedtohimhisownbody，soitwouldrevealtohimhisownsoul。Andwhenwintercameuponit，hewouldstillbestandingwherespringtremblesonthevergeofsummer。Whenthebloodcreptfromitsface，andleftbehindapallidmaskofchalkwithleadeneyes，hewouldkeeptheglamourofboyhood。Notoneblossomofhislovelinesswouldeverfade。Notonepulseofhislifewouldeverweaken。
LikethegodsoftheGreeks，hewouldbestrong，andfleet，andjoyous。
Whatdiditmatterwhathappenedtothecolouredimageonthecanvas？Hewouldbesafe。Thatwaseverything。
Hedrewthescreenbackintoitsformerplaceinfrontofthepicture，smilingashedidso，andpassedintohisbedroom，wherehisvaletwasalreadywaitingforhim。Anhourlaterhewasattheopera，andLordHenrywasleaningoverhischair。
ThePictureofDorianGray：Chapter9Chapter9Ashewassittingatbreakfastnextmorning，BasilHallwardwasshownintotheroom。
IamsogladIhavefoundyou，Dorian，hesaidgravely。Icalledlastnight，andtheytoldmeyouwereattheopera。Ofcourse，Iknewthatwasimpossible。ButIwishyouhadleftwordwhereyouhadreallygoneto。Ipassedadreadfulevening，halfafraidthatonetragedymightbefollowedbyanother。Ithinkyoumighthavetelegraphedformewhenyouheardofitfirst。IreadofitquitebychanceinalateeditionofTheGlobethatIpickedupattheclub。Icamehereatonceandwasmiserableatnotfindingyou。Ican’ttellyouhowheart-brokenIamaboutthewholething。Iknowwhatyoumustsuffer。Butwherewereyou？Didyougodownandseethegirl’smother？ForamomentIthoughtoffollowingyouthere。
Theygavetheaddressinthepaper。SomewhereintheEustonRoad，isn’tit？ButIwasafraidofintrudinguponasorrowthatIcouldnotlighten。
Poorwoman！Whatastateshemustbein！Andheronlychild，too！Whatdidshesayaboutitall？
MydearBasil，howdoIknow？murmuredDorianGray，sippingsomepale-yellowwinefromadelicate，gold-beadedbubbleofVenetianglassandlookingdreadfullybored。Iwasattheopera。Youshouldhavecomeonthere。ImetLadyGwendolen，Harry’ssister，forthefirsttime。Wewereinherbox。Sheisperfectlycharming。andPattisangdivinely。Don’ttalkabouthorridsubjects。Ifonedoesn’ttalkaboutathing，ithasneverhappened。Itissimplyexpression，asHarrysays，thatgivesrealitytothings。Imaymentionthatshewasnotthewoman’sonlychild。Thereisason，acharmingfellow，Ibelieve。Butheisnotonthestage。Heisasailor，orsomething。Andnow，tellmeaboutyourselfandwhatyouarepainting。
Youwenttotheopera？saidHallward，speakingveryslowlyandwithastrainedtouchofpaininhisvoice。YouwenttotheoperawhileSibylVanewaslyingdeadinsomesordidlodging？Youcantalktomeofotherwomenbeingcharming，andofPattisingingdivinely，beforethegirlyoulovedhaseventhequietofagravetosleepin？Why，man，therearehorrorsinstoreforthatlittlewhitebodyofhers！
Stop，Basil！Iwon’thearit！criedDorian，leapingtohisfeet。
Youmustnottellmeaboutthings。Whatisdoneisdone。Whatispastispast。
Youcallyesterdaythepast？
Whathastheactuallapseoftimegottodowithit？Itisonlyshallowpeoplewhorequireyearstogetridofanemotion。Amanwhoismasterofhimselfcanendasorrowaseasilyashecaninventapleasure。
Idon’twanttobeatthemercyofmyemotions。Iwanttousethem，toenjoythem，andtodominatethem。
Dorian，thisishorrible！Somethinghaschangedyoucompletely。
Youlookexactlythesamewonderfulboywho，dayafterday，usedtocomedowntomystudiotositforhispicture。Butyouweresimple，natural，andaffectionatethen。Youwerethemostunspoiledcreatureinthewholeworld。Now，Idon’tknowwhathascomeoveryou。Youtalkasifyouhadnoheart，nopityinyou。ItisallHarry’sinfluence。Iseethat。
Theladflushedupand，goingtothewindow，lookedoutforafewmomentsonthegreen，flickering，sun-lashedgarden。IoweagreatdealtoHarry，Basil，hesaidatlast，morethanIowetoyou。Youonlytaughtmetobevain。
Well，Iampunishedforthat，Dorian——orshallbesomeday。
Idon’tknowwhatyoumean，Basil，heexclaimed，turninground。
Idon’tknowwhatyouwant。Whatdoyouwant？
IwanttheDorianGrayIusedtopaint，saidtheartistsadly。
Basil，saidthelad，goingovertohimandputtinghishandonhisshoulder，youhavecometoolate。Yesterday，whenIheardthatSibylVanehadkilledherself——
Killedherself！Goodheavens！istherenodoubtaboutthat？
criedHallward，lookingupathimwithanexpressionofhorror。
MydearBasil！Surelyyoudon’tthinkitwasavulgaraccident？
Ofcourseshekilledherself。
Theeldermanburiedhisfaceinhishands。Howfearful，hemuttered，andashudderranthroughhim。
No，saidDorianGray，thereisnothingfearfulaboutit。Itisoneofthegreatromantictragediesoftheage。Asarule，peoplewhoactleadthemostcommonplacelives。Theyaregoodhusbands，orfaithfulwives，orsomethingtedious。YouknowwhatImean——middle-classvirtueandallthatkindofthing。HowdifferentSibylwas！Shelivedherfinesttragedy。Shewasalwaysaheroine。Thelastnightsheplayed——thenightyousawher——sheactedbadlybecauseshehadknowntherealityoflove。
Whensheknewitsunreality，shedied，asJulietmighthavedied。Shepassedagainintothesphereofart。Thereissomethingofthemartyrabouther。
Herdeathhasallthepatheticuselessnessofmartyrdom，allitswastedbeauty。But，asIwassaying，youmustnotthinkIhavenotsuffered。Ifyouhadcomeinyesterdayataparticularmoment——abouthalf-pastfive，perhaps，oraquartertosix——youwouldhavefoundmeintears。EvenHarry，whowashere，whobroughtmethenews，infact，hadnoideawhatIwasgoingthrough。Isufferedimmensely。Thenitpassedaway。Icannotrepeatanemotion。Noonecan，exceptsentimentalists。Andyouareawfullyunjust，Basil。Youcomedownheretoconsoleme。Thatischarmingofyou。Youfindmeconsoled，andyouarefurious。Howlikeasympatheticperson！YouremindmeofastoryHarrytoldmeaboutacertainphilanthropistwhospenttwentyyearsofhislifeintryingtogetsomegrievanceredressed，orsomeunjustlawaltered——Iforgetexactlywhatitwas。Finallyhesucceeded，andnothingcouldexceedhisdisappointment。Hehadabsolutelynothingtodo，almostdiedofennui，andbecameaconfirmedmisanthrope。Andbesides，mydearoldBasil，ifyoureallywanttoconsoleme，teachmerathertoforgetwhathashappened，ortoseeitfromaproperartisticpointofview。WasitnotGautierwhousedtowriteaboutlaconsolationdesarts？
Irememberpickingupalittlevellum-coveredbookinyourstudioonedayandchancingonthatdelightfulphrase。Well，IamnotlikethatyoungmanyoutoldmeofwhenweweredownatMarlowtogether，theyoungmanwhousedtosaythatyellowsatincouldconsoleoneforallthemiseriesoflife。Ilovebeautifulthingsthatonecantouchandhandle。Oldbrocades，greenbronzes，lacquer-work，carvedivories，exquisitesurroundings，luxury，pomp——thereismuchtobegotfromallthese。Buttheartistictemperamentthattheycreate，oratanyratereveal，isstillmoretome。Tobecomethespectatorofone’sownlife，asHarrysays，istoescapethesufferingoflife。Iknowyouaresurprisedatmytalkingtoyoulikethis。YouhavenotrealizedhowIhavedeveloped。Iwasaschoolboywhenyouknewme。
Iamamannow。Ihavenewpassions，newthoughts，newideas。Iamdifferent，butyoumustnotlikemeless。Iamchanged，butyoumustalwaysbemyfriend。Ofcourse，IamveryfondofHarry。ButIknowthatyouarebetterthanheis。Youarenotstronger——youaretoomuchafraidoflife——butyouarebetter。Andhowhappyweusedtobetogether！Don’tleaveme，Basil，anddon’tquarrelwithme。IamwhatIam。Thereisnothingmoretobesaid。
Thepainterfeltstrangelymoved。Theladwasinfinitelydeartohim，andhispersonalityhadbeenthegreatturningpointinhisart。
Hecouldnotbeartheideaofreproachinghimanymore。Afterall，hisindifferencewasprobablymerelyamoodthatwouldpassaway。Therewassomuchinhimthatwasgood，somuchinhimthatwasnoble。
Well，Dorian，hesaidatlength，withasadsmile，Iwon’tspeaktoyouagainaboutthishorriblething，afterto-day。Ionlytrustyournamewon’tbementionedinconnectionwithit。Theinquestistotakeplacethisafternoon。Havetheysummonedyou？
Dorianshookhishead，andalookofannoyancepassedoverhisfaceatthementionofthewordinquest。Therewassomethingsocrudeandvulgarabouteverythingofthekind。Theydon’tknowmyname，heanswered。
Butsurelyshedid？
OnlymyChristianname，andthatIamquitesureshenevermentionedtoanyone。ShetoldmeoncethattheywereallrathercurioustolearnwhoIwas，andthatsheinvariablytoldthemmynamewasPrinceCharming。
Itwasprettyofher。YoumustdomeadrawingofSibyl，Basil。Ishouldliketohavesomethingmoreofherthanthememoryofafewkissesandsomebrokenpatheticwords。
Iwilltryanddosomething，Dorian，ifitwouldpleaseyou。
Butyoumustcomeandsittomeyourselfagain。Ican’tgetonwithoutyou。
Icanneversittoyouagain，Basil。Itisimpossible！heexclaimed，startingback。
Thepainterstaredathim。Mydearboy，whatnonsense！hecried。
Doyoumeantosayyoudon’tlikewhatIdidofyou？Whereisit？Whyhaveyoupulledthescreeninfrontofit？Letmelookatit。ItisthebestthingIhaveeverdone。Dotakethescreenaway，Dorian。Itissimplydisgracefulofyourservanthidingmyworklikethat。IfelttheroomlookeddifferentasIcamein。
Myservanthasnothingtodowithit，Basil。Youdon’timagineIlethimarrangemyroomforme？Hesettlesmyflowersformesometimes——
thatisall。No。Ididitmyself。Thelightwastoostrongontheportrait。
Toostrong！Surelynot，mydearfellow？Itisanadmirableplaceforit。Letmeseeit。AndHallwardwalkedtowardsthecorneroftheroom。
AcryofterrorbrokefromDorianGray’slips，andherushedbetweenthepainterandthescreen。Basil，hesaid，lookingverypale，youmustnotlookatit。Idon’twishyouto。
Notlookatmyownwork！Youarenotserious。Whyshouldn’tI
lookatit？exclaimedHallward，laughing。
Ifyoutrytolookatit，Basil，onmywordofhonourIwillneverspeaktoyouagainaslongasIlive。Iamquiteserious。Idon’tofferanyexplanation，andyouarenottoaskforany。But，remember，ifyoutouchthisscreen，everythingisoverbetweenus。
Hallwardwasthunderstruck。HelookedatDorianGrayinabsoluteamazement。Hehadneverseenhimlikethisbefore。Theladwasactuallypallidwithrage。Hishandswereclenched，andthepupilsofhiseyeswerelikedisksofbluefire。Hewastremblingallover。
Dorian！
Don’tspeak！
Butwhatisthematter？OfcourseIwon’tlookatitifyoudon’twantmeto，hesaid，rathercoldly，turningonhisheelandgoingovertowardsthewindow。But，really，itseemsratherabsurdthatIshouldn’tseemyownwork，especiallyasIamgoingtoexhibititinParisintheautumn。Ishallprobablyhavetogiveitanothercoatofvarnishbeforethat，soImustseeitsomeday，andwhynotto-day？
Toexhibitit！Youwanttoexhibitit？exclaimedDorianGray，astrangesenseofterrorcreepingoverhim。Wastheworldgoingtobeshownhissecret？Werepeopletogapeatthemysteryofhislife？Thatwasimpossible。Something——hedidnotknowwhat——hadtobedoneatonce。
Yes。Idon’tsupposeyouwillobjecttothat。GeorgesPetitisgoingtocollectallmybestpicturesforaspecialexhibitionintheRuedeSeze，whichwillopenthefirstweekinOctober。Theportraitwillonlybeawayamonth。Ishouldthinkyoucouldeasilyspareitforthattime。
Infact，youaresuretobeoutoftown。Andifyoukeepitalwaysbehindascreen，youcan’tcaremuchaboutit。
DorianGraypassedhishandoverhisforehead。Therewerebeadsofperspirationthere。Hefeltthathewasonthebrinkofahorribledanger。
Youtoldmeamonthagothatyouwouldneverexhibitit，hecried。Whyhaveyouchangedyourmind？Youpeoplewhogoinforbeingconsistenthavejustasmanymoodsasothershave。Theonlydifferenceisthatyourmoodsarerathermeaningless。Youcan’thaveforgottenthatyouassuredmemostsolemnlythatnothingintheworldwouldinduceyoutosendittoanyexhibition。
YoutoldHarryexactlythesamething。Hestoppedsuddenly，andagleamoflightcameintohiseyes。HerememberedthatLordHenryhadsaidtohimonce，halfseriouslyandhalfinjest，Ifyouwanttohaveastrangequarterofanhour，getBasiltotellyouwhyhewon’texhibityourpicture。
Hetoldmewhyhewouldn’t，anditwasarevelationtome。Yes，perhapsBasil，too，hadhissecret。Hewouldaskhimandtry。
Basil，hesaid，comingoverquitecloseandlookinghimstraightintheface，wehaveeachofusasecret。Letmeknowyours，andIshalltellyoumine。Whatwasyourreasonforrefusingtoexhibitmypicture？
Thepaintershudderedinspiteofhimself。Dorian，ifItoldyou，youmightlikemelessthanyoudo，andyouwouldcertainlylaughatme。Icouldnotbearyourdoingeitherofthosetwothings。Ifyouwishmenevertolookatyourpictureagain，Iamcontent。Ihavealwaysyoutolookat。IfyouwishthebestworkIhaveeverdonetobehiddenfromtheworld，Iamsatisfied。Yourfriendshipisdearertomethananyfameorreputation。
No，Basil，youmusttellme，insistedDorianGray。IthinkIhavearighttoknow。Hisfeelingofterrorhadpassedaway，andcuriosityhadtakenitsplace。HewasdeterminedtofindoutBasilHallward’smystery。
Letussitdown，Dorian，saidthepainter，lookingtroubled。
Letussitdown。Andjustanswermeonequestion。Haveyounoticedinthepicturesomethingcurious？——somethingthatprobablyatfirstdidnotstrikeyou，butthatrevealeditselftoyousuddenly？
Basil！criedthelad，clutchingthearmsofhischairwithtremblinghandsandgazingathimwithwildstartledeyes。
Iseeyoudid。Don’tspeak。WaittillyouhearwhatIhavetosay。Dorian，fromthemomentImetyou，yourpersonalityhadthemostextraordinaryinfluenceoverme。Iwasdominated，soul，brain，andpower，byyou。Youbecametomethevisibleincarnationofthatunseenidealwhosememoryhauntsusartistslikeanexquisitedream。Iworshippedyou。Igrewjealousofeveryonetowhomyouspoke。Iwantedtohaveyoualltomyself。IwasonlyhappywhenIwaswithyou。Whenyouwereawayfromme，youwerestillpresentinmyart……Ofcourse，Ineverletyouknowanythingaboutthis。
Itwouldhavebeenimpossible。Youwouldnothaveunderstoodit。Ihardlyunderstooditmyself。IonlyknewthatIhadseenperfectionfacetoface，andthattheworldhadbecomewonderfultomyeyes——toowonderful，perhaps，forinsuchmadworshipsthereisperil，theperiloflosingthem，nolessthantheperilofkeepingthem……Weeksandweekswenton，andIgrewmoreandmoreabsorbedinyou。Thencameanewdevelopment。IhaddrawnyouasParisindaintyarmour，andasAdoniswithhuntsman’scloakandpolishedboar-spear。Crownedwithheavylotus-blossomsyouhadsatontheprowofAdrian’sbarge，gazingacrossthegreenturbidNile。YouhadleanedoverthestillpoolofsomeGreekwoodlandandseeninthewater’ssilentsilverthemarvelofyourownface。Andithadallbeenwhatartshouldbe——unconscious，ideal，andremote。Oneday，afataldayIsometimesthink，Ideterminedtopaintawonderfulportraitofyouasyouactuallyare，notinthecostumeofdeadages，butinyourowndressandinyourowntime。Whetheritwastherealismofthemethod，orthemerewonderofyourownpersonality，thusdirectlypresentedtomewithoutmistorveil，I
cannottell。ButIknowthatasIworkedatit，everyflakeandfilmofcolourseemedtometorevealmysecret。Igrewafraidthatotherswouldknowofmyidolatry。Ifelt，Dorian，thatIhadtoldtoomuch，thatIhadputtoomuchofmyselfintoit。ThenitwasthatIresolvednevertoallowthepicturetobeexhibited。Youwerealittleannoyed。butthenyoudidnotrealizeallthatitmeanttome。Harry，towhomItalkedaboutit，laughedatme。ButIdidnotmindthat。Whenthepicturewasfinished，andIsatalonewithit，IfeltthatIwasright……Well，afterafewdaysthethingleftmystudio，andassoonasIhadgotridoftheintolerablefascinationofitspresence，itseemedtomethatIhadbeenfoolishinimaginingthatIhadseenanythinginit，morethanthatyouwereextremelygood-lookingandthatIcouldpaint。EvennowIcannothelpfeelingthatitisamistaketothinkthatthepassiononefeelsincreationiseverreallyshownintheworkonecreates。Artisalwaysmoreabstractthanwefancy。Formandcolourtellusofformandcolour——thatisall。Itoftenseemstomethatartconcealstheartistfarmorecompletelythaniteverrevealshim。AndsowhenIgotthisofferfromParis，Ideterminedtomakeyourportraittheprincipalthinginmyexhibition。Itneveroccurredtomethatyouwouldrefuse。Iseenowthatyouwereright。Thepicturecannotbeshown。Youmustnotbeangrywithme，Dorian，forwhatIhavetoldyou。
AsIsaidtoHarry，once，youaremadetobeworshipped。
DorianGraydrewalongbreath。Thecolourcamebacktohischeeks，andasmileplayedabouthislips。Theperilwasover。Hewassafeforthetime。Yethecouldnothelpfeelinginfinitepityforthepainterwhohadjustmadethisstrangeconfessiontohim，andwonderedifhehimselfwouldeverbesodominatedbythepersonalityofafriend。LordHenryhadthecharmofbeingverydangerous。Butthatwasall。Hewastoocleverandtoocynicaltobereallyfondof。Wouldthereeverbesomeonewhowouldfillhimwithastrangeidolatry？Wasthatoneofthethingsthatlifehadinstore？
Itisextraordinarytome，Dorian，saidHallward，thatyoushouldhaveseenthisintheportrait。Didyoureallyseeit？
Isawsomethinginit，heanswered，somethingthatseemedtomeverycurious。
Well，youdon’tmindmylookingatthethingnow？
Dorianshookhishead。Youmustnotaskmethat，Basil。Icouldnotpossiblyletyoustandinfrontofthatpicture。
Youwillsomeday，surely？
Never。
Well，perhapsyouareright。Andnowgood-bye，Dorian。Youhavebeentheonepersoninmylifewhohasreallyinfluencedmyart。WhateverIhavedonethatisgood，Iowetoyou。Ah！youdon’tknowwhatitcostmetotellyouallthatIhavetoldyou。
MydearBasil，saidDorian，whathaveyoutoldme？Simplythatyoufeltthatyouadmiredmetoomuch。Thatisnotevenacompliment。
Itwasnotintendedasacompliment。Itwasaconfession。NowthatIhavemadeit，somethingseemstohavegoneoutofme。Perhapsoneshouldneverputone’sworshipintowords。
Itwasaverydisappointingconfession。
Why，whatdidyouexpect，Dorian？Youdidn’tseeanythingelseinthepicture，didyou？Therewasnothingelsetosee？
No。therewasnothingelsetosee。Whydoyouask？Butyoumustn’ttalkaboutworship。Itisfoolish。YouandIarefriends，Basil，andwemustalwaysremainso。
YouhavegotHarry，saidthepaintersadly。
Oh，Harry！criedthelad，witharippleoflaughter。Harryspendshisdaysinsayingwhatisincredibleandhiseveningsindoingwhatisimprobable。JustthesortoflifeIwouldliketolead。ButstillIdon’tthinkIwouldgotoHarryifIwereintrouble。Iwouldsoonergotoyou，Basil。
Youwillsittomeagain？
Impossible！
Youspoilmylifeasanartistbyrefusing，Dorian。Nomancomesacrosstwoidealthings。Fewcomeacrossone。
Ican’texplainittoyou，Basil，butImustneversittoyouagain。Thereissomethingfatalaboutaportrait。Ithasalifeofitsown。Iwillcomeandhaveteawithyou。Thatwillbejustaspleasant。
Pleasanterforyou，Iamafraid，murmuredHallwardregretfully。
Andnowgood-bye。Iamsorryyouwon’tletmelookatthepictureonceagain。Butthatcan’tbehelped。Iquiteunderstandwhatyoufeelaboutit。
Ashelefttheroom，DorianGraysmiledtohimself。PoorBasil！
Howlittleheknewofthetruereason！Andbowstrangeitwasthat，insteadofhavingbeenforcedtorevealhisownsecret，hehadsucceeded，almostbychance，inwrestingasecretfromhisfriend！Howmuchthatstrangeconfessionexplainedtohim！Thepainter’sabsurdfitsofjealousy，hiswilddevotion，hisextravagantpanegyrics，hiscuriousreticences——heunderstoodthemallnow，andhefeltsorry。Thereseemedtohimtobesomethingtragicinafriendshipsocolouredbyromance。
Hesighedandtouchedthebell。Theportraitmustbehiddenawayatallcosts。Hecouldnotrunsuchariskofdiscoveryagain。Ithadbeenmadofhimtohaveallowedthethingtoremain，evenforanhour，inaroomtowhichanyofhisfriendshadaccess。
ThePictureofDorianGray：Chapter10Chapter10Whenhisservantentered，belookedathimsteadfastlyandwonderedifhehadthoughtofpeeringbehindthescreen。Themanwasquiteimpassiveandwaitedforhisorders。Dorianlitacigaretteandwalkedovertotheglassandglancedintoit。HecouldseethereflectionofVictor’sfaceperfectly。Itwaslikeaplacidmaskofservility。Therewasnothingtobeafraidof，there。Yethethoughtitbesttobeonhisguard。
Speakingveryslowly，hetoldhimtotellthehouse-keeperthathewantedtoseeher，andthentogototheframe-makerandaskhimtosendtwoofhismenroundatonce。Itseemedtohimthatasthemanlefttheroomhiseyeswanderedinthedirectionofthescreen。Orwasthatmerelyhisownfancy？
Afterafewmoments，inherblacksilkdress，withold-fashionedthreadmittensonherwrinkledhands，Mrs。Leafbustledintothelibrary。
Heaskedherforthekeyoftheschoolroom。
Theoldschoolroom，Mr。Dorian？sheexclaimed。Why，itisfullofdust。Imustgetitarrangedandputstraightbeforeyougointoit。
Itisnotfitforyoutosee，sir。Itisnot，indeed。
Idon’twantitputstraight，Leaf。Ionlywantthekey。
Well，sir，you’llbecoveredwithcobwebsifyougointoit。
Why，ithasn’tbeenopenedfornearlyfiveyears——notsincehislordshipdied。
Hewincedatthementionofhisgrandfather。Hehadhatefulmemoriesofhim。Thatdoesnotmatter，heanswered。Isimplywanttoseetheplace——thatisall。Givemethekey。
Andhereisthekey，sir，saidtheoldlady，goingoverthecontentsofherbunchwithtremulouslyuncertainhands。Hereisthekey。
I’llhaveitoffthebunchinamoment。Butyoudon’tthinkoflivingupthere，sir，andyousocomfortablehere？
No，no，hecriedpetulantly。Thankyou，Leaf。Thatwilldo。
Shelingeredforafewmoments，andwasgarrulousoversomedetailofthehousehold。Hesighedandtoldhertomanagethingsasshethoughtbest。Shelefttheroom，wreathedinsmiles。
Asthedoorclosed，Dorianputthekeyinhispocketandlookedroundtheroom。Hiseyefellonalarge，purplesatincoverletheavilyembroideredwithgold，asplendidpieceoflateseventeenth-centuryVenetianworkthathisgrandfatherhadfoundinaconventnearBologna。Yes，thatwouldservetowrapthedreadfulthingin。Ithadperhapsservedoftenasapallforthedead。Nowitwastohidesomethingthathadacorruptionofitsown，worsethanthecorruptionofdeathitself——somethingthatwouldbreedhorrorsandyetwouldneverdie。Whatthewormwastothecorpse，hissinswouldbetothepaintedimageonthecanvas。Theywouldmaritsbeautyandeatawayitsgrace。Theywoulddefileitandmakeitshameful。
Andyetthethingwouldstillliveon。Itwouldbealwaysalive。
Heshuddered，andforamomentheregrettedthathehadnottoldBasilthetruereasonwhyhehadwishedtohidethepictureaway。BasilwouldhavehelpedhimtoresistLordHenry’sinfluence，andthestillmorepoisonousinfluencesthatcamefromhisowntemperament。Thelovethatheborehim——foritwasreallylove——hadnothinginitthatwasnotnobleandintellectual。Itwasnotthatmerephysicaladmirationofbeautythatisbornofthesensesandthatdieswhenthesensestire。ItwassuchloveasMichelangelohadknown，andMontaigne，andWinckelmann，andShakespearehimself。Yes，Basilcouldhavesavedhim。Butitwastoolatenow。Thepastcouldalwaysbeannihilated。Regret，denial，orforgetfulnesscoulddothat。Butthefuturewasinevitable。Therewerepassionsinhimthatwouldfindtheirterribleoutlet，dreamsthatwouldmaketheshadowoftheirevilreal。
Hetookupfromthecouchthegreatpurple-and-goldtexturethatcoveredit，and，holdingitinhishands，passedbehindthescreen。Wasthefaceonthecanvasvilerthanbefore？Itseemedtohimthatitwasunchanged，andyethisloathingofitwasintensified。Goldhair，blueeyes，androse-redlips——theyallwerethere。Itwassimplytheexpressionthathadaltered。Thatwashorribleinitscruelty。Comparedtowhathesawinitofcensureorrebuke，howshallowBasil’sreproachesaboutSibylVanehadbeen！——howshallow，andofwhatlittleaccount！Hisownsoulwaslookingoutathimfromthecanvasandcallinghimtojudgement。A
lookofpaincameacrosshim，andheflungtherichpalloverthepicture。
Ashedidso，aknockcametothedoor。Hepassedoutashisservantentered。
Thepersonsarehere，Monsieur。
Hefeltthatthemanmustbegotridofatonce。Hemustnotbeallowedtoknowwherethepicturewasbeingtakento。Therewassomethingslyabouthim，andhehadthoughtful，treacherouseyes。Sittingdownatthewriting-tablehescribbledanotetoLordHenry，askinghimtosendhimroundsomethingtoreadandremindinghimthattheyweretomeetateight-fifteenthatevening。
Waitforananswer，hesaid，handingittohim，andshowthemeninhere。
Intwoorthreeminutestherewasanotherknock，andMr。Hubbardhimself，thecelebratedframe-makerofSouthAudleyStreet，cameinwithasomewhatrough-lookingyoungassistant。Mr。Hubbardwasaflorid，red-whiskeredlittleman，whoseadmirationforartwasconsiderablytemperedbytheinveterateimpecuniosityofmostoftheartistswhodealtwithhim。Asarule，heneverlefthisshop。Hewaitedforpeopletocometohim。ButhealwaysmadeanexceptioninfavourofDorianGray。TherewassomethingaboutDorianthatcharmedeverybody。Itwasapleasureeventoseehim。
WhatcanIdoforyou，Mr。Gray？hesaid，rubbinghisfatfreckledhands。IthoughtIwoulddomyselfthehonourofcomingroundinperson。
Ihavejustgotabeautyofaframe，sir。Pickeditupatasale。OldFlorentine。
CamefromFonthill，Ibelieve。Admirablysuitedforareligioussubject，Mr。Gray。
Iamsosorryyouhavegivenyourselfthetroubleofcominground，Mr。Hubbard。Ishallcertainlydropinandlookattheframe——thoughI
don’tgoinmuchatpresentforreligiousart——butto-dayIonlywantapicturecarriedtothetopofthehouseforme。Itisratherheavy，soIthoughtIwouldaskyoutolendmeacoupleofyourmen。
Notroubleatall，Mr。Gray。Iamdelightedtobeofanyservicetoyou。Whichistheworkofart，sir？
This，repliedDorian，movingthescreenback。Canyoumoveit，coveringandall，justasitis？Idon’twantittogetscratchedgoingupstairs。
Therewillbenodifficulty，sir，saidthegenialframe-maker，beginning，withtheaidofhisassistant，tounhookthepicturefromthelongbrasschainsbywhichitwassuspended。And，now，whereshallwecarryitto，Mr。Gray？
Iwillshowyoutheway，Mr。Hubbard，ifyouwillkindlyfollowme。Orperhapsyouhadbettergoinfront。Iamafraiditisrightatthetopofthehouse。Wewillgoupbythefrontstaircase，asitiswider。
Heheldthedooropenforthem，andtheypassedoutintothehallandbegantheascent。Theelaboratecharacteroftheframehadmadethepictureextremelybulky，andnowandthen，inspiteoftheobsequiousprotestsofMr。Hubbard，whohadthetruetradesman’sspiriteddislikeofseeingagentlemandoinganythinguseful，Dorianputhishandtoitsoastohelpthem。
Somethingofaloadtocarry，sir，gaspedthelittlemanwhentheyreachedthetoplanding。Andhewipedhisshinyforehead。
Iamafraiditisratherheavy，murmuredDorianasheunlockedthedoorthatopenedintotheroomthatwastokeepforhimthecurioussecretofhislifeandhidehissoulfromtheeyesofmen。
Hehadnotenteredtheplaceformorethanfouryears——not，indeed，sincehehaduseditfirstasaplay-roomwhenhewasachild，andthenasastudywhenhegrewsomewhatolder。Itwasalarge，well-proportionedroom，whichhadbeenspeciallybuiltbythelastLordKelsofortheuseofthelittlegrandsonwhom，forhisstrangelikenesstohismother，andalsoforotherreasons，hehadalwayshatedanddesiredtokeepatadistance。
ItappearedtoDoriantohavebutlittlechanged。TherewasthehugeItaliancassone，withitsfantasticallypaintedpanelsanditstarnishedgiltmouldings，inwhichhehadsooftenhiddenhimselfasaboy。Therethesatinwoodbook-casefilledwithhisdog-earedschoolbooks。OnthewallbehinditwashangingthesameraggedFlemishtapestrywhereafadedkingandqueenwereplayingchessinagarden，whileacompanyofhawkersrodeby，carryinghoodedbirdsontheirgauntletedwrists。Howwellheremembereditall！Everymomentofhislonelychildhoodcamebacktohimashelookedround。Herecalledthestainlesspurityofhisboyishlife，anditseemedhorribletohimthatitwasherethefatalportraitwastobehiddenaway。
Howlittlehehadthought，inthosedeaddays，ofallthatwasinstoreforhim！
Buttherewasnootherplaceinthehousesosecurefrompryingeyesasthis。Hehadthekey，andnooneelsecouldenterit。Beneathitspurplepall，thefacepaintedonthecanvascouldgrowbestial，sodden，andunclean。Whatdiditmatter？Noonecouldseeit。Hehimselfwouldnotseeit。Whyshouldhewatchthehideouscorruptionofhissoul？Hekepthisyouth——thatwasenough。And，besides，mightnothisnaturegrowfiner，afterall？Therewasnoreasonthatthefutureshouldbesofullofshame。Somelovemightcomeacrosshislife，andpurifyhim，andshieldhimfromthosesinsthatseemedtobealreadystirringinspiritandinflesh——thosecuriousunpicturedsinswhoseverymysterylentthemtheirsubtletyandtheircharm。Perhaps，someday，thecruellookwouldhavepassedawayfromthescarletsensitivemouth，andhemightshowtotheworldBasilHallward’smasterpiece。
No。thatwasimpossible。Hourbyhour，andweekbyweek，thethinguponthecanvaswasgrowingold。Itmightescapethehideousnessofsin，butthehideousnessofagewasinstoreforit。Thecheekswouldbecomeholloworflaccid。Yellowcrow’sfeetwouldcreeproundthefadingeyesandmakethemhorrible。Thehairwouldloseitsbrightness，themouthwouldgapeordroop，wouldbefoolishorgross，asthemouthsofoldmenare。
Therewouldbethewrinkledthroat，thecold，blue-veinedhands，thetwistedbody，thatherememberedinthegrandfatherwhohadbeensosterntohiminhisboyhood。Thepicturehadtobeconcealed。Therewasnohelpforit。
Bringitin，Mr。Hubbard，please，hesaid，wearily，turninground。IamsorryIkeptyousolong。Iwasthinkingofsomethingelse。
Alwaysgladtohavearest，Mr。Gray，answeredtheframe-maker，whowasstillgaspingforbreath。Whereshallweputit，sir？
Oh，anywhere。Here：thiswilldo。Idon’twanttohaveithungup。Justleanitagainstthewall。Thanks。
Mightonelookattheworkofart，sir？
Dorianstarted。Itwouldnotinterestyou，Mr。Hubbard，hesaid，keepinghiseyeontheman。Hefeltreadytoleapuponhimandflinghimtothegroundifhedaredtoliftthegorgeoushangingthatconcealedthesecretofhislife。Ishan’ttroubleyouanymorenow。Iammuchobligedforyourkindnessincominground。
Notatall，notatall，Mr。Gray。Everreadytodoanythingforyou，sir。AndMr。Hubbardtrampeddownstairs，followedbytheassistant，whoglancedbackatDorianwithalookofshywonderinhisroughuncomelyface。Hehadneverseenanyonesomarvellous。
Whenthesoundoftheirfootstepshaddiedaway，Dorianlockedthedoorandputthekeyinhispocket。Hefeltsafenow。Noonewouldeverlookuponthehorriblething。Noeyebuthiswouldeverseehisshame。
Onreachingthelibrary，hefoundthatitwasjustafterfiveo’clockandthattheteahadbeenalreadybroughtup。Onalittletableofdarkperfumedwoodthicklyincrustedwithnacre，apresentfromLadyRadley，hisguardian’swife，aprettyprofessionalinvalidwhohadspenttheprecedingwinterinCairo，waslyinganotefromLordHenry，andbesideitwasabookboundinyellowpaper，thecoverslightlytornandtheedgessoiled。AcopyofthethirdeditionofTheSt。James’sGazettehadbeenplacedonthetea-tray。ItwasevidentthatVictorhadreturned。Hewonderedifhehadmetthemeninthehallastheywereleavingthehouseandhadwormedoutofthemwhattheyhadbeendoing。Hewouldbesuretomissthepicture——hadnodoubtmisseditalready，whilehehadbeenlayingthetea-things。Thescreenhadnotbeensetback，andablankspacewasvisibleonthewall。Perhapssomenighthemightfindhimcreepingupstairsandtryingtoforcethedooroftheroom。Itwasahorriblethingtohaveaspyinone’shouse。Hehadheardofrichmenwhohadbeenblackmailedalltheirlivesbysomeservantwhohadreadaletter，oroverheardaconversation，orpickedupacardwithanaddress，orfoundbeneathapillowawitheredflowerorashredofcrumpledlace。
Hesighed，andhavingpouredhimselfoutsometea，openedLordHenry’snote。Itwassimplytosaythathesenthimroundtheeveningpaper，andabookthatmightinteresthim，andthathewouldbeattheclubateight-fifteen。HeopenedTheSt。James’slanguidly，andlookedthroughit。Aredpencil-markonthefifthpagecaughthiseye。Itdrewattentiontothefollowingparagraph：
INQUESTONANACTRESS——AninquestwasheldthismorningattheBellTavern，HoxtonRoad，byMr。Danby，theDistrictCoroner，onthebodyofSibylVane，ayoungactressrecentlyengagedattheRoyalTheatre，Holborn。Averdictofdeathbymisadventurewasreturned。Considerablesympathywasexpressedforthemotherofthedeceased，whowasgreatlyaffectedduringthegivingofherownevidence，andthatofDr。Birrell，whohadmadethepost-mortemexaminationofthedeceased。Hefrowned，andtearingthepaperintwo，wentacrosstheroomandflungthepiecesaway。Howuglyitallwas！Andhowhorriblyrealuglinessmadethings！HefeltalittleannoyedwithLordHenryforhavingsenthimthereport。Anditwascertainlystupidofhimtohavemarkeditwithredpencil。
Victormighthavereadit。ThemanknewmorethanenoughEnglishforthat。
Perhapshehadreaditandhadbeguntosuspectsomething。And，yet，whatdiditmatter？WhathadDorianGraytodowithSibylVane’sdeath？
Therewasnothingtofear。DorianGrayhadnotkilledher。
HiseyefellontheyellowbookthatLordHenryhadsenthim。
Whatwasit，hewondered。Hewenttowardsthelittle，pearl-colouredoctagonalstandthathadalwayslookedtohimliketheworkofsomestrangeEgyptianbeesthatwroughtinsilver，andtakingupthevolume，flunghimselfintoanarm-chairandbegantoturnovertheleaves。Afterafewminuteshebecameabsorbed。Itwasthestrangestbookthathehadeverread。Itseemedtohimthatinexquisiteraiment，andtothedelicatesoundofflutes，thesinsoftheworldwerepassingindumbshowbeforehim。Thingsthathehaddimlydreamedofweresuddenlymaderealtohim。Thingsofwhichhehadneverdreamedweregraduallyrevealed。
Itwasanovelwithoutaplotandwithonlyonecharacter，being，indeed，simplyapsychologicalstudyofacertainyoungParisianwhospenthislifetryingtorealizeinthenineteenthcenturyallthepassionsandmodesofthoughtthatbelongedtoeverycenturyexcepthisown，andtosumup，asitwere，inhimselfthevariousmoodsthroughwhichtheworld-spirithadeverpassed，lovingfortheirmereartificialitythoserenunciationsthatmenhaveunwiselycalledvirtue，asmuchasthosenaturalrebellionsthatwisemenstillcallsin。Thestyleinwhichitwaswrittenwasthatcuriousjewelledstyle，vividandobscureatonce，fullofargotandofarchaisms，oftechnicalexpressionsandofelaborateparaphrases，thatcharacterizestheworkofsomeofthefinestartistsoftheFrenchschoolofSymbolistes。Therewereinitmetaphorsasmonstrousasorchidsandassubtleincolour。Thelifeofthesenseswasdescribedinthetermsofmysticalphilosophy。Onehardlyknewattimeswhetheronewasreadingthespiritualecstasiesofsomemediaevalsaintorthemorbidconfessionsofamodernsinner。Itwasapoisonousbook。Theheavyodourofincenseseemedtoclingaboutitspagesandtotroublethebrain。Themerecadenceofthesentences，thesubtlemonotonyoftheirmusic，sofullasitwasofcomplexrefrainsandmovementselaboratelyrepeated，producedinthemindofthelad，ashepassedfromchaptertochapter，aformofreverie，amaladyofdreaming，thatmadehimunconsciousofthefallingdayandcreepingshadows。