ItwasontheninthofNovember,theeveofhisownthirty-eighthbirthday,asheoftenrememberedafterwards. Hewaswalkinghomeabouteleveno’clockfromLordHenry’s,wherehehadbeendining,andwaswrappedinheavyfurs,asthenightwascoldandfoggy. AtthecornerofGrosvenorSquareandSouthAudleyStreet,amanpassedhiminthemist,walkingveryfastandwiththecollarofhisgreyulsterturnedup.Hehadabaginhishand.Dorianrecognizedhim.ItwasBasilHallward. Astrangesenseoffear,forwhichhecouldnotaccount,cameoverhim. Hemadenosignofrecognitionandwentonquicklyinthedirectionofhisownhouse. ButHallwardhadseenhim.Dorianheardhimfirststoppingonthepavementandthenhurryingafterhim.Inafewmoments,hishandwasonhisarm. “Dorian!Whatanextraordinarypieceofluck! Ihavebeenwaitingforyouinyourlibraryeversincenineo’clock. FinallyItookpityonyourtiredservantandtoldhimtogotobed,asheletmeout. IamofftoParisbythemidnighttrain,andIparticularlywantedtoseeyoubeforeIleft. Ithoughtitwasyou,orratheryourfurcoat,asyoupassedme.ButIwasn’tquitesure.Didn’tyourecognizeme?” “Inthisfog,mydearBasil?Why,Ican’tevenrecognizeGrosvenorSquare. Ibelievemyhouseissomewhereabouthere,butIdon’tfeelatallcertainaboutit. Iamsorryyouaregoingaway,asIhavenotseenyouforages.ButIsupposeyouwillbebacksoon?” “No:IamgoingtobeoutofEnglandforsixmonths. IintendtotakeastudioinParisandshutmyselfuptillIhavefinishedagreatpictureIhaveinmyhead. However,itwasn’taboutmyselfIwantedtotalk.Hereweareatyourdoor.Letmecomeinforamoment.Ihavesomethingtosaytoyou.” “Ishallbecharmed.Butwon’tyoumissyourtrain?”saidDorianGraylanguidlyashepassedupthestepsandopenedthedoorwithhislatch-key. Thelamplightstruggledoutthroughthefog,andHallwardlookedathiswatch.“Ihaveheapsoftime,”heanswered. “Thetraindoesn’tgotilltwelve-fifteen,anditisonlyjusteleven. Infact,Iwasonmywaytotheclubtolookforyou,whenImetyou. Yousee,Ishan’thaveanydelayaboutluggage,asIhavesentonmyheavythings. AllIhavewithmeisinthisbag,andIcaneasilygettoVictoriaintwentyminutes.” Dorianlookedathimandsmiled.“Whatawayforafashionablepaintertotravel!AGladstonebagandanulster! Comein,orthefogwillgetintothehouse. Andmindyoudon’ttalkaboutanythingserious.Nothingisseriousnowadays.Atleastnothingshouldbe.” Hallwardshookhishead,asheentered,andfollowedDorianintothelibrary. Therewasabrightwoodfireblazinginthelargeopenhearth. Thelampswerelit,andanopenDutchsilverspirit-casestood,withsomesiphonsofsoda-waterandlargecut-glasstumblers,onalittlemarqueterietable. “Youseeyourservantmademequiteathome,Dorian. HegavemeeverythingIwanted,includingyourbestgold-tippedcigarettes.Heisamosthospitablecreature. IlikehimmuchbetterthantheFrenchmanyouusedtohave. WhathasbecomeoftheFrenchman,bythebye?” Dorianshruggedhisshoulders.“IbelievehemarriedLadyRadley’smaid,andhasestablishedherinParisasanEnglishdressmaker. Anglomaniaisveryfashionableovertherenow,Ihear. ItseemssillyoftheFrench,doesn’tit?But—doyouknow?—hewasnotatallabadservant. Ineverlikedhim,butIhadnothingtocomplainabout. Oneoftenimaginesthingsthatarequiteabsurd. Hewasreallyverydevotedtomeandseemedquitesorrywhenhewentaway.Haveanotherbrandy-and-soda?Orwouldyoulikehock-and-seltzer?Ialwaystakehock-and-seltzermyself. Thereissuretobesomeinthenextroom.” “Thanks,Iwon’thaveanythingmore,”saidthepainter,takinghiscapandcoatoffandthrowingthemonthebagthathehadplacedinthecorner. “Andnow,mydearfellow,Iwanttospeaktoyouseriously.Don’tfrownlikethat. Youmakeitsomuchmoredifficultforme.” “Whatisitallabout?”criedDorianinhispetulantway,flinginghimselfdownonthesofa.“Ihopeitisnotaboutmyself.Iamtiredofmyselfto-night.Ishouldliketobesomebodyelse.” “Itisaboutyourself,”answeredHallwardinhisgravedeepvoice,“andImustsayittoyou.Ishallonlykeepyouhalfanhour.” Doriansighedandlitacigarette.“Halfanhour!”hemurmured. “Itisnotmuchtoaskofyou,Dorian,anditisentirelyforyourownsakethatIamspeaking. IthinkitrightthatyoushouldknowthatthemostdreadfulthingsarebeingsaidagainstyouinLondon.” “Idon’twishtoknowanythingaboutthem.Ilovescandalsaboutotherpeople,butscandalsaboutmyselfdon’tinterestme.Theyhavenotgotthecharmofnovelty.” “Theymustinterestyou,Dorian.Everygentlemanisinterestedinhisgoodname. Youdon’twantpeopletotalkofyouassomethingvileanddegraded. Ofcourse,youhaveyourposition,andyourwealth,andallthatkindofthing. Butpositionandwealtharenoteverything. Mindyou,Idon’tbelievetheserumoursatall. Atleast,Ican’tbelievethemwhenIseeyou. Sinisathingthatwritesitselfacrossaman’sface.Itcannotbeconcealed.Peopletalksometimesofsecretvices.Therearenosuchthings. Ifawretchedmanhasavice,itshowsitselfinthelinesofhismouth,thedroopofhiseyelids,themouldingofhishandseven. Somebody—Iwon’tmentionhisname,butyouknowhim—cametomelastyeartohavehisportraitdone. Ihadneverseenhimbefore,andhadneverheardanythingabouthimatthetime,thoughIhaveheardagooddealsince.Heofferedanextravagantprice.Irefusedhim. TherewassomethingintheshapeofhisfingersthatIhated. IknownowthatIwasquiterightinwhatIfanciedabouthim.Hislifeisdreadful. Butyou,Dorian,withyourpure,bright,innocentface,andyourmarvellousuntroubledyouth—Ican’tbelieveanythingagainstyou. AndyetIseeyouveryseldom,andyounevercomedowntothestudionow,andwhenIamawayfromyou,andIhearallthesehideousthingsthatpeoplearewhisperingaboutyou,Idon’tknowwhattosay. Whyisit,Dorian,thatamanliketheDukeofBerwickleavestheroomofaclubwhenyouenterit? WhyisitthatsomanygentlemeninLondonwillneithergotoyourhouseorinviteyoutotheirs? YouusedtobeafriendofLordStaveley.Imethimatdinnerlastweek. Yournamehappenedtocomeupinconversation,inconnectionwiththeminiaturesyouhavelenttotheexhibitionattheDudley. Staveleycurledhislipandsaidthatyoumighthavethemostartistictastes,butthatyouwereamanwhomnopure-mindedgirlshouldbeallowedtoknow,andwhomnochastewomanshouldsitinthesameroomwith. IremindedhimthatIwasafriendofyours,andaskedhimwhathemeant.Hetoldme.Hetoldmerightoutbeforeeverybody.Itwashorrible! Whyisyourfriendshipsofataltoyoungmen? TherewasthatwretchedboyintheGuardswhocommittedsuicide.Youwerehisgreatfriend. TherewasSirHenryAshton,whohadtoleaveEnglandwithatarnishedname.Youandhewereinseparable. WhataboutAdrianSingletonandhisdreadfulend? WhataboutLordKent’sonlysonandhiscareer? ImethisfatheryesterdayinSt.James’sStreet.Heseemedbrokenwithshameandsorrow.WhatabouttheyoungDukeofPerth?Whatsortoflifehashegotnow? Whatgentlemanwouldassociatewithhim?” “Stop,Basil.Youaretalkingaboutthingsofwhichyouknownothing,”saidDorianGray,bitinghislip,andwithanoteofinfinitecontemptinhisvoice. “YouaskmewhyBerwickleavesaroomwhenIenterit. ItisbecauseIknoweverythingabouthislife,notbecauseheknowsanythingaboutmine. Withsuchbloodashehasinhisveins,howcouldhisrecordbeclean? YouaskmeaboutHenryAshtonandyoungPerth. DidIteachtheonehisvices,andtheotherhisdebauchery? IfKent’ssillysontakeshiswifefromthestreets,whatisthattome? IfAdrianSingletonwriteshisfriend’snameacrossabill,amIhiskeeper?IknowhowpeoplechatterinEngland. Themiddleclassesairtheirmoralprejudicesovertheirgrossdinner-tables,andwhisperaboutwhattheycalltheprofligaciesoftheirbettersinordertotryandpretendthattheyareinsmartsocietyandonintimatetermswiththepeopletheyslander. Inthiscountry,itisenoughforamantohavedistinctionandbrainsforeverycommontonguetowagagainsthim. Andwhatsortoflivesdothesepeople,whoposeasbeingmoral,leadthemselves? Mydearfellow,youforgetthatweareinthenativelandofthehypocrite.” “Dorian,”criedHallward,“thatisnotthequestion. EnglandisbadenoughIknow,andEnglishsocietyisallwrong. ThatisthereasonwhyIwantyoutobefine.Youhavenotbeenfine. Onehasarighttojudgeofamanbytheeffecthehasoverhisfriends. Yoursseemtoloseallsenseofhonour,ofgoodness,ofpurity. Youhavefilledthemwithamadnessforpleasure.Theyhavegonedownintothedepths.Youledthemthere. Yes:youledthemthere,andyetyoucansmile,asyouaresmilingnow.Andthereisworsebehind.IknowyouandHarryareinseparable. Surelyforthatreason,iffornoneother,youshouldnothavemadehissister’snameaby-word.” “Takecare,Basil.Yougotoofar.” “Imustspeak,andyoumustlisten.Youshalllisten. WhenyoumetLadyGwendolen,notabreathofscandalhadevertouchedher. IsthereasingledecentwomaninLondonnowwhowoulddrivewithherinthepark? Why,evenherchildrenarenotallowedtolivewithher. Thenthereareotherstories—storiesthatyouhavebeenseencreepingatdawnoutofdreadfulhousesandslinkingindisguiseintothefoulestdensinLondon.Aretheytrue?Cantheybetrue?WhenIfirstheardthem,Ilaughed. Ihearthemnow,andtheymakemeshudder. Whataboutyourcountry-houseandthelifethatisledthere? Dorian,youdon’tknowwhatissaidaboutyou. Iwon’ttellyouthatIdon’twanttopreachtoyou. IrememberHarrysayingoncethateverymanwhoturnedhimselfintoanamateurcurateforthemomentalwaysbeganbysayingthat,andthenproceededtobreakhisword.Idowanttopreachtoyou. Iwantyoutoleadsuchalifeaswillmaketheworldrespectyou. Iwantyoutohaveacleannameandafairrecord. Iwantyoutogetridofthedreadfulpeopleyouassociatewith.Don’tshrugyourshoulderslikethat.Don’tbesoindifferent.Youhaveawonderfulinfluence.Letitbeforgood,notforevil. Theysaythatyoucorrupteveryonewithwhomyoubecomeintimate,andthatitisquitesufficientforyoutoenterahouseforshameofsomekindtofollowafter.Idon’tknowwhetheritissoornot.HowshouldIknow?Butitissaidofyou. Iamtoldthingsthatitseemsimpossibletodoubt. LordGloucesterwasoneofmygreatestfriendsatOxford. HeshowedmealetterthathiswifehadwrittentohimwhenshewasdyingaloneinhervillaatMentone. YournamewasimplicatedinthemostterribleconfessionIeverread. Itoldhimthatitwasabsurd—thatIknewyouthoroughlyandthatyouwereincapableofanythingofthekind.Knowyou?IwonderdoIknowyou? BeforeIcouldanswerthat,Ishouldhavetoseeyoursoul.” “Toseemysoul!”mutteredDorianGray,startingupfromthesofaandturningalmostwhitefromfear. “Yes,”answeredHallwardgravely,andwithdeep-tonedsorrowinhisvoice,“toseeyoursoul.ButonlyGodcandothat.” Abitterlaughofmockerybrokefromthelipsoftheyoungerman.“Youshallseeityourself,to-night!” hecried,seizingalampfromthetable.“Come:itisyourownhandiwork.Whyshouldn’tyoulookatit? Youcantelltheworldallaboutitafterwards,ifyouchoose.Nobodywouldbelieveyou. Iftheydidbelieveyou,theywouldlikemeallthebetterforit. Iknowtheagebetterthanyoudo,thoughyouwillprateaboutitsotediously.Come,Itellyou. Youhavechatteredenoughaboutcorruption.Nowyoushalllookonitfacetoface.” Therewasthemadnessofprideineverywordheuttered. Hestampedhisfootuponthegroundinhisboyishinsolentmanner. Hefeltaterriblejoyatthethoughtthatsomeoneelsewastosharehissecret,andthatthemanwhohadpaintedtheportraitthatwastheoriginofallhisshamewastobeburdenedfortherestofhislifewiththehideousmemoryofwhathehaddone. “Yes,”hecontinued,comingclosertohimandlookingsteadfastlyintohissterneyes,“Ishallshowyoumysoul.YoushallseethethingthatyoufancyonlyGodcansee.” Hallwardstartedback.“Thisisblasphemy,Dorian!”hecried.“Youmustnotsaythingslikethat.Theyarehorrible,andtheydon’tmeananything.” “Youthinkso?”Helaughedagain. “Iknowso.AsforwhatIsaidtoyouto-night,Isaiditforyourgood.YouknowIhavebeenalwaysastanchfriendtoyou.” “Don’ttouchme.Finishwhatyouhavetosay.” Atwistedflashofpainshotacrossthepainter’sface. Hepausedforamoment,andawildfeelingofpitycameoverhim. Afterall,whatrighthadhetopryintothelifeofDorianGray? Ifhehaddoneatitheofwhatwasrumouredabouthim,howmuchhemusthavesuffered! Thenhestraightenedhimselfup,andwalkedovertothefire-place,andstoodthere,lookingattheburninglogswiththeirfrostlikeashesandtheirthrobbingcoresofflame. “Iamwaiting,Basil,”saidtheyoungmaninahardclearvoice. Heturnedround.“WhatIhavetosayisthis,”hecried. “Youmustgivemesomeanswertothesehorriblechargesthataremadeagainstyou. Ifyoutellmethattheyareabsolutelyuntruefrombeginningtoend,Ishallbelieveyou.Denythem,Dorian,denythem!Can’tyouseewhatIamgoingthrough?MyGod! don’ttellmethatyouarebad,andcorrupt,andshameful.” DorianGraysmiled.Therewasacurlofcontemptinhislips. “Comeupstairs,Basil,”hesaidquietly. “Ikeepadiaryofmylifefromdaytoday,anditneverleavestheroominwhichitiswritten. Ishallshowittoyouifyoucomewithme.” “Ishallcomewithyou,Dorian,ifyouwishit.IseeIhavemissedmytrain.Thatmakesnomatter.Icangoto-morrow. Butdon’taskmetoreadanythingto-night. AllIwantisaplainanswertomyquestion.” “Thatshallbegiventoyouupstairs.Icouldnotgiveithere.Youwillnothavetoreadlong.” 
