The Picture of Dorian Gray - Chapter 6

Transcript

CHAPTER VI I suppose you have heard the news, Basil, said Lord Henry that evening, as Hallward was shown into a little private room at the Bristol where dinner had been laid for three. No, Harry, answered the artist, giving his hat and coat to the bowing waiter. What is it? Nothing about politics, I hope.

They don't interest me. There is hardly a single person in the House of Commons worth painting, though many of them would be the better for a little whitewashing. Dorian Gray is engaged to be married, said Lord Henry, watching him as he spoke.

Hallward started, and then frowned. Dorian, engaged to be married? he cried.

Impossible! It is perfectly true. To whom? To some little actress or other.

I can't believe it. Dorian is far too sensible. Dorian is far too wise not to do foolish things now and then, my dear Basil.

Marriage is hardly a thing that one can do now and then, Harry. Except in America, rejoined Lord Henry, languidly. But I didn't say that he was married.

I said he was engaged to be married. There is a great difference. I have a distinct remembrance of being married, but I have no recollection at all of being engaged.

I am inclined to think that I never was engaged. But think of Dorian's birth, and position, and wealth. It would be absurd for him to marry so much beneath him.

If you want him to marry this girl, tell him that, Basil. He is sure to do it then. Whenever a man does a thoroughly stupid thing, it is always from the noblest motives.

I hope the girl is good, Harry. I don't want to see Dorian tied to some vile creature who might degrade his nature and ruin his intellect. Oh, she is better than good.

She is beautiful, murmured Lord Henry, sipping a glass of vermouth and orange bitters. Dorian says she is beautiful, and he is not often wrong about things of that kind. Your portrait of him has quickened his appreciation of the personal appearance of other people.

It has had that excellent effect among others. We are to see her tonight, if that boy doesn't forget his appointment. Are you serious? Quite serious, Basil.

I should be miserable if I thought I should ever be more serious than I am at the present moment. But do you approve of it, Harry? asked the painter, walking up and down the room and biting his lip.

You can't approve of it, possibly. It is some silly infatuation. I never approve or disapprove of anything now.

It is an absurd attitude to take toward life. We are not sent into the world to air our moral prejudices. I never take any notice of what common people say, and I never interfere with what charming people do.

If a personality fascinates me, whatever mode of expression that personality selects is absolutely delightful to me. Dorian Gray falls in love with a beautiful girl who acts Juliet and proposes to marry her. Why not? If he wedded Messalina, he would be nonetheless interesting.

You know I am not a champion of marriage. The real drawback to marriage is that it makes one unselfish, and unselfish people are colorless. They lack individuality.

Still, there are certain temperaments that marriage makes more complex. They retain their egotism, and add to it many other egos. They are forced to have more than one life.

They become more highly organized, and to be highly organized is, I should fancy, the object of man's existence. Besides, every experience is of value, and whatever one may say against marriage, it is certainly an experience. I hope that Dorian Gray will make this girl his wife, passionately adore her for six months, and then suddenly become fascinated by someone else.

He would be a wonderful study. You don't mean a single word of all that, Harry. You know you don't.

If Dorian Gray's life were spoiled, no one would be sorrier than yourself. You are much better than you pretend to be. Lord Henry laughed.

The reason we all like to think so well of others is that we are all afraid for ourselves. The basis of optimism is sheer terror. We think that we are generous because we credit our neighbor with the possession of those virtues that are likely to be of benefit to us.

We praise the banker that we may overdraw our account and find good qualities in the high woman in the hope that he may spare our pockets. I mean everything that I have said. I have the greatest contempt for optimism.

As for a spoiled life, no life is spoiled but one whose growth is arrested. If you want to mar a nature, you have merely to reform it. As for marriage, of course that would be silly.

But there are other and more interesting bonds between men and women. I will certainly encourage them. They have the charm of being fashionable.

But here is Dorian himself. He will tell you more than I can. My dear Harry, my dear Basil, you must both congratulate me, said the lad, throwing off his evening cape with its satin-lined wings and shaking each of his friends by the hand in turn.

I have never been so happy. Of course it is sudden. All really delightful things are.

And yet it seems to me to be the one thing I have been looking for all my life. He was flushed with excitement and pleasure and looked extraordinarily handsome. I hope you will always be very happy, Dorian, said Hallward.

But I don't quite forgive you for not having let me know of your engagement. You let Harry know. And I don't forgive you for being late for dinner, broken Lord Henry, putting his hand on the lad's shoulder and smiling as he spoke.

Come, let us sit down and try what the new chef here is like, and then you will tell us how it all came about. There is really not much to tell, cried Dorian, as they took their seats at the small round table. What happened was simply this.

After I left you yesterday evening, Harry, I dressed, had some dinner at that little Italian restaurant in Rupert Street you introduced me to, and went down at eight o'clock to the theatre. Sybil was playing Rosalind. Of course the scenery was dreadful and the Orlando absurd.

But Sybil! You should have seen her. When she came on in her boy's clothes, she was perfectly wonderful.

She wore a moss-colored velvet jerkin with cinnamon sleeves, slim brown cross-gartered hose, a dainty little green cap with a hawk's feather caught in a jewel, and a hooded cloak lined with dull red. She had never seemed to me more exquisite. She had all the delicate grace of that Tanagra figurine that you have in your studio, Basil.

Her hair clustered round her face like dark leaves round a pale rose. As for her acting, well, you shall see her tonight. She is simply a born artist.

I sat in the dingy box absolutely enthralled. I forgot that I was in London, and in the nineteenth century, I was away with my love in a forest that no man had ever seen. After the performance was over, I went behind and spoke to her.

As we were sitting together, suddenly there came into her eyes a look that I had never seen there before. My lips moved toward hers. We kissed each other.

I can't describe to you what I felt at that moment. It seemed to me that all my life had been narrowed to one perfect point of rose-colored joy. She trembled all over and shook like a white Narcissus.

Then she flung herself on her knees and kissed my hands. I feel that I should not tell you all this, but I can't help it. Of course, our engagement is a dead secret.

She has not even told her own mother. I don't know what my guardians will say. Lord Radley is sure to be furious.

I don't care. I shall be of age in less than a year, and then I can do what I like. I have been right, Basil, haven't I, to take my love out of poetry and to find my wife in Shakespeare's plays?

Lips that Shakespeare taught to speak have whispered their secret in my ear. I have had the arms of Rosalind around me and kissed Juliet on the mouth. Yes, Dorian, I suppose you were right.

said Hallward slowly. Have you seen her today? asked Lord Henry.

Dorian Gray shook his head. I left her in the forest of Arden. I shall find her in an orchard in Verona.

Lord Henry sipped his champagne in a meditative manner. At what particular point did you mention the word marriage, Dorian? And what did she say in answer? Perhaps you forgot all about it.

My dear Harry, I did not treat it as a business transaction, and I did not make any formal proposal. I told her that I loved her, and she said she was not worthy to be my wife. Not worthy! Why, the whole world is nothing to me compared with her.

Women are wonderfully practical, murmured Lord Henry, much more practical than we are. In situations of that kind we often forget to say anything about marriage, and they always remind us. Hallward laid his hand upon his arm.

Don't, Harry. You have annoyed Dorian. He is not like other men.

He would never bring misery upon anyone. His nature is too fine for that. Lord Henry looked across the table.

Dorian is never annoyed with me, he answered. I ask the question for the best reason possible, for the only reason, indeed, that excuses one for asking the question, simple curiosity. I have a theory that it is always the women who propose to us, and not we who propose to the women.

Except, of course, in middle-class life. But then the middle classes are not modern. Dorian Gray laughed and tossed his head.

You are quite incorrigible, Harry, but I don't mind. It is impossible to be angry with you. When you see Sibyl Vane, you will feel that the man who could wrong her would be a beast, a beast without a heart.

I cannot understand how anyone can wish to shame the thing he loves. I love Sibyl Vane. I want to place her on a pedestal of gold, and to see the world worship the woman who is mine.

What is marriage? An irrevocable vow. You mock at it for that.

Don't mock. It is an irrevocable vow that I want to take. Her trust makes me faithful.

Her belief makes me good. When I am with her, I regret all that you have taught me. I become different from what you have known me to be.

I am changed, and the mere touch of Sibyl Vane's hand makes me forget you and all your wrong, fascinating, poisonous, delightful theories. And those are? asked Lord Henry, helping himself to some salad.

Oh, your theories about life, your theories about love, your theories about pleasure. All your theories, in fact, Harry. Pleasure is the only thing worth having a theory about, he answered in his slow, melodious voice.

But I am afraid I cannot claim my theory as my own. It belongs to nature, not to me. Pleasure is nature's test, her sign of approval.

When we are happy, we are always good. But when we are good, we are not always happy. Ah, but what do you mean by good? cried Basil Hallward.

Yes, echoed Dorian, leaning back in his chair and looking at Lord Henry over the heavy clusters of purple-lipped irises that stood in the center of the table. What do you mean by good, Harry? To be good is to be in harmony with oneself, he replied, touching the thin stem of his glass with his pale, fine-pointed fingers.

Discord is to be forced to be in harmony with others. One's own life, that is the important thing. As for the lives of one's neighbors, if one wishes to be a prig or a puritan, one can flaunt one's moral views about them, but they are not one's concern.

Besides, individualism has really the higher aim. Modern morality consists in accepting the standard of one's age. I consider that for any man of culture to accept the standard of his age is a form of the grossest immorality.

But surely if one lives merely for oneself, Harry, one pays a terrible price for doing so, suggested the painter. Yes, we are overcharged for everything nowadays. I should fancy that the real tragedy of the poor is that they can afford nothing but self-denial.

Beautiful sins, like beautiful things, are the privilege of the rich. One has to pay in other ways but money. What sort of ways, Basil? Oh, I should fancy in remorse, in suffering, and, well, in the consciousness of degradation.

Lord Henry shrugged his shoulders. Lord Henry shrugged his shoulders. My dear fellow, medieval art is charming, but medieval emotions are out of date.

One can use them in fiction, of course, but then the only things that one can use in fiction are the things that one has ceased to use in fact. Believe me, no civilized man ever regrets a pleasure.