Chapter 9

As he was eating breakfast the next morning, Basil Hallward was shown into the room.

“I am so glad I have found you, Dorian,” he said. “I called last night, and they told me that you were at the theatre. Of course I knew that was impossible. I know what you must suffer. I had a terrible evening worrying whether one tragedy would be followed by another. I can’t tell you how heart-broken I am about the whole thing. But where were you? Did you go down and see the girl’s mother? What did she say about it all?”

“My dear Basil, how do I know?” murmured Dorian Gray. He looked very bored. “I was at the opera.”

“You went to the opera?” said Hallward, speaking very slowly. “You went to the opera while Sibyl Vane was lying dead?”

“Stop, Basil! I won’t hear it!” cried Dorian, leaping to his feet. “You must not speak of such things. What is done is done. What is past is past.”

“You call yesterday the past? Dorian, this is horrible! Something has changed you completely. You look exactly the same as the wonderful boy in my picture, but now there is no heart in you. It is all Harry’s influence. I see that.”

The boy went to the window and looked out at the garden for a few moments.

“Harry has taught me many things, Basil,” he said at last, “You only taught me to be vain.”

“Well, I am punished for that, Dorian – or shall be some day.”

“I don’t know what you mean, Basil,” he said, turning round. “I don’t know what you want. What do you want?”

“I want the Dorian Gray I used to paint,” said the artist sadly.

“Basil,” said the boy, going over to him and putting his hand on his shoulder, “you have come too late. Yesterday when I heard that Sibyl Vane had killed herself —”

“Killed herself! My God! Is there no doubt about that?” cried Hallward.

“My dear Basil! Of course she killed herself.”

The older man put his face in his hands. “How terrible,” he said in a quiet voice.

“No,” said Dorian Gray, “there is nothing terrible about it. It is one of the great romantic tragedies of our time, I know you are surprised at me talking to you like this. You have not realized how I have changed. I was a boy when you knew me. I am a man now. I have new passions, new thoughts, new ideas —”

“But Dorian —”

“I am different, but you must not like me less. You came here to console me. That is charming of you. Of course I am very fond of Harry. But I know that you are better than he is. You are not stronger – you are too afraid of life – but you are better. And how happy we used to be together! Don’t leave me, Basil, and don’t argue with me. I am what I am. There is nothing more to be said.”

The painter felt strangely sad, Dorian Gray was very important to him. The boy had changed his art. Perhaps his cruel talk about Sibyl Vane was just a mood that would pass away. There was so much in him that was good.

“Dorian, how can you talk like that about someone you loved?”

“Sybil Vane was an actress. She died as Juliet would die. It is just another tragedy. I choose to live for pleasure and not regret the past.”

“You’ve changed, Dorian. You still look the same as when I first saw you, but you are different. You used to be so kind and innocent. Now you talk like you have no heart. Harry has influenced you. I see that.”

Dorian smiled.

“Well, Dorian,” said Basil sadly, “I won’t speak to you again about this horrible thing, I only hope that your name is kept out of any scandal. Have the police asked to see you?”

Dorian shook his head. “They don’t even know my name,” he answered.

“She didn’t know your name?”

“Only my first name, and I am sure that she did not tell it to anyone. She told her family that I was Prince Charming. It was pretty of her. You must do me a drawing of Sibyl, Basil. I would like to have something more of her than the memory of a few kisses.”

“I will try and do something, Dorian. But you must come and sit for me again. I can’t work so well without you.”

“I can never sit for you again, Basil. It is impossible!” he exclaimed.

The painter stared at him. “My dear boy, what nonsense!” he cried. “Do you mean to say you don’t like what I did of you? Where is it? Let me look at it. It is the best thing I have ever done.”

Basil was confused. He wanted to believe that Dorian was the pure, good, innocent boy he had first met. He hoped that Sybil’s death had caused Dorian’s strange behaviour. Basil looked up and saw the screen in front of the picture.

“Do take the screen away, Dorian. Why have you covered it? Let me look at it. It is the best thing I have ever done. It is very bad of your servant to hide my work like that, I felt the room looked different as I came in.”

“It was not my servant who covered it, Basil. I did it myself. The light was too strong on the portrait.”

“Too strong! No, the light is perfect in here. Let me see it.” And Hallward walked towards the corner of the room.

A cry of terror came from Dorian Gray’s lips, and he rushed between the painter and the covered portrait. “Basil, you must not look at it! I don’t want you to.”

“Not look at my own work! You are not serious. Why shouldn’t I look at it?” exclaimed Hallward, laughing.

“If you try to look at it, Basil, on my word of honour I will never speak to you again as long as I live. I am quite serious.”

Hallward looked at Dorian Gray in surprise. He had never seen him like this before. The boy’s face was white and angry.

“Dorian!”

“Don’t speak!”

“But what is the matter? Of course I won’t look at it if you don’t want me to,” he said coldly, walking over to the window. “But it seems rather absurd that I cannot see my own work when I am going to exhibit it in Paris in the autumn.”

“To exhibit it! You want to exhibit it?” exclaimed Dorian Gray. A terrible fear was building inside him. Was the world going to see his secret? Were people going to stare at the mystery of his life? That was impossible.

“Yes, I don’t suppose you will object to that. Don’t worry, it is only for one month.”

Dorian Gray passed his hand across his face. It felt hot and wet. He felt that he was about to face horrible danger. “You told me a month ago that you would never exhibit it,” he cried. “Why have you changed your mind?” He stopped suddenly and a cruel look came into his eyes. He had remembered something Lord Henry had said to him, “Ask Basil why he won’t exhibit your picture. He told me once and it is a very strange story.” Yes, perhaps Basil too had his secret. He would ask him and try.

“Basil,” he said, coming over quite close, and looking him straight in the face, “We all have secrets. Let me know yours, and I shall tell you mine. What was your reason for refusing to exhibit my picture?”

“Dorian, if I told you, you might like me less than you do now. And you would certainly laugh at me. If you don’t want me ever to look at your picture again, I won’t. I have always you to look at. Your friendship is dearer to me than any fame or reputation.”

“No, Basil, you must tell me,” said Dorian Gray. “I think I have a right to know.” His feeling of terror had passed away, and curiosity had taken its place.

“Let us sit down, Dorian,” said the painter, looking troubled. “Let us sit down. And just answer me one question. Have you ever noticed something in the picture, something strange?”

“Basil!” cried the boy, staring at him with wild eyes.

“I see you did. Don’t speak. Wait till you hear what I have to say. Dorian, from the moment I met you, your personality had the most extraordinary influence over me. I worshipped you, I was jealous of everyone you spoke to. I wanted to have you all to myself. I was only happy when I was with you. When you were away from me, you were still present in my art. I hardly understood it myself.”

“Basil —”

“No, don’t speak. I must tell you now what I did not tell you then. I decided to paint a wonderful portrait of you. I put all my feelings for you into that picture. I felt, Dorian, that I had told too much. I had put too much of myself into it. So I decided never to exhibit the portrait. I told Harry and he laughed. When the picture was finished, and I sat alone with it, I felt that I was right. Later, I thought that perhaps I was being foolish and when this Paris offer came… but I see now that the picture cannot be shown. You must not be angry with me, Dorian, for what I have told you.”

Dorian Gray breathed deeply. The colour came back to his cheeks and a smile crossed his lips. The danger was over and he was safe for a while. What a sad story Basil had told! Would he ever be so influenced by the personality of a friend? Lord Henry had the charm of being very dangerous. But that was all.

“It is extraordinary to me, Dorian,” said Halrward, “that you saw this in the portrait.”

“I saw something in it,” he answered, “something that seemed to me very strange.”

“Well, you don’t mind me looking at the thing now?”

Dorian shook his head. “You must not ask me that, Basil. I cannot let you stand in front of that picture.”

“You will one day, won’t you?”

“Never.”

“Well, perhaps you are right. And now good-bye, Dorian. You have been the one person in my life who has really influenced my art. Whatever I have done that is good, I owe to you. Ah! you don’t know what it cost me to tell you all that I have told you. I’m embarrassed because all of my feelings for you and for art are in that picture, and I know that it is wrong to worship human beauty so much. We are not perfect, and even a work of art should not show that we are.”

“My dear Basil,” said Dorian, “what have you told me? Simply that you felt that you admired me too much. That is not even a compliment.”

“It was not intended as a compliment. And now that I have told you, something seems to have gone out of me. Perhaps you should never put what you worship into words.”

“You mustn’t talk about worship, it is foolish. You and I are friends, Basil, and we will always be friends.”

“You have got Harry,” said the painter, sadly.

“Oh, Harry!” laughed the young man. “Harry spends his life saying and doing extraordinary things. He lives the sort of life I want to live. But I don’t think I would go to Harry if I were in trouble. I would sooner go to you, Basil.”

“You will sit for me again?”

“Impossible! I can’t explain it to you, Basil, but I must never sit to you again. There is something fatal about a portrait. It has a life of its own. I will come and have tea with you.”

“Well, good-bye then, I am sorry that you won’t let me look at the picture again. But I understand what you feel about it.”

As he left the room, Dorian Gray smiled to himself. Poor Basil! How little he knew of the true reason. And now he understood more the painter’s wild and jealous feelings, and he felt sorry. There was something tragic in a friendship so corrupted by passion.

Dorian’s face relaxed. Its natural colour returned. He sat down, feeling safe that the secret of the picture had not been found out. He rang the bell to call his servant. The portrait must be hidden away immediately.

After Basil had gone, Dorian covered the picture in a purple and gold cloth, then had it taken up to a small room at the top of the house which no one ever entered. He locked the picture in that room and always kept the key to it with him. He felt safe now that no one would ever see the picture which showed the dark secrets of his soul.