The years passed, and the picture of Dorian Gray grew
more and more ugly. Dorian himself looked exactly as he did
when he was twenty. There were rumours that Dorian did
horrible things and went to horrible places, but no one knew
for sure if they were true. Lord Henry was still his closest
friend, and he and Dorian threw famous parties at Dorian's
beautifully decorated house with famous musicians and
beautiful women.
Dorian became interested in everything which made life
beautiful on the outside - jewels, perfume, fine cloth , gold,
silver - but he would go to the room at the top of his house
every once in a while to see how he would look if his true
character showed on his face. Dorian had become selfish and
irresponsible. He did not care about the consequences of his
behaviour, because he always looked young and beautiful. He
lost many friends, and there were many people who hated him,
but there were also those who thought he was some kind of
modern hero. He >vas rich and handsome, and the wild stories
people told about him seemed exciting, if they were true.
But the picture, locked in the room at the top of his
house, changed with every one of Dorian's cruel or selfish
acts. It was a portrait of a man who looked much older than
Dorian Gray. Dorian was now almost thirty-eight, but the
man in the picture had thin grey hair. His face was wrinkled
and his body looked old and weak. Dorian would hold a
mirror up to his face when he went to look at the picture. His
eyes were still bright with youth. His hair was thick and
golden. It did not matter what the picture looked like, he
thought. It was how he looked in the mirror, and how he
looked to others, that mattered most.
The night before Dorian's thirty-eighth birthday was cold
and foggy. Dorian was walking home at around eleven
o'clock when he passed Basil Hallward in the street, coming
from Dorian's house.
"Dorian! I'm so glad J've caught you . I went to your
house, but your butler told me you were out. I'm on my way
to the train station. I'm going to Paris for six months, and 1
wanted to see you before I left."
Dorian was not happy to see Basil , but he invited him
back to his house for a drink before he left.
Basil took off his hat and coat and put them on his
travelling bag by the hont door.
"Dorian, what are all these rumours about you? People don't
vvant to be seen with you. They say you have destroyed the lives
of many young men and women. You have a negative influence
on people and you encourage them to do evil things."
"People talk about others because they have something to
hide themselves. No one is good in England , they just
pretend to be. People do what they want with th e ir li ves. I
am not the influence."
"1 want to believe you, Dorian, and I know it must be
true. If you did all these things people say, iL wou ld show on
you r face. Men's faces and bodies grow old and ugly when
they live such lives. But look at yo u. You are young and
beautiful. But I came here tonight to see your soul. Show me
your soul, Dorian. Make me believe you are good and not
evil and that people are spreading lies about you."
Dorian laughed at Basil. He laughed at all the world. Why
shouldn't someone know my secret, he thought. Especially
Basil, the painter of the portrait.
"Do you really want to see my soul, Basil? Come, I will
show it to you."
Dorian took a lamp from a table and walked Basil to the
room at the top of his house. He stood before the purple and
gold coloured curtain.
"You think only God can see a man's soul. Now, you can
see mine."
He pulled the curtain away. Basil suddenly looked shocked.
He fell back into a chair and hid his face in his hands. Dorian
was standing, smelling the flower he had pinned on his coat.
"Basil, do you remember a wish I made the clay you
painted this?"
"I remember. Oh God, how I remember!"
The painter looked up at him .
"Dorian , it's not too late. vVe can pray for forgi veness. I
am to blame, too."
"It's too late."
"It's not!"
A flash of hatred ran through Dorian's body. He looked at
the picture and it was as if the picture told him what to do.
He picked up a knife off a table and ran at Basil. Basil still
had his head down . He did not see Dorian raise his arm in
the air, and he did not have time to look up before Dorian
brought the knife down on his neck.
more and more ugly. Dorian himself looked exactly as he did
when he was twenty. There were rumours that Dorian did
horrible things and went to horrible places, but no one knew
for sure if they were true. Lord Henry was still his closest
friend, and he and Dorian threw famous parties at Dorian's
beautifully decorated house with famous musicians and
beautiful women.
Dorian became interested in everything which made life
beautiful on the outside - jewels, perfume, fine cloth , gold,
silver - but he would go to the room at the top of his house
every once in a while to see how he would look if his true
character showed on his face. Dorian had become selfish and
irresponsible. He did not care about the consequences of his
behaviour, because he always looked young and beautiful. He
lost many friends, and there were many people who hated him,
but there were also those who thought he was some kind of
modern hero. He >vas rich and handsome, and the wild stories
people told about him seemed exciting, if they were true.
But the picture, locked in the room at the top of his
house, changed with every one of Dorian's cruel or selfish
acts. It was a portrait of a man who looked much older than
Dorian Gray. Dorian was now almost thirty-eight, but the
man in the picture had thin grey hair. His face was wrinkled
and his body looked old and weak. Dorian would hold a
mirror up to his face when he went to look at the picture. His
eyes were still bright with youth. His hair was thick and
golden. It did not matter what the picture looked like, he
thought. It was how he looked in the mirror, and how he
looked to others, that mattered most.
The night before Dorian's thirty-eighth birthday was cold
and foggy. Dorian was walking home at around eleven
o'clock when he passed Basil Hallward in the street, coming
from Dorian's house.
"Dorian! I'm so glad J've caught you . I went to your
house, but your butler told me you were out. I'm on my way
to the train station. I'm going to Paris for six months, and 1
wanted to see you before I left."
Dorian was not happy to see Basil , but he invited him
back to his house for a drink before he left.
Basil took off his hat and coat and put them on his
travelling bag by the hont door.
"Dorian, what are all these rumours about you? People don't
vvant to be seen with you. They say you have destroyed the lives
of many young men and women. You have a negative influence
on people and you encourage them to do evil things."
"People talk about others because they have something to
hide themselves. No one is good in England , they just
pretend to be. People do what they want with th e ir li ves. I
am not the influence."
"1 want to believe you, Dorian, and I know it must be
true. If you did all these things people say, iL wou ld show on
you r face. Men's faces and bodies grow old and ugly when
they live such lives. But look at yo u. You are young and
beautiful. But I came here tonight to see your soul. Show me
your soul, Dorian. Make me believe you are good and not
evil and that people are spreading lies about you."
Dorian laughed at Basil. He laughed at all the world. Why
shouldn't someone know my secret, he thought. Especially
Basil, the painter of the portrait.
"Do you really want to see my soul, Basil? Come, I will
show it to you."
Dorian took a lamp from a table and walked Basil to the
room at the top of his house. He stood before the purple and
gold coloured curtain.
"You think only God can see a man's soul. Now, you can
see mine."
He pulled the curtain away. Basil suddenly looked shocked.
He fell back into a chair and hid his face in his hands. Dorian
was standing, smelling the flower he had pinned on his coat.
"Basil, do you remember a wish I made the clay you
painted this?"
"I remember. Oh God, how I remember!"
The painter looked up at him .
"Dorian , it's not too late. vVe can pray for forgi veness. I
am to blame, too."
"It's too late."
"It's not!"
A flash of hatred ran through Dorian's body. He looked at
the picture and it was as if the picture told him what to do.
He picked up a knife off a table and ran at Basil. Basil still
had his head down . He did not see Dorian raise his arm in
the air, and he did not have time to look up before Dorian
brought the knife down on his neck.
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