The room was full of the rich smell of roses. A light summer wind moved the trees in the garden. Through the open door came the heavy smell of flowers.
Lord Henry Wotton was lying on a divan. He was smoking one cigarette after another. From his seat, he could see the bright yellow flowers of a tree. The garden was very quiet and peaceful.
The distant noise of London sounded like a low organ note. In the middle of the room, there was a portrait. It was a painting of a very beautiful young man.
The artist was Basil Hallward. Years later, Basil disappeared suddenly. At that time, many people were shocked and worried about him.
Basil looked at the beautiful man in the painting. He smiled because he was happy with his work. Then he suddenly stood up and closed his eyes. He tried to keep the image of the painting in his mind.
“It is your best work, Basil,” Lord Henry said slowly. “You must send it to the best gallery next year. The big art shows are too crowded and common. This painting is special.”
“I will not send it anywhere,” Basil answered. He moved his head in a strange way. His friends at school used to laugh at this habit. “No, I will not show it to the public.”
Lord Henry raised his eyebrows in surprise. He looked at Basil through the smoke of his cigarette. “You will not send it anywhere? My dear friend, why? You are very strange!”
Lord Henry continued talking. “Artists usually want to be famous. But when you are famous, you want to hide. It is silly. It is bad when people talk about you, but it is worse when they do not.”
“This portrait would make you very famous,” Lord Henry said. “All the young men would be jealous of you. It is a wonderful painting.”
“I know you will laugh at me,” Basil replied. “But I really cannot show it. I put too much of myself into this painting.”
Lord Henry laughed loudly. “Too much of yourself? Basil, I did not know you were so vain! You have a strong face and black hair. But this young man looks like he is made of ivory and rose petals.”
“He is a Narcissus,” Lord Henry said. “And you—well, you look like a man with an intellect. But real beauty ends when a person starts to think.”
Lord Henry explained his idea. “Thinking makes a face look strange. Look at successful lawyers or doctors. They are all very ugly! Only bishops look good because they do not think.”
“This young man never thinks. I am sure of it,” Lord Henry said. “He is a beautiful, brainless creature. He should be here in winter when there are no flowers. Don't worry, Basil. You do not look like him at all.”
“You do not understand me, Harry,” Basil answered. “Of course I do not look like him. I would be sorry to look like him. It is better not to be different from other people.”
Basil looked sad. “The ugly and the stupid people have the best lives. They stay quiet and they are not disturbed. We will all suffer for our gifts. You will suffer for your wealth, I will suffer for my art, and Dorian Gray will suffer for his beauty.”
“Dorian? Is that his name?” Lord Henry asked. He walked across the room toward the artist.
“Yes, that is his name. I did not want to tell you,” Basil said.
“But why not?” Lord Henry asked.
“I cannot explain it,” Basil said. “When I like people very much, I never tell their names to anyone. I love secrets. Secrets make modern life feel mysterious and romantic.”
“I understand,” Lord Henry answered. “I am married, and marriage requires secrets. My wife and I never know what the other person is doing. We tell each other lies with very serious faces.”
“I hate the way you talk about your marriage, Harry,” Basil said. He walked toward the garden. “I think you are a good husband, but you are ashamed of it. You never say a good thing, but you never do a bad thing.”
Lord Henry laughed. The two young men went out into the garden. They sat on a long seat in the shade of a bush. The sunlight was bright on the green leaves.
After a short time, Lord Henry looked at his watch. “I must go soon, Basil. But first, you must answer my question. Why won't you show the portrait of Dorian?”
“I told you the reason,” Basil said.
“No, you did not. You said there was too much of yourself in it. That is a childish reason,” Lord Henry said.
Basil looked at Lord Henry. “Every portrait is a painting of the artist, not the sitter. The artist reveals himself on the canvas. I will not show this because I am afraid. I showed the secret of my own soul in it.”
Lord Henry laughed again. “And what is that secret?”
“I will tell you,” Basil said. He looked troubled. “But you will not understand it. Perhaps you will not believe it.”
Lord Henry smiled. He picked a flower from the grass. “I can believe anything if it is incredible,” he said.
“The story is simple,” Basil said. “Two months ago, I went to a party at Lady Brandon’s house. Suddenly, I felt that someone was looking at me. I turned around and saw Dorian for the first time.”
“When our eyes met, I grew pale,” Basil continued. “I felt a strange terror. I knew this person was very important. His personality was so strong that it could change my whole soul and my art.”
“I did not want to be influenced,” Basil said. “I tried to leave the room. It was not because of my conscience. It was because I was a coward. I tried to run away.”
“Conscience and cowardice are the same thing, Basil,” Lord Henry said.
“I do not believe that,” Basil answered. “Anyway, I tried to go to the door. But Lady Brandon stopped me. She is a very loud woman. She introduced me to many unimportant people.”
“Then I saw the young man again. We were very close. I asked Lady Brandon to introduce us. It was inevitable. We were destined to know each other.”
“How did Lady Brandon describe him?” Lord Henry asked. “She usually tells people everything except what they want to know.”
“She said he was a charming boy,” Basil said. “She could not remember if he played the piano or the violin. We both laughed and we became friends immediately.”
“Laughter is a good beginning for a friendship,” Lord Henry said. He picked another flower.
Basil shook his head. “You do not understand friendship, Harry. You are indifferent to everyone.”
“That is not true!” Lord Henry cried. “I choose my friends for their beauty. I choose my acquaintances for their character. And I choose my enemies for their intelligence. A man must be careful with his enemies.”
“I must be just an acquaintance to you then,” Basil said.
“No, you are much more than that,” Lord Henry said. “But tell me more about Mr. Dorian Gray. How often do you see him?”
“I see him every day,” Basil answered. “I cannot be happy if I do not see him. He is necessary to me. He is all my art now.”
“How extraordinary!” Lord Henry said.
“He is a new influence on my art,” Basil explained. “Because of him, I see things differently. I can create life in a new way. He is the harmony of soul and body.”
Basil continued. “I once painted a beautiful landscape. It was good because Dorian sat beside me while I worked. His presence helped me see the wonder in the world.”
“Basil, this is amazing! I must meet him,” Lord Henry said.
Basil walked up and down the garden. “To me, Dorian is a source of ideas for my art. You might see nothing in him. But I see everything. I find him in the curves of lines and the beauty of colors.”
“Then why not show the portrait?” Lord Henry asked again.
“Because I put my artistic idolatry into it,” Basil said. “Dorian does not know about my feelings. I will not show my soul to the world. I will not let people look at my heart under a microscope.”
“Poets are not like you,” Lord Henry said. “They use their broken hearts to sell books.”
“I hate that,” Basil said. “An artist should create beautiful things, but he should not put his own life into them. The world will never see my portrait of Dorian.”
“Is Dorian fond of you?” Lord Henry asked.
“He likes me,” Basil said. “I flatter him a lot. Sometimes he is very kind. But sometimes he is thoughtless and gives me pain. I feel like I have given my soul to someone who treats it like a flower in his coat.”
“Genius lasts longer than beauty,” Lord Henry said. “One day you will get tired of him. You will think he is not as beautiful as before. You will become cold and indifferent.”
“Harry, do not talk like that,” Basil said. “Dorian will always be important to me. You change too often to understand.”
Lord Henry smoked his cigarette and smiled. He liked hearing about other people's emotions. They were more interesting than ideas. He thought about his aunt, Lady Agatha.
“I remember now!” Lord Henry said. “I heard the name Dorian at my aunt’s house. She said he was a wonderful young man who helps poor people. She did not say he was handsome.”
“I am glad she didn't tell you,” Basil said.
“Why?” Lord Henry asked.
“I do not want you to meet him,” Basil said.
Just then, the butler came into the garden. “Mr. Dorian Gray is in the studio, sir,” the butler said.
“Now you must introduce me!” Lord Henry laughed.
Basil looked at Lord Henry. “Dorian is my dearest friend,” he said slowly. “He has a simple and beautiful nature. Please, do not spoil him. Do not try to influence him. Your influence would be bad.”
Basil looked worried. “My life as an artist depends on him. Harry, I trust you.”
“You are talking nonsense!” Lord Henry said. He took Basil’s arm and they walked into the house together.