Custer weekly chronicle. [volume] (Custer City, S.D.) 1890-1931, 1896-08-01
THE
PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY.
e
Dr. oscAR witps.
CHAPTER 7.

stirred amid the trees of the garden there
came through the open door the heavy scent
of the lilac, or the more delicate perfume Of
the pink Towering thorn.
From the corner of the divan OF Persian
s~addle-bags on which he YVES lying, smoking,
Is usual, innumerable cigarettes, Lord
Henry Wotten could just catch the CLEAN
Of the honey-sweet and honcy-colored bios
SONS of the %laburnum, whose tremulous
branches seemed hardly able TO bear tho
burden Of a beauty so flame-like as theirs;
and now and then the fantastic shadows OF
birds In fight fitted across the long tussore-
silk curtains that were stretched in front OF
the huge window, producing a kind OF
momentary Japanese effect. and making him
think Of those pallid iade-faced painters, who,
In an art that is necessarily immobile, seek
TO convey the sense of swiftness and motion.
The sullen murmur OF the bees shouldering
thoir way through the long Unknown grass,
or circling with monotonous insistence
round the black-crocketed spires of the
early June hollyhocks, seemed to make the
stiffness more oppressive, and the dim roar
Of London was like the bourbon note of O
distant organ.
In the center of tho room, clamped TO an
upright easel, stood the full-length portrait
Of young man of extraordinary personal
beauty, and in front of it, some little dis
lance away, was sitting the artist himself,
Basil Hallward, whose sudden disappear
ance some years ago caused, ut the time,
such public excitement, and gave rise 10 so
many strange conjectures.
As he looked at the gracious and comely
form he had so skillfully mirrored in his art,
h ctni1A 90 .lAa.,,aa .,.,A aa-.,. Asa fa,a
and seemed about to linger there. But he
suddenly started up, and, closing his eyes,
placed bis fingers upon the lids, as though
he sought to imprison within his brain some
curious dream from which he feared he
might awake.
1T is your best work, Basil the best
thing you have ever done, said Lord Henry,
%languidly. you must certainly send it
next year to tho Grosvenor. The Academy
Is too large and too vulgar. The Grosvenor
Is the only place"
II don't think / will send il anywhere
be answered tossing his head back in that
odd way that used TO make his friends
laugh at him at Oxford. mo; / won't send
Il anywhere"
Lord Henry elevated his eyebrows, and
looked at him In amazement through tho
thin blue wreaths OF smoke that curled up
In such fanciful whirls from his heavy
opium-tainted cigarette. "Not send it any
wherel My dear fellow, whyi Have you
any reasonl What odd chaps you painters
are! You do anything in the world to gain
o reputation. AS soon as you have one, you
seem to want to throw it away. 1t is silly
Of you, for there is only one thing in the
world worse than being talked about and
that is not being talked about. A portrait
like this would set you far above all the
young men in England, and make the old
men quite jealous, II old men are over capa-
BILE Of any emotion"
II know you will laugh at me, &" he replied,
but l really can't exhibit it. I have put
too much Of myself into it,"
Lord Henry stretched his long legs out on
the divan and shook with laughter.
"Yes, l knew you would laugh; but it is
quite true, all the same."
100 much Of yourself in it! Upon my
word, Basil, l didn't know you were so vain /;
and | really can't sec any resemblance be-
tween you, with your rugged strong face
and your coal black hair, and this young
Adonis, who looks as il he was made of
ivory and rose leaves. Why, my dear Basil.
he is a Narcissus, and you-well, of course
you have an intellectual expression, and all
that. But beauty, real beauty, ends where
un inucllcctunl expression ooBinp. yneoNA~o'
is in itself an exaggeration, and destroys the
harmony of the face. The moment one sits
down to think, one becomes all nose, and all
forehead, or something horrid. Look at the
successful men In any OF the learned pro
LESSONS. How perfectly hideous they are
except, of course, in the Church. But then
IN the Church they don't think. A bishoI
keeps on saying at the age of eighty what
he was told TO say when he was O boy Of
eighteen, and consequently he always looks
absolutely delightful. Your mysterious
young friend, whose name you have never
told me, but whose picture really fascinates
me, never thinks. ] feel quite sure of that
He is a brainless, beautiful thing, who
should be always here in winter when we
have no flowers to look at, and always here
In summer when we want something to chill
our intelligence. Don't fatter yourself,
Basil you are not in the least like him."
"You don't understand me, Harry. OF
course ! am not like him. know that per
fectly well. Indeed, / should be sorry tc
look like him. You shrug your shoulders
y $40 Oiiiti 1Ou llO bIutu. lntIC ID u
fatality about all physical and intellectual
distinction, the sort of fatality that seems
to dog through history the faltering steps OF
kings. 1t is better not TO be different from
ones fellows. The ugly and stupid have
the best of it in this world. They can sit
quietly and cape at the play. If they know
nothing OF victory, they are at least spared
the knowledge Of defeat. They live as we
all should live, undisturbed, indifferent, and
without disquict. They neither bring ruin
upon others nor ever receive it from alien
hands. Your rank and wealth, Harry; my
brains, such as they are; my fame, whatever
1t may be worth; Dorian Gray's good looks
I'VE all suffer for what the gods have given
US, suffer terribly"
Dorian Grayl is that his name'" said
Lord Henry, walking across the studio TO-
ward Basil Hallwar1.
yes; that is his name. didn't intend to
tell it TO you"
"But why notg"
"Oh, l can't explain. Whon.I like people
Immensely | never tell their names to any
one. 1t seems like surrendering a part Of
them. You know how 1 love secrecy. II
IS the only thing that can make modern life
wonderful or mysterious to us. The com
honest thing is delightful il one only
hides 1t. When 1 leave town i never tel
my people where I am going. If I did,
would lose all my pleasure. It is a silly
habit, I dare say. but somehow it seems Il
bring a great deal Of romance into one's life
{ suppose you think me awfully foolisl
about iti"
"Not at ALL answered Lord Horny, lay
ng his hand upon his shoulder; mot ut all
my dear Basil. You seem to forget that
am married, and the one charm Of marriag
IS that 1t makes q life Of deception necessar,
Tor both parties. / never know where m,
wife is, and my wife never knows what
am doing. When we meet-we do meet oc
,~asionally, when we dine out together or g
Down to the duke's-we tell each other tn
most absurd stories with the most serious O
faces. My wife is very good at it-mucl
better, In fact, than / am. She never get
confused over her dates, and I always do
But when she does find me out, she make
10 row at all. Isometimes wish she would
but she merely laughs at me-"
II hate the way you talk about you
married life, Harry" said Basil Hallward
shaking his hand of. and strolling towar
the door that led into the garden. 1 believ,
hat you are really q very good husband
hut that Won ara thorouOhlv ashamed n