The Kimball graphic. (Kimball, Brule County, Dakota [S.D.]) 1883-1905, 1896-08-01
THE
PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY.
T HE
nY C WILDE.
CHAPTER r.

CHAPTER I.
inc stadio was filed with the rich odor of
roses, and when the light summer vino
stirred amid The trees of tile 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
saddle-bags on which he was lying, smoking,
Rs usual, ~iunuimerablo cigarettes, Lord
Henry Wotten could just catch the CLEAN
of the noney-sweet and honey-colored bios
SONS of the laburnum, whose tremulous
branches seemed hardly able to bear tho
burden of a beauty SO falne-like as theirs;
and now and then the fantastic shadows of
birds in flight fitted across the long tussore-
silk curtains that Were stretched in front Of
the huge window, producing Il kind OF
momentary Japanese effect, and making him
think OF those pallid jadc-faced painters, who,
in an art that is necessarily immobile, seek
to convey the sense of swiftness and motion.
Tho sullen murmur of the bees shouldering
their way through the long unknown grass,
or circling with mouotonous insistencc
round the black-crocketed spires of the
carly June h%ollyhocks, seemed to make tho
stiffness more oppressive, and the dim roar
of London was like the bourbon note of q
distant organ.
In the center of the room, clamped to an
upright easel, stood the full-lcngth portrait
Of a young man of extraordinary personal
beauty, and in front of it, some little dis
lance away YVES sitting the artist himself,
Basil Hallward, whose Sudden disappear
ance some years ago caused, at the time,
e,,cb ,,thIir pyrit,,pn,t aud ,u A., ,.ica Tn on
many strange conjectures.
AS he looked at tho gracious and comedy
form he had so skillfully iuilrorcd in his art,
q smile of pleasure passed across his face,
and seemed about to linger there. But he
suddenly started up, and. closing his eyes,
placed his fingers upon the lids, as though
he sought to imprison within his brain some
curious dream from which he feared he
might awake.
ut is your best work, Basil; the best
thing you have ever done, " said Lord Henry,
languidly. You must certainly send it
next year to the Grosvenor. 1hc Academy
Is too large and too vulgar. The Grosvenor
is the only place"
81 don't think l will send it anywhere"
he answered tossing his head back in that
odd way that used to make his friends
laugh at him at Oxford. mo; i won't send
1t anywhere"
Lord Henry elevated his eyebrows, and
looked at him in amazcment through the
thin blue wreaths of smoke that curlcd up
In such ~fanciful whirls from his heavy
opium-taintcd cigarette. Not send it any,
wherea My dear fellow, whyl Have you
nnyreasoni What odd chaps you painters
are. You do anything in the world to gain
q reputation. AS soou as you have one, YOU
seem to want to throw it away. 1t is silly
Of you, for there is only one thing in tho
world worse than being talked about and
that is not being talked about. A portrait
like this would set you far above all tho
young men in England, and make the old
men quite jealous, if old men arc ever capa-
bic of any emotion"
81 know you will laugh at me,'' he replied,
"but l really can't exhibit it. 1 have put
too much of myself into it."
Lord Henry stretched his long legs out on
The divan and shook with laughter.
"Ycs, l knew you would laugh; but it Is
quito true, all the same"
100 much of yourself in it. Upon my
word, Basil, | c didn't know you We're 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 if 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
an intellectual expression begins. Intellect
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 bishcE
kecrs on saying at the age of eighty what
he was told to say when he was q 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. l feel quite sure of that
he IS q brainless, beautiful thing, who
should be always here in winter when W.
nave no flowers to look at, and always here
IN sumlner when we want something to chill
our intelligence. Don't flatter yourself,
Basil; you are not in the least like him."
You don't understand nc. Harry. OF
course am not like him. know that per.
fectly well. Indeed, | should be sorry to
look like him. You shrug your shoulders
| am telling YOU the truth. There is Il
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 disquiet. They neither bring ruin
upon others nor ever receive it from alien
hands. Your rank and wealth, Harry; nv
brains, such as they arc; my fame, whatever
it may be worth; Dorian Gray's good looks
we all suffer for what the gods have given
us, suffer terribly"
Dorian Gray. is that his namc?" said
Lord Henry, walking across the studio to.
ward Basil Hallwarl.
YES; that is his NAME. 1 didn't intend to
tell it to you"
But why net"
"Oh, | can't explain. When l like people
immensely ! never tell their names to any
INC III IN ouIItllueEiuB Il puIU OF
them. You know how / love secrecy. 1t
IS the only thing that can make modern life
wonderful or mysterious to us. Tho com.
monest thing is delightful if one only
hides it. When l leave town l never tell
my people where l am going. If / did, ]
would lose all my pleasure. 1t is a silly
habit, | dare say, but somehow it seems to
bring u great deal of romance into ones life
suppose you think mo awfully foolish
about it!"
"Not at all,' answered Lord Henry, lay.
ng his hand upon his shoulder; "Eot at all,
my dear Basil. You seem to forget that
am married, and the one charm of marriage
s that IL makes a life of deception necessary
Tor both parties. ! mover know where my
wife is, and my wife never knows what
AIN doing. When we meet-yve do meet oc.
,asionally, when VIC dine out together or &C
lown to the duke's-we toll each other the
most absurd stories with the most serious OF
faces. My wife is very good at it-much
better, in fact, than / am. She never gets
confused over her dates, and / always do,
But when she does find me out, she makes
10 row at all. 1sometiines wish she would
but she merely laughs at me-"
II hate the way you talk about your