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Shall
you
see
Basil
between
this
and
then
?
Or
shall
I
write
to
him
?
"
"
Dear
Basil
!
I
have
not
laid
eyes
on
him
for
a
week
.
It
is
rather
horrid
of
me
,
as
he
has
sent
me
my
portrait
in
the
most
wonderful
frame
,
specially
designed
by
himself
,
and
,
though
I
am
a
little
jealous
of
the
picture
for
being
a
whole
month
younger
than
I
am
,
I
must
admit
that
I
delight
in
it
.
Perhaps
you
had
better
write
to
him
.
I
do
n't
want
to
see
him
alone
.
He
says
things
that
annoy
me
.
He
gives
me
good
advice
.
"
Lord
Henry
smiled
.
"
People
are
very
fond
of
giving
away
what
they
need
most
themselves
.
It
is
what
I
call
the
depth
of
generosity
.
"
"
Oh
,
Basil
is
the
best
of
fellows
,
but
he
seems
to
me
to
be
just
a
bit
of
a
Philistine
.
Since
I
have
known
you
,
Harry
,
I
have
discovered
that
.
"
"
Basil
,
my
dear
boy
,
puts
everything
that
is
charming
in
him
into
his
work
.
The
consequence
is
that
he
has
nothing
left
for
life
but
his
prejudices
,
his
principles
,
and
his
common-sense
.
The
only
artists
I
have
ever
known
,
who
are
personally
delightful
,
are
bad
artists
.
Good
artists
exist
simply
in
what
they
make
,
and
consequently
are
perfectly
uninteresting
in
what
they
are
.
A
great
poet
,
a
really
great
poet
,
is
the
most
unpoetical
of
all
creatures
.
But
inferior
poets
are
absolutely
fascinating
.
The
worse
their
rhymes
are
,
the
more
picturesque
they
look
.
The
mere
fact
of
having
published
a
book
of
second-rate
sonnets
makes
a
man
quite
irresistible
.
He
lives
the
poetry
that
he
can
not
write
.
The
others
write
the
poetry
that
they
dare
not
realise
.
"
"
I
wonder
is
that
really
so
,
Harry
?
"
said
Dorian
Gray
,
putting
some
perfume
on
his
handkerchief
out
of
a
large
gold-topped
bottle
that
stood
on
the
table
.
"
It
must
be
,
if
you
say
it
.
And
now
I
am
off
.
Imogen
is
waiting
for
me
.
Do
n't
forget
about
to-morrow
.
Good-bye
.
"
As
he
left
the
room
,
Lord
Henry
's
heavy
eyelids
drooped
,
and
he
began
to
think
.
Certainly
few
people
had
ever
interested
him
so
much
as
Dorian
Gray
,
and
yet
the
lad
's
mad
adoration
of
some
one
else
caused
him
not
the
slightest
pang
of
annoyance
or
jealousy
.
He
was
pleased
by
it
.
It
made
him
a
more
interesting
study
.
He
had
been
always
enthralled
by
the
methods
of
natural
science
,
but
the
ordinary
subject-matter
of
that
science
had
seemed
to
him
trivial
and
of
no
import
.
And
so
he
had
begun
by
vivisecting
himself
,
as
he
had
ended
by
vivisecting
others
.
Human
life
--
that
appeared
to
him
the
one
thing
worth
investigating
.
Compared
to
it
there
was
nothing
else
of
any
value
.
It
was
true
that
as
one
watched
life
in
its
curious
crucible
of
pain
and
pleasure
,
one
could
not
wear
over
one
's
face
a
mask
of
glass
,
nor
keep
the
sulphurous
fumes
from
troubling
the
brain
,
and
making
the
imagination
turbid
with
monstrous
fancies
and
misshapen
dreams
.
There
were
poisons
so
subtle
that
to
know
their
properties
one
had
to
sicken
of
them
.
There
were
maladies
so
strange
that
one
had
to
pass
through
them
if
one
sought
to
understand
their
nature
.
And
,
yet
,
what
a
great
reward
one
received
!
How
wonderful
the
whole
world
became
to
one
!
To
note
the
curious
hard
logic
of
passion
,
and
the
emotional
coloured
life
of
the
intellect
--
to
observe
where
they
met
,
and
where
they
separated
,
at
what
point
they
were
in
unison
,
and
at
what
point
they
were
at
discord
--
there
was
a
delight
in
that
!
What
matter
what
the
cost
was
?
One
could
never
pay
too
high
a
price
for
any
sensation
.
He
was
conscious
--
and
the
thought
brought
a
gleam
of
pleasure
into
his
brown
agate
eyes
--
that
it
was
through
certain
words
of
his
,
musical
words
said
with
musical
utterance
,
that
Dorian
Gray
's
soul
had
turned
to
this
white
girl
and
bowed
in
worship
before
her
.
To
a
large
extent
the
lad
was
his
own
creation
.
He
had
made
him
premature
.
That
was
something
.
Ordinary
people
waited
till
life
disclosed
to
them
its
secrets
,
but
to
the
few
,
to
the
elect
,
the
mysteries
of
life
were
revealed
before
the
veil
was
drawn
away
.
Sometimes
this
was
the
effect
of
art
,
and
chiefly
of
the
art
of
literature
,
which
dealt
immediately
with
the
passions
and
the
intellect
.
But
now
and
then
a
complex
personality
took
the
place
and
assumed
the
office
of
art
;
was
indeed
,
in
its
way
,
a
real
work
of
art
,
Life
having
its
elaborate
masterpieces
,
just
as
poetry
has
,
or
sculpture
,
or
painting
.
Yes
,
the
lad
was
premature
.
He
was
gathering
his
harvest
while
it
was
yet
spring
.
The
pulse
and
passion
of
youth
were
in
him
,
but
he
was
becoming
self-conscious
.
It
was
delightful
to
watch
him
.
With
his
beautiful
face
,
and
his
beautiful
soul
,
he
was
a
thing
to
wonder
at
.
It
was
no
matter
how
it
all
ended
,
or
was
destined
to
end
.
He
was
like
one
of
those
gracious
figures
in
a
pageant
or
a
play
,
whose
joys
seem
to
be
remote
from
one
,
but
whose
sorrows
stir
one
's
sense
of
beauty
,
and
whose
wounds
are
like
red
roses
.
