Портрет Дориана Грея

           Ashelefttheroom,LordHenry’sheavyeyelidsdrooped,andhebegantothink. CertainlyfewpeoplehadeverinterestedhimsomuchasDorianGray,andyetthelad’smadadorationofsomeoneelsecausedhimnottheslightestpangofannoyanceorjealousy. Hewaspleasedbyit. Itmadehimamoreinterestingstudy. Hehadbeenalwaysenthralledbythemethodsofnaturalscience,buttheordinarysubject-matterofthatsciencehadseemedtohimtrivialandofnoimport. Andsohehadbegunbyvivisectinghimself,ashehadendedbyvivisectingothers. Humanlife—thatappearedtohimtheonethingworthinvestigating.Comparedtoittherewasnothingelseofanyvalue. Itwastruethatasonewatchedlifeinitscuriouscrucibleofpainandpleasure,onecouldnotwearoverone’sfaceamaskofglass,norkeepthesulphurousfumesfromtroublingthebrain,andmakingtheimaginationturbidwithmonstrousfanciesandmisshapendreams. Therewerepoisonssosubtlethattoknowtheirpropertiesonehadtosickenofthem. Thereweremaladiessostrangethatonehadtopassthroughthemifonesoughttounderstandtheirnature. And,yet,whatagreatrewardonereceived!Howwonderfulthewholeworldbecametoone! Tonotethecurioushardlogicofpassion,andtheemotionalcolouredlifeoftheintellect—toobservewheretheymet,andwheretheyseparated, atwhatpointtheywereinunison,andatwhatpointtheywereatdiscord—therewasadelightinthat! Whatmatterwhatthecostwas?Onecouldneverpaytoohighapriceforanysensation. 

           Hewasconscious—andthethoughtbroughtagleamofpleasureintohisbrownagateeyes—thatitwasthroughcertainwordsofhis, musicalwordssaidwithmusicalutterance,thatDorianGray’ssoulhadturnedtothiswhitegirlandbowedinworshipbeforeher. Toalargeextenttheladwashisowncreation.Hehadmadehimpremature.Thatwassomething.