Through the open windows of the room came the rich scent of summer flowers．Lord Henry Wotton lay back in his chair and smoked his cigarette．Beyond the soft sounds of the garden he could just hear the noise of London．

　　In the centre of the room there was a portrait of a very beautiful young man，and in front of it stood the artist himself，Basil Hallward．

　　'It's your best work，Basil，the best portrait that you've ever painted，' said Lord Henry lazily．'You must send it to the best art gallery in London．'

　　'No，'Basil said slowly．'No，I won't send it anywhere．'

　　Lord Henry was surprised．'But my dear Basil，why not？'he asked．'What strange people you artists are！You want to be famous，but then you're not happy when you are famous．It's bad when people talk about you—but it's much worse when they don't talk about you．'

　　'I know you'll laugh at me，'replied Basil，'but I can't exhibit the picture in an art gallery．I've put too much of myself into it．'

　　Lord Henry laughed．'Too much of yourself into it！You don't look like him at all．He has a fair and beautiful face．And you—well，you look intelligent，of course，but with your strong face and black hair，you are not beautiful．'

　　'You don't understand me，Harry，'replied Basil．（Lord Henry's friends always called him Harry．）'Of course I'm not like him，'Basil continued．'In fact，I prefer not to be beautiful．Dorian Gray's beautiful face will perhaps bring him danger and trouble．'

　　'Dorian Gray？Is that his name？'asked Lord Henry．

　　'Yes．But I didn't want to tell you．'

　　'Why not？'

　　'Oh，I can't explain，'said Basil．'When I like people a lot，I never tell their names to my other friends．I love secrets，that's all．'

　　'Of course，'agreed his friend．'Life is much more exciting when you have secrets．For example，I never know where my wife is，and my wife never knows what I'm doing．When we meet—and we do meet sometimes—we tell each other crazy stories，and we pretend that they're true．'

　　'You pretend all the time，Harry，'said Basil．'I think that you're probably a very good husband，but you like to hide your true feelings．'

　　'Oh，don't be so serious，Basil，'smiled Lord Henry．'Let's go into the garden．'

　　画家

　　“我在这幅画里画进了我自己太多的东西。”

　　1

　　透过敞开的窗户传来夏季鲜花的浓香。亨利·沃顿勋爵靠在椅背上，吸着香烟。除了花园中各种轻柔的声响之外，他能听见伦敦的喧闹声。

　　房屋的中央是一个非常漂亮的年轻男人的画像。画像的前面站着画家本人，名叫巴兹尔·霍尔沃德。

　　“巴兹尔，这是你最好的作品，你迄今为止画得最好的画像。”亨利勋爵懒洋洋地说道，“你得把这幅画送到伦敦最好的画廊。”

　　“不。”巴兹尔缓慢地回答，“我不会把它送到任何一个地方去。”

　　亨利勋爵感到吃惊。“亲爱的巴兹尔，为什么不呢？”他问道。“你们画家是多么奇怪的人啊！你们想成名，但成名后又不快乐。人们谈论你们不好——但当人们不谈论你们时情况会更糟。”

　　“我知道你会嘲笑我，”巴兹尔答道，“但我不能将这幅画在画廊展出，我在这里画了自己太多的东西。”

　　亨利勋爵笑道：“你自己太多的东西！你看起来和画中的他根本不像。他有着白皙漂亮的面孔，可是你——唉，当然你看起来聪明，但你长着强健的面孔和黑色的头发，你算不上漂亮。”

　　“你不了解我，哈里。”巴兹尔答道。（亨利勋爵的朋友通常称呼他哈里。）“当然我不像他，”巴兹尔继续说，“实际上我宁愿不漂亮。多里安·格雷的漂亮面孔或许将给他带来危险和麻烦。”

　　“多里安·格雷？这是他的名字吗？”亨利勋爵问道。

　　“是的，但我本不想告诉你。”

　　“为什么不告诉我？”

　　“哦，我说不太清，”巴兹尔说道，“当我很喜欢某些人时，我从不把他们的名字告诉我的其他朋友。我喜欢保守秘密，仅此而已。”

　　“当然，”他的朋友赞同地说，“有秘密，生活才更有趣。比如，我从不知道我的妻子在哪里，而我的妻子也从不知道我正在做什么。我们碰面时——有时我们的确碰上——我们告诉对方一些疯狂的故事，都装得好像这些故事是真的。”

　　“你一直在做假，哈里。”巴兹尔说。“我认为你也许是个非常好的丈夫，但你喜欢掩饰你的真实感情。”

　　“哦，别太认真，巴兹尔。”亨利勋爵笑道。“咱们去花园吧。”