Dispatches from Home – The Picture of Dorian Gray.
THE FIRST LINES AND LAST LINES – THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY
“The studio was filled with the rich odour of roses, and when the light summer wind stirred amidst 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-flowering thorn.” Thus begins Oscar Wilde’s only novel, which scandalized Victorian Society on both sides of the Atlantic when first published in the early 1890s.
You know this Faustian tale: a dashingly handsome young man, lamenting that his beauty will one day fade, wishes he could trade his soul for the luxury of eternal youth. After an artist friend paints a full-length portrait of him, Dorian soon discovers his wish has been granted, but there’s a catch. As Dorian’s personal life spirals downward into a decadent world of self-indulgent sensualism, lies, cruelty, and eventually murder, the portrait records his every sin.
I like to think that Wilde’s Dorian Gray was perhaps modeled after King Solomon. After indulging in all the world had to offer, he was the Old Testament king who discovered that “Vanity of vanities…all is vanity.” After his search for the meaning of life, King Solomon turned to God, saying, “Let us hear the conclusion of the whole matter: Fear God, and keep his commandments: for this is the whole duty of man.”
Alas, dear Doran didn’t. His Faustian bargain had indeed kept him from aging. But as his friends grew old and infirmed around him, he learned too late that his bargain came with a price. It yielded no joy, no peace, no love. All was vanity. He would, however, remain forever young and beautiful–but lonely, tormented, and unfulfilled.
In the closing pages of Wilde’s book, Dorian treads his attic stairs one last time. He’s stored his picture there, so prying eyes can’t see it. As he approaches it, the painting seemingly oozes purification from underneath the cloth covering it. As if demon-possessed, it groans due to the agony of his sins. In a fit of rage, Dorian rips the cloth from the painting. And there, in all its horrific splendor, is a loathsome, repulsive specter. Gone is Dorian’s youthful beauty, replaced by the vile thing he has become.
In his last moments of sanity, Dorian concludes that only death will absolve him of murder and his licentious lifestyle. He decides to destroy the last vestige of his conscience and the only evidence of his crimes, the picture. Festering with anger, he grabs the knife with which he murdered his artist friend and stabs the picture. Hearing his screams, Dorian’s servants dash upstairs to the attic.
“When they entered, they found hanging upon the wall a splendid portrait of their master as they had last seen him, in all the wonder of his exquisite youth and beauty. Lying on the floor was a dead man, in evening dress, with a knife in his heart. He was withered, wrinkled, and loathsome of visage. It was not till they had examined the rings that they recognized who it was.”
(Originally published August 19, 2021)
