The Picture of Dorian Gray Oscar Wilde (1890)A YOUNG MAN gazes at a portrait, mesmerised by its ethereal beauty. The painting is of his face. His pleasure quickly turns to wistful, then despairing sorrow:
How sad it is! I shall grow old, and horrible, and dreadful. But this picture will remain always young. It will never be older than this particular day of June . . . If it were only the other way! If it were I who was to be always young, and the picture that was to grow old! For that - for that - I would give everything! Yes, there is nothing in the whole world I would not give! I would give my soul for that!
Dorian Gray's Faustian pact has been struck, although he is yet to realise it. This extraordinary Gothic parable exploring the triumph of art over life reveals the dark side of Wilde's instinctive genius. The story, with its echoes of Baudelaire and Poe, is shocking and evokes the opulent decadence of the 1890s, the society which was about to feed upon Wilde's heart, yet this novel's power lies in the brilliance of the prose. Throughout the narrative Wilde sustains a precise balance between the languid wit of bored aristocrat Lord Henry Wotton, whose observations stab and dart like so many goldfish, and the increasing hell of Gray's cursed existence, which is described with detached precision.
Wotton first encounters Gray at the studio of Basil Hallward, who has not only recognised his dangerous allure but has captured it on canvas. Wilde, who always suffered for love, well understood the vulnerability of the lover. Wotton immediately seizes on Dorian Gray as a potential plaything, but Hallward is reluctant to share him, and his unease is obvious. The painter sees what he calls "a fatality about all physical and intellectual distinction" and in the course of the conversation, Hallward emerges as a remarkable, probably doomed figure. "I turned halfway round, and saw Dorian Gray for the first time," he recalls. "When our eyes met, I felt I was growing pale. A curious sensation of terror came over me . . ." Hallward's candid remarks have little effect on the thoughtless Wotton, who delights in drawing the young man away.
Meanwhile, Dorian Gray has become obsessed with a lovely young actress who nightly performs Shakespeare. He wants to marry her and persuades Wotton and Hallward to accompany him to the theatre. That evening, before their eyes, her acting lacks its usual skill. She has decided that now she is loved, she no longer needs to perform a part. Her symbolic intent eludes Gray who, furious that she has embarrassed him, denounces her. Having adored the actress, he rejects the real girl. Later he detects the first signs of change in his portrait. Alarmed, he plans to seek her forgiveness. It is too late; she has already killed herself. Gray's fate is also decided.
Having begun life with a sweetness of nature, Gray becomes increasingly remote and depraved, sampling all evils on offer. For all the horror, Wilde exerts impressive restraint. Gray's reputation descends to such depths that Hallward, en route to Paris, tries to warn him. The artist is shocked by the painting. Gray reacts and then seeks help from a former friend who, fearing blackmail, assists in concealing a crime.
In a final act of madness, the tormented anti-hero attacks the by now hideous painting, the record of his life. The portrait regains its original beauty, while its master, and victim, lies dead, his sins on his face. Published to some scandal in 1890, two years before Lady Windermere's Fan, this astutely paced melodrama is as technically accomplished as it is imaginative and atmospheric.
• This is a weekly series in which Eileen Battersby revisits titles from the literary canon