I

recreate life in a way that was hidden from me before. ‘A dream of form in days of thought’⁠—who is it who says that? I forget; but it is what Dorian Gray has been to me. The merely visible presence of this lad⁠—for he seems to me little more than a lad, though he is really over twenty⁠—his merely visible presence⁠—ah! I wonder can you realize all that that means? Unconsciously he defines for me the lines of a fresh school, a school that is to have in it all the passion of the romantic spirit, all the perfection of the spirit that is Greek. The harmony of soul and body⁠—how much that is! We in our madness have separated the two, and have invented a realism that is vulgar, an ideality that is void. Harry! if you only knew what Dorian Gray is to me! You remember that landscape of mine, for which Agnew offered me such a huge price but which I would not part with? It is one of the best things I have ever done. And why is it so? Because, while I was painting it, Dorian Gray sat beside me. Some subtle influence passed from him to me, and for the first time in