道林格雷的画像_奥斯卡·王尔德-第17章

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as　soon　as　he　was　dressed；　he　went　into　the　library　and　sat　down　to　a　light　french　breakfast　that　had　been　laid　out　for　him　on　a　small　round　table　close　to　the　open　window。　it　was　an　exquisite　day。　the　warm　air　seemed　laden　with　spices。　a　bee　flew　in　and　buzzed　round　the　blue…dragon　bowl　that；　filled　with　sulphur…yellow　roses；　stood　before　him。　he　felt　perfectly　happy。

suddenly　his　eye　fell　on　the　screen　that　he　had　placed　in　front　of　the　portrait；　and　he　started。

〃too　cold　for　monsieur？〃　asked　his　valet；　putting　an　omelette　on　the　table。　〃i　shut　the　window？〃

dorian　shook　his　head。　〃i　am　not　cold；〃　he　murmured。

was　it　all　true？　had　the　portrait　really　changed？　or　had　it　been　simply　his　own　imagination　that　had　made　him　see　a　look　of　evil　where　there　had　been　a　look　of　joy？　surely　a　painted　canvas　could　not　alter？　the　thing　was　absurd。　it　would　serve　as　a　tale　to　tell　basil　some　day。　it　would　make　him　smile。

and；　yet；　how　vivid　was　his　recollection　of　the　whole　thing！　first　in　the　dim　twilight；　and　then　in　the　bright　dawn；　he　had　seen　the　touch　of　cruelty　round　the　warped　lips。　he　almost　dreaded　his　valet　leaving　the　room。　he　knew　that　when　he　was　alone　he　would　have　to　examine　the　portrait。　he　was　afraid　of　certainty。　when　the　coffee　and　cigarettes　had　been　brought　and　the　man　turned　to　go；　he　felt　a　wild　desire　to　tell　him　to　remain。　as　the　door　was　closing　behind　him；　he　called　him　back。　the　man　stood　waiting　for　his　orders。　dorian　looked　at　him　for　a　moment。　〃i　am　not　at　home　to　any　one；　victor；〃　he　said　with　a　sigh。　the　man　bowed　and　retired。

then　he　rose　from　the　table；　lit　a　cigarette；　and　flung　himself　down　on　a　luxuriously　cushioned　couch　that　stood　facing　the　screen。　the　screen　was　an　old　one；　of　gilt　spanish　leather；　stamped　and　wrought　with　a　rather　florid　louis…quatorze　pattern。　he　scanned　it　curiously；　wondering　if　ever　before　it　had　concealed　the　secret　of　a　mans　life。

should　he　move　it　aside；　after　all？　why　not　let　it　stay　there？　what　was　the　use　of　knowing。？　if　the　thing　was　true；　it　was　terrible。　if　it　was　not　true；　why　trouble　about　it？　but　what　if；　by　some　fate　or　deadlier　chance；　eyes　other　than　his　spied　behind　and　saw　the　horrible　change？　what　should　he　do　if　basil　hallward　came　and　asked　to　look　at　his　own　picture？　basil　would　be　sure　to　do　that。　no；　the　thing　had　to　be　examined；　and　at　once。　anything　would　be　better　than　this　dreadful　state　of　doubt。

he　got　up　and　locked　both　doors。　at　least　he　would　be　alone　when　he　looked　upon　the　mask　of　his　shame。　then　he　drew　the　screen　aside　and　saw　himself　face　to　face。　it　was　perfectly　true。　the　portrait　had　altered。

as　he　often　remembered　afterwards；　and　always　with　no　small　wonder；　he　found　himself　at　first　gazing　at　the　portrait　with　a　feeling　of　almost　scientific　interest。　that　such　a　change　should　have　taken　place　was　incredible　to　him。　and　yet　it　was　a　fact。　was　there　some　subtle　affinity　between　the　chemical　atoms　that　shaped　themselves　into　form　and　colour　on　the　canvas　and　the　soul　that　was　within　him？　could　it　be　that　what　that　soul　thought；　they　realized？that　what　it　dreamed；　they　made　true？　or　was　there　some　other；　more　terrible　reason？　he　shuddered；　and　felt　afraid；　and；　going　back　to　the　couch；　lay　there；　gazing　at　the　picture　in　sickened　horror。

one　thing；　however；　he　felt　that　it　had　done　for　him。　it　had　made　him　conscious　how　unjust；　how　cruel；　he　had　been　to　sibyl　vane。　it　was　not　too　late　to　make　reparation　for　that。　she　could　still　be　his　wife。　his　unreal　and　selfish　love　would　yield　to　some　higher　influence；　would　be　transformed　into　some　nobler　passion；　and　the　portrait　that　basil　hallward　had　painted　of　him　would　be　a　guide　to　him　through　life；　would　be　to　him　what　holiness　is　to　some；　and　conscience　to　others；　and　the　fear　of　god　to　us　all。　there　were　opiates　for　remorse；　drugs　that　could　lull　the　moral　sense　to　sleep。　but　here　was　a　visible　symbol　of　the　degradation　of　sin。　here　was　an　ever…present　sign　of　the　ruin　men　brought　upon　their　souls。

three　oclock　struck；　and　four；　and　the　half…hour　rang　its　double　chime；　but　dorian　gray　did　not　stir。　he　was　trying　to　gather　up　the　scarlet　threads　of　life　and　to　weave　them　into　a　pattern；　to　find　his　way　through　the　sanguine　labyrinth　of　passion　through　which　he　was　wandering。　he　did　not　know　what　to　do；　or　what　to　think。　finally；　he　went　over　to　the　table　and　wrote　a　passionate　letter　to　the　girl　he　had　loved；　imploring　her　forgiveness　and　accusing　himself　of　madness。　he　covered　page　after　page　with　wild　words　of　sorrow　and　wilder　words　of　pain。　there　is　a　luxury　in　self…reproach。　when　we　blame　ourselves；　we　feel　that　no　one　else　has　a　right　to　blame　us。　it　is　the　confession；　not　the　priest；　that　gives　us　absolution。　when　dorian　had　finished　the　letter；　he　felt　that　he　had　been　forgiven。

suddenly　there　came　a　knock　to　the　door；　and　he　heard　lord　henrys　voice　outside。　〃my　dear　boy；　i　must　see　you。　let　me　in　at　once。　i　cant　bear　your　shutting　yourself　up　like　this。〃

he　made　no　answer　at　first；　but　remained　quite　still。　the　knocking　still　continued　and　grew　louder。　yes；　it　was　better　to　let　lord　henry　in；　and　to　explain　to　him　the　new　life　he　was　going　to　lead；　to　quarrel　with　him　if　it　became　necessary　to　quarrel；　to　part　if　parting　was　inevitable。　he　jumped　up；　drew　the　screen　hastily　across　the　picture；　and　unlocked　the　door。

〃i　am　so　sorry　for　it　all；　dorian；〃　said　lord　henry　as　he　entered。　〃but　you　must　not　think　too　much　about　it。〃

〃do　you　mean　about　sibyl　vane？〃　asked　the　lad。

〃yes；　of　course；〃　answered　lord　henry；　sinking　into　a　chair　and　slowly　pulling　off　his　yellow　gloves。　〃it　is　dreadful；　from　one　point　of　view；　but　it　was　not　your　fault。　tell　me；　did　you　go　behind　and　see　her；　after　the　play　was　over？〃

〃yes。〃

〃i　felt　sure　you　had。　did　you　make　a　scene　with　her？〃

〃i　was　brutal；　harryperfectly　brutal。　but　it　is　all　right　now。　i　am　not　sorry　for　anything　that　has　happened。　it　has　taught　me　to　know　myself　better。〃

〃ah；　dorian；　i　am　so　glad　you　take　it　in　that　way！　i　was　afraid　i　would　find　you　plunged　in　remorse　and　tearing　that　nice　curly　hair　of　yours。〃

〃i　have　got　through　all　that；〃　said　dorian；　shaking　his　head　and　smiling。　〃i　am　perfectly　happy　now。　i　know　what　conscience　is；　to　begin　with。　it　is　not　what　you　told　me　it　was。　it　is　the　divinest　thing　in　us。　dont　sneer　at　it；　harry；　any　moreat　least　not　before　me。　i　want　to　be　good。　i　cant　bear　the　idea　of　my　soul　being　hideous。〃

〃a　very　charming　artistic　basis　for　ethics；　dorian！　i　congratulate　you　on　it。　but　how　are　you　going　to　begin？〃

〃by　marrying　sibyl　vane。〃

〃marrying　sibyl　vane！〃　cried　lord　henry；　standing　up　and　looking　at　him　in　perplexed　amazement。　〃but；　my　dear　dorian〃

〃yes；　harry；　i　know　what　you　are　going　to　say。　something　dreadful　about　marriage。　dont　say　it。　dont　ever　say　things　of　that　kind　to　me　again。　two　days　ago　i　asked　sibyl　to　marry　me。　i　am　not　going　to　break　my　word　to　her。　she　is　to　be　my　wife。〃

〃your　wife！　dorian！　。　。　。　didnt　you　get　my　letter？　i　wrote　to　you　this　morning；　and　sent　the　note　down　by　my　own　man。〃

〃your　letter？　oh；　yes；　i　remember。　i　have　not　read　it　yet；　harry。　i　was　afraid　there　might　be　something　in　it　that　i　wouldnt　like。　you　cut　life　to　pieces　with　your　epigrams。〃

〃you　know　nothing　then？〃

〃what　do　you　mean？〃

lord　henry　walked　across　the　room；　and　sitting　down　by　dorian　gray；　took　both　his　hands　in　his　own　and　held　them　tightly。　〃dorian；〃　he　said；　〃my　letterdont　be　frightenedwas　to　tell　you　that　sibyl　vane　is　dead。〃

a　cry　of　pain　broke　from　the　lads　lips；　and　he　leaped　to　his　feet；　tearing　his　hands　away　from　lord　henrys　grasp。　〃dead！　sibyl　dead！　it　is　not　true！　it　is　a　horrible　lie！　how　dare　you　say　it？〃

〃it　is　quite　true；　dorian；〃　said　lord　henry；　gravely。　〃it　is　in　all　the　morning　papers。　i　wrote　down　to　you　to　ask　you　not　to　see　any　one　till　i　came。　there　will　have　to　be　an　inquest；　of　course；　and　you　must　not　be　mixed　up　in　it。　things　like　that　make　a　man　fashionable　in　paris。　but　in　london　people　are　so　prejudiced。　here；　one　should　never　make　ones　d茅but　with　a　scandal。　one　should　reserve　that　to　give　an　interest　to　ones　old　age。　i　suppose　they　dont　know　your　name　at　the　theatre？　if　they　dont；　it　is　all　right。　did　any　one　see　you　going　round　to　her　room？　that　is　an　important　point。〃

dorian　did　not　answer　for　a　few　moments。　he　was　dazed　with　horror。　finally　he　stammered；　in　a　stifled　voice；　〃harry；　did　you　say　an　inquest？　what　did　you　mean　by　that？　did　sibyl？　oh；　harry；　i　cant　bear　it！　but　be　quick。　tell　me　everything　at　once。〃

〃i　have　no　doubt　it　was　not　an　accident；　dorian；　though　it　must　be　put　in　that　way　to　the　public。　it　seems　that　as　she　was　leaving　the　theatre　with　her　mother；　about　half…past　twelve　or　so；　she　said　she　had　forgotten　something　upstairs。　they　waited　some　time　for　her；　but　she　did　not　e　down　again。　they　ultimately　found　her　lying　dead　on　the　floor　of　her　dressing…room。　she　had　swallowed　something　by　mistake；　some　dreadful　thing　they　use　at　theatres。　i　dont　know　what　it　was；　but　it　had　either　prussic　acid　or　white　lead　in　it。　i　should　fancy　it　was　prussic　acid；　as　she　seems　to　have　died　instantaneously。〃

〃harry；　harry；　it　is　terrible！〃　cried　the　lad。

〃yes；　it　is　very　tragic；　of　course；　but　you　must　not　get　yourself　mixed　up　in　it。　i　see　by　the　standard　that　she　was　seventeen。　i　should　have　thought　she　was　almost　younger　than　that。　she　looked　such　a　child；　and　seemed　to　know　so　little　about　acting。　dorian；　you　mustnt　let　this　thing　get　on　your　nerves。　you　must　e　and　dine　with　me；　and　afterwards　we　will　look　in　at　the　opera。　it　is　a　patti　night；　and　everybody　will　be　there。　you　can　e　to　my　sisters　box。　she　has　got　some　smart　women　with　her。〃

〃so　i　have　murdered　sibyl　vane；〃　said　dorian　gray；　half　to　himself；　〃murdered　her　as　surely　as　if　i　had　cut　her　little　throat　with　a　knife。　yet　the　roses　are　not　less　lovely　for　all　that。　the　birds　sing　just　as　happily　in　my　garden。　and　to…night　i　am　to　dine　with　you；　and　then　go　on　to　the　opera；　and　sup　somewhere；　i　suppose；　afterwards。　how　extraordinarily　dramatic　life　is！　if　i　had　read　all　this　in　a　book；　harry；　i　think　i　would　have　wept　over　it。　somehow；　now　that　it　has　happened　actually；　and　to　me；　it　seems　far　too　wonderful　for　tears。　here　is　the　first　passionate　love…letter　i　have　ever　written　in　my　life。　strange；　that　my　first　passionate　love…letter　should　have　been　addressed　to　a　dead　girl。　can　they　feel；　i　wonder；　those　white　silent　people　we　call　the　dead？　sibyl！　can　she　feel；　or　know；　or　listen？　oh；　harry；　how　i　loved　her　once！　it　seems　years　ago　to　me　now。　she　was　everything　to　me。　then　came　that　dreadful　nightwas　it　really　only　last　night？　when　she　played　so　badly；　and　my　heart　almost　broke。　she　explained　it　all　to　me。　it　was　terribly　pathetic。　but　i　was　not　moved　a　bit。　i　thought　her　shallow。　suddenly　something　happened　that　made　me　afraid。　i　cant　tell　you　what　it　was；　but　it　was　terrible。　i　said　i　would　go　back　to　her。　i　felt　i　had　done　wrong。　and　now　she　is　dead。　my　god！　my　god！　harry；　what　shall　i　do？　you　dont　know　the　danger　i　am　in；　and　there　is　nothing　to　keep　me　straight。　she　would　have　done　that　for　me。　she　had　no　right　to　kill　herself。　it　was　selfish　of　her。〃

〃my　dear　dorian；〃　answered　lord　henry；　taking　a　cigare