道林格雷的画像_奥斯卡·王尔德-第29章

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eamed　at　all。　his　night　had　been　untroubled　by　any　images　of　pleasure　or　of　pain。　but　youth　smiles　without　any　reason。　it　is　one　of　its　chiefest　charms。

he　turned　round；　and　leaning　upon　his　elbow；　began　to　sip　his　chocolate。　the　mellow　november　sun　came　streaming　into　the　room。　the　sky　was　bright；　and　there　was　a　genial　warmth　in　the　air。　it　was　almost　like　a　morning　in　may。

gradually　the　events　of　the　preceding　night　crept　with　silent；　blood…stained　feet　into　his　brain　and　reconstructed　themselves　there　with　terrible　distinctness。　he　winced　at　the　memory　of　all　that　he　had　suffered；　and　for　a　moment　the　same　curious　feeling　of　loathing　for　basil　hallward　that　had　made　him　kill　him　as　he　sat　in　the　chair　came　back　to　him；　and　he　grew　cold　with　passion。　the　dead　man　was　still　sitting　there；　too；　and　in　the　sunlight　now。　how　horrible　that　was！　such　hideous　things　were　for　the　darkness；　not　for　the　day。

he　felt　that　if　he　brooded　on　what　he　had　gone　through　he　would　sicken　or　grow　mad。　there　were　sins　whose　fascination　was　more　in　the　memory　than　in　the　doing　of　them；　strange　triumphs　that　gratified　the　pride　more　than　the　passions；　and　gave　to　the　intellect　a　quickened　sense　of　joy；　greater　than　any　joy　they　brought；　or　could　ever　bring；　to　the　senses。　but　this　was　not　one　of　them。　it　was　a　thing　to　be　driven　out　of　the　mind；　to　be　drugged　with　poppies；　to　be　strangled　lest　it　might　strangle　one　itself。

when　the　half…hour　struck；　he　passed　his　hand　across　his　forehead；　and　then　got　up　hastily　and　dressed　himself　with　even　more　than　his　usual　care；　giving　a　good　deal　of　attention　to　the　choice　of　his　necktie　and　scarf…pin　and　changing　his　rings　more　than　once。　he　spent　a　long　time　also　over　breakfast；　tasting　the　various　dishes；　talking　to　his　valet　about　some　new　liveries　that　he　was　thinking　of　getting　made　for　the　servants　at　selby；　and　going　through　his　correspondence。　at　some　of　the　letters；　he　smiled。　three　of　them　bored　him。　one　he　read　several　times　over　and　then　tore　up　with　a　slight　look　of　annoyance　in　his　face。　〃that　awful　thing；　a　womans　memory！〃　as　lord　henry　had　once　said。

after　he　had　drunk　his　cup　of　black　coffee；　he　wiped　his　lips　slowly　with　a　napkin；　motioned　to　his　servant　to　wait；　and　going　over　to　the　table；　sat　down　and　wrote　two　letters。　one　he　put　in　his　pocket；　the　other　he　handed　to　the　valet。

〃take　this　round　to　152；　hertford　street；　francis；　and　if　mr。　campbell　is　out　of　town；　get　his　address。〃

as　soon　as　he　was　alone；　he　lit　a　cigarette　and　began　sketching　upon　a　piece　of　paper；　drawing　first　flowers　and　bits　of　architecture；　and　then　human　faces。　suddenly　he　remarked　that　every　face　that　he　drew　seemed　to　have　a　fantastic　likeness　to　basil　hallward。　he　frowned；　and　getting　up；　went　over　to　the　book…case　and　took　out　a　volume　at　hazard。　he　was　determined　that　he　would　not　think　about　what　had　happened　until　it　became　absolutely　necessary　that　he　should　do　so。

when　he　had　stretched　himself　on　the　sofa；　he　looked　at　the　title…page　of　the　book。　it　was　gautiers　emaux　et　camees；　charpentiers　japanese…paper　edition；　with　the　jacquemart　etching。　the　binding　was　of　citron…green　leather；　with　a　design　of　gilt　trellis…work　and　dotted　pomegranates。　it　had　been　given　to　him　by　adrian　singleton。　as　he　turned　over　the　pages；　his　eye　fell　on　the　poem　about　the　hand　of　lacenaire；　the　cold　yellow　hand　〃du　supplice　encore　mal　lav茅：e；〃　with　its　downy　red　hairs　and　its　〃doigts　de　faune。〃　he　glanced　at　his　own　white　taper　fingers；　shuddering　slightly　in　spite　of　himself；　and　passed　on；　till　he　came　to　those　lovely　stanzas　upon　venice：

sur　une　gamme　chromatique；

le　sein　de　peries　ruisselant；

la　v茅nus　de　ladriatique

sort　de　leau　son　corps　rose　et　blanc。

les　d？mes；　sur　lazur　des　ondes

suivant　la　phrase　au　pur　contour；

senflent　me　des　gorges　rondes

que　soul猫ve　un　soupir　damour。

lesquif　aborde　et　me　d茅pose；

jetant　son　amarre　au　pilier；

devant　une　fa？ade　rose；

sur　le　marbre　dun　escalier。　

how　exquisite　they　were！　as　one　read　them；　one　seemed　to　be　floating　down　the　green　water…ways　of　the　pink　and　pearl　city；　seated　in　a　black　gondola　with　silver　prow　and　trailing　curtains。　the　mere　lines　looked　to　him　like　those　straight　lines　of　turquoise…blue　that　follow　one　as　one　pushes　out　to　the　lido。　the　sudden　flashes　of　colour　reminded　him　of　the　gleam　of　the　opal…and…iris…throated　birds　that　flutter　round　the　tall　honeybed　campanile；　or　stalk；　with　such　stately　grace；　through　the　dim；　dust…stained　arcades。　leaning　back　with　half…closed　eyes；　he　kept　saying　over　and　over　to　himself：

devant　une　fa？ade　rose；

sur　le　marbre　dun　escalier。　

the　whole　of　venice　was　in　those　two　lines。　he　remembered　the　autumn　that　he　had　passed　there；　and　a　wonderful　love　that　had　stirred　him　to　mad　delightful　follies。　there　was　romance　in　every　place。　but　venice；　like　oxford；　had　kept　the　background　for　romance；　and；　to　the　true　romantic；　background　was　everything；　or　almost　everything。　basil　had　been　with　him　part　of　the　time；　and　had　gone　wild　over　tintoret。　poor　basil！　what　a　horrible　way　for　a　man　to　die！

he　sighed；　and　took　up　the　volume　again；　and　tried　to　forget。　he　read　of　the　swallows　that　fly　in　and　out　of　the　little　cafe　at　smyrna　where　the　hadjis　sit　counting　their　amber　beads　and　the　turbaned　merchants　smoke　their　long　tasselled　pipes　and　talk　gravely　to　each　other；　he　read　of　the　obelisk　in　the　place　de　la　concorde　that　weeps　tears　of　granite　in　its　lonely　sunless　exile　and　longs　to　be　back　by　the　hot；　lotus…covered　nile；　where　there　are　sphinxes；　and　rose…red　ibises；　and　white　vultures　with　gilded　claws；　and　crocodiles　with　small　beryl　eyes　that　crawl　over　the　green　steaming　mud；　he　began　to　brood　over　those　verses　which；　drawing　music　from　kiss…stained　marble；　tell　of　that　curious　statue　that　gautier　pares　to　a　contralto　voice；　the　〃monstre　charmant〃　that　couches　in　the　porphyry…room　of　the　louvre。　but　after　a　time　the　book　fell　from　his　hand。　he　grew　nervous；　and　a　horrible　fit　of　terror　came　over　him。　what　if　alan　campbell　should　be　out　of　england？　days　would　elapse　before　he　could　e　back。　perhaps　he　might　refuse　to　e。　what　could　he　do　then？　every　moment　was　of　vital　importance。

they　had　been　great　friends　once；　five　years　before　almost　inseparable；　indeed。　then　the　intimacy　had　e　suddenly　to　an　end。　when　they　met　in　society　now；　it　was　only　dorian　gray　who　smiled：　alan　campbell　never　did。

he　was　an　extremely　clever　young　man；　though　he　had　no　real　appreciation　of　the　visible　arts；　and　whatever　little　sense　of　the　beauty　of　poetry　he　possessed　he　had　gained　entirely　from　dorian。　his　dominant　intellectual　passion　was　for　science。　at　cambridge　he　had　spent　a　great　deal　of　his　time　working　in　the　laboratory；　and　had　taken　a　good　class　in　the　natural　science　tripos　of　his　year。　indeed；　he　was　still　devoted　to　the　study　of　chemistry；　and　had　a　laboratory　of　his　own　in　which　he　used　to　shut　himself　up　all　day　long；　greatly　to　the　annoyance　of　his　mother；　who　had　set　her　heart　on　his　standing　for　parliament　and　had　a　vague　idea　that　a　chemist　was　a　person　who　made　up　prescriptions。　he　was　an　excellent　musician；　however；　as　well；　and　played　both　the　violin　and　the　piano　better　than　most　amateurs。　in　fact；　it　was　music　that　had　first　brought　him　and　dorian　gray　togethermusic　and　that　indefinable　attraction　that　dorian　seemed　to　be　able　to　exercise　whenever　he　wished　and；　indeed；　exercised　often　without　being　conscious　of　it。　they　had　met　at　lady　berkshires　the　night　that　rubinstein　played　there；　and　after　that　used　to　be　always　seen　together　at　the　opera　and　wherever　good　music　was　going　on。　for　eighteen　months　their　intimacy　lasted。　campbell　was　always　either　at　selby　royal　or　in　grosvenor　square。　to　him；　as　to　many　others；　dorian　gray　was　the　type　of　everything　that　is　wonderful　and　fascinating　in　life。　whether　or　not　a　quarrel　had　taken　place　between　them　no　one　ever　knew。　but　suddenly　people　remarked　that　they　scarcely　spoke　when　they　met　and　that　campbell　seemed　always　to　go　away　early　from　any　party　at　which　dorian　gray　was　present。　he　had　changed；　toowas　strangely　melancholy　at　times；　appeared　almost　to　dislike　hearing　music；　and　would　never　himself　play；　giving　as　his　excuse；　when　he　was　called　upon；　that　he　was　so　absorbed　in　science　that　he　had　no　time　left　in　which　to　practise。　and　this　was　certainly　true。　every　day　he　seemed　to　bee　more　interested　in　biology；　and　his　name　appeared　once　or　twice　in　some　of　the　scientific　reviews　in　connection　with　certain　curious　experiments。

this　was　the　man　dorian　gray　was　waiting　for。　every　second　he　kept　glancing　at　the　clock。　as　the　minutes　went　by　he　became　horribly　agitated。　at　last　he　got　up　and　began　to　pace　up　and　down　the　room；　looking　like　a　beautiful　caged　thing。　he　took　long　stealthy　strides。　his　hands　were　curiously　cold。

the　suspense　became　unbearable。　time　seemed　to　him　to　be　crawling　with　feet　of　lead；　while　he　by　monstrous　winds　was　being　swept　towards　the　jagged　edge　of　some　black　cleft　of　precipice。　he　knew　what　was　waiting　for　him　there；　saw　it；　indeed；　and；　shuddering；　crushed　with　dank　hands　his　burning　lids　as　though　he　would　have　robbed　the　very　brain　of　sight　and　driven　the　eyeballs　back　into　their　cave。　it　was　useless。　the　brain　had　its　own　food　on　which　it　battened；　and　the　imagination；　made　grotesque　by　terror；　twisted　and　distorted　as　a　living　thing　by　pain；　danced　like　some　foul　puppet　on　a　stand　and　grinned　through　moving　masks。　then；　suddenly；　time　stopped　for　him。　yes：　that　blind；　slow…breathing　thing　crawled　no　more；　and　horrible　thoughts；　time　being　dead；　raced　nimbly　on　in　front；　and　dragged　a　hideous　future　from　its　grave；　and　showed　it　to　him。　he　stared　at　it。　its　very　horror　made　him　stone。

at　last　the　door　opened　and　his　servant　entered。　he　turned　glazed　eyes　upon　him。

〃mr。　campbell；　sir；〃　said　the　man。

a　sigh　of　relief　broke　from　his　parched　lips；　and　the　colour　came　back　to　his　cheeks。

〃ask　him　to　e　in　at　once；　francis。〃　he　felt　that　he　was　himself　again。　his　mood　of　cowardice　had　passed　away。

the　man　bowed　and　retired。　in　a　few　moments；　alan　campbell　walked　in；　looking　very　stern　and　rather　pale；　his　pallor　being　intensified　by　his　coal…black　hair　and　dark　eyebrows。

〃alan！　this　is　kind　of　you。　i　thank　you　for　ing。〃

〃i　had　intended　never　to　enter　your　house　again；　gray。　but　you　said　it　was　a　matter　of　life　and　death。〃　his　voice　was　hard　and　cold。　he　spoke　with　slow　deliberation。　there　was　a　look　of　contempt　in　the　steady　searching　gaze　that　he　turned　on　dorian。　he　kept　his　hands　in　the　pockets　of　his　astrakhan　coat；　and　seemed　not　to　have　noticed　the　gesture　with　which　he　had　been　greeted。

〃yes：　it　is　a　matter　of　life　and　death；　alan；　and　to　more　than　one　person。　sit　down。〃

campbell　took　a　chair　by　the　table；　and　dorian　sat　opposite　to　him。　the　two　mens　eyes　met。　in　dorians　there　was　infinite　pity。　he　knew　that　what　he　was　going　to　do　was　dreadful。

after　a　strained　moment　of　silence；　he　leaned　across　and　said；　very　quietly；　but　watching　the　effect　of　each　word　upon　the　face　of　him　he　had　sent　for；　〃alan；　in　a　locked　room　at　the　top　of　this　house；　a　room　to　which　nobody　but　myself　has　access；　a　dead　man　is　seated　at　a　table。　he　has　been　dead　ten　hours　now。　don