English
Oneafternoon,amonthlater,DorianGraywasreclininginaluxuriousarm-chair,inthelittlelibraryofLordHenry’shouseinMayfair.
Itwas,initsway,averycharmingroom,withitshighpanelledwainscotingofolive-stainedoak,itscream-colouredfriezeandceilingofraisedplasterwork,anditsbrickdustfeltcarpetstrewnwithsilk,long-fringedPersianrugs.
OnatinysatinwoodtablestoodastatuettebyClodion,andbesideitlayacopyofLesCentNouvelles,boundforMargaretofValoisbyClovisEveandpowderedwiththegiltdaisiesthatQueenhadselectedforherdevice.
Somelargebluechinajarsandparrot-tulipswererangedonthemantelshelf,andthroughthesmallleadedpanesofthewindowstreamedtheapricot-colouredlightofasummerdayinLondon.
LordHenryhadnotyetcomein.Hewasalwayslateonprinciple,hisprinciplebeingthatpunctualityisthethiefoftime.
Sotheladwaslookingrathersulky,aswithlistlessfingersheturnedoverthepagesofanelaboratelyillustratededitionofManonLescautthathehadfoundinoneofthebook-cases.
TheformalmonotonoustickingoftheLouisQuatorzeclockannoyedhim.Onceortwicehethoughtofgoingaway.
Atlastheheardastepoutside,andthedooropened.“Howlateyouare,Harry!”hemurmured.
“IamafraiditisnotHarry,Mr.Gray,”answeredashrillvoice.
Heglancedquicklyroundandrosetohisfeet.“Ibegyourpardon.Ithought—”
“Youthoughtitwasmyhusband.Itisonlyhiswife.Youmustletmeintroducemyself.Iknowyouquitewellbyyourphotographs.Ithinkmyhusbandhasgotseventeenofthem.”
“Notseventeen,LadyHenry?”
“Well,eighteen,then.AndIsawyouwithhimtheothernightattheopera.”
Shelaughednervouslyasshespoke,andwatchedhimwithhervagueforget-me-noteyes.
Shewasacuriouswoman,whosedressesalwayslookedasiftheyhadbeendesignedinarageandputoninatempest.
Shewasusuallyinlovewithsomebody,and,asherpassionwasneverreturned,shehadkeptallherillusions.
Shetriedtolookpicturesque,butonlysucceededinbeinguntidy.
HernamewasVictoria,andshehadaperfectmaniaforgoingtochurch.
“ThatwasatLohengrin,LadyHenry,Ithink?”
“Yes;itwasatdearLohengrin.IlikeWagner’smusicbetterthananybody’s.
Itissoloudthatonecantalkthewholetimewithoutotherpeoplehearingwhatonesays.
Thatisagreatadvantage,don’tyouthinkso,Mr.Gray?”
Thesamenervousstaccatolaughbrokefromherthinlips,andherfingersbegantoplaywithalongtortoise-shellpaper-knife.
Doriansmiledandshookhishead:“IamafraidIdon’tthinkso,LadyHenry.
Inevertalkduringmusic—atleast,duringgoodmusic.
Ifonehearsbadmusic,itisone’sdutytodrownitinconversation.”
“Ah!thatisoneofHarry’sviews,isn’tit,Mr.Gray?
IalwayshearHarry’sviewsfromhisfriends.
ItistheonlywayIgettoknowofthem.
ButyoumustnotthinkIdon’tlikegoodmusic.Iadoreit,butIamafraidofit.Itmakesmetooromantic.
Ihavesimplyworshippedpianists—twoatatime,sometimes,Harrytellsme.Idon’tknowwhatitisaboutthem.Perhapsitisthattheyareforeigners.Theyallare,ain’tthey?
EventhosethatareborninEnglandbecomeforeignersafteratime,don’tthey?
Itissocleverofthem,andsuchacomplimenttoart.
Makesitquitecosmopolitan,doesn’tit?
Youhaveneverbeentoanyofmyparties,haveyou,Mr.Gray?Youmustcome.
Ican’taffordorchids,butIsharenoexpenseinforeigners.
Theymakeone’sroomslooksopicturesque.ButhereisHarry!
Harry,Icameintolookforyou,toaskyousomething—Iforgetwhatitwas—andIfoundMr.Grayhere.
Wehavehadsuchapleasantchataboutmusic.Wehavequitethesameideas.
No;Ithinkourideasarequitedifferent.Buthehasbeenmostpleasant.IamsogladI’veseenhim.”
“Iamcharmed,mylove,quitecharmed,”saidLordHenry,elevatinghisdark,crescent-shapedeyebrowsandlookingatthembothwithanamusedsmile.“SosorryIamlate,Dorian.
IwenttolookafterapieceofoldbrocadeinWardourStreetandhadtobargainforhoursforit.
Nowadayspeopleknowthepriceofeverythingandthevalueofnothing.”
“IamafraidImustbegoing,”exclaimedLadyHenry,breakinganawkwardsilencewithhersillysuddenlaugh.
“Ihavepromisedtodrivewiththeduchess.Good-bye,Mr.Gray.Good-bye,Harry.Youarediningout,Isuppose?
SoamI.PerhapsIshallseeyouatLadyThornbury’s.”
“Idaresay,mydear,”saidLordHenry,shuttingthedoorbehindheras,lookinglikeabirdofparadisethathadbeenoutallnightintherain,sheflittedoutoftheroom,leavingafaintodouroffrangipanni.
Thenhelitacigaretteandflunghimselfdownonthesofa.
“Nevermarryawomanwithstraw-colouredhair,Dorian,”hesaidafterafewpuffs.
“Why,Harry?”
“Becausetheyaresosentimental.”
“ButIlikesentimentalpeople.”
“Nevermarryatall,Dorian.Menmarrybecausetheyaretired;women,becausetheyarecurious:botharedisappointed.”
“Idon’tthinkIamlikelytomarry,Harry.Iamtoomuchinlove.Thatisoneofyouraphorisms.Iamputtingitintopractice,asIdoeverythingthatyousay.”
“Whoareyouinlovewith?”askedLordHenryafterapause.
“Withanactress,”saidDorianGray,blushing.
LordHenryshruggedhisshoulders.“Thatisarathercommonplacedebut.”
“Youwouldnotsaysoifyousawher,Harry.”
“Whoisshe?”
“HernameisSibylVane.”
“Neverheardofher.”
“Noonehas.Peoplewillsomeday,however.Sheisagenius.”
“Mydearboy,nowomanisagenius.Womenareadecorativesex.
Theyneverhaveanythingtosay,buttheysayitcharmingly.
Womenrepresentthetriumphofmatterovermind,justasmenrepresentthetriumphofmindovermorals.”
“Harry,howcanyou?”
“MydearDorian,itisquitetrue.Iamanalysingwomenatpresent,soIoughttoknow.
ThesubjectisnotsoabstruseasIthoughtitwas.
Ifindthat,ultimately,thereareonlytwokindsofwomen,theplainandthecoloured.Theplainwomenareveryuseful.
Ifyouwanttogainareputationforrespectability,youhavemerelytotakethemdowntosupper.Theotherwomenareverycharming.Theycommitonemistake,however.
Theypaintinordertotryandlookyoung.
Ourgrandmotherspaintedinordertotryandtalkbrilliantly.Rougeandespritusedtogotogether.Thatisallovernow.
Aslongasawomancanlooktenyearsyoungerthanherowndaughter,sheisperfectlysatisfied.
Asforconversation,thereareonlyfivewomeninLondonworthtalkingto,andtwoofthesecan’tbeadmittedintodecentsociety.However,tellmeaboutyourgenius.Howlonghaveyouknownher?”
“Ah!Harry,yourviewsterrifyme.”
“Nevermindthat.Howlonghaveyouknownher?”
“Aboutthreeweeks.”
“Andwheredidyoucomeacrossher?”
“Iwilltellyou,Harry,butyoumustn’tbeunsympatheticaboutit.
Afterall,itneverwouldhavehappenedifIhadnotmetyou.
Youfilledmewithawilddesiretoknoweverythingaboutlife.
FordaysafterImetyou,somethingseemedtothrobinmyveins.
AsIloungedinthepark,orstrolleddownPiccadilly,Iusedtolookateveryonewhopassedmeandwonder,withamadcuriosity,whatsortoflivestheyled.Someofthemfascinatedme.Othersfilledmewithterror.
Therewasanexquisitepoisonintheair.
Ihadapassionforsensations....Well,oneeveningaboutseveno’clock,Ideterminedtogooutinsearchofsomeadventure.
IfeltthatthisgreymonstrousLondonofours,withitsmyriadsofpeople,itssordidsinners,anditssplendidsins,asyouoncephrasedit,musthavesomethinginstoreforme.Ifanciedathousandthings.
Themeredangergavemeasenseofdelight.
Irememberedwhatyouhadsaidtomeonthatwonderfuleveningwhenwefirstdinedtogether,aboutthesearchforbeautybeingtherealsecretoflife.
Idon’tknowwhatIexpected,butIwentoutandwanderedeastward,soonlosingmywayinalabyrinthofgrimystreetsandblackgrasslesssquares.
Abouthalf-pasteightIpassedbyanabsurdlittletheatre,withgreatflaringgas-jetsandgaudyplay-bills.
AhideousJew,inthemostamazingwaistcoatIeverbeheldinmylife,wasstandingattheentrance,smokingavilecigar.
Hehadgreasyringlets,andanenormousdiamondblazedinthecentreofasoiledshirt.’Haveabox,myLord?’
hesaid,whenhesawme,andhetookoffhishatwithanairofgorgeousservility.
Therewassomethingabouthim,Harry,thatamusedme.Hewassuchamonster.
Youwilllaughatme,Iknow,butIreallywentinandpaidawholeguineaforthestage-box.
TothepresentdayIcan’tmakeoutwhyIdidso;andyetifIhadn’t—mydearHarry,ifIhadn’t—Ishouldhavemissedthegreatestromanceofmylife.Iseeyouarelaughing.Itishorridofyou!”
“Iamnotlaughing,Dorian;atleastIamnotlaughingatyou.
Butyoushouldnotsaythegreatestromanceofyourlife.
Youshouldsaythefirstromanceofyourlife.
Youwillalwaysbeloved,andyouwillalwaysbeinlovewithlove.
Agrandepassionistheprivilegeofpeoplewhohavenothingtodo.
Thatistheoneuseoftheidleclassesofacountry.Don’tbeafraid.
Thereareexquisitethingsinstoreforyou.Thisismerelythebeginning.”
“Doyouthinkmynaturesoshallow?”criedDorianGrayangrily.
“No;Ithinkyournaturesodeep.”
“Howdoyoumean?”
“Mydearboy,thepeoplewholoveonlyonceintheirlivesarereallytheshallowpeople.
Whattheycalltheirloyalty,andtheirfidelity,Icalleitherthelethargyofcustomortheirlackofimagination.
Faithfulnessistotheemotionallifewhatconsistencyistothelifeoftheintellect—simplyaconfessionoffailure.Faithfulness!Imustanalyseitsomeday.Thepassionforpropertyisinit.
Therearemanythingsthatwewouldthrowawayifwewerenotafraidthatothersmightpickthemup.ButIdon’twanttointerruptyou.Goonwithyourstory.”
“Well,Ifoundmyselfseatedinahorridlittleprivatebox,withavulgardrop-scenestaringmeintheface.
Ilookedoutfrombehindthecurtainandsurveyedthehouse.
Itwasatawdryaffair,allCupidsandcornucopias,likeathird-ratewedding-cake.
Thegalleryandpitwerefairlyfull,butthetworowsofdingystallswerequiteempty,andtherewashardlyapersoninwhatIsupposetheycalledthedress-circle.
Womenwentaboutwithorangesandginger-beer,andtherewasaterribleconsumptionofnutsgoingon.”
“ItmusthavebeenjustlikethepalmydaysoftheBritishdrama.”
“Justlike,Ishouldfancy,andverydepressing.IbegantowonderwhatonearthIshoulddowhenIcaughtsightoftheplay-bill.Whatdoyouthinktheplaywas,Harry?”
“Ishouldthink’TheIdiotBoy’,or’DumbbutInnocent’.
Ourfathersusedtolikethatsortofpiece,Ibelieve.
ThelongerIlive,Dorian,themorekeenlyIfeelthatwhateverwasgoodenoughforourfathersisnotgoodenoughforus.
Inart,asinpolitics,lesgrandperesonttoujourstort.”
“Thisplaywasgoodenoughforus,Harry.ItwasRomeoandJuliet.
ImustadmitthatIwasratherannoyedattheideaofseeingShakespearedoneinsuchawretchedholeofaplace.
Still,Ifeltinterested,inasortofway.
Atanyrate,Ideterminedtowaitforthefirstact.
Therewasadreadfulorchestra,presidedoverbyayoungHebrewwhosatatacrackedpiano,thatnearlydrovemeaway,butatlastthedrop-scenewasdrawnupandtheplaybegan.
Romeowasastoutelderlygentleman,withcorkedeyebrows,ahuskytragedyvoice,andafigurelikeabeer-barrel.Mercutiowasalmostasbad.
Hewasplayedbythelow-comedian,whohadintroducedgagsofhisownandwasonmostfriendlytermswiththepit.
Theywerebothasgrotesqueasthescenery,andthatlookedasifithadcomeoutofacountry-booth.ButJuliet!
Harry,imagineagirl,hardlyseventeenyearsofage,withalittle,flowerlikeface,asmallGreekheadwithplaitedcoilsofdark-brownhair,eyesthatwerevioletwellsofpassion,lipsthatwerelikethepetalsofarose.
ShewastheloveliestthingIhadeverseeninmylife.
Yousaidtomeoncethatpathosleftyouunmoved,butthatbeauty,merebeauty,couldfillyoureyeswithtears.
Itellyou,Harry,Icouldhardlyseethisgirlforthemistoftearsthatcameacrossme.
Andhervoice—Ineverheardsuchavoice.
Itwasverylowatfirst,withdeepmellownotesthatseemedtofallsinglyuponone’sear.
Thenitbecamealittlelouder,andsoundedlikeafluteoradistanthautboy.
Inthegarden-sceneithadallthetremulousecstasythatonehearsjustbeforedawnwhennightingalesaresinging.
Thereweremoments,lateron,whenithadthewildpassionofviolins.Youknowhowavoicecanstirone.
YourvoiceandthevoiceofSibylVanearetwothingsthatIshallneverforget.
WhenIclosemyeyes,Ihearthem,andeachofthemsayssomethingdifferent.Idon’tknowwhichtofollow.WhyshouldInotloveher?Harry,Idoloveher.Sheiseverythingtomeinlife.NightafternightIgotoseeherplay.
OneeveningsheisRosalind,andthenexteveningsheisImogen.
IhaveseenherdieinthegloomofanItaliantomb,suckingthepoisonfromherlover’slips.
IhavewatchedherwanderingthroughtheforestofArden,disguisedasaprettyboyinhoseanddoubletanddaintycap.
Shehasbeenmad,andhascomeintothepresenceofaguiltyking,andgivenhimruetowearandbitterherbstotasteof.
Shehasbeeninnocent,andtheblackhandsofjealousyhavecrushedherreedlikethroat.
Ihaveseenherineveryageandineverycostume.
Ordinarywomenneverappealtoone’simagination.Theyarelimitedtotheircentury.Noglamourevertransfiguresthem.
Oneknowstheirmindsaseasilyasoneknowstheirbonnets.Onecanalwaysfindthem.Thereisnomysteryinanyofthem.
Theyrideintheparkinthemorningandchatterattea-partiesintheafternoon.
Theyhavetheirstereotypedsmileandtheirfashionablemanner.Theyarequiteobvious.Butanactress!Howdifferentanactressis!Harry!
whydidn’tyoutellmethattheonlythingworthlovingisanactress?”
“BecauseIhavelovedsomanyofthem,Dorian.”
“Oh,yes,horridpeoplewithdyedhairandpaintedfaces.”
“Don’trundowndyedhairandpaintedfaces.Thereisanextraordinarycharminthem,sometimes,”saidLordHenry.
“IwishnowIhadnottoldyouaboutSibylVane.”
“Youcouldnothavehelpedtellingme,Dorian.Allthroughyourlifeyouwilltellmeeverythingyoudo.”
“Yes,Harry,Ibelievethatistrue.Icannothelptellingyouthings.Youhaveacuriousinfluenceoverme.IfIeverdidacrime,Iwouldcomeandconfessittoyou.Youwouldunderstandme.”
“Peoplelikeyou—thewilfulsunbeamsoflife—don’tcommitcrimes,Dorian.
ButIammuchobligedforthecompliment,allthesame.
Andnowtellme—reachmethematches,likeagoodboy—thanks—whatareyouractualrelationswithSibylVane?”
DorianGrayleapedtohisfeet,withflushedcheeksandburningeyes.“Harry!SibylVaneissacred!”
“Itisonlythesacredthingsthatareworthtouching,Dorian,”saidLordHenry,withastrangetouchofpathosinhisvoice.“Butwhyshouldyoubeannoyed?
Isupposeshewillbelongtoyousomeday.
Whenoneisinlove,onealwaysbeginsbydeceivingone’sself,andonealwaysendsbydeceivingothers.Thatiswhattheworldcallsaromance.Youknowher,atanyrate,Isuppose?”
“OfcourseIknowher.OnthefirstnightIwasatthetheatre,thehorridoldJewcameroundtotheboxaftertheperformancewasoverandofferedtotakemebehindthescenesandintroducemetoher.
Iwasfuriouswithhim,andtoldhimthatJuliethadbeendeadforhundredsofyearsandthatherbodywaslyinginamarbletombinVerona.
Ithink,fromhisblanklookofamazement,thathewasundertheimpressionthatIhadtakentoomuchchampagne,orsomething.”
“Iamnotsurprised.”
“ThenheaskedmeifIwroteforanyofthenewspapers.ItoldhimIneverevenreadthem.
Heseemedterriblydisappointedatthat,andconfidedtomethatallthedramaticcriticswereinaconspiracyagainsthim,andthattheywereeveryoneofthemtobebought.”
“Ishouldnotwonderifhewasquiterightthere.But,ontheotherhand,judgingfromtheirappearance,mostofthemcannotbeatallexpensive.”
“Well,heseemedtothinktheywerebeyondhismeans,”laughedDorian.
“Bythistime,however,thelightswerebeingputoutinthetheatre,andIhadtogo.
Hewantedmetotrysomecigarsthathestronglyrecommended.Ideclined.
Thenextnight,ofcourse,Iarrivedattheplaceagain.
Whenhesawme,hemademealowbowandassuredmethatIwasamunificentpatronofart.
Hewasamostoffensivebrute,thoughhehadanextraordinarypassionforShakespeare.
Hetoldmeonce,withanairofpride,thathisfivebankruptcieswereentirelydueto’TheBard,’asheinsistedoncallinghim.Heseemedtothinkitadistinction.”
“Itwasadistinction,mydearDorian—agreatdistinction.
Mostpeoplebecomebankruptthroughhavinginvestedtooheavilyintheproseoflife.
Tohaveruinedone’sselfoverpoetryisanhonour.
ButwhendidyoufirstspeaktoMissSibylVane?”
“Thethirdnight.ShehadbeenplayingRosalind.Icouldnothelpgoinground.
Ihadthrownhersomeflowers,andshehadlookedatme—atleastIfanciedthatshehad.TheoldJewwaspersistent.
Heseemeddeterminedtotakemebehind,soIconsented.
Itwascuriousmynotwantingtoknowher,wasn’tit?”
“No;Idon’tthinkso.”
“MydearHarry,why?”
“Iwilltellyousomeothertime.NowIwanttoknowaboutthegirl.”
“Sibyl?Oh,shewassoshyandsogentle.
Thereissomethingofachildabouther.
HereyesopenedwideinexquisitewonderwhenItoldherwhatIthoughtofherperformance,andsheseemedquiteunconsciousofherpower.Ithinkwewerebothrathernervous.
TheoldJewstoodgrinningatthedoorwayofthedustygreenroom,makingelaboratespeechesaboutusboth,whilewestoodlookingateachotherlikechildren.
Hewouldinsistoncallingme’MyLord,’soIhadtoassureSibylthatIwasnotanythingofthekind.
Shesaidquitesimplytome,’Youlookmorelikeaprince.ImustcallyouPrinceCharming.’”
“Uponmyword,Dorian,MissSibylknowshowtopaycompliments.”
“Youdon’tunderstandher,Harry.Sheregardedmemerelyasapersoninaplay.Sheknowsnothingoflife.
Sheliveswithhermother,afadedtiredwomanwhoplayedLadyCapuletinasortofmagentadressing-wrapperonthefirstnight,andlooksasifshehadseenbetterdays.”
“Iknowthatlook.Itdepressesme,”murmuredLordHenry,examininghisrings.
“TheJewwantedtotellmeherhistory,butIsaiditdidnotinterestme.”
“Youwerequiteright.Thereisalwayssomethinginfinitelymeanaboutotherpeople’stragedies.”
“SibylistheonlythingIcareabout.Whatisittomewhereshecamefrom?
Fromherlittleheadtoherlittlefeet,sheisabsolutelyandentirelydivine.
EverynightofmylifeIgotoseeheract,andeverynightsheismoremarvellous.”
“Thatisthereason,Isuppose,thatyouneverdinewithmenow.Ithoughtyoumusthavesomecuriousromanceonhand.Youhave;butitisnotquitewhatIexpected.”
“MydearHarry,weeitherlunchorsuptogethereveryday,andIhavebeentotheoperawithyouseveraltimes,”saidDorian,openinghisblueeyesinwonder.
“Youalwayscomedreadfullylate.”
“Well,Ican’thelpgoingtoseeSibylplay,”hecried,“evenifitisonlyforasingleact.
Igethungryforherpresence;andwhenIthinkofthewonderfulsoulthatishiddenawayinthatlittleivorybody,Iamfilledwithawe.”
“Youcandinewithmeto-night,Dorian,can’tyou?”
Heshookhishead.“To-nightsheisImogen,”heanswered,“andto-morrownightshewillbeJuliet.”
“WhenissheSibylVane?”
“Never.”
“Icongratulateyou.”
“Howhorridyouare!Sheisallthegreatheroinesoftheworldinone.Sheismorethananindividual.
Youlaugh,butItellyoushehasgenius.
Iloveher,andImustmakeherloveme.
You,whoknowallthesecretsoflife,tellmehowtocharmSibylVanetoloveme!IwanttomakeRomeojealous.
Iwantthedeadloversoftheworldtohearourlaughterandgrowsad.
Iwantabreathofourpassiontostirtheirdustintoconsciousness,towaketheirashesintopain.MyGod,Harry,howIworshipher!”
Hewaswalkingupanddowntheroomashespoke.
Hecticspotsofredburnedonhischeeks.Hewasterriblyexcited.
LordHenrywatchedhimwithasubtlesenseofpleasure.
HowdifferenthewasnowfromtheshyfrightenedboyhehadmetinBasilHallward’sstudio!
Hisnaturehaddevelopedlikeaflower,hadborneblossomsofscarletflame.
Outofitssecrethiding-placehadcrepthissoul,anddesirehadcometomeetitontheway.
“Andwhatdoyouproposetodo?”saidLordHenryatlast.
“IwantyouandBasiltocomewithmesomenightandseeheract.
Ihavenottheslightestfearoftheresult.
Youarecertaintoacknowledgehergenius.
ThenwemustgetheroutoftheJew’shands.
Sheisboundtohimforthreeyears—atleastfortwoyearsandeightmonths—fromthepresenttime.
Ishallhavetopayhimsomething,ofcourse.
Whenallthatissettled,IshalltakeaWestEndtheatreandbringheroutproperly.
Shewillmaketheworldasmadasshehasmademe.”
“Thatwouldbeimpossible,mydearboy.”
“Yes,shewill.Shehasnotmerelyart,consummateart-instinct,inher,butshehaspersonalityalso;andyouhaveoftentoldmethatitispersonalities,notprinciples,thatmovetheage.”
“Well,whatnightshallwego?”
“Letmesee.To-dayisTuesday.Letusfixto-morrow.SheplaysJulietto-morrow.”
“Allright.TheBristolateighto’clock;andIwillgetBasil.”
“Noteight,Harry,please.Half-pastsix.Wemustbetherebeforethecurtainrises.Youmustseeherinthefirstact,whereshemeetsRomeo.”
“Half-pastsix!Whatanhour!
Itwillbelikehavingameat-tea,orreadinganEnglishnovel.Itmustbeseven.Nogentlemandinesbeforeseven.
ShallyouseeBasilbetweenthisandthen?OrshallIwritetohim?”
“DearBasil!Ihavenotlaideyesonhimforaweek.
Itisratherhorridofme,ashehassentmemyportraitinthemostwonderfulframe,speciallydesignedbyhimself,and,thoughIamalittlejealousofthepictureforbeingawholemonthyoungerthanIam,ImustadmitthatIdelightinit.Perhapsyouhadbetterwritetohim.Idon’twanttoseehimalone.Hesaysthingsthatannoyme.Hegivesmegoodadvice.”
LordHenrysmiled.“Peopleareveryfondofgivingawaywhattheyneedmostthemselves.ItiswhatIcallthedepthofgenerosity.”
“Oh,Basilisthebestoffellows,butheseemstometobejustabitofaPhilistine.SinceIhaveknownyou,Harry,Ihavediscoveredthat.”
“Basil,mydearboy,putseverythingthatischarminginhimintohiswork.
Theconsequenceisthathehasnothingleftforlifebuthisprejudices,hisprinciples,andhiscommonsense.
TheonlyartistsIhaveeverknownwhoarepersonallydelightfularebadartists.
Goodartistsexistsimplyinwhattheymake,andconsequentlyareperfectlyuninterestinginwhattheyare.
Agreatpoet,areallygreatpoet,isthemostunpoeticalofallcreatures.
Butinferiorpoetsareabsolutelyfascinating.
Theworsetheirrhymesare,themorepicturesquetheylook.
Themerefactofhavingpublishedabookofsecond-ratesonnetsmakesamanquiteirresistible.
Helivesthepoetrythathecannotwrite.
Theotherswritethepoetrythattheydarenotrealize.”
“Iwonderisthatreallyso,Harry?”saidDorianGray,puttingsomeperfumeonhishandkerchiefoutofalarge,gold-toppedbottlethatstoodonthetable.“Itmustbe,ifyousayit.AndnowIamoff.Imogeniswaitingforme.Don’tforgetaboutto-morrow.Good-bye.”
Ashelefttheroom,LordHenry’sheavyeyelidsdrooped,andhebegantothink.
CertainlyfewpeoplehadeverinterestedhimsomuchasDorianGray,andyetthelad’smadadorationofsomeoneelsecausedhimnottheslightestpangofannoyanceorjealousy.Hewaspleasedbyit.Itmadehimamoreinterestingstudy.
Hehadbeenalwaysenthralledbythemethodsofnaturalscience,buttheordinarysubject-matterofthatsciencehadseemedtohimtrivialandofnoimport.
Andsohehadbegunbyvivisectinghimself,ashehadendedbyvivisectingothers.
Humanlife—thatappearedtohimtheonethingworthinvestigating.
Comparedtoittherewasnothingelseofanyvalue.
Itwastruethatasonewatchedlifeinitscuriouscrucibleofpainandpleasure,onecouldnotwearoverone’sfaceamaskofglass,norkeepthesulphurousfumesfromtroublingthebrainandmakingtheimaginationturbidwithmonstrousfanciesandmisshapendreams.
Therewerepoisonssosubtlethattoknowtheirpropertiesonehadtosickenofthem.
Thereweremaladiessostrangethatonehadtopassthroughthemifonesoughttounderstandtheirnature.
And,yet,whatagreatrewardonereceived!
Howwonderfulthewholeworldbecametoone!
Tonotethecurioushardlogicofpassion,andtheemotionalcolouredlifeoftheintellect—toobservewheretheymet,andwheretheyseparated,atwhatpointtheywereinunison,andatwhatpointtheywereatdiscord—therewasadelightinthat!Whatmatterwhatthecostwas?
Onecouldneverpaytoohighapriceforanysensation.
Hewasconscious—andthethoughtbroughtagleamofpleasureintohisbrownagateeyes—thatitwasthroughcertainwordsofhis,musicalwordssaidwithmusicalutterance,thatDorianGray’ssoulhadturnedtothiswhitegirlandbowedinworshipbeforeher.
Toalargeextenttheladwashisowncreation.Hehadmadehimpremature.Thatwassomething.
Ordinarypeoplewaitedtilllifedisclosedtothemitssecrets,buttothefew,totheelect,themysteriesoflifewererevealedbeforetheveilwasdrawnaway.
Sometimesthiswastheeffectofart,andchieflyoftheartofliterature,whichdealtimmediatelywiththepassionsandtheintellect.
Butnowandthenacomplexpersonalitytooktheplaceandassumedtheofficeofart,wasindeed,initsway,arealworkofart,lifehavingitselaboratemasterpieces,justaspoetryhas,orsculpture,orpainting.
Yes,theladwaspremature.Hewasgatheringhisharvestwhileitwasyetspring.
Thepulseandpassionofyouthwereinhim,buthewasbecomingself-conscious.Itwasdelightfultowatchhim.
Withhisbeautifulface,andhisbeautifulsoul,hewasathingtowonderat.
Itwasnomatterhowitallended,orwasdestinedtoend.
Hewaslikeoneofthosegraciousfiguresinapageantoraplay,whosejoysseemtoberemotefromone,butwhosesorrowsstirone’ssenseofbeauty,andwhosewoundsarelikeredroses.
Soulandbody,bodyandsoul—howmysterioustheywere!
Therewasanimalisminthesoul,andthebodyhaditsmomentsofspirituality.
Thesensescouldrefine,andtheintellectcoulddegrade.
Whocouldsaywherethefleshlyimpulseceased,orthepsychicalimpulsebegan?
Howshallowwerethearbitrarydefinitionsofordinarypsychologists!
Andyethowdifficulttodecidebetweentheclaimsofthevariousschools!
Wasthesoulashadowseatedinthehouseofsin?
Orwasthebodyreallyinthesoul,asGiordanoBrunothought?
Theseparationofspiritfrommatterwasamystery,andtheunionofspiritwithmatterwasamysteryalso.
Hebegantowonderwhetherwecouldevermakepsychologysoabsoluteasciencethateachlittlespringoflifewouldberevealedtous.
Asitwas,wealwaysmisunderstoodourselvesandrarelyunderstoodothers.Experiencewasofnoethicalvalue.
Itwasmerelythenamemengavetotheirmistakes.
Moralistshad,asarule,regardeditasamodeofwarning,hadclaimedforitacertainethicalefficacyintheformationofcharacter,hadpraiseditassomethingthattaughtuswhattofollowandshoweduswhattoavoid.
Buttherewasnomotivepowerinexperience.
Itwasaslittleofanactivecauseasconscienceitself.
Allthatitreallydemonstratedwasthatourfuturewouldbethesameasourpast,andthatthesinwehaddoneonce,andwithloathing,wewoulddomanytimes,andwithjoy.
Itwascleartohimthattheexperimentalmethodwastheonlymethodbywhichonecouldarriveatanyscientificanalysisofthepassions;andcertainlyDorianGraywasasubjectmadetohishand,andseemedtopromiserichandfruitfulresults.
HissuddenmadloveforSibylVanewasapsychologicalphenomenonofnosmallinterest.
Therewasnodoubtthatcuriosityhadmuchtodowithit,curiosityandthedesirefornewexperiences,yetitwasnotasimple,butratheraverycomplexpassion.
Whattherewasinitofthepurelysensuousinstinctofboyhoodhadbeentransformedbytheworkingsoftheimagination,changedintosomethingthatseemedtotheladhimselftoberemotefromsense,andwasforthatveryreasonallthemoredangerous.
Itwasthepassionsaboutwhoseoriginwedeceivedourselvesthattyrannizedmoststronglyoverus.
Ourweakestmotiveswerethoseofwhosenaturewewereconscious.
Itoftenhappenedthatwhenwethoughtwewereexperimentingonotherswewerereallyexperimentingonourselves.
WhileLordHenrysatdreamingonthesethings,aknockcametothedoor,andhisvaletenteredandremindedhimitwastimetodressfordinner.
Hegotupandlookedoutintothestreet.
Thesunsethadsmittenintoscarletgoldtheupperwindowsofthehousesopposite.
Thepanesglowedlikeplatesofheatedmetal.Theskyabovewaslikeafadedrose.
Hethoughtofhisfriend’syoungfiery-colouredlifeandwonderedhowitwasallgoingtoend.
Whenhearrivedhome,abouthalf-pasttwelveo’clock,hesawatelegramlyingonthehalltable.
HeopeneditandfounditwasfromDorianGray.
ItwastotellhimthathewasengagedtobemarriedtoSibylVane.
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