道林.格雷的画像 英文版 The Picture of Dorian Gray
奥斯卡.王尔德 Oscar Wilde
CHAPTER VII
would please you. Butyou must come and sit to me yourself again. I can.
As he was sitting at breakfast next morning, Basil Hallwardwas shown into the room.
"I am so glad I have found you, Dorian, " he said, gravely. "I calledlast night, and they told me you were at the Opera. Of course I knewthat was impossible. But I wish you had left word where you hadreally gone to. I passed a dreadful evening, half afraid that onetragedy might be followed by another. I think you might havetelegraphed for me when you heard of it first. I read of it quite bychance in a late edition of the Globe, that I picked up at the club.I came here at once, and was miserable at not finding you. I can'ttell you how heart-broken I am about the whole thing. I know whatyou must suffer. But where were you? Did you go down and see thegirl's mother? For a moment I thought of following you there. Theygave the address in the paper. Somewhere in the Euston Road, isn'tit? But I was afraid of intruding upon a sorrow that I could notlighten. Poor woman! What a state she must be in! And her onlychild, too! What did she say about it all?"
"My dear Basil, how do I know?" murmured Dorian, sipping some pale-yellow wine from a delicate gold-beaded bubble of Venetian glass, andlooking dreadfully bored. "I was at the Opera. You should have comeon there. I met Lady Gwendolen, Harry's sister, for the first time.We were in her box. She is perfectly charming; and Patti sangdivinely. Don't talk about horrid subjects. If one doesn'ttalk about a thing, it has never happened. It is simply expression,as Harry says, that gives reality to things. Tell me about yourselfand what you are painting. "
"You went to the Opera?" said Hallward, speaking very slowly, andwith a strained touch of pain in his voice. "You went to the Operawhile Sibyl Vane was lying dead in some sordid lodging? You can talkto me of other women being charming, and of Patti singing divinely,before the girl you loved has even the quiet of a grave to sleep in?Why, man, there are horrors in store for that little white body ofhers!"
"Stop, Basil! I won't hear it!" cried Dorian, leaping to his feet."You must not tell me about things. What is done is done. What ispast is past. "
"You call yesterday the past?"
you again. You don't know what itcost me to tell you all that I have told.
"What has the actual lapse of time got to do with it? It is onlyshallow people who require years to get rid of an emotion. A man whois master of himself can end a sorrow as easily as he can invent apleasure. I don't want to be at the mercy of my emotions. I want touse them, to enjoy them, and to dominate them. "
"Dorian, this is horrible! Something has changed you completely.You look exactly the same wonderful boy who used to come down to mystudio, day after day, to sit for his picture. But you were simple,natural, and affectionate then. You were the most unspoiled creaturein the whole world. Now, I don't know what has come over you. Youtalk as if you had no heart, no pity in you. It is all Harry'sinfluence. I see that. "
The lad flushed up, and, going to the window, looked out on thegreen, flickering garden for a few moments. "I owe a great deal toHarry, Basil, " he said, at last, --"more than I owe to you. You onlytaught me to be vain. "
"Well, I am punished for that, Dorian, --or shall be some day. "
"I don't know what you mean, Basil, " he exclaimed, turning round. "Idon't know what you want. What do you want?"
"I want the Dorian Gray I used to know. "
you were simple,natural, and affectionate.
"Basil, " said the lad, going over to him, and putting his hand on hisshoulder, "you have come too late. Yesterday when I heard that SibylVane had killed herself--"
"Killed herself! Good heavens! is there no doubt about that?" criedHallward, looking up at him with an expression of horror.
"My dear Basil! Surely you don't think it was a vulgar accident? Ofcourse she killed herself It is one of the great romantic tragediesof the age. As a rule, people who act lead the most commonplacelives. They are good husbands, or faithful wives, or somethingtedious. You know what I mean, --middle-class virtue, and all thatkind of thing. How different Sibyl was! She lived her finesttragedy. She was always a heroine. The last night she played--thenight you saw her--she acted badly because she had known the realityof love. When she knew its unreality, she died, as Juliet might havedied. She passed again into the sphere of art. There is somethingof the martyr about her. Her death has all the pathetic uselessnessof martyrdom, all its wasted beauty. But, as I was saying, youmust not think I have not suffered. If you had come in yesterday ata particular moment, --about half-past five, perhaps, or a quarter tosix, --you would have found me in tears. Even Harry, who was here,who brought me the news, in fact, had no idea what I was goingthrough. I suffered immensely, then it passed away. I cannot repeatan emotion. No one can, except sentimentalists. And you are awfullyunjust, Basil. You come down here to console me. That is charmingof you. You find me consoled, and you are furious. How like asympathetic person! You remind me of a story Harry told me about acertain philanthropist who spent twenty years of his life in tryingto get some grievance redressed, or some unjust law altered, --Iforget exactly what it was. Finally he succeeded, and nothing couldexceed his disappointment. He had absolutely nothing to do, almostdied of ennui, and became a confirmed misanthrope. And besides, mydear old Basil, if you really want to console me, teach me rather toforget what has happened, or to see it from a proper artistic pointof view. Was it not Gautier who used to write about la consolationdes arts? I remember picking up a little vellum-covered book in yourstudio one day and chancing on that delightful phrase. Well, I amnot like that young man you told me of when we were down at Marlowetogether, the young man who used to say that yellow satin couldconsole one for all the miseries of life. I love beautiful thingsthat one can touch and handle. Old brocades, green bronzes, lacquer-work, carved ivories, exquisite surroundings, luxury, pomp, --thereis much to be got from all these. But the artistic temperament thatthey create, or at any rate reveal, is still more to me. To becomethe spectator of one's own life, as Harry says, is to escape thesuffering of life. I know you are surprised at my talking to youlike this. You have not realized how I have developed. I was aschool-boy when you knew me. I am a man now. I have new passions,new thoughts, new ideas. I am different, but you must not like meless. I am changed, but you must always be my friend. Of course Iam very fond of Harry. But I know that you are better than he is.You are not stronger, --you are too much afraid of life, --but you arebetter. And how happy we used to be together! Don't leave me,Basil, and don't quarrel with me. I am what I am. There is nothingmore to be said. "
Hallward felt strangely moved. Rugged and straightforward as he was,there was something in his nature that was purely feminine in itstenderness. The lad was infinitely dear to him, and his personalityhad been the great turning-point in his art. He could not bear theidea of reproaching him any more. After all, his indifference wasprobably merely a mood that would pass away. There was so much inhim that was good, so much in him that was noble.
"Well, Dorian, " he said, at length, with a sad smile, "I won't speakto you again about this horrible thing, after to-day. I only trustyour name won't be mentioned in connection with it. The inquest isto take place this afternoon. Have they summoned you?"
Dorian shook his head, and a look of annoyance passed over his faceat the mention of the word "inquest. " There was something socrude and vulgar about everything of the kind. "They don't know myname, " he answered.
again about this horrible thing, after to-day. I only trustyour name won't be .
"But surely she did?"
"Only my Christian name, and that I am quite sure she never mentionedto any one. She told me once that they were all rather curious tolearn who I was, and that she invariably told them my name was PrinceCharming. It was pretty of her. You must do me a drawing of her,Basil. I should like to have something more of her than the memoryof a few kisses and some broken pathetic words. "
"I will try and do something, Dorian, if it would please you. Butyou must come and sit to me yourself again. I can't get on withoutyou. "
"I will never sit to you again, Basil. It is impossible!" heexclaimed, starting back.
Hallward stared at him, "My dear boy, what nonsense!" he cried. "Doyou mean to say you don't like what I did of you? Where is it? Whyhave you pulled the screen in front of it? Let me look at it. It isthe best thing I have ever painted. Do take that screen away,Dorian. It is simply horrid of your servant hiding my work likethat. I felt the room looked different as I came in. "
"My servant has nothing to do with it, Basil. You don't imagine Ilet him arrange my room for me? He settles my flowers for mesometimes, --that is all. No; I did it myself. The light was toostrong on the portrait. "
"Too strong! Impossible, my dear fellow! It is an admirable placefor it. Let me see it. " And Hallward walked towards the corner ofthe room.
A cry of terror broke from Dorian Gray's lips, and he rushed betweenHallward and the screen. "Basil, " he said, looking very pale, "youmust not look at it. I don't wish you to. "
"Not look at my own work! you are not serious. Why shouldn't I lookat it?" exclaimed Hallward, laughing.
"If you try to look at it, Basil, on my word of honor I will neverspeak to you again as long as I live. I am quite serious. I don'toffer any explanation, and you are not to ask for any. But,remember, if you touch this screen, everything is over between us. "
Hallward was thunderstruck. He looked at Dorian Gray in absoluteamazement. He had never seen him like this before. The lad wasabsolutely pallid with rage. His hands were clinched, and the pupilsof his eyes were like disks of blue fire. He was trembling all over.
"Dorian!"
"Don't speak!"
"But what is the matter? Of course I won't look at it if you don'twant me to, " he said, rather coldly, turning on his heel, and goingover towards the window. "But, really, it seems rather absurd that Ishouldn't see my own work, especially as I am going to exhibit it inParis in the autumn. I shall probably have to give it another coatof varnish before that, so I must see it some day, and why not to-day?"
"To exhibit it! You want to exhibit it?" exclaimed Dorian Gray, astrange sense of terror creeping over him. Was the world goingto be shown his secret? Were people to gape at the mystery of hislife? That was impossible. Something--he did not know what--had tobe done at once.
"Yes: I don't suppose you will object to that. Georges Petit isgoing to collect all my best pictures for a special exhibition in theRue de Sèze, which will open the first week in October. The portraitwill only be away a month. I should think you could easily spare itfor that time. In fact, you are sure to be out of town. And if youhide it always behind a screen, you can't care much abut it. "
Dorian Gray passed his hand over his forehead. There were beads ofperspiration there. He felt that he was on the brink of a horribledanger. "You told me a month ago that you would never exhibit it, "he said. "Why have you changed your mind? You people who go in forbeing consistent have just as many moods as others. The onlydifference is that your moods are rather meaningless. You can't haveforgotten that you assured me most solemnly that nothing in the worldwould induce you to send it to any exhibition. You told Harryexactly the same thing. " He stopped suddenly, and a gleam of lightcame into his eyes. He remembered that Lord Henry had said to himonce, half seriously and half in jest, "If you want to have aninteresting quarter of an hour, get Basil to tell you why he won'texhibit your picture. He told me why he wouldn't, and it was arevelation to me. " Yes, perhaps Basil, too, had his secret. Hewould ask him and try.
"Basil, " he said, coming over quite close, and looking him straightin the face, "we have each of us a secret. Let me know yours, and Iwill tell you mine. What was your reason for refusing to exhibit mypicture?"
Hallward shuddered in spite of himself. "Dorian, if I told you, youmight like me less than you do, and you would certainly laugh at me.I could not bear your doing either of those two things. If you wishme never to look at your picture again, I am content. I have alwaysyou to look at. If you wish the best work I have ever done to behidden from the world, I am satisfied. Your friendship is dearer tome than any fame or reputation. "
"No, Basil, you must tell me, " murmured Dorian Gray. "I think I havea right to know. " His feeling of terror had passed away, andcuriosity had taken its place. He was determined to find out BasilHallward's mystery.
"Let us sit down, Dorian, " said Hallward, looking pale and pained."Let us sit down. I will sit in the shadow, and you shall sit in thesunlight. Our lives are like that. Just answer me one question.Have you noticed in the picture something that you did not like?--something that probably at first did not strike you, but thatrevealed itself to you suddenly?"
"Basil!" cried the lad, clutching the arms of his chair withtrembling hands, and gazing at him with wild, startled eyes.
"I see you did. Don't speak. Wait till you hear what I have to say.It is quite true that I have worshipped you with far more romance offeeling than a man usually gives to a friend. Somehow, I had neverloved a woman. I suppose I never had time. Perhaps, as Harrysays, a really 'grande passion' is the privilege of those who havenothing to do, and that is the use of the idle classes in a country.Well, from the moment I met you, your personality had the mostextraordinary influence over me. I quite admit that I adored youmadly, extravagantly, absurdly. I was jealous of every one to whomyou spoke. I wanted to have you all to myself. I was only happywhen I was with you. When I was away from you, you were stillpresent in my art. It was all wrong and foolish. It is all wrongand foolish still. Of course I never let you know anything aboutthis. It would have been impossible. You would not have understoodit; I did not understand it myself. One day I determined to paint awonderful portrait of you. It was to have been my masterpiece. Itis my masterpiece. But, as I worked at it, every flake and film ofcolor seemed to me to reveal my secret. I grew afraid that the worldwould know of my idolatry. I felt, Dorian, that I had told too much.Then it was that I resolved never to allow the picture to beexhibited. You were a little annoyed; but then you did not realizeall that it meant to me. Harry, to whom I talked about it, laughedat me. But I did not mind that. When the picture was finished, andI sat alone with it, I felt that I was right. Well, after a few daysthe portrait left my studio, and as soon as I had got rid of theintolerable fascination of its presence it seemed to me that I hadbeen foolish in imagining that I had said anything in it, more thanthat you were extremely good-looking and that I could paint. Evennow I cannot help feeling that it is a mistake to think that thepassion one feels in creation is ever really shown in the work onecreates. Art is more abstract than we fancy. Form and color tell usof form and color, --that is all. It often seems to me that artconceals the artist far more completely than it ever reveals him.And so when I got this offer from Paris I determined to make yourportrait the principal thing in my exhibition. It never occurred tome that you would refuse. I see now that you were right. Thepicture must not be shown. You must not be angry with me, Dorian,for what I have told you. As I said to Harry, once, you are made tobe worshipped. "
Dorian Gray drew a long breath. The color came back to his cheeks,and a smile played about his lips. The peril was over. He was safefor the time. Yet he could not help feeling infinite pity for theyoung man who had just made this strange confession to him. Hewondered if he would ever be so dominated by the personality of afriend. Lord Harry had the charm of being very dangerous. But thatwas all. He was too clever and too cynical to be really fond of.Would there ever be some one who would fill him with a strangeidolatry? Was that one of the things that life had in store?
"Of course I did. "
"Well, you don't mind my looking at it now?"
Dorian shook his head. "You must not ask me that, Basil. I couldnot possibly let you stand in front of that picture. "
"You will some day, surely?"
"Never. "
"Well, perhaps you are right. And now good-by, Dorian. You havebeen the one person in my life of whom I have been really fond. Idon't suppose I shall often see you again. You don't know what itcost me to tell you all that I have told you. "
"My dear Basil, " cried Dorian, "what have you told me? Simply thatyou felt that you liked me too much. That is not even a compliment. "
"It was not intended as a compliment. It was a confession. "
"A very disappointing one. "
"Why, what did you expect, Dorian? You didn't see anything else inthe picture, did you? There was nothing else to see?"
"No: there was nothing else to see. Why do you ask? But you mustn'ttalk about not meeting me again, or anything of that kind. You and Iare friends, Basil, and we must always remain so. "
"You have got Harry, " said Hallward, sadly.
"Oh, Harry!" cried the lad, with a ripple of laughter. "Harry spendshis days in saying what is incredible, and his evenings in doing whatis improbable. Just the sort of life I would like to lead. Butstill I don't think I would go to Harry if I was in trouble. I wouldsooner go to you, Basil. "
"But you won't sit to me again?"
"Impossible!"
"You spoil my life as an artist by refusing, Dorian. No man comesacross two ideal things. Few come across one. "
"I can't explain it to you, Basil, but I must never sit to you again.I will come and have tea with you. That will be just as pleasant. "
"Pleasanter for you, I am afraid, " murmured Hallward, regretfully."And now good-by. I am sorry you won't let me look at the pictureonce again. But that can't be helped. I quite understand what youfeel about it. "
As he left the room, Dorian Gray smiled to himself. Poor Basil! howlittle he knew of the true reason! And how strange it was that,instead of having been forced to reveal his own secret, he hadsucceeded, almost by chance, in wresting a secret from his friend!How much that strange confession explained to him! Basil's absurdfits of jealousy, his wild devotion, his extravagant panegyrics, hiscurious reticences, --he understood them all now, and he felt sorry.There was something tragic in a friendship so colored by romance.
He sighed, and touched the bell. The portrait must be hidden away atall costs. He could not run such a risk of discovery again. It hadbeen mad of him to have the thing remain, even for an hour, in a roomto which any of his friends had access.