道林.格雷的画像 英文版 The Picture of Dorian Gray
奥斯卡.王尔德 Oscar Wilde
CHAPTER III Page 1
One afternoon, a month later, Dorian Gray was reclining in aluxurious arm-chair, in the little library of Lord Henry's house inCurzon Street. It was, in its way, a very charming room, with itshigh panelled wainscoting of olive-stained oak, its cream-coloredfrieze and ceiling of raised plaster-work, and its brick-dust feltcarpet strewn with long-fringed silk Persian rugs. On a tinysatinwood table stood a statuette by Clodion, and beside it lay acopy of "Les Cent Nouvelles, " bound for Margaret of Valois by ClovisEve, and powdered with the gilt daisies that the queen had selectedfor her device. Some large blue china jars, filled with parrot-tulips, were ranged on the mantel-shelf, and through the small leadedpanes of the window streamed the apricot-colored light of a summer'sday in London.
Lord Henry had not come in yet. He was always late on principle, hisprinciple being that punctuality is the thief of time. So the ladwas looking rather sulky, as with listless fingers he turned over thepages of an elaborately-illustrated edition of "Manon Lescaut" thathe had found in one of the bookcases. The formal monotonous tickingof the Louis Quatorze clock annoyed him. Once or twice he thought ofgoing away.
At last he heard a light step outside, and the door opened. "Howlate you are, Harry!" he murmured.
"I am afraid it is not Harry, Mr. Gray, " said a woman's voice.
He glanced quickly round, and rose to his feet. "I beg your pardon.I thought--"
"You thought it was my husband. It is only his wife. You must letme introduce myself. I know you quite well by your photographs. Ithink my husband has got twenty-seven of them. "
"Not twenty-seven, Lady Henry?"
"Well, twenty-six, then. And I saw you with him the other night atthe Opera. " She laughed nervously, as she spoke, and watched himwith her vague forget-me-not eyes. She was a curious woman, whosedresses always looked as if they had been designed in a rage and puton in a tempest. She was always in love with somebody, and, as herpassion was never returned, she had kept all her illusions. Shetried to look picturesque, but only succeeded in being untidy. Hername was Victoria, and she had a perfect mania for going to church.
"That was at 'Lohengrin, ' Lady Henry, I think?"
"Yes; it was at dear 'Lohengrin. ' I like Wagner's music better thanany other music. It is so loud that one can talk the whole time,without people hearing what one says. That is a great advantage:don't you think so, Mr. Gray?"
The same nervous staccato laugh broke from her thin lips, and herfingers began to play with a long paper-knife.
Dorian smiled, and shook his head: "I am afraid I don't think so,Lady Henry. I never talk during music, --at least during good music.If one hears bad music, it is one's duty to drown it byconversation. "
"Ah! that is one of Harry's views, isn't it, Mr. Gray? But you mustnot think I don't like good music. I adore it, but I am afraid ofit. It makes me too romantic. I have simply worshipped pianists, --two at a time, sometimes. I don't know what it is about them.Perhaps it is that they are foreigners. They all are, aren't they?Even those that are born in England become foreigners after a time,don't they? It is so clever of them, and such a compliment to art.Makes it quite cosmopolitan, doesn't it? You have never been to anyof my parties, have you, Mr. Gray? You must come. I can't affordorchids, but I spare no expense in foreigners. They make one's roomslook so picturesque. But here is Harry!--Harry, I came in to lookfor you, to ask you something, --I forget what it was, --and I foundMr. Gray here. We have had such a pleasant chat about music. Wehave quite the same views. No; I think our views are quitedifferent. But he has been most pleasant. I am so glad I've seenhim. "
"I am charmed, my love, quite charmed, " said Lord Henry, elevatinghis dark crescent-shaped eyebrows and looking at them both with anamused smile. --"So sorry I am late, Dorian. I went to look after apiece of old brocade in Wardour Street, and had to bargain for hoursfor it. Nowadays people know the price of everything, and the valueof nothing. "
"I am afraid I must be going, " exclaimed Lady Henry, after an awkwardsilence, with her silly sudden laugh. "I have promised to drive withthe duchess. --Good-by, Mr. Gray. --Good-by, Harry. You are diningout, I suppose? So am I. Perhaps I shall see you at LadyThornbury's. "
"I dare say, my dear, " said Lord Henry, shutting the door behind her,as she flitted out of the room, looking like a bird-of-paradise thathad been out in the rain, and leaving a faint odor of patchoulibehind her. Then he shook hands with Dorian Gray, lit a cigarette,and flung himself down on the sofa.
"Never marry a woman with straw-colored hair, Dorian, " he said,after a few puffs.
"Why, Harry?"
"Because they are so sentimental. "
"But I like sentimental people. "
"Never marry at all, Dorian. Men marry because they are tired;women, because they are curious: both are disappointed. "
"I don't think I am likely to marry, Harry. I am too much in love.That is one of your aphorisms. I am putting it into practice, as Ido everything you say. "
, Lady Henry?"simply worshipped pianists, --two at a time.
"Whom are you in love with?" said Lord Henry, looking at him with acurious smile.
"With an actress, " said Dorian Gray, blushing.
Lord Henry shrugged his shoulders. "That is a rather common-placedébut, " he murmured.
"You would not say so if you saw her, Harry. "
"Who is she?"
"Her name is Sibyl Vane. "
"Never heard of her. "
"No one has. People will some day, however. She is a genius. "
"My dear boy, no woman is a genius: women are a decorative sex. Theynever have anything to say, but they say it charmingly. Theyrepresent the triumph of matter over mind, just as we men representthe triumph of mind over morals. There are only two kinds of women,the plain and the colored. The plain women are very useful. If youwant to gain a reputation for respectability, you have merely to takethem down to supper. The other women are very charming. They commitone mistake, however. They paint in order to try to look young. Ourgrandmothers painted in order to try to talk brilliantly. Rouge andesprit used to go together. That has all gone out now. As long as awoman can look ten years younger than her own daughter, she isperfectly satisfied. As for conversation, there are only five womenin London worth talking to, and two of these can't be admitted intodecent society. However, tell me about your genius. How long haveyou known her?"
"About three weeks. Not so much. About two weeks and two days. "
"How did you come across her?"
"I will tell you, Harry; but you mustn't be unsympathetic about it.After all, it never would have happened if I had not met you. Youfilled me with a wild desire to know everything about life. For daysafter I met you, something seemed to throb in my veins. As I loungedin the Park, or strolled down Piccadilly, I used to look at every onewho passed me, and wonder with a mad curiosity what sort of livesthey led. Some of them fascinated me. Others filled me with terror.There was an exquisite poison in the air. I had a passion forsensations.
"One evening about seven o'clock I determined to go out in search ofsome adventure. I felt that this gray, monstrous London of ours,with its myriads of people, its splendid sinners, and its sordidsins, as you once said, must have something in store for me. Ifancied a thousand things.
"The mere danger gave me a sense of delight. I remembered what youhad said to me on that wonderful night when we first dined together,about the search for beauty being the poisonous secret of life. Idon't know what I expected, but I went out, and wandered eastward,soon losing my way in a labyrinth of grimy streets and black,grassless squares. About half-past eight I passed by a little third-rate theatre, with great flaring gas-jets and gaudy play-bills. Ahideous Jew, in the most amazing waistcoat I ever beheld in my life,was standing at the entrance, smoking a vile cigar. He had greasyringlets, and an enormous diamond blazed in the centre of a soiledshirt. ''Ave a box, my lord?' he said, when he saw me, and he tookoff his hat with an act of gorgeous servility. There was somethingabout him, Harry, that amused me. He was such a monster. You willlaugh at me, I know, but I really went in and paid a whole guinea forthe stage-box. To the present day I can't make out why I did so; andyet if I hadn't!--my dear Harry, if I hadn't, I would have missed thegreatest romance of my life. I see you are laughing. It is horridof you!"
"I am not laughing, Dorian; at least I am not laughing at you. Butyou should not say the greatest romance of your life. You should saythe first romance of your life. You will always be loved, and youwill always be in love with love. There are exquisite things instore for you. This is merely the beginning. "
"Do you think my nature so shallow?" cried Dorian Gray, angrily.
"No; I think your nature so deep. "
"How do you mean?"
"My dear boy, people who only love once in their lives are reallyshallow people. What they call their loyalty, and their fidelity, Icall either the lethargy of custom or the lack of imagination.Faithlessness is to the emotional life what consistency is to theintellectual life, --simply a confession of failure. But I don't wantto interrupt you. Go on with your story. "
"Well, I found myself seated in a horrid little private box, with avulgar drop-scene staring me in the face. I looked out behind thecurtain, and surveyed the house. It was a tawdry affair, all Cupidsand cornucopias, like a third-rate wedding-cake. The gallery and pitwere fairly full, but the two rows of dingy stalls were quite empty,and there was hardly a person in what I suppose they called thedress-circle. Women went about with oranges and ginger-beer, andthere was a terrible consumption of nuts going on. "
"It must have been just like the palmy days of the British Drama. "
"Just like, I should fancy, and very horrid. I began to wonder whaton earth I should do, when I caught sight of the play-bill. What doyou think the play was, Harry?"
"I should think 'The Idiot Boy, or Dumb but Innocent. ' Our fathersused to like that sort of piece, I believe. The longer I live,Dorian, the more keenly I feel that whatever was good enough for ourfathers is not good enough for us. In art, as in politics, les grandpères ont toujours tort. "
"This play was good enough for us, Harry. It was 'Romeo andJuliet. ' I must admit I was rather annoyed at the idea of seeingShakespeare done in such a wretched hole of a place. Still, I feltinterested, in a sort of way. At any rate, I determined to wait forthe first act. There was a dreadful orchestra, presided over by ayoung Jew who sat at a cracked piano, that nearly drove me away, butat last the drop-scene was drawn up, and the play began. Romeo was astout elderly gentleman, with corked eyebrows, a husky tragedy voice,and a figure like a beer-barrel. Mercutio was almost as bad. He wasplayed by the low-comedian, who had introduced gags of his own andwas on most familiar terms with the pit. They were as grotesque asthe scenery, and that looked as if it had come out of a pantomime offifty years ago. But Juliet! Harry, imagine a girl, hardlyseventeen years of age, with a little flower-like face, a small Greekhead with plaited coils of dark-brown hair, eyes that were violetwells of passion, lips that were like the petals of a rose. She wasthe loveliest thing I had ever seen in my life. You said to me oncethat pathos left you unmoved, but that beauty, mere beauty, couldfill your eyes with tears. I tell you, Harry, I could hardly seethis girl for the mist of tears that came across me. And her voice, --I never heard such a voice. It was very low at first, with deepmellow notes, that seemed to fall singly upon one's ear. Then itbecame a little louder, and sounded like a flute or a distanthautbois. In the garden-scene it had all the tremulous ecstasy thatone hears just before dawn when nightingales are singing. There weremoments, later on, when it had the wild passion of violins. You knowhow a voice can stir one. Your voice and the voice of Sibyl Vane aretwo things that I shall never forget. When I close my eyes, I hearthem, and each of them says something different. I don't know whichto follow. Why should I not love her? Harry, I do love her. She iseverything to me in life. Night after night I go to see her play.One evening she is Rosalind, and the next evening she is Imogen. Ihave seen her die in the gloom of an Italian tomb, sucking the poisonfrom her lover's lips. I have watched her wandering through theforest of Arden, disguised as a pretty boy in hose and doublet anddainty cap. She has been mad, and has come into the presence of aguilty king, and given him rue to wear, and bitter herbs to taste of.She has been innocent, and the black hands of jealousy have crushedher reed-like throat. I have seen her in every age and in everycostume. Ordinary women never appeal to one's imagination. They arelimited to their century. No glamour ever transfigures them. Oneknows their minds as easily as one knows their bonnets. One canalways find them. There is no mystery in one of them. They ride inthe Park in the morning, and chatter at tea-parties in the afternoon.They have their stereotyped smile, and their fashionable manner.They are quite obvious. But an actress! How different an actressis! Why didn't you tell me that the only thing worth loving is anactress?"
"Because I have loved so many of them, Dorian. "
"Oh, yes, horrid people with dyed hair and painted faces. "
"Don't run down dyed hair and painted faces. There is anextraordinary charm in them, sometimes. "
"I wish now I had not told you about Sibyl Vane. "
"You could not have helped telling me, Dorian. All through your lifeyou will tell me everything you do. "
"Yes, Harry, I believe that is true. I cannot help telling youthings. You have a curious influence over me. If I ever did acrime, I would come and confide it to you. You would understand me. "
But I don't wantto interrupt you. Go on with your?
"People like you--the wilful sunbeams of life--don't commit crimes,Dorian. But I am much obliged for the compliment, all the same. Andnow tell me, --reach me the matches, like a good boy: thanks, --tellme, what are your relations with Sibyl Vane?"
Dorian Gray leaped to his feet, with flushed cheeks and burning eyes."Harry, Sibyl Vane is sacred!"
"It is only the sacred things that are worth touching, Dorian, " saidLord Henry, with a strange touch of pathos in his voice. "But whyshould you be annoyed? I suppose she will be yours some day. Whenone is in love, one always begins by deceiving one's self, and onealways ends by deceiving others. That is what the world callsromance. You know her, at any rate, I suppose?"
"Of course I know her. On the first night I was at the theatre, thehorrid old Jew came round to the box after the performance was over,and offered to bring me behind the scenes and introduce me to her. Iwas furious with him, and told him that Juliet had been dead forhundreds of years, and that her body was lying in a marble tomb inVerona. I think, from his blank look of amazement, that he thought Ihad taken too much champagne, or something. "
"I am not surprised. "
"I was not surprised either. Then he asked me if I wrote for any ofthe newspapers. I told him I never even read them. He seemedterribly disappointed at that, and confided to me that all thedramatic critics were in a conspiracy against him, and that they wereall to be bought. "
"I believe he was quite right there. But, on the other hand, most ofthem are not at all expensive. "
"Well, he seemed to think they were beyond his means. By this timethe lights were being put out in the theatre, and I had to go. Hewanted me to try some cigars which he strongly recommended. Ideclined. The next night, of course, I arrived at the theatre again.When he saw me he made me a low bow, and assured me that I was apatron of art. He was a most offensive brute, though he had anextraordinary passion for Shakespeare. He told me once, with an airof pride, that his three bankruptcies were entirely due to the poet,whom he insisted on calling 'The Bard. ' He seemed to think it adistinction. "
"It was a distinction, my dear Dorian, --a great distinction. Butwhen did you first speak to Miss Sibyl Vane?"
"The third night. She had been playing Rosalind. I could not helpgoing round. I had thrown her some flowers, and she had looked atme; at least I fancied that she had. The old Jew was persistent. Heseemed determined to bring me behind, so I consented. It was curiousmy not wanting to know her, wasn't it?"
"No; I don't think so. "
"My dear Harry, why?"
"I will tell you some other time. Now I want to know about thegirl. "
"Sibyl? Oh, she was so shy, and so gentle. There is something of achild about her. Her eyes opened wide in exquisite wonder when Itold her what I thought of her performance, and she seemed quiteunconscious of her power. I think we were both rather nervous. Theold Jew stood grinning at the door-way of the dusty greenroom, makingelaborate speeches about us both, while we stood looking at eachother like children. He would insist on calling me 'My Lord, ' so Ihad to assure Sibyl that I was not anything of the kind. She saidquite simply to me, 'You look more like a prince. '"
"Upon my word, Dorian, Miss Sibyl knows how to pay compliments. "
"You don't understand her, Harry. She regarded me merely as a personin a play. She knows nothing of life. She lives with her mother, afaded tired woman who played Lady Capulet in a sort of magentadressing-wrapper on the first night, and who looks as if she had seenbetter days. "
"I know that look. It always depresses me. "
"The Jew wanted to tell me her history, but I said it did notinterest me. "
"You were quite right. There is always something infinitely meanabout other people's tragedies. "
"Sibyl is the only thing I care about. What is it to me where shecame from? From her little head to her little feet, she isabsolutely and entirely divine. I go to see her act every night ofmy life, and every night she is more marvellous. "
"That is the reason, I suppose, that you will never dine with me now.I thought you must have some curious romance on hand. You have; butit is not quite what I expected. "
"My dear Harry, we either lunch or sup together every day, and I havebeen to the Opera with you several times. "
"You always come dreadfully late. "
"Well, I can't help going to see Sibyl play, even if it is only foran act. I get hungry for her presence; and when I think of thewonderful soul that is hidden away in that little ivory body, I amfilled with awe. "
"You can dine with me to-night, Dorian, can't you?"
He shook his head. "To night she is Imogen, " he answered, "andtomorrow night she will be Juliet. "
"When is she Sibyl Vane?"
"Never. "
"I congratulate you. "
"How horrid you are! She is all the great heroines of the world inone. She is more than an individual. You laugh, but I tell you shehas genius. I love her, and I must make her love me. You, who knowall the secrets of life, tell me how to charm Sibyl Vane to love me!I want to make Romeo jealous. I want the dead lovers of theworld to hear our laughter, and grow sad. I want a breath of ourpassion to stir their dust into consciousness, to wake their ashesinto pain. My God, Harry, how I worship her!" He was walking up anddown the room as he spoke. Hectic spots of red burned on his cheeks.He was terribly excited.