道林格雷的画像_奥斯卡·王尔德-第29章

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。　she　left　the　room；　wreathed　in　smiles。

as　the　door　closed；　dorian　put　the　key　in　his　pocket　and　looked　round　the　room。　his　eye　fell　on　a　large；　purple　satin　coverlet　heavily　embroidered　with　gold；　a　splendid　piece　of　late　seventeenth…century　venetian　work　that　his　grandfather　had　found　in　a　convent　near　bologna。　yes；　that　would　serve　to　wrap　the　dreadful　thing　in。　it　had　perhaps　served　often　as　a　pall　for　the　dead。　now　it　was　to　hide　something　that　had　a　corruption　of　its　own；　worse　than　the　corruption　of　death　itself　something　that　would　breed　horrors　and　yet　would　never　die。　what　the　worm　was　to　the　corpse；　his　sins　would　be　to　the　painted　image　on　the　canvas。　they　would　mar　its　beauty　and　eat　away　its　grace。　they　would　defile　it　and　make　it　shameful。　and　yet　the　thing　would　still　live　on。　it　would　be　always　alive。

he　shuddered；　and　for　a　moment　he　regretted　that　he　had　not　told　basil　the　true　reason　why　he　had　wished　to　hide　the　picture　away。　basil　would　have　helped　him　to　resist　lord　henrys　influence；　and　the　still　more　poisonous　influences　that　came　from　his　own　temperament。　the　love　that　he　bore　himfor　it　was　really　love　had　nothing　in　it　that　was　not　noble　and　intellectual。　it　was　not　that　mere　physical　admiration　of　beauty　that　is　born　of　the　senses　and　that　dies　when　the　senses　tire。　it　was　such　love　as　michelangelo　had　known；　and　montaigne；　and　winckelmann；　and　shakespeare　himself。　yes；　basil　could　have　saved　him。　but　it　was　too　late　now。　the　past　could　always　be　annihilated。　regret；　denial；　or　forgetfulness　could　do　that。　but　the　future　was　inevitable。　there　were　passions　in　him　that　would　find　their　terrible　outlet；　dreams　that　would　make　the　shadow　of　their　evil　real。

he　took　up　from　the　couch　the　great　purple…and…gold　texture　that　covered　it；　and；　holding　it　in　his　hands；　passed　behind　the　screen。　was　the　face　on　the　canvas　viler　than　before？　it　seemed　to　him　that　it　was　unchanged；　and　yet　his　loathing　of　it　was　intensified。　gold　hair；　blue　eyes；　and　rose…red　lipsthey　all　were　there。　it　was　simply　the　expression　that　had　altered。　that　was　horrible　in　its　cruelty。　pared　to　what　he　saw　in　it　of　censure　or　rebuke；　how　shallow　basils　reproaches　about　sibyl　vane　had　been！　how　shallow；　and　of　what　little　account！　his　own　soul　was　looking　out　at　him　from　the　canvas　and　calling　him　to　judgement。　a　look　of　pain　came　across　him；　and　he　flung　the　rich　pall　over　the　picture。　as　he　did　so；　a　knock　came　to　the　door。　he　passed　out　as　his　servant　entered。

〃the　persons　are　here；　monsieur。〃

he　felt　that　the　man　must　be　got　rid　of　at　once。　he　must　not　be　allowed　to　know　where　the　picture　was　being　taken　to。　there　was　something　sly　about　him；　and　he　had　thoughtful；　treacherous　eyes。　sitting　down　at　the　writing…table　he　scribbled　a　note　to　lord　henry；　asking　him　to　send　him　round　something　to　read　and　reminding　him　that　they　were　to　meet　at　eight…fifteen　that　evening。

〃wait　for　an　answer；〃　he　said；　handing　it　to　him；　〃and　show　the　men　in　here。〃

in　two　or　three　minutes　there　was　another　knock；　and　mr。　hubbard　himself；　the　celebrated　frame…maker　of　south　audley　street；　came　in　with　a　somewhat　rough…looking　young　assistant。　mr。　hubbard　was　a　florid；　red…whiskered　little　man；　whose　admiration　for　art　was　considerably　tempered　by　the　inveterate　impecuniosity　of　most　of　the　artists　who　dealt　with　him。　as　a　rule；　he　never　left　his　shop。　he　waited　for　people　to　e　to　him。　but　he　always　made　an　exception　in　favour　of　dorian　gray。　there　was　something　about　dorian　that　charmed　everybody。　it　was　a　pleasure　even　to　see　him。

〃what　can　i　do　for　you；　mr。　gray？〃　he　said；　rubbing　his　fat　freckled　hands。　〃i　thought　i　would　do　myself　the　honour　of　ing　round　in　person。　i　have　just　got　a　beauty　of　a　frame；　sir。　picked　it　up　at　a　sale。　old　florentine。　came　from　fonthill；　i　believe。　admirably　suited　for　a　religious　subject；　mr。　gray。〃

〃i　am　so　sorry　you　have　given　yourself　the　trouble　of　ing　round；　mr。　hubbard。　i　shall　certainly　drop　in　and　look　at　the　frame　though　i　dont　go　in　much　at　present　for　religious　artbut　to…day　i　only　want　a　picture　carried　to　the　top　of　the　house　for　me。　it　is　rather　heavy；　so　i　thought　i　would　ask　you　to　lend　me　a　couple　of　your　men。〃

〃no　trouble　at　all；　mr。　gray。　i　am　delighted　to　be　of　any　service　to　you。　which　is　the　work　of　art；　sir？〃

〃this；〃　replied　dorian；　moving　the　screen　back。　〃can　you　move　it；　covering　and　all；　just　as　it　is？　i　dont　want　it　to　get　scratched　going　upstairs。〃

〃there　will　be　no　difficulty；　sir；〃　said　the　genial　frame…maker；　beginning；　with　the　aid　of　his　assistant；　to　unhook　the　picture　from　the　long　brass　chains　by　which　it　was　suspended。　〃and；　now；　where　shall　we　carry　it　to；　mr。　gray？〃

〃i　will　show　you　the　way；　mr。　hubbard；　if　you　will　kindly　follow　me。　or　perhaps　you　had　better　go　in　front。　i　am　afraid　it　is　right　at　the　top　of　the　house。　we　will　go　up　by　the　front　staircase；　as　it　is　wider。〃

he　held　the　door　open　for　them；　and　they　passed　out　into　the　hall　and　began　the　ascent。　the　elaborate　character　of　the　frame　had　made　the　picture　extremely　bulky；　and　now　and　then；　in　spite　of　the　obsequious　protests　of　mr。　hubbard；　who　had　the　true　tradesmans　spirited　dislike　of　seeing　a　gentleman　doing　anything　useful；　dorian　put　his　hand　to　it　so　as　to　help　them。

〃something　of　a　load　to　carry；　sir；〃　gasped　the　little　man　when　they　reached　the　top　landing。　and　he　wiped　his　shiny　forehead。

〃i　am　afraid　it　is　rather　heavy；〃　murmured　dorian　as　he　unlocked　the　door　that　opened　into　the　room　that　was　to　keep　for　him　the　curious　secret　of　his　life　and　hide　his　soul　from　the　eyes　of　men。

he　had　not　entered　the　place　for　more　than　four　yearsnot；　indeed；　since　he　had　used　it　first　as　a　play…room　when　he　was　a　child；　and　then　as　a　study　when　he　grew　somewhat　older。　it　was　a　large；　well…proportioned　room；　which　had　been　specially　built　by　the　last　lord　kelso　for　the　use　of　the　little　grandson　whom；　for　his　strange　likeness　to　his　mother；　and　also　for　other　reasons；　he　had　always　hated　and　desired　to　keep　at　a　distance。　it　appeared　to　dorian　to　have　but　little　changed。　there　was　the　huge　italian　cassone；　with　its　fantastically　painted　panels　and　its　tarnished　gilt　mouldings；　in　which　he　had　so　often　hidden　himself　as　a　boy。　there　the　satinwood　book…case　filled　with　his　dog…eared　schoolbooks。　on　the　wall　behind　it　was　hanging　the　same　ragged　flemish　tapestry　where　a　faded　king　and　queen　were　playing　chess　in　a　garden；　while　a　pany　of　hawkers　rode　by；　carrying　hooded　birds　on　their　gauntleted　wrists。　how　well　he　remembered　it　all！　every　moment　of　his　lonely　childhood　came　back　to　him　as　he　looked　round。　he　recalled　the　stainless　purity　of　his　boyish　life；　and　it　seemed　horrible　to　him　that　it　was　here　the　fatal　portrait　was　to　be　hidden　away。　how　little　he　had　thought；　in　those　dead　days；　of　all　that　was　in　store　for　him！

but　there　was　no　other　place　in　the　house　so　secure　from　prying　eyes　as　this。　he　had　the　key；　and　no　one　else　could　enter　it。　beneath　its　purple　pall；　the　face　painted　on　the　canvas　could　grow　bestial；　sodden；　and　unclean。　what　did　it　matter？　no　one　could　see　it。　he　himself　would　not　see　it。　why　should　he　watch　the　hideous　corruption　of　his　soul？　he　kept　his　youth　that　was　enough。　and；　besides；　might　not　his　nature　grow　finer；　after　all？　there　was　no　reason　that　the　future　should　be　so　full　of　shame。　some　love　might　e　across　his　life；　and　purify　him；　and　shield　him　from　those　sins　that　seemed　to　be　already　stirring　in　spirit　and　in　flesh　those　curious　unpictured　sins　whose　very　mystery　lent　them　their　subtlety　and　their　charm。　perhaps；　some　day；　the　cruel　look　would　have　passed　away　from　the　scarlet　sensitive　mouth；　and　he　might　show　to　the　world　basil　hallwards　masterpiece。

no；　that　was　impossible。　hour　by　hour；　and　week　by　week；　the　thing　upon　the　canvas　was　growing　old。　it　might　escape　the　hideousness　of　sin；　but　the　hideousness　of　age　was　in　store　for　it。　the　cheeks　would　bee　hollow　or　flaccid。　yellow　crows　feet　would　creep　round　the　fading　eyes　and　make　them　horrible。　the　hair　would　lose　its　brightness；　the　mouth　would　gape　or　droop；　would　be　foolish　or　gross；　as　the　mouths　of　old　men　are。　there　would　be　the　wrinkled　throat；　the　cold；　blue…veined　hands；