道林格雷的画像_奥斯卡·王尔德-第30章

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ross；　as　the　mouths　of　old　men　are。　there　would　be　the　wrinkled　throat；　the　cold；　blue…veined　hands；　the　twisted　body；　that　he　remembered　in　the　grandfather　who　had　been　so　stern　to　him　in　his　boyhood。　the　picture　had　to　be　concealed。　there　was　no　help　for　it。

〃bring　it　in；　mr。　hubbard；　please；〃　he　said；　wearily；　turning　round。　〃i　am　sorry　i　kept　you　so　long。　i　was　thinking　of　something　else。〃

〃always　glad　to　have　a　rest；　mr。　gray；〃　answered　the　frame…maker；　who　was　still　gasping　for　breath。　〃where　shall　we　put　it；　sir？〃

〃oh；　anywhere。　here：　this　will　do。　i　dont　want　to　have　it　hung　up。　just　lean　it　against　the　wall。　thanks。〃

〃might　one　look　at　the　work　of　art；　sir？〃

dorian　started。　〃it　would　not　interest　you；　mr。　hubbard；〃　he　said；　keeping　his　eye　on　the　man。　he　felt　ready　to　leap　upon　him　and　fling　him　to　the　ground　if　he　dared　to　lift　the　gorgeous　hanging　that　concealed　the　secret　of　his　life。　〃i　shant　trouble　you　any　more　now。　i　am　much　obliged　for　your　kindness　in　ing　round。〃

〃not　at　all；　not　at　all；　mr。　gray。　ever　ready　to　do　anything　for　you；　sir。〃　and　mr。　hubbard　tramped　downstairs；　followed　by　the　assistant；　who　glanced　back　at　dorian　with　a　look　of　shy　wonder　in　his　rough　unely　face。　he　had　never　seen　any　one　so　marvellous。

when　the　sound　of　their　footsteps　had　died　away；　dorian　locked　the　door　and　put　the　key　in　his　pocket。　he　felt　safe　now。　no　one　would　ever　look　upon　the　horrible　thing。　no　eye　but　his　would　ever　see　his　shame。

on　reaching　the　library；　he　found　that　it　was　just　after　five　oclock　and　that　the　tea　had　been　already　brought　up。　on　a　little　table　of　dark　perfumed　wood　thickly　incrusted　with　nacre；　a　present　from　lady　radley；　his　guardians　wife；　a　pretty　professional　invalid　who　had　spent　the　preceding　winter　in　cairo；　was　lying　a　note　from　lord　henry；　and　beside　it　was　a　book　bound　in　yellow　paper；　the　cover　slightly　torn　and　the　edges　soiled。　a　copy　of　the　third　edition　of　the　st。　jamess　gazette　had　been　placed　on　the　tea…tray。　it　was　evident　that　victor　had　returned。　he　wondered　if　he　had　met　the　men　in　the　hall　as　they　were　leaving　the　house　and　had　wormed　out　of　them　what　they　had　been　doing。　he　would　be　sure　to　miss　the　picturehad　no　doubt　missed　it　already；　while　he　had　been　laying　the　tea…things。　the　screen　had　not　been　set　back；　and　a　blank　space　was　visible　on　the　wall。　perhaps　some　night　he　might　find　him　creeping　upstairs　and　trying　to　force　the　door　of　the　room。　it　was　a　horrible　thing　to　have　a　spy　in　ones　house。　he　had　heard　of　rich　men　who　had　been　blackmailed　all　their　lives　by　some　servant　who　had　read　a　letter；　or　overheard　a　conversation；　or　picked　up　a　card　with　an　address；　or　found　beneath　a　pillow　a　withered　flower　or　a　shred　of　crumpled　lace。

he　sighed；　and　having　poured　himself　out　some　tea；　opened　lord　henrys　note。　it　was　simply　to　say　that　he　sent　him　round　the　evening　paper；　and　a　book　that　might　interest　him；　and　that　he　would　be　at　the　club　at　eight…fifteen。　he　opened　the　st。　jamess　languidly；　and　looked　through　it。　a　red　pencil…mark　on　the　fifth　page　caught　his　eye。　it　drew　attention　to　the　following　paragraph：

inquest　on　an　actress。an　inquest　was　held　this　morning　at　the　bell　tavern；　hoxton　road；　by　mr。　danby；　the　district　coroner；　on　the　body　of　sibyl　vane；　a　young　actress　recently　engaged　at　the　royal　theatre；　holborn。　a　verdict　of　death　by　misadventure　was　returned。　considerable　sympathy　was　expressed　for　the　mother　of　the　deceased；　who　was　greatly　affected　during　the　giving　of　her　own　evidence；　and　that　of　dr。　birrell；　who　had　made　the　post…mortem　examination　of　the　deceased。　

he　frowned；　and　tearing　the　paper　in　two；　went　across　the　room　and　flung　the　pieces　away。　how　ugly　it　all　was！　and　how　horribly　real　ugliness　made　things！　he　felt　a　little　annoyed　with　lord　henry　for　having　sent　him　the　report。　and　it　was　certainly　stupid　of　him　to　have　marked　it　with　red　pencil。　victor　might　have　read　it。　the　man　knew　more　than　enough　english　for　that。

perhaps　he　had　read　it　and　had　begun　to　suspect　something。　and；　yet；　what　did　it　matter？　what　had　dorian　gray　to　do　with　sibyl　vanes　death？　there　was　nothing　to　fear。　dorian　gray　had　not　killed　her。

his　eye　fell　on　the　yellow　book　that　lord　henry　had　sent　him。　what　was　it；　he　wondered。　he　went　towards　the　little；　pearl…coloured　octagonal　stand　that　had　always　looked　to　him　like　the　work　of　some　strange　egyptian　bees　that　wrought　in　silver；　and　taking　up　the　volume；　flung　himself　into　an　arm…chair　and　began　to　turn　over　the　leaves。　after　a　few　minutes　he　became　absorbed。　it　was　the　strangest　book　that　he　had　ever　read。　it　seemed　to　him　that　in　exquisite　raiment；　and　to　the　delicate　sound　of　flutes；　the　sins　of　the　world　were　passing　in　dumb　show　before　him。　things　that　he　had　dimly　dreamed　of　were　suddenly　made　real　to　him。　things　of　which　he　had　never　dreamed　were　gradually　revealed。

it　was　a　novel　without　a　plot　and　with　only　one　character；　being；　indeed；　simply　a　psychological　study　of　a　certain　young　parisian　who　spent　his　life　trying　to　realize　in　the　nineteenth　century　all　the　passions　and　modes　of　thought　that　belonged　to　every　century　except　his　own；　and　to　sum　up；　as　it　were；　in　himself　the　various　moods　through　which　the　world…spirit　had　ever　passed；　loving　for　their　mere　artificiality　those　renunciations　that　men　have　unwisely　called　virtue；　as　much　as　those　natural　rebellions　that　wise　men　still　call　sin。　the　style　in　which　it　was　written　was　that　curious　jewelled　style；　vivid　and　obscure　at　once；　full　of　argot　and　of　archaisms；　of　technical　expressions　and　of　elaborate　paraphrases；　that　characterizes　the　work　of　some　of　the　finest　artists　of　the　french　school　of　symbolistes。　there　were　in　it　metaphors　as　monstrous　as　orchids　and　as　subtle　in　colour。　the　life　of　the　senses　was　described　in　the　terms　of　mystical　philosophy。　one　hardly　knew　at　times　whether　one　was　reading　the　spiritual　ecstasies　of　some　mediaeval　saint　or　the　morbid　confessions　of　a　modern　sinner。　it　was　a　poisonous　book。　the　heavy　odour　of　incense　seemed　to　cling　about　its　pages　and　to　trouble　the　brain。　the　mere　cadence　of　the　sentences；　the　subtle　monotony　of　their　music；　so　full　as　it　was　of　plex　refrains　and　movements　elaborately　repeated；　produced　in　the　mind　of　the　lad；　as　he　passed　from　chapter　to　chapter；　a　form　of　reverie；　a　malady　of　dreaming；　that　made　him　unconscious　of　the　falling　day　and　creeping　shadows。

cloudless；　and　pierced　by　one　solitary　star；　a　copper…green　sky　gleamed　through　the　windows。　he　read　on　by　its　wan　light　till　he　could　read　no　more。　then；　after　his　valet　had　reminded　him　several　times　of　the　lateness　of　the　hour；　he　got　up；　and　going　into　the　next　room；　placed　the　book　on　the　little　florentine　table　that　always　stood　at　his　bedside　and　began　to　dress　for　dinner。

it　was　almost　nine　oclock　before　he　reached　the　club；　where　he　found　lord　henry　sitting　alone；　in　the　morning…room；　looking　very　much　bored。

〃i　am　so　sorry；　harry；〃　he　cried；　〃but　really　it　is　entirely　your　fault。　that　book　you　sent　me　so　fascinated　me　that　i　forgot　how　the　time　was　going。〃

〃yes；　i　thought　you　would　like　it；〃　replied　his　host；　rising　from　his　chair。

〃i　didnt　say　i　liked　it；　harry。　i　said　it　fascinated　me。　there　is　a　great　difference。〃

〃ah；　you　have　discovered　that？〃　murmured　lord　henry。　and　they　passed　into　the　dining…room。

。；



Chapter　11

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chapter　11

for　years；　dorian　gray　could　not　free　himself　from　the　influence　of　this　book。　or　perhaps　it　would　be　more　accurate　to　say　that　he　never　sought　to　free　himself　from　it。　he　procured　from　paris　no　less　than　nine　large…paper　copies　of　the　first　edition；　and　had　them　bound　in　different　colours；　so　that　they　might　suit　his　various　moods　and　the　changing　fancies　of　a　nature　over　which　he　seemed；　at　times；　to　have　almost　entirely　lost　control。　the　hero；　the　wonderful　young　parisian　in　whom　the　romantic　and　the　scientific　temperaments　were　so　strangely　blended；　became　to　him　a　kind　of　prefiguring　type　of　himself。　and；　indeed；　the　whole　book　seemed　to　him　to　contain　the　story　of　his　own　life；　written　before　he　had　lived　it。

in　one　point　he　was　more　fortunate　than　the　novels　fantastic　hero。　he　never　knewnever；　indee