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rely over； they propose to continue it。 if they were allowed their own way； every edy would have a tragic ending； and every tragedy would culminate in a farce。 they are charmingly artificial； but they have no sense of art。 you are more fortunate than i am。 i assure you； dorian； that not one of the women i have known would have done for me what sibyl vane did for you。 ordinary women always console themselves。 some of them do it by going in for sentimental colours。 never trust a woman who wears mauve； whatever her age may be； or a woman over thirty…five who is fond of pink ribbons。 it always means that they have a history。 others find a great consolation in suddenly discovering the good qualities of their husbands。 they flaunt their conjugal felicity in ones face； as if it were the most fascinating of sins。 religion consoles some。 its mysteries have all the charm of a flirtation； a woman once told me； and i can quite understand it。 besides； nothing makes one so vain as being told that one is a sinner。 conscience makes egotists of us all。 yes； there is really no end to the consolations that women find in modern life。 indeed； i have not mentioned the most important one。〃
〃what is that； harry？〃 said the lad listlessly。
〃oh； the obvious consolation。 taking some one elses admirer when one loses ones own。 in good society that always whitewashes a woman。 but really； dorian； how different sibyl vane must have been from all the women one meets！ there is something to me quite beautiful about her death。 i am glad i am living in a century when such wonders happen。 they make one believe in the reality of the things we all play with； such as romance； passion； and love。〃
〃i was terribly cruel to her。 you forget that。〃
〃i am afraid that women appreciate cruelty； downright cruelty； more than anything else。 they have wonderfully primitive instincts。 we have emancipated them； but they remain slaves looking for their masters； all the same。 they love being dominated。 i am sure you were splendid。 i have never seen you really and absolutely angry； but i can fancy how delightful you looked。 and； after all； you said something to me the day before yesterday that seemed to me at the time to be merely fanciful； but that i see now was absolutely true； and it holds the key to everything。〃
〃what was that； harry？〃
〃you said to me that sibyl vane represented to you all the heroines of romancethat she was desdemona one night； and ophelia the other； that if she died as juliet； she came to life as imogen。〃
〃she will never e to life again now；〃 muttered the lad； burying his face in his hands。
〃no； she will never e to life。 she has played her last part。 but you must think of that lonely death in the tawdry dressing…room simply as a strange lurid fragment from some jacobean tragedy； as a wonderful scene from webster； or ford； or cyril tourneur。 the girl never really lived； and so she has never really died。 to you at least she was always a dream； a phantom that flitted through shakespeares plays and left them lovelier for its presence； a reed through which shakespeares music sounded richer and more full of joy。 the moment she touched actual life； she marred it； and it marred her； and so she passed away。 mourn for ophelia； if you like。 put ashes on your head because cordelia was strangled。 cry out against heaven because the daughter of brabantio died。 but dont waste your tears over sibyl vane。 she was less real than they are。〃
there was a silence。 the evening darkened in the room。 noiselessly； and with silver feet； the shadows crept in from the garden。 the colours faded wearily out of things。
after some time dorian gray looked up。 〃you have explained me to myself； harry；〃 he murmured with something of a sigh of relief。 〃i felt all that you have said； but somehow i was afraid of it； and i could not express it to myself。 how well you know me！ but we will not talk again of what has happened。 it has been a marvellous experience。 that is all。 i wonder if life has still in store for me anything as marvellous。〃
〃life has everything in store for you； dorian。 there is nothing that you； with your extraordinary good looks； will not be able to do。〃
〃but suppose； harry； i became haggard； and old； and wrinkled？ what then？〃
〃ah； then；〃 said lord henry； rising to go； 〃then； my dear dorian； you would have to fight for your victories。 as it is； they are brought to you。 no； you must keep your good looks。 we live in an age that reads too much to be wise； and that thinks too much to be beautiful。 we cannot spare you。 and now you had better dress and drive down to the club。 we are rather late； as it is。〃
〃i think i shall join you at the opera； harry。 i feel too tired to eat anything。 what is the number of your sisters box？〃
〃twenty…seven； i believe。 it is on the grand tier。 you will see her name on the door。 but i am sorry you wont e and dine。〃
〃i dont feel up to it；〃 said dorian listlessly。 〃but i am awfully obliged to you for all that you have said to me。 you are certainly my best friend。 no one has ever understood me as you have。〃
〃we are only at the beginning of our friendship； dorian；〃 answered lord henry； shaking him by the hand。 〃good…bye。 i shall see you before nine…thirty； i hope。 remember； patti is singing。〃
as he closed the door behind him； dorian gray touched the bell； and in a few minutes victor appeared with the lamps and drew the blinds down。 he waited impatiently for him to go。 the man seemed to take an interminable time over everything。
as soon as he had left； he rushed to the screen and drew it back。 no； there was no further change in the picture。 it had received the news of sibyl vanes death before he had known of it himself。 it was conscious of the events of life as they occurred。 the vicious cruelty that marred the fine lines of the mouth had； no doubt； appeared at the very moment that the girl had drunk the poison； whatever it was。 or was it indifferent to results？ did it merely take cognizance of what passed within the soul？ he wondered； and hoped that some day he would see the change taking place before his very eyes； shuddering as he hoped it。
poor sibyl！ what a romance it had all been！ she had often mimicked death on the stage。 then death himself had touched her and taken her with him。 how had she played that dreadful last scene？ had she cursed him； as she died？ no； she had died for love of him； and love would always be a sacrament to him now。 she had atoned for everything by the sacrifice she had made of her life。 he would not think any more of what she had made him go through； on that horrible night at the theatre。 when he thought of her； it would be as a wonderful tragic figure sent on to the worlds stage to show the supreme reality of love。 a wonderful tragic figure？ tears came to his eyes as he remembered her childlike look； and winsome fanciful ways； and shy tremulous grace。 he brushed them away hastily and looked again at the picture。
he felt that the time had really e for making his choice。 or had his choice already been made？ yes； life had decided that for himlife； and his own infinite curiosity about life。 eternal youth； infinite passion； pleasures subtle and secret； wild joys and wilder sinshe was to have all these things。 the portrait was to bear the burden of his shame： that was all。
a feeling of pain crept over him as he thought of the desecration that was in store for the fair face on the canvas。 once； in boyish mockery of narcissus； he had kissed； or feigned to kiss； those painted lips that now smiled so cruelly at him。 morning after morning he had sat before the portrait wondering at its beauty； almost enamoured of it； as it seemed to him at times。 was it to alter now with every mood to which he yielded？ was it to bee a monstrous and loathsome thing； to be hidden away in a locked room； to be shut out from the sunlight that had so often touched to brighter gold the waving wonder of its hair？ the pity of it！ the pity of it！
for a moment； he thought of praying that the horrible sympathy that existed between him and the picture might cease。 it had changed in answer to a prayer； perhaps in answer to a prayer it might remain unchanged。 and yet； who； that knew anything about life； would surrender the chance of remaining always young； however fantastic that chance might be； or with what fateful consequences it might be fraught？ besides； was it really under his control？ had it indeed been prayer that had produced the substitution？ might there not be some curious scientific reason for it all？ if thought could exercise its influence upon a living organism； might not thought exercise an influence upon dead and inorganic things？ nay； without thought or conscious desire； might not things external to ourselves vibrate in unison with our moods and passions； atom calling to atom in secret love or strange affinity？ but the reason was of no importance。 he would never again tempt by a prayer any terrible power。 if the picture was to alter； it was to alter。 that was all。 why inquire too closely into it？
for there would be a real pleasure in watching it。 he would be able to follow his mind into its secret places。 this portrait would be to him the most magical of mirrors。 as it had revealed to him his own body； so it would reveal to him his own soul。 and when winter came upon it； he would still be standing where spring trembles on the verge of summer。 when the blood crept from its face； and left behind a pallid mask of chalk with leaden eyes； he would keep the glamour of boyhood。 not one blossom of his loveliness would ever fade。 not one pulse of his life would ever weaken。 like the gods of the greeks； he would be strong； and fleet； and joyous。 what did it matter what happened to the coloured image on the canvas？ he would be safe。 that was everything。
he drew the screen back into its former place in front of the picture； smiling as he did so； and passed into his bedroom； where his valet was already waiting for him。 an hour later he was at the opera； and lord henry was leaning over his chair。
Chapter 9
锝炲皬锛滆t xt锛嬶紜澶╋紴鍫�
chapter 9
as he was sitting at breakfast next morning； basil hallward was shown into the room。
〃i am so glad i have found you； dorian；〃 he said gravely。 〃i called last night； and they told me you were at the opera。 of course； i knew that was impossible。 but i wish you had left word where you had really gone to。 i passed a dreadful evening； half afraid that one tragedy might be followed by another。 i think you might have telegraphed for me when you heard of it first。 i read of it quite by chance 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 cant tell you how heart…broken i am about the whole thing。 i know what you must suffer。 but where were you？ did you go down and see the girls mother？ for a moment i thought of following you there。 they gave the address in the paper。 somewhere in the euston road； isnt it？ but i was afraid of intruding upon a sorrow that i could not lighten。 poor woman！ what a state she must be in！ and her only child； too！ what did she say about it all？〃
〃my dear basil； how do i know？〃 murmured dorian gray； sipping some pale…yellow wine from a delicate； gold…beaded bubble of venetian glass and looking dreadfully bored。 〃i was at the opera。 you should have e on there。 i met lady gwendolen； harrys sister； for the first time。 we were in her box。 she is perfectly charming； and patti sang divinely。 dont talk about horrid subjects。 if one doesnt talk about a thing； it has never happened。 it is simply expression； as harry says； that gives reality to things。 i may mention that she was not the womans only child。 there is a son； a charming fellow； i believe。 but he is not on the stage。 he is a sailor； or something。 and now； tell me about yourself and what you are painting。〃
〃you went to the opera？〃 said hallward； speaking very slowly and with a strained touch of pain in his voice。 〃you went to the opera while sibyl vane was lying dead in some sordid lodging？ you can talk to 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 of hers！〃
〃s