CHAPTER VII.

Forsomereasonorother,thehousewascrowdedthatnight,andthefatJewmanagerwhometthematthedoorwasbeamingfromeartoearwithanoilytremuloussmile.Heescortedthemtotheirboxwithasortofpompoushumility,wavinghisfatjewelledhandsandtalkingatthetopofhisvoice.DorianGrayloathedhimmorethanever.HefeltasifhehadcometolookforMirandaandhadbeenmetbyCaliban.LordHenry,upontheotherhand,ratherlikedhim.Atleasthedeclaredhedid,andinsistedonshakinghimbythehandandassuringhimthathewasproudtomeetamanwhohaddiscoveredarealgeniusandgonebankruptoverapoet.Hallwardamusedhimselfwithwatchingthefacesinthepit.Theheatwasterriblyoppressive,andthehugesunlightflamedlikeamonstrousdahliawithpetalsofyellowfire.Theyouthsinthegalleryhadtakenofftheircoatsandwaistcoatsandhungthemovertheside.Theytalkedtoeachotheracrossthetheatreandsharedtheirorangeswiththetawdrygirlswhosatbesidethem.Somewomenwerelaughinginthepit.Theirvoiceswerehorriblyshrillanddiscordant.Thesoundofthepoppingofcorkscamefromthebar. “Whataplacetofindone’sdivinityin!”saidLordHenry. “Yes!”answeredDorianGray.“ItwashereIfoundher,andsheisdivinebeyondalllivingthings.Whensheacts,youwillforgeteverything.Thesecommonroughpeople,withtheircoarsefacesandbrutalgestures,becomequitedifferentwhensheisonthestage.Theysitsilentlyandwatchher.Theyweepandlaughasshewillsthemtodo.Shemakesthemasresponsiveasaviolin.Shespiritualizesthem,andonefeelsthattheyareofthesamefleshandbloodasone’sself.” “Thesamefleshandbloodasone’sself!Oh,Ihopenot!”exclaimedLordHenry,whowasscanningtheoccupantsofthegallerythroughhisopera-glass. “Don’tpayanyattentiontohim,Dorian,”saidthepainter.“Iunderstandwhatyoumean,andIbelieveinthisgirl.Anyoneyoulovemustbemarvellous,andanygirlwhohastheeffectyoudescribemustbefineandnoble.Tospiritualizeone’sage—thatissomethingworthdoing.Ifthisgirlcangiveasoultothosewhohavelivedwithoutone,ifshecancreatethesenseofbeautyinpeoplewhoseliveshavebeensordidandugly,ifshecanstripthemoftheirselfishnessandlendthemtearsforsorrowsthatarenottheirown,sheisworthyofallyouradoration,worthyoftheadorationoftheworld.Thismarriageisquiteright.Ididnotthinksoatfirst,butIadmititnow.ThegodsmadeSibylVaneforyou.Withoutheryouwouldhavebeenincomplete.” “Thanks,Basil,”answeredDorianGray,pressinghishand.“Iknewthatyouwouldunderstandme.Harryissocynical,heterrifiesme.Buthereistheorchestra.Itisquitedreadful,butitonlylastsforaboutfiveminutes.Thenthecurtainrises,andyouwillseethegirltowhomIamgoingtogiveallmylife,towhomIhavegiveneverythingthatisgoodinme.” Aquarterofanhourafterwards,amidstanextraordinaryturmoilofapplause,SibylVanesteppedontothestage.Yes,shewascertainlylovelytolookat—oneoftheloveliestcreatures,LordHenrythought,thathehadeverseen.Therewassomethingofthefawninhershygraceandstartledeyes.Afaintblush,liketheshadowofaroseinamirrorofsilver,cametohercheeksassheglancedatthecrowdedenthusiastichouse.Shesteppedbackafewpacesandherlipsseemedtotremble.BasilHallwardleapedtohisfeetandbegantoapplaud.Motionless,andasoneinadream,satDorianGray,gazingather.LordHenrypeeredthroughhisglasses,murmuring,“Charming!charming!” ThescenewasthehallofCapulet’shouse,andRomeoinhispilgrim’sdresshadenteredwithMercutioandhisotherfriends.Theband,suchasitwas,struckupafewbarsofmusic,andthedancebegan.Throughthecrowdofungainly,shabbilydressedactors,SibylVanemovedlikeacreaturefromafinerworld.Herbodyswayed,whileshedanced,asaplantswaysinthewater.Thecurvesofherthroatwerethecurvesofawhitelily.Herhandsseemedtobemadeofcoolivory. Yetshewascuriouslylistless.SheshowednosignofjoywhenhereyesrestedonRomeo.Thefewwordsshehadtospeak— Goodpilgrim,youdowrongyourhandtoomuch, Whichmannerlydevotionshowsinthis Forsaintshavehandsthatpilgrims’handsdotouch, Andpalmtopalmisholypalmers’kiss— withthebriefdialoguethatfollows,werespokeninathoroughlyartificialmanner.Thevoicewasexquisite,butfromthepointofviewoftoneitwasabsolutelyfalse.Itwaswrongincolour.Ittookawayallthelifefromtheverse.Itmadethepassionunreal. DorianGraygrewpaleashewatchedher.Hewaspuzzledandanxio