CHAPTER IV.

struseasIthoughtitwas.Ifindthat,ultimately,thereareonlytwokindsofwomen,theplainandthecoloured.Theplainwomenareveryuseful.Ifyouwanttogainareputationforrespectability,youhavemerelytotakethemdowntosupper.Theotherwomenareverycharming.Theycommitonemistake,however.Theypaintinordertotryandlookyoung.Ourgrandmotherspaintedinordertotryandtalkbrilliantly.Rougeandespritusedtogotogether.Thatisallovernow.Aslongasawomancanlooktenyearsyoungerthanherowndaughter,sheisperfectlysatisfied.Asforconversation,thereareonlyfivewomeninLondonworthtalkingto,andtwoofthesecan’tbeadmittedintodecentsociety.However,tellmeaboutyourgenius.Howlonghaveyouknownher?” “Ah!Harry,yourviewsterrifyme.” “Nevermindthat.Howlonghaveyouknownher?” “Aboutthreeweeks.” “Andwheredidyoucomeacrossher?” “Iwilltellyou,Harry,butyoumustn’tbeunsympatheticaboutit.Afterall,itneverwouldhavehappenedifIhadnotmetyou.Youfilledmewithawilddesiretoknoweverythingaboutlife.FordaysafterImetyou,somethingseemedtothrobinmyveins.AsIloungedinthepark,orstrolleddownPiccadilly,Iusedtolookateveryonewhopassedmeandwonder,withamadcuriosity,whatsortoflivestheyled.Someofthemfascinatedme.Othersfilledmewithterror.Therewasanexquisitepoisonintheair.Ihadapassionforsensations....Well,oneeveningaboutseveno’clock,Ideterminedtogooutinsearchofsomeadventure.IfeltthatthisgreymonstrousLondonofours,withitsmyriadsofpeople,itssordidsinners,anditssplendidsins,asyouoncephrasedit,musthavesomethinginstoreforme.Ifanciedathousandthings.Themeredangergavemeasenseofdelight.Irememberedwhatyouhadsaidtomeonthatwonderfuleveningwhenwefirstdinedtogether,aboutthesearchforbeautybeingtherealsecretoflife.Idon’tknowwhatIexpected,butIwentoutandwanderedeastward,soonlosingmywayinalabyrinthofgrimystreetsandblackgrasslesssquares.Abouthalf-pasteightIpassedbyanabsurdlittletheatre,withgreatflaringgas-jetsandgaudyplay-bills.AhideousJew,inthemostamazingwaistcoatIeverbeheldinmylife,wasstandingattheentrance,smokingavilecigar.Hehadgreasyringlets,andanenormousdiamondblazedinthecentreofasoiledshirt.‘Haveabox,myLord?’hesaid,whenhesawme,andhetookoffhishatwithanairofgorgeousservility.Therewassomethingabouthim,Harry,thatamusedme.Hewassuchamonster.Youwilllaughatme,Iknow,butIreallywentinandpaidawholeguineaforthestage-box.TothepresentdayIcan’tmakeoutwhyIdidsoandyetifIhadn’t—mydearHarry,ifIhadn’t—Ishouldhavemissedthegreatestromanceofmylife.Iseeyouarelaughing.Itishorridofyou!” “Iamnotlaughing,DorianatleastIamnotlaughingatyou.Butyoushouldnotsaythegreatestromanceofyourlife.Youshouldsaythefirstromanceofyourlife.Youwillalwaysbeloved,andyouwillalwaysbeinlovewithlove.Agrandepassionistheprivilegeofpeoplewhohavenothingtodo.Thatistheoneuseoftheidleclassesofacountry.Don’tbeafraid.Thereareexquisitethingsinstoreforyou.Thisismerelythebeginning.” “Doyouthinkmynaturesoshallow?”criedDorianGrayangrily. “NoIthinkyournaturesodeep.” “Howdoyoumean?” “Mydearboy,thepeoplewholoveonlyonceintheirlivesarereallytheshallowpeople.Whattheycalltheirloyalty,andtheirfidelity,Icalleitherthelethargyofcustomortheirlackofimagination.Faithfulnessistotheemotionallifewhatconsistencyistothelifeoftheintellect—simplyaconfessionoffailure.Faithfulness!Imustanalyseitsomeday.Thepassionforpropertyisinit.Therearemanythingsthatwewouldthrowawayifwewerenotafraidthatothersmightpickthemup.ButIdon’twanttointerruptyou.Goonwithyourstory.” “Well,Ifoundmyselfseatedinahorridlittleprivatebox,withavulgardrop-scenestaringmeintheface.Ilookedoutfrombehindthecurtainandsurveyedthehouse.Itwasatawdryaffair,allCupidsandcornucopias,likeathird-ratewedding-cake.Thegalleryandpitwerefairlyfull,butthetworowsofdingystallswerequiteempty,andtherewashardlyapersoninwhatIsupposetheycalledthedress-circle.Womenwentaboutwithorangesandginger-beer,andtherewasaterribleconsumptionofnutsgoingon.” “ItmusthavebeenjustlikethepalmydaysoftheBritishdrama.” “Justlike,Ishouldfancy,andverydepressing.IbegantowonderwhatonearthIshoulddowhenIcaughtsightoftheplay-bill.Whatdoyouthinktheplaywas,Harry?” “Ishouldthink‘TheIdiotBoy’,or‘DumbbutInnocent’.Ourfathersusedtolikethatsortofpiece,Ibelieve.ThelongerIlive,Dorian,themorekeenlyIfeelthatwhateverwasgoodenoughforourfathersisnotgoodenoughforus.Inart,asinpolitics,lesgrandpèresonttoujourstort.” “Thisplaywasgoodenoughforus,Harry.ItwasRomeoandJuliet.ImustadmitthatIwasratherannoyedattheideaofseeingShakespearedoneinsuchawretchedholeofaplace.Still,Ifeltinterested,inasortofway.Atanyrate,Ideterminedtowaitforthefirstact.Therewasadreadfulorchestra,presidedoverbyayoungHebrewwhosatatacrackedpiano,thatnearlydrovemeaway,butatlastthedrop-scenewasdrawnupandtheplaybegan.Romeowasastoutelderlygentleman,withcorkedeyebrows,ahuskytragedyvoice,andafigurelikeabeer-barrel.Mercutiowasalmostasbad.Hewasplayedbythelow-comedian,whohadintroducedgagsofhisownandwasonmostfriendlytermswiththepit.Theywerebothasgrotesqueasthescenery,andthatlookedasifithadcomeoutofacountry-booth.ButJuliet!Harry,imagineagirl,hardlyseventeenyearsofage,withalittle,flowerlikefac