CHAPTER IV.
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wayofthedustygreenroom,makingelaboratespeechesaboutusboth,whilewestoodlookingateachotherlikechildren.Hewouldinsistoncallingme‘MyLord,’soIhadtoassureSibylthatIwasnotanythingofthekind.Shesaidquitesimplytome,‘Youlookmorelikeaprince.ImustcallyouPrinceCharming.’”
“Uponmyword,Dorian,MissSibylknowshowtopaycompliments.”
“Youdon’tunderstandher,Harry.Sheregardedmemerelyasapersoninaplay.Sheknowsnothingoflife.Sheliveswithhermother,afadedtiredwomanwhoplayedLadyCapuletinasortofmagentadressing-wrapperonthefirstnight,andlooksasifshehadseenbetterdays.”
“Iknowthatlook.Itdepressesme,”murmuredLordHenry,examininghisrings.
“TheJewwantedtotellmeherhistory,butIsaiditdidnotinterestme.”
“Youwerequiteright.Thereisalwayssomethinginfinitelymeanaboutotherpeople’stragedies.”
“SibylistheonlythingIcareabout.Whatisittomewhereshecamefrom?Fromherlittleheadtoherlittlefeet,sheisabsolutelyandentirelydivine.EverynightofmylifeIgotoseeheract,andeverynightsheismoremarvellous.”
“Thatisthereason,Isuppose,thatyouneverdinewithmenow.Ithoughtyoumusthavesomecuriousromanceonhand.YouhavebutitisnotquitewhatIexpected.”
“MydearHarry,weeitherlunchorsuptogethereveryday,andIhavebeentotheoperawithyouseveraltimes,”saidDorian,openinghisblueeyesinwonder.
“Youalwayscomedreadfullylate.”
“Well,Ican’thelpgoingtoseeSibylplay,”hecried,“evenifitisonlyforasingleact.IgethungryforherpresenceandwhenIthinkofthewonderfulsoulthatishiddenawayinthatlittleivorybody,Iamfilledwithawe.”
“Youcandinewithmeto-night,Dorian,can’tyou?”
Heshookhishead.“To-nightsheisImogen,”heanswered,“andto-morrownightshewillbeJuliet.”
“WhenissheSibylVane?”
“Never.”
“Icongratulateyou.”
“Howhorridyouare!Sheisallthegreatheroinesoftheworldinone.Sheismorethananindividual.Youlaugh,butItellyoushehasgenius.Iloveher,andImustmakeherloveme.You,whoknowallthesecretsoflife,tellmehowtocharmSibylVanetoloveme!IwanttomakeRomeojealous.Iwantthedeadloversoftheworldtohearourlaughterandgrowsad.Iwantabreathofourpassiontostirtheirdustintoconsciousness,towaketheirashesintopain.MyGod,Harry,howIworshipher!”Hewaswalkingupanddowntheroomashespoke.Hecticspotsofredburnedonhischeeks.Hewasterriblyexcited.
LordHenrywatchedhimwithasubtlesenseofpleasure.HowdifferenthewasnowfromtheshyfrightenedboyhehadmetinBasilHallward’sstudio!Hisnaturehaddevelopedlikeaflower,hadborneblossomsofscarletflame.Outofitssecrethiding-placehadcrepthissoul,anddesirehadcometomeetitontheway.
“Andwhatdoyouproposetodo?”saidLordHenryatlast.
“IwantyouandBasiltocomewithmesomenightandseeheract.Ihavenottheslightestfearoftheresult.Youarecertaintoacknowledgehergenius.ThenwemustgetheroutoftheJew’shands.Sheisboundtohimforthreeyears—atleastfortwoyearsandeightmonths—fromthepresenttime.Ishallhavetopayhimsomething,ofcourse.Whenallthatissettled,IshalltakeaWestEndtheatreandbringheroutproperly.Shewillmaketheworldasmadasshehasmademe.”
“Thatwouldbeimpossible,mydearboy.”
“Yes,shewill.Shehasnotmerelyart,consummateart-instinct,inher,butshehaspersonalityalsoandyouhaveoftentoldmethatitispersonalities,notprinciples,thatmovetheage.”
“Well,whatnightshallwego?”
“Letmesee.To-dayisTuesday.Letusfixto-morrow.SheplaysJulietto-morrow.”
“Allright.TheBristolateighto’clockandIwillgetBasil.”
“Noteight,Harry,please.Half-pastsix.Wemustbetherebeforethecurtainrises.Youmustseeherinthefirstact,whereshemeetsRomeo.”
“Half-pastsix!Whatanhour!Itwillbelikehavingameat-tea,orreadinganEnglishnovel.Itmustbeseven.Nogentlemandinesbeforeseven.ShallyouseeBasilbetweenthisandthen?OrshallIwritetohim?”
“DearBasil!Ihavenotlaideyesonhimforaweek.Itisratherhorridofme,ashehassentmemyportraitinthemostwonderfulframe,speciallydesignedbyhimself,and,thoughIamalittlejealousofthepictureforbeingawholemonthyoungerthanIam,ImustadmitthatIdelightinit.Perhapsyouhadbetterwritetohim.Idon’twanttoseehimalone.Hesaysthingsthatannoyme.Hegivesmegoodadvice.”
LordHenrysmiled.“Peopleareveryfondofgivingawaywhattheyneedmostthemselves.ItiswhatIcallthedepthofgenerosity.”
“Oh,Basilisthebestoffellows,butheseemstometobejustabitofaPhilistine.SinceIhaveknownyou,Harry,Ihavediscoveredthat.”
“Basil,mydearboy,putseverythingthatischarminginhimintohiswork.Theconsequenceisthathehasnothingleftforlifebuthisprejudices,hisprinciples,andhiscommonsense.TheonlyartistsIhaveeverknownwhoarepersonallydelightfularebadartists.Goodartistsexistsimplyinwhattheymake,andconsequentlyareperfectlyuninterestinginwhattheyare.Agreatpoet,areallygreatpoet,isthemostunpoeticalofallcreatures.Butinferiorpoetsareabsolutelyfascinating.Theworsetheirrhymesare,themorepicturesquetheylook.Themerefactofhavingpublishedabookofsecond-ratesonnetsmakesamanquiteirresistible.Helivesthepoetrythathecannotwrite.Theotherswritethepoetrythattheydarenotrealize.”
“Iwonderisthatreallyso,Harry?”saidDorianGray,puttingsomeperfumeonhishandkerchiefoutofalarge,gold-toppedbottlethatstoodonthetable.“Itmustbe,ifyousayit.AndnowIamoff.Imogeniswaitingforme.Don’tforgetaboutto-morrow.Good-bye.”
Ashelefttheroom,LordHenry’sheavyeyeli
