CHAPTER VIII.

tionitreveals!Oneshouldabsorbthecolouroflife,butoneshouldneverrememberitsdetails.Detailsarealwaysvulgar.” “Imustsowpoppiesinmygarden,”sighedDorian. “Thereisnonecessity,”rejoinedhiscompanion.“Lifehasalwayspoppiesinherhands.Ofcourse,nowandthenthingslinger.Ionceworenothingbutvioletsallthroughoneseason,asaformofartisticmourningforaromancethatwouldnotdie.Ultimately,however,itdiddie.Iforgetwhatkilledit.Ithinkitwasherproposingtosacrificethewholeworldforme.Thatisalwaysadreadfulmoment.Itfillsonewiththeterrorofeternity.Well—wouldyoubelieveit?—aweekago,atLadyHampshire’s,Ifoundmyselfseatedatdinnernexttheladyinquestion,andsheinsistedongoingoverthewholethingagain,anddiggingupthepast,andrakingupthefuture.Ihadburiedmyromanceinabedofasphodel.ShedraggeditoutagainandassuredmethatIhadspoiledherlife.Iamboundtostatethatsheateanenormousdinner,soIdidnotfeelanyanxiety.Butwhatalackoftastesheshowed!Theonecharmofthepastisthatitisthepast.Butwomenneverknowwhenthecurtainhasfallen.Theyalwayswantasixthact,andassoonastheinterestoftheplayisentirelyover,theyproposetocontinueit.Iftheywereallowedtheirownway,everycomedywouldhaveatragicending,andeverytragedywouldculminateinafarce.Theyarecharminglyartificial,buttheyhavenosenseofart.YouaremorefortunatethanIam.Iassureyou,Dorian,thatnotoneofthewomenIhaveknownwouldhavedoneformewhatSibylVanedidforyou.Ordinarywomenalwaysconsolethemselves.Someofthemdoitbygoinginforsentimentalcolours.Nevertrustawomanwhowearsmauve,whateverheragemaybe,orawomanoverthirty-fivewhoisfondofpinkribbons.Italwaysmeansthattheyhaveahistory.Othersfindagreatconsolationinsuddenlydiscoveringthegoodqualitiesoftheirhusbands.Theyflaunttheirconjugalfelicityinone’sface,asifitwerethemostfascinatingofsins.Religionconsolessome.Itsmysterieshaveallthecharmofaflirtation,awomanoncetoldme,andIcanquiteunderstandit.Besides,nothingmakesonesovainasbeingtoldthatoneisasinner.Consciencemakesegotistsofusall.Yesthereisreallynoendtotheconsolationsthatwomenfindinmodernlife.Indeed,Ihavenotmentionedthemostimportantone.” “Whatisthat,Harry?”saidtheladlistlessly. “Oh,theobviousconsolation.Takingsomeoneelse’sadmirerwhenonelosesone’sown.Ingoodsocietythatalwayswhitewashesawoman.Butreally,Dorian,howdifferentSibylVanemusthavebeenfromallthewomenonemeets!Thereissomethingtomequitebeautifulaboutherdeath.IamgladIamlivinginacenturywhensuchwondershappen.Theymakeonebelieveintherealityofthethingsweallplaywith,suchasromance,passion,andlove.” “Iwasterriblycrueltoher.Youforgetthat.” “Iamafraidthatwomenappreciatecruelty,downrightcruelty,morethananythingelse.Theyhavewonderfullyprimitiveinstincts.Wehaveemancipatedthem,buttheyremainslaveslookingfortheirmasters,allthesame.Theylovebeingdominated.Iamsureyouweresplendid.Ihaveneverseenyoureallyandabsolutelyangry,butIcanfancyhowdelightfulyoulooked.And,afterall,yousaidsomethingtomethedaybeforeyesterdaythatseemedtomeatthetimetobemerelyfanciful,butthatIseenowwasabsolutelytrue,anditholdsthekeytoeverything.” “Whatwasthat,Harry?” “YousaidtomethatSibylVanerepresentedtoyoualltheheroinesofromance—thatshewasDesdemonaonenight,andOpheliatheotherthatifshediedasJuliet,shecametolifeasImogen.” “Shewillnevercometolifeagainnow,”mutteredthelad,buryinghisfaceinhishands. “No,shewillnevercometolife.Shehasplayedherlastpart.Butyoumustthinkofthatlonelydeathinthetawdrydressing-roomsimplyasastrangeluridfragmentfromsomeJacobeantragedy,asawonderfulscenefromWebster,orFord,orCyrilTourneur.Thegirlneverreallylived,andsoshehasneverreallydied.Toyouatleastshewasalwaysadream,aphantomthatflittedthroughShakespeare’splaysandleftthemlovelierforitspresence,areedthroughwhichShakespeare’smusicsoundedricherandmorefullofjoy.Themomentshetouchedactuallife,shemarredit,anditmarredher,andsoshepassedaway.MournforOphelia,ifyoulike.PutashesonyourheadbecauseCordeliawasstrangled.CryoutagainstHeavenbecausethedaughterofBrabantiodied.Butdon’twasteyourtearsoverSibylVane.Shewaslessrealthantheyare.” Therewasasilence.Theeveningdarkenedintheroom.Noiselessly,andwithsilverfeet,theshadowscreptinfromthegarden.Thecoloursfadedwearilyoutofthings. AftersometimeDorianGraylookedup.“Youhaveexplainedmetomyself,Harry,”hemurmuredwithsomethingofasighofrelief.“Ifeltallthatyouhavesaid,butsomehowIwasafraidofit,andIcouldnotexpressittomyself.Howwellyouknowme!Butwewillnottalkagainofwhathashappened.Ithasbeenamarvellousexperience.Thatisall.Iwonderiflifehasstillinstoreformeanythingasmarvellous.” “Lifehaseverythinginstoreforyou,Dorian.Thereisnothingthatyou,withyourextraordinarygoodlooks,willnotbeabletodo.” “Butsuppose,Harry,Ibecamehaggard,andold,andwrinkled?Whatthen?” “Ah,then,”saidLordHenry,risingtogo,“then,mydearDorian,youwouldhavetofightforyourvictories.Asitis