CHAPTER XIV.

ris-throatedbirdsthatflutterroundthetallhoneycombedCampanile,orstalk,withsuchstatelygrace,throughthedim,dust-stainedarcades.Leaningbackwithhalf-closedeyes,hekeptsayingoverandovertohimself: “Devantunefa?aderose, Surlemarbred’unescalier.” ThewholeofVenicewasinthosetwolines.Herememberedtheautumnthathehadpassedthere,andawonderfullovethathadstirredhimtomaddelightfulfollies.Therewasromanceineveryplace.ButVenice,likeOxford,hadkeptthebackgroundforromance,and,tothetrueromantic,backgroundwaseverything,oralmosteverything.Basilhadbeenwithhimpartofthetime,andhadgonewildoverTintoret.PoorBasil!Whatahorriblewayforamantodie! Hesighed,andtookupthevolumeagain,andtriedtoforget.HereadoftheswallowsthatflyinandoutofthelittlecaféatSmyrnawheretheHadjissitcountingtheiramberbeadsandtheturbanedmerchantssmoketheirlongtasselledpipesandtalkgravelytoeachotherhereadoftheObeliskinthePlacedelaConcordethatweepstearsofgraniteinitslonelysunlessexileandlongstobebackbythehot,lotus-coveredNile,wherethereareSphinxes,androse-redibises,andwhitevultureswithgildedclaws,andcrocodileswithsmallberyleyesthatcrawloverthegreensteamingmudhebegantobroodoverthoseverseswhich,drawingmusicfromkiss-stainedmarble,tellofthatcuriousstatuethatGautiercomparestoacontraltovoice,the“monstrecharmant”thatcouchesintheporphyry-roomoftheLouvre.Butafteratimethebookfellfromhishand.Hegrewnervous,andahorriblefitofterrorcameoverhim.WhatifAlanCampbellshouldbeoutofEngland?Dayswouldelapsebeforehecouldcomeback.Perhapshemightrefusetocome.Whatcouldhedothen?Everymomentwasofvitalimportance. Theyhadbeengreatfriendsonce,fiveyearsbefore—almostinseparable,indeed.Thentheintimacyhadcomesuddenlytoanend.Whentheymetinsocietynow,itwasonlyDorianGraywhosmiled:AlanCampbellneverdid. Hewasanextremelycleveryoungman,thoughhehadnorealappreciationofthevisiblearts,andwhateverlittlesenseofthebeautyofpoetryhepossessedhehadgainedentirelyfromDorian.Hisdominantintellectualpassionwasforscience.AtCambridgehehadspentagreatdealofhistimeworkinginthelaboratory,andhadtakenagoodclassintheNaturalScienceTriposofhisyear.Indeed,hewasstilldevotedtothestudyofchemistry,andhadalaboratoryofhisowninwhichheusedtoshuthimselfupalldaylong,greatlytotheannoyanceofhismother,whohadsetherheartonhisstandingforParliamentandhadavagueideathatachemistwasapersonwhomadeupprescriptions.Hewasanexcellentmusician,however,aswell,andplayedboththeviolinandthepianobetterthanmostamateurs.Infact,itwasmusicthathadfirstbroughthimandDorianGraytogether—musicandthatindefinableattractionthatDorianseemedtobeabletoexercisewheneverhewished—and,indeed,exercisedoftenwithoutbeingconsciousofit.TheyhadmetatLadyBerkshire’sthenightthatRubinsteinplayedthere,andafterthatusedtobealwaysseentogetherattheoperaandwherevergoodmusicwasgoingon.Foreighteenmonthstheirintimacylasted.CampbellwasalwayseitheratSelbyRoyalorinGrosvenorSquare.Tohim,astomanyothers,DorianGraywasthetypeofeverythingthatiswonderfulandfascinatinginlife.Whetherornotaquarrelhadtakenplacebetweenthemnooneeverknew.ButsuddenlypeopleremarkedthattheyscarcelyspokewhentheymetandthatCampbellseemedalwaystogoawayearlyfromanypartyatwhichDorianGraywaspresent.Hehadchanged,too—wasstrangelymelancholyattimes,appearedalmosttodislikehearingmusic,andwouldneverhimselfplay,givingashisexcuse,whenhewascalledupon,thathewassoabsorbedinsciencethathehadnotimeleftinwhichtopractise.Andthiswascertainlytrue.Everydayheseemedtobecomemoreinterestedinbiology,andhisnameappearedonceortwiceinsomeofthescientificreviewsinconnectionwithcertaincuriousexperiments. ThiswasthemanDorianGraywaswaitingfor.Everysecondhekeptglancingattheclock.Astheminuteswentbyhebecamehorriblyagitated.Atlasthegotupandbegantopaceupanddowntheroom,lookinglikeabeautifulcagedthing.Hetooklongstealthystrides.Hishandswerecuriouslycold. Thesuspensebecameunbearable.Timeseemedtohimtobecrawlingwithfeetoflead,whilehebymonstrouswindswasbeingswepttowardsthejaggededgeofsomeblackcleftofprecipice.Heknewwhatwaswaitingforhimtheresawit,indeed,and,shuddering,crushedwithdankhandshisburninglidsasthoughhewouldhaverobbedtheverybrainofsight