道林格雷的画像_奥斯卡·王尔德-第35部分

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a　sudden　thought　struck　him。　he　put　on　his　fur　coat　and　hat　and　went　out　into　the　hall。　there　he　paused；　hearing　the　slow　heavy　tread　of　the　policeman　on　the　pavement　outside　and　seeing　the　flash　of　the　bulls…eye　reflected　in　the　window。　he　waited　and　held　his　breath。

after　a　few　moments　he　drew　back　the　latch　and　slipped　out；　shutting　the　door　very　gently　behind　him。　then　he　began　ringing　the　bell。　in　about　five　minutes　his　valet　appeared；　half…dressed　and　looking　very　drowsy。

〃i　am　sorry　to　have　had　to　wake　you　up；　francis；〃　he　said；　stepping　in；　〃but　i　had　forgotten　my　latch…key。　what　time　is　it？〃

〃ten　minutes　past　two；　sir；〃　answered　the　man；　looking　at　the　clock　and　blinking。

〃ten　minutes　past　two？　how　horribly　late！　you　must　wake　me　at　nine　to…morrow。　i　have　some　work　to　do。〃

〃all　right；　sir。〃

〃did　any　one　call　this　evening？〃

〃mr。　hallward；　sir。　he　stayed　here　till　eleven；　and　then　be　went　away　to　catch　his　train。〃

〃oh！　i　am　sorry　i　didnt　see　him。　did　he　leave　any　message？〃

〃no；　sir；　except　that　he　would　write　to　you　from　paris；　if　he　did　not　find　you　at　the　club。〃

〃that　will　do；　francis。　dont　forget　to　call　me　at　nine　to…morrow。〃

〃no；　sir。〃

the　man　shambled　down　the　passage　in　his　slippers。

dorian　gray　threw　his　hat　and　coat　upon　the　table　and　passed　into　the　library。　for　a　quarter　of　an　hour　he　walked　up　and　down　the　room；　biting　his　lip　and　thinking。　then　he　took　down　the　blue　book　from　one　of　the　shelves　and　began　to　turn　over　the　leaves。　〃alan　campbell；　152；　hertford　street；　mayfair。〃　yes；　that　was　the　man　he　wanted。

。；



Chapter　14

锝炲皬　　璇磘　　xt　澶�；鍫�
chapter　14

at　nine　oclock　the　next　morning　his　servant　came　in　with　a　cup　of　chocolate　on　a　tray　and　opened　the　shutters。　dorian　was　sleeping　quite　peacefully；　lying　on　his　right　side；　with　one　hand　underneath　his　cheek。　he　looked　like　a　boy　who　had　been　tired　out　with　play；　or　study。

the　man　had　to　touch　him　twice　on　the　shoulder　before　he　woke；　and　as　he　opened　his　eyes　a　faint　smile　passed　across　his　lips；　as　though　he　had　been　lost　in　some　delightful　dream。　yet　he　had　not　dreamed　at　all。　his　night　had　been　untroubled　by　any　images　of　pleasure　or　of　pain。　but　youth　smiles　without　any　reason。　it　is　one　of　its　chiefest　charms。

he　turned　round；　and　leaning　upon　his　elbow；　began　to　sip　his　chocolate。　the　mellow　november　sun　came　streaming　into　the　room。　the　sky　was　bright；　and　there　was　a　genial　warmth　in　the　air。　it　was　almost　like　a　morning　in　may。

gradually　the　events　of　the　preceding　night　crept　with　silent；　blood…stained　feet　into　his　brain　and　reconstructed　themselves　there　with　terrible　distinctness。　he　winced　at　the　memory　of　all　that　he　had　suffered；　and　for　a　moment　the　same　curious　feeling　of　loathing　for　basil　hallward　that　had　made　him　kill　him　as　he　sat　in　the　chair　came　back　to　him；　and　he　grew　cold　with　passion。　the　dead　man　was　still　sitting　there；　too；　and　in　the　sunlight　now。　how　horrible　that　was！　such　hideous　things　were　for　the　darkness；　not　for　the　day。

he　felt　that　if　he　brooded　on　what　he　had　gone　through　he　would　sicken　or　grow　mad。　there　were　sins　whose　fascination　was　more　in　the　memory　than　in　the　doing　of　them；　strange　triumphs　that　gratified　the　pride　more　than　the　passions；　and　gave　to　the　intellect　a　quickened　sense　of　joy；　greater　than　any　joy　they　brought；　or　could　ever　bring；　to　the　senses。　but　this　was　not　one　of　them。　it　was　a　thing　to　be　driven　out　of　the　mind；　to　be　drugged　with　poppies；　to　be　strangled　lest　it　might　strangle　one　itself。

when　the　half…hour　struck；　he　passed　his　hand　across　his　forehead；　and　then　got　up　hastily　and　dressed　himself　with　even　more　than　his　usual　care；　giving　a　good　deal　of　attention　to　the　choice　of　his　necktie　and　scarf…pin　and　changing　his　rings　more　than　once。　he　spent　a　long　time　also　over　breakfast；　tasting　the　various　dishes；　talking　to　his　valet　about　some　new　liveries　that　he　was　thinking　of　getting　made　for　the　servants　at　selby；　and　going　through　his　correspondence。　at　some　of　the　letters；　he　smiled。　three　of　them　bored　him。　one　he　read　several　times　over　and　then　tore　up　with　a　slight　look　of　annoyance　in　his　face。　〃that　awful　thing；　a　womans　memory！〃　as　lord　henry　had　once　said。

after　he　had　drunk　his　cup　of　black　coffee；　he　wiped　his　lips　slowly　with　a　napkin；　motioned　to　his　servant　to　wait；　and　going　over　to　the　table；　sat　down　and　wrote　two　letters。　one　he　put　in　his　pocket；　the　other　he　handed　to　the　valet。

〃take　this　round　to　152；　hertford　street；　francis；　and　if　mr。　campbell　is　out　of　town；　get　his　address。〃

as　soon　as　he　was　alone；　he　lit　a　cigarette　and　began　sketching　upon　a　piece　of　paper；　drawing　first　flowers　and　bits　of　architecture；　and　then　human　faces。　suddenly　he　remarked　that　every　face　that　he　drew　seemed　to　have　a　fantastic　likeness　to　basil　hallward。　he　frowned；　and　getting　up；　went　over　to　the　book…case　and　took　out　a　volume　at　hazard。　he　was　determined　that　he　would　not　think　about　what　had　happened　until　it　became　absolutely　necessary　that　he　should　do　so。

when　he　had　stretched　himself　on　the　sofa；　he　looked　at　the　title…page　of　the　book。　it　was　gautiers　emaux　et　camees；　charpentiers　japanese…paper　edition；　with　the　jacquemart　etching。　the　binding　was　of　citron…green　leather；　with　a　design　of　gilt　trellis…work　and　dotted　pomegranates。　it　had　been　given　to　him　by　adrian　singleton。　as　he　turned　over　the　pages；　his　eye　fell　on　the　poem　about　the　hand　of　lacenaire；　the　cold　yellow　hand　〃du　supplice　encore　mal　lav茅：e；〃　with　its　downy　red　hairs　and　its　〃doigts　de　faune。〃　he　glanced　at　his　own　white　taper　fingers；　shuddering　slightly　in　spite　of　himself；　and　passed　on；　till　he　came　to　those　lovely　stanzas　upon　venice：

sur　une　gamme　chromatique；

le　sein　de　peries　ruisselant；

la　v茅nus　de　ladriatique

sort　de　leau　son　corps　rose　et　blanc。

les　d？mes；　sur　lazur　des　ondes

suivant　la　phrase　au　pur　contour；

senflent　me　des　gorges　rondes

que　soul猫ve　un　soupir　damour。

lesquif　aborde　et　me　d茅pose；

jetant　son　amarre　au　pilier；

devant　une　fa？ade　rose；

sur　le　marbre　dun　escalier。　

how　exquisite　they　were！　as　one　read　them；　one　seemed　to　be　floating　down　the　green　water…ways　of　the　pink　and　pearl　city；　seated　in　a　black　gondola　with　silver　prow　and　trailing　curtains。　the　mere　lines　looked　to　him　like　those　straight　lines　of　turquoise…blue　that　follow　one　as　one　pushes　out　to　the　lido。　the　sudden　flashes　of　colour　reminded　him　of　the　gleam　of　the　opal…and…iris…throated　birds　that　flutter　round　the　tall　honeybed　campanile；　or　stalk；　with　such　stately　grace；　through　the　dim；　dust…stained　arcades。　leaning　back　with　half…closed　eyes；　he　kept　saying　over　and　over　to　himself：

devant　une　fa？ade　rose；

sur　le　marbre　dun　escalier。　

the　whole　of　venice　was　in　those　two　lines。　he　remembered　the　autumn　that　he　had　passed　there；　and　a　wonderful　love　that　had　stirred　him　to　mad　delightful　follies。　there　was　romance　in　every　place。　but　venice；　like　oxford；　had　kept　the　background　for　romance；　and；　to　the　true　romantic；　background　was　everything；　or　almost　everything。　basil　had　been　with　him　part　of　the　time；　and　had　gone　wild　over　tintoret。　poor　basil！　what　a　horrible　way　for　a　man　to　die！

he　sighed；　and　took　up　the　volume　again；　and　tried　to　forget。　he　read　of　the　swallows　that　fly　in　and　out　of　the　little　cafe　at　smyrna　where　the　hadjis　sit　counting　their　amber　beads　and　the　turbaned　merchants　smoke　their　long　tasselled　pipes　and　talk　gravely　to　each　other；　he　read　of　the　obelisk　in　the　place　de　la　concorde　that　weeps　tears　of　granite　in　its　lonely　sunless　exile　and　longs　to　be　back　by　the　hot；　lotus…covered　nile；　where　there　are　sphinxes；　and　rose…red　ibises；　and　white　vultures　with　gilded　claws；　and　crocodiles　with　small　beryl　eyes　that　crawl　over　the　green　steaming　mud；　he　began　to　brood　over　those　verses　which；　drawing　music　from　kiss…stained　marble；　tell　of　that　curious　statue　that　gautier　pares　to　a　contralto　voice；　the　〃monstre　charmant〃　that　couches　in　the　porphyry…room　of　the　louvre。　but　after　a　time　the　book　fell　from　his　hand。　he　grew　nervous；　and　a　horrible　fit　of　terror　came　over　him。　what　if　alan　campbell　should　be　out　of　england？　days　would　elapse　before　he　could　e　back。　perhaps　he　might　refuse　to　e。　what　could　he　do　then？　every　moment　was　of　vital　importance。

they　had　been　great　friends　once；　five　years　before　almost　inseparable；　indeed。　then　the　intimacy　had　e　suddenly　to　an　end。　when　they　met　in　society　now；　it　was　only　dorian　gray　who　smiled：　alan　campbell　never　did。

he　was　an　extremely　clever　young　man；　though　he　had　no　real　appreciation　of　the　visible　arts；　and　whatever　little　sense　of　the　beauty　of　poetry　he　possessed　he　had　gained　entirely　from　dorian。　his　dominant　intellectual　passion　was　for　science。　at　cambridge　he　had　spent　a　great　deal　of　his　time　working　in　the　laboratory；　and　had　taken　a　good　class　in　the　natural　science　tripos　of　his　year。　indeed；　he　was　still　devoted　to　the　study　of　chemistry；　and　had　a　laboratory　of　his　own　in　which　he　used　to　shut　himself　up　all　day　long；　greatly　to　the　annoyance　of　his　mother；　who　had　set　her　heart　on　his　standing　for　parliament　and　had　a　vague　idea　that　a　chemist　was　a　person　who　made　up　prescript