道林格雷的画像_奥斯卡·王尔德-第40部分
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the way seemed interminable； and the streets like the black web of some sprawling spider。 the monotony became unbearable； and as the mist thickened； he felt afraid。
then they passed by lonely brickfields。 the fog was lighter here； and he could see the strange； bottle…shaped kilns with their orange； fanlike tongues of fire。 a dog barked as they went by； and far away in the darkness some wandering sea…gull screamed。 the horse stumbled in a rut； then swerved aside and broke into a gallop。
after some time they left the clay road and rattled again over rough…paven streets。 most of the windows were dark； but now and then fantastic shadows were silhouetted against some lamplit blind。 he watched them curiously。 they moved like monstrous marionettes and made gestures like live things。 he hated them。 a dull rage was in his heart。 as they turned a corner； a woman yelled something at them from an open door； and two men ran after the hansom for about a hundred yards。 the driver beat at them with his whip。
it is said that passion makes one think in a circle。 certainly with hideous iteration the bitten lips of dorian gray shaped and reshaped those subtle words that dealt with soul and sense； till he had found in them the full expression； as it were； of his mood； and justified； by intellectual approval； passions that without such justification would still have dominated his temper。 from cell to cell of his brain crept the one thought； and the wild desire to live； most terrible of all mans appetites； quickened into force each trembling nerve and fibre。 ugliness that had once been hateful to him because it made things real； became dear to him now for that very reason。 ugliness was the one reality。 the coarse brawl； the loathsome den； the crude violence of disordered life； the very vileness of thief and outcast； were more vivid； in their intense actuality of impression； than all the gracious shapes of art； the dreamy shadows of song。 they were what he needed for forgetfulness。 in three days he would be free。
suddenly the man drew up with a jerk at the top of a dark lane。 over the low roofs and jagged chimney…stacks of the houses rose the black masts of ships。 wreaths of white mist clung like ghostly sails to the yards。
〃somewhere about here； sir； aint it？〃 he asked huskily through the trap。
dorian started and peered round。 〃this will do；〃 he answered； and having got out hastily and given the driver the extra fare he had promised him； he walked quickly in the direction of the quay。 here and there a lantern gleamed at the stern of some huge merchantman。 the light shook and splintered in the puddles。 a red glare came from an outward…bound steamer that was coaling。 the slimy pavement looked like a wet mackintosh。
he hurried on towards the left； glancing back now and then to see if he was being followed。 in about seven or eight minutes he reached a small shabby house that was wedged in between two gaunt factories。 in one of the top…windows stood a lamp。 he stopped and gave a peculiar knock。
after a little time he heard steps in the passage and the chain being unhooked。 the door opened quietly； and he went in without saying a word to the squat misshapen figure that flattened itself into the shadow as he passed。 at the end of the hall hung a tattered green curtain that swayed and shook in the gusty wind which had followed him in from the street。 he dragged it aside and entered a long low room which looked as if it had once been a third…rate dancing…saloon。 shrill flaring gas…jets； dulled and distorted in the fly…blown mirrors that faced them； were ranged round the walls。 greasy reflectors of ribbed tin backed them； making quivering disks of light。 the floor was covered with ochre…coloured sawdust； trampled here and there into mud； and stained with dark rings of spilled liquor。 some malays were crouching by a little charcoal stove； playing with bone counters and showing their white teeth as they chattered。 in one corner； with his head buried in his arms； a sailor sprawled over a table； and by the tawdrily painted bar that ran across one plete side stood two haggard women； mocking an old man who was brushing the sleeves of his coat with an expression of disgust。 〃he thinks hes got red ants on him；〃 laughed one of them； as dorian passed by。 the man looked at her in terror and began to whimper。
at the end of the room there was a little staircase； leading to a darkened chamber。 as dorian hurried up its three rickety steps； the heavy odour of opium met him。 he heaved a deep breath； and his nostrils quivered with pleasure。 when he entered； a young man with smooth yellow hair； who was bending over a lamp lighting a long thin pipe； looked up at him and nodded in a hesitating manner。
〃you here； adrian？〃 muttered dorian。
〃where else should i be？〃 he answered； listlessly。 〃none of the chaps will speak to me now。〃
〃i thought you had left england。〃
〃darlington is not going to do anything。 my brother paid the bill at last。 george doesnt speak to me either。 。 。 。 i dont care；〃 he added with a sigh。 〃as long as one has this stuff； one doesnt want friends。 i think i have had too many friends。〃
dorian winced and looked round at the grotesque things that lay in such fantastic postures on the ragged mattresses。 the twisted limbs； the gaping mouths； the staring lustreless eyes； fascinated him。 he knew in what strange heavens they were suffering； and what dull hells were teaching them the secret of some new joy。 they were better off than he was。 he was prisoned in thought。 memory； like a horrible malady； was eating his soul away。 from time to time he seemed to see the eyes of basil hallward looking at him。 yet he felt he could not stay。 the presence of adrian singleton troubled him。 he wanted to be where no one would know who he was。 he wanted to escape from himself。
〃i am going on to the other place；〃 he said after a pause。
〃on the wharf？〃
〃yes。〃
〃that mad…cat is sure to be there。 they wont have her in this place now。〃
dorian shrugged his shoulders。 〃i am sick of women who love one。 women who hate one are much more interesting。 besides； the stuff is better。〃
〃much the same。〃
〃i like it better。 e and have something to drink。 i must have something。〃
〃i dont want anything；〃 murmured the young man。
〃never mind。〃
adrian singleton rose up wearily and followed dorian to the bar。 a half…caste； in a ragged turban and a shabby ulster； grinned a hideous greeting as he thrust a bottle of brandy and two tumblers in front of them。 the women sidled up and began to chatter。 dorian turned his back on them and said something in a low voice to adrian singleton。
a crooked smile； like a malay crease； writhed across the face of one of the women。 〃we are very proud to…night；〃 she sneered。
〃for gods sake dont talk to me；〃 cried dorian； stamping his foot on the ground。 〃what do you want？ money？ here it is。 dont ever talk to me again。〃
two red sparks flashed for a moment in the womans sodden eyes； then flickered out and left them dull and glazed。 she tossed her head and raked the coins off the counter with greedy fingers。 her panion watched her enviously。
〃its no use；〃 sighed adrian singleton。 〃i dont care to go back。 what does it matter？ i am quite happy here。〃
〃you will write to me if you want anything； wont you？〃 said dorian； after a pause。
〃perhaps。〃
〃good night； then。〃
〃good night；〃 answered the young man； passing up the steps and wiping his parched mouth with a handkerchief。
dorian walked to the door with a look of pain in his face。 as he drew the curtain aside； a hideous laugh broke from the painted lips of the woman who had taken his money。 〃there goes the devils bargain！〃 she hiccoughed； in a hoarse voice。
〃curse you！〃 he answered； 〃dont call me that。〃
she snapped her fingers。 〃prince charming is what you like to be called； aint it？〃 she yelled after him。
the drowsy sailor leaped to his feet as she spoke； and looked wildly round。 the sound of the shutting of the hall door fell on his ear。 he rushed out as if in pursuit。
dorian gray hurried along the quay through the drizzling rain。 his meeting with adrian singleton had strangely moved him； and he wondered if the ruin of that young life was really to be laid at his door； as basil hallward had said to him with such infamy of insult。 he bit his lip； and for a few seconds his eyes grew sad。 yet； after all； what did it matter to him？ ones days were too brief to take the burden of anothers errors on ones shoulders。 each man lived his own life and paid his own price for living it。 the only pity was one had to pay so often for a single fault。 one had to pay over and over again； indeed。 in her dealings with man； destiny never closed her accounts。
there are moments； psychologists tell us； when the passion for sin； or for what the world calls sin； so dominates a nature that every fibre of the body； as every cell of the brain； seems to be instinct with fearful impulses。 men and women at such moments lose the freedom of their will。 they move to their terrible end as automatons move。 choice is taken from them； and conscience is either killed； or； if it lives at all； lives but to give rebellion its fascination and disobedience its charm。 for all sins； a
