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； a reed through which shakespeares music sounded richer and more full of joy。 the moment she touched actual life； she marred it； and it marred her； and so she passed away。 mourn for ophelia； if you like。 put ashes on your head because cordelia was strangled。 cry out against heaven because the daughter of brabantio died。 but dont waste your tears over sibyl vane。 she was less real than they are。〃
there was a silence。 the evening darkened in the room。 noiselessly； and with silver feet； the shadows crept in from the garden。 the colours faded wearily out of things。
after some time dorian gray looked up。 〃you have explained me to myself； harry；〃 he murmured with something of a sigh of relief。 〃i felt all that you have said； but somehow i was afraid of it； and i could not express it to myself。 how well you know me！ but we will not talk again of what has happened。 it has been a marvellous experience。 that is all。 i wonder if life has still in store for me anything as marvellous。〃
〃life has everything in store for you； dorian。 there is nothing that you； with your extraordinary good looks； will not be able to do。〃
〃but suppose； harry； i became haggard； and old； and wrinkled？ what then？〃
〃ah； then；〃 said lord henry； rising to go； 〃then； my dear dorian； you would have to fight for your victories。 as it is； they are brought to you。 no； you must keep your good looks。 we live in an age that reads too much to be wise； and that thinks too much to be beautiful。 we cannot spare you。 and now you had better dress and drive down to the club。 we are rather late； as it is。〃
〃i think i shall join you at the opera； harry。 i feel too tired to eat anything。 what is the number of your sisters box？〃
〃twenty…seven； i believe。 it is on the grand tier。 you will see her name on the door。 but i am sorry you wont e and dine。〃
〃i dont feel up to it；〃 said dorian listlessly。 〃but i am awfully obliged to you for all that you have said to me。 you are certainly my best friend。 no one has ever understood me as you have。〃
〃we are only at the beginning of our friendship； dorian；〃 answered lord henry； shaking him by the hand。 〃good…bye。 i shall see you before nine…thirty； i hope。 remember； patti is singing。〃
as he closed the door behind him； dorian gray touched the bell； and in a few minutes victor appeared with the lamps and drew the blinds down。 he waited impatiently for him to go。 the man seemed to take an interminable time over everything。
as soon as he had left； he rushed to the screen and drew it back。 no； there was no further change in the picture。 it had received the news of sibyl vanes death before he had known of it himself。 it was conscious of the events of life as they occurred。 the vicious cruelty that marred the fine lines of the mouth had； no doubt； appeared at the very moment that the girl had drunk the poison； whatever it was。 or was it indifferent to results？ did it merely take cognizance of what passed within the soul？ he wondered； and hoped that some day he would see the change taking place before his very eyes； shuddering as he hoped it。
poor sibyl！ what a romance it had all been！ she had often mimicked death on the stage。 then death himself had touched her and taken her with him。 how had she played that dreadful last scene？ had she cursed him； as she died？ no； she had died for love of him； and love would always be a sacrament to him now。 she had atoned for everything by the sacrifice she had made of her life。 he would not think any more of what she had made him go through； on that horrible night at the theatre。 when he thought of her； it would be as a wonderful tragic figure sent on to the worlds stage to show the supreme reality of love。 a wonderful tragic figure？ tears came to his eyes as he remembered her childlike look； and winsome fanciful ways； and shy tremulous grace。 he brushed them away hastily and looked again at the picture。
he felt that the time had really e for making his choice。 or had his choice already been made？ yes； life had decided that for himlife； and his own infinite curiosity about life。 eternal youth； infinite passion； pleasures subtle and secret； wild joys and wilder sinshe was to have all these things。 the portrait was to bear the burden of his shame： that was all。
a feeling of pain crept over him as he thought of the desecration that was in store for the fair face on the canvas。 once； in boyish mockery of narcissus； he had kissed； or feigned to kiss； those painted lips that now smiled so cruelly at him。 morning after morning he had sat before the portrait wondering at its beauty； almost enamoured of it； as it seemed to him at times。 was it to alter now with every mood to which he yielded？ was it to bee a monstrous and loathsome thing； to be hidden away in a locked room； to be shut out from the sunlight that had so often touched to brighter gold the waving wonder of its hair？ the pity of it！ the pity of it！
for a moment； he thought of praying that the horrible sympathy that existed between him and the picture might cease。 it had changed in answer to a prayer； perhaps in answer to a prayer it might remain unchanged。 and yet； who； that knew anything about life； would surrender the chance of remaining always young； however fantastic that chance might be； or with what fateful consequences it might be fraught？ besides； was it really under his control？ had it indeed been prayer that had produced the substitution？ might there not be some curious scientific reason for it all？ if thought could exercise its influence upon a living organism； might not thought exercise an influence upon dead and inorganic things？ nay； without thought or conscious desire； might not things external to ourselves vibrate in unison with our moods and passions； atom calling to atom in secret love or strange affinity？ but the reason was of no importance。 he would never again tempt by a prayer any terrible power。 if the picture was to alter； it was to alter。 that was all。 why inquire too closely into it？
for there would be a real pleasure in watching it。 he would be able to follow his mind into its secret places。 this portrait would be to him the most magical of mirrors。 as it had revealed to him his own body； so it would reveal to him his own soul。 and when winter came upon it； he would still be standing where spring trembles on the verge of summer。 when the blood crept from its face； and left behind a pallid mask of chalk with leaden eyes； he would keep the glamour of boyhood。 not one blossom of his loveliness would ever fade。 not one pulse of his life would ever weaken。 like the gods of the greeks； he would be strong； and fleet； and joyous。 what did it matter what happened to the coloured image on the canvas？ he would be safe。 that was everything。
he drew the screen back into its former place in front of the picture； smiling as he did so； and passed into his bedroom； where his valet was already waiting for him。 an hour later he was at the opera； and lord henry was leaning over his chair。
Chapter 9
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chapter 9
as he was sitting at breakfast next morning； basil hallward was shown into the room。
〃i am so glad i have found you； dorian；〃 he said gravely。 〃i called last night； and they told me you were at the opera。 of course； i knew that was impossible。 but i wish you had left word where you had really gone to。 i passed a dreadful evening； half afraid that one tragedy might be followed by another。 i think you might have telegraphed for me when you heard of it first。 i read of it quite by chance in a late edition of the globe that i picked up at the club。 i came here at once and was miserable at not finding you。 i cant tell you how heart…broken i am about the whole thing。 i know what you must suffer。 but where were you？ did you go down and see the girls mother？ for a moment i thought of following you there。 they gave the address in the paper。 somewhere in the euston road； isnt it？ but i was afraid of intruding upon a sorrow that i could not lighten。 poor woman！ what a state she must be in！ and her only child； too！ what did she say about it all？〃
〃my dear basil； how do i know？〃 murmured dorian gray； sipping some pale…yellow wine from a delicate； gold…beaded bubble of venetian glass and looking dreadfully bored。 〃i was at the opera。 you should have e on there。 i met lady gwendolen； harrys sister； for the first time。 we were in her box。 she is perfectly charming； and patti sang divinely。 dont talk about horrid subjects。 if one doesnt talk about a thing； it has never happened。 it is simply expression； as harry says； that gives reality to things。 i may mention that she was not the womans only child。 there is a son； a charming fellow； i believe。 but he is not on the stage。 he is a sailor； or something。 and now； tell me about yourself and what you are painting。〃
〃you went to the opera？〃 said hallward； speaking very slowly and with a strained touch of pain in his voice。 〃you went to the opera while sibyl vane was lying dead in some sordid lodging？ you can talk to me of other women being charming； and of patti singing divinely； before the girl you loved has even the quiet of a grave to sleep in？ why； man； there are horrors in store for that little white body of hers！〃
〃stop； basil！ i wont hear it！〃 cried dorian； leaping to his feet。 〃you must not tell me about things。 what is done is done。 what is past is past。〃
〃you call yesterday the past？〃
〃what has the actual lapse of time got to do with it？ it is only shallow people who require years to get rid of an emotion。 a man who is master of himself can end a sorrow as easily as he can invent a pleasure。 i dont want to be at the mercy of my emotions。 i want to use them； to enjoy them； and to dominate them。〃
〃dorian； this is horrible！ something has changed you pletely。 you look exactly the same wonderful boy who； day after day； used to e down to my studio to sit for his picture。 but you were simple； natural； and affectionate then。 you were the most unspoiled creature in the whole world。 now； i dont know what has e over you。 you talk as if you had no heart； no pity in you。 it is all harrys influence。 i see that。〃
the lad flushed up and； going to the window； looked out for a few moments on the green； flickering； sun…lashed garden。 〃i owe a great deal to harry； basil；〃 he said at last； 〃more than i owe to you。 you only taught me to be vain。〃
〃well； i am punished for that； dorianor shall be some day。〃
〃i dont know what you mean； basil；〃 he exclaimed； turning round。 〃i dont know what you want。 what do you want？〃
〃i want the dorian gray i used to paint；〃 said the artist sadly。
〃basil；〃 said the lad； going over to him and putting his hand on his shoulder； 〃you have e too late。 yesterday； when i heard that sibyl vane had killed herself〃
〃killed herself！ good heavens！ is there no doubt about that？〃 cried hallward； looking up at him with an expression of horror。
〃my dear basil！ surely you dont think it was a vulgar accident？ of course she killed herself。〃
the elder man buried his face in his hands。 〃how fearful；〃 he muttered； and a shudder ran through him。
〃no；〃 said dorian gray； 〃there is nothing fearful about it。 it is one of the great romantic tragedies of the age。 as a rule； people who act lead the most monplace lives。 they are good husbands； or faithful wives； or something tedious。 you know what i meanmiddle…class virtue and all that kind of thing。 how different sibyl was！ she lived her finest tragedy。 she was always a heroine。 the last night she played the night you saw hershe acted badly because she had known the reality of love。 when she knew its unreality； she died； as juliet might have died。 she passed again into the sphere of art。 there is something of the martyr about her。 her death has all the pathetic uselessness of martyrdom； all its wasted beauty。 but； as i was saying； you must not think i have not suffered。 if you had e in yesterday at a particular moment about half…past five； perhaps； or a quarter to six you would have found me in tears。 even harry； who was here； who brought me the news； in fact； had no idea what i was going through。 i suffered immensely。 then it passed away。 i cannot repeat an emotion。 no one can； except sentimentalists。 and you are awfully unjust； basil。 you e down here to console me。 that is charming of you。 you find me consoled； and you are furious。 how like a sympathetic person！ you remind me of a story harry told me about a certain philanthropist who spent twenty years of his life in trying to get some grievance redressed； or some unjust law alteredi forget exactly what it was。 finally he succeeded； and nothing could exceed his disappointment。 he had absolutely nothing to do； almost died of ennui； and became a confirmed misanthrope。 and besides； my dear old basil； if you really want to console me； teach me rather to forget what has happened； or to see it from a proper artistic point of view。 was it not gautier who used to write about la consolation des arts？ i remember picking up a little vellum…covered book in your studio one day and chancing on that delightful phrase。 well； i am not like that young man you told me of when we were down at marlow together； the young man who used to say that yellow satin could console one for all the miseries of life。 i love beautiful things th