道林格雷的画像_奥斯卡·王尔德-第36部分

按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！



〃to　cure　the　soul　by　means　of　the　senses；　and　the　senses　by　means　of　the　soul！〃　how　the　words　rang　in　his　ears！　his　soul；　certainly；　was　sick　to　death。　was　it　true　that　the　senses　could　cure　it？　innocent　blood　had　been　spilled。　what　could　atone　for　that？　ah！　for　that　there　was　no　atonement；　but　though　forgiveness　was　impossible；　forgetfulness　was　possible　still；　and　he　was　determined　to　forget；　to　stamp　the　thing　out；　to　crush　it　as　one　would　crush　the　adder　that　had　stung　one。　indeed；　what　right　had　basil　to　have　spoken　to　him　as　he　had　done？　who　had　made　him　a　judge　over　others？　he　had　said　things　that　were　dreadful；　horrible；　not　to　be　endured。

on　and　on　plodded　the　hansom；　going　slower；　it　seemed　to　him；　at　each　step。　he　thrust　up　the　trap　and　called　to　the　man　to　drive　faster。　the　hideous　hunger　for　opium　began　to　gnaw　at　him。　his　throat　burned　and　his　delicate　hands　twitched　nervously　together。　he　struck　at　the　horse　madly　with　his　stick。　the　driver　laughed　and　whipped　up。　he　laughed　in　answer；　and　the　man　was　silent。

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