Quot;The Picture of Dorian Gray", by Oscar Wilde

As soon as it had finished, Dorian Gray rushed behind the scenes into the green-room. When he entered the room, Sibyl Vane looked at him, and an expression of joy came over her. "How badly I acted tonight, Dorian!" she cried. "Horribly!" he answered. "Horribly! It was dreadful. Are you ill? You have no idea what I suffered." "Dorian," she answered, "you should have understood. But you understand now, don't you?" "Understand what?" he asked, angrily. "Why I was so bad tonight. Why I will always be bad. Why I will never act well again." He shrugged his shoulders. "You are ill, I suppose. When you are ill you shouldn't act. You make yourself ridiculous. My friends were bored. I was bored."

"Dorian," she cried, "before I knew you, acting was the one reality of my life. It was only in the theatre that I lived. You came and you freed my soul from prison. You taught me what reality really is. Tonight, for the first time in my life, I saw through the silliness of the empty theatre in which I had always played. You had made me understand what love really is. Oh Dorian, you understand now what it means? Even if I could do it, it would be a crime for me to play at being in love. You have made me see that."

He threw himself down on the sofa and turned away his face. "You have killed my love," he muttered. "You used to stir my imagination. Now I'm not even curious about you. I loved you because you were marvellous, because you were intelligent. You have thrown it all away. You are nothing to me now. I will never see you again. I will never think of you. Without your art you are nothing."

The girl grew white and trembled. "You are not serious, Dorian?" she murmured. "You are acting."

"Acting! I leave that to you. You do it so well," he answered. She moaned and threw herself at his feet. "Dorian, Dorian, don't leave me!" she whispered. I was thinking of you all the time tonight. But I will try, really, I will try. Can't you forgive me for tonight? Don't leave me!" "I am going," he said at last in his calm, clear voice. I can't see you again. You have disappointed me." He turned and left the room. In a few moments he had left the theatre.

When he arrived home, he entered his bedroom. His eye immediately fell upon the portrait Basil Hallward had painted of him and he started back as if in surprise. The face seemed to have changed a little. He could see the lines of cruelty round the mouth as if he had just done some terrible thing. He quickly glanced into a mirror. He couldn't see any lines like that around his red lips. What did it mean? Suddenly he remembered what he had said in Basil Hallward's studio the day the picture had been finished. He had wished that he could remain young, and the portrait grow old; that his own beauty might not disappear, and the face in the picture would show all his passions and his sins. Surely his wish had not come true? Such things were impossible. But, there was the picture, with the touch of cruelty in the mouth.

Cruelty! Had he been cruel? It was the girl's fault, not his. He had dreamed of her as a great artist, had given his love to her because he had thought she was great. Then she had disappointed him. And yet he still felt regret, as he thought of her lying at his feet crying loudly like a little child.

But what about the picture? It held the secret of his life, and told his story. It had taught him to love his own beauty. Would it teach him to hate his own soul? Would he ever look at it again?

Date: 2015-12-11; view: 1456