《道林格雷的画像》第16章

you　had　said　to　me　on　that　wonderful　evening　when　we　first　dined　together；　about　the　search　for　beauty　being　the　real　secret　of　life。　i　dont　know　what　i　expected；　but　i　went　out　and　wandered　eastward；　soon　losing　my　way　in　a　labyrinth　of　grimy　streets　and　black　grassless　squares。　about　half…past　eight　i　passed　by　an　absurd　little　theatre；　with　great　flaring　gas…jets　and　gaudy　play…bills。　a　hideous　jew；　in　the　most　amazing　waistcoat　i　ever　beheld　in　my　life；　was　standing　at　the　entrance；　smoking　a　vile　cigar。　he　had　greasy　ringlets；　and　an　enormous　diamond　blazed　in　the　centre　of　a　soiled　shirt。have　a　box；　my　lord？　he　said；　when　he　saw　me；　and　he　took　off　his　hat　with　an　air　of　gorgeous　servility。　there　was　something　about　him；　harry；　that　amused　me。　he　was　such　a　monster。　you　will　laugh　at　me；　i　know；　but　i　really　went　in　and　paid　a　whole　guinea　for　the　stage…box。　to　the　present　day　i　cant　make　out　why　i　did　so；　and　yet　if　i　hadnt……　my　dear　harry；　if　i　hadnt……i　should　have　missed　the　greatest　romance　of　my　life。　i　see　you　are　laughing。　it　is　horrid　of　you！〃
〃i　am　not　laughing；　dorian；　at　least　i　am　not　laughing　at　you。　but　you　should　not　say　the　greatest　romance　of　your　life。　you　should　say　the　first　romance　of　your　life。　you　will　always　be　loved；　and　you　will　always　be　in　love　with　love。　a　grande　passion　is　the　privilege　of　people　who　have　nothing　to　do。　that　is　the　one　use　of　the　idle　classes　of　a　country。　dont　be　afraid。　there　are　exquisite　things　in　store　for　you。　this　is　merely　the　beginning。〃
〃do　you　think　my　nature　so　shallow？〃　cried　dorian　gray　angrily。
〃no；　i　think　your　nature　so　deep。〃
〃how　do　you　mean？〃
〃my　dear　boy；　the　people　who　love　only　once　in　their　lives　are　really　the　shallow　people。　what　they　call　their　loyalty；　and　their　fidelity；　i　call　either　the　lethargy　of　custom　or　their　lack　of　imagination。　faithfulness　is　to　the　emotional　life　what　consistency　is　to　the　life　of　the　intellect……simply　a　confession　of　failure。　faithfulness！　i　must　analyse　it　some　day。　the　passion　for　property　is　in　it。　there　are　many　things　that　we　would　throw　away　if　we　were　not　afraid　that　others　might　pick　them　up。　but　i　dont　want　to　interrupt　you。　go　on　with　your　story。〃
〃well；　i　found　myself　seated　in　a　horrid　little　private　box；　with　a　vulgar　drop…scene　staring　me　in　the　face。　i　looked　out　from　behind　the　curtain　and　surveyed　the　house。　it　was　a　tawdry　affair；　all　cupids　and　cornucopias；　like　a　third…rate　wedding…cake。　the　gallery　and　pit　were　fairly　full；　but　the　two　rows　of　dingy　stalls　were　quite　empty；　and　there　was　hardly　a　person　in　what　i　suppose　they　called　the　dress…circle。　women　went　about　with　oranges　and　ginger…beer；　and　there　was　a　terrible　consumption　of　nuts　going　on。〃
〃it　must　have　been　just　like　the　palmy　days　of　the　british　drama。〃
〃just　like；　i　should　fancy；　and　very　depressing。　i　began　to　wonder　what　on　earth　i　should　do　when　i　caught　sight　of　the　play…bill。　what　do　you　think　the　play　was；　harry？〃
〃i　should　think　the　idiot　boy；　or　dumb　but　innocent。　our　fathers　used　to　like　that　sort　of　piece；　i　believe。　the　longer　i　live；　dorian；　the　more　keenly　i　feel　that　whatever　was　good　enough　for　our　fathers　is　not　good　enough　for　us。　in　art；　as　in　politics；　les　grandpères　ont　toujours　tort。〃
〃this　play　was　good　enough　for　us；　harry。　it　was　romeo　and　juliet。　i　must　admit　that　i　was　rather　annoyed　at　the　idea　of　seeing　shakespeare　done　in　such　a　wretched　hole　of　a　place。　still；　i　felt　interested；　in　a　sort　of　way。　at　any　rate；　i　determined　to　wait　for　the　first　act。　there　was　a　dreadful　orchestra；　presided　over　by　a　young　hebrew　who　sat　at　a　cracked　piano；　that　nearly　drove　me　away；　but　at　last　the　drop…scene　was　drawn　up　and　the　play　began。　romeo　was　a　stout　elderly　gentleman；　with　corked　eyebrows；　a　husky　tragedy　voice；　and　a　figure　like　a　beer…barrel。　mercutio　was　almost　as　bad。　he　was　played　by　the　low…edian；　who　had　introduced　gags　of　his　own　and　was　on　most　friendly　terms　with　the　pit。　they　were　both　as　grotesque　as　the　scenery；　and　that　looked　as　if　it　had　e　out　of　a　country…booth。　but　juliet！　harry；　imagine　a　girl；　hardly　seventeen　years　of　age；　with　a　little；　flowerlike　face；　a　small　greek　head　with　plaited　coils　of　dark…brown　hair；　eyes　that　were　violet　wells　of　passion；　lips　that　were　like　the　petals　of　a　rose。　she　was　the　loveliest　thing　i　had　ever　seen　in　my　life。　you　said　to　me　once　that　pathos　left　you　unmoved；　but　that　beauty；　mere　beauty；　could　fill　your　eyes　with　tears。　i　tell　you；　harry；　i　could　hardly　see　this　girl　for　the　mist　of　tears　that　came　across　me。　and　her　voice……i　never　heard　such　a　voice。　it　was　very　low　at　first；　with　deep　mellow　notes　that　seemed　to　fall　singly　upon　ones　ear。　then　it　became　a　little　louder；　and　sounded　like　a　flute　or　a　distant　hautboy。　in　the　garden…scene　it　had　all　the　tremulous　ecstasy　that　one　hears　just　before　dawn　when　nightingales　are　singing。　there　were　moments；　later　on；　when　it　had　the　wild　passion　of　violins。　you　know　how　a　voice　can　stir　one。　your　voice　and　the　voice　of　sibyl　vane　are　two　things　that　i　shall　never　forget。　when　i　close　my　eyes；　i　hear　them；　and　each　of　them　says　something　different。　i　dont　know　which　to　follow。　why　should　i　not　love　her？　harry；　i　do　love　her。　she　is　everything　to　me　in　life。　night　after　night　i　go　to　see　her　play。　one　evening　she　is　rosalind；　and　the　next　evening　she　is　imogen。　i　have　seen　her　die　in　the　gloom　of　an　italian　tomb；　sucking　the　poison　from　her　lovers　lips。　i　have　watched　her　wandering　through　the　forest　of　arden；　disguised　as　a　pretty　boy　in　hose　and　doublet　and　dainty　cap。　she　has　been　mad；　and　has　e　into　the　presence　of　a　guilty　king；　and　given　him　rue　to　wear　and　bitter　herbs　to　taste　of。　she　has　been　innocent；　and　the　black　hands　of　jealousy　have　crushed　her　reedlike　throat。　i　have　seen　her　in　every　age　and　in　every　costume。　ordinary　women　never　appeal　to　ones　imagination。　they　are　limited　to　their　century。　no　glamour　ever　transfigures　them。　one　knows　their　minds　as　easily　as　one　knows　their　bonnets。　one　can　always　find　them。　there　is　no　mystery　in　any　of　them。　they　ride　in　the　park　in　the　morning　and　chatter　at　tea…parties　in　the　afternoon。　they　have　their　stereotyped　smile　and