[...32] "I suppose you have heard the news, Basil?" said Lord Henry on
the following evening, as Hallward was shown into a little private room
at the Bristol where dinner had been laid for three.
"No, Harry," answered Hallward, giving his hat and coat to the bowing
waiter. "What is it? Nothing about politics, I hope? They don't
interest me. There is hardly a single person in the House of Commons
worth painting; though many of them would be the better for a little
whitewashing."
"Dorian Gray is engaged to be married," said Lord Henry, watching him
as he spoke.
Hallward turned perfectly pale, and a curious look flashed for a moment
into his eyes, and then passed away, leaving them dull. "Dorian engaged
to be married!" he cried. "Impossible!"
"It is perfectly true."
"To whom?"
"To some little actress or other."
"I can't believe it. Dorian is far too sensible."
"Dorian is far too wise not to do foolish things now and then, my dear
Basil."
"Marriage is hardly a thing that one can do now and then, Harry," said
Hallward, smiling.
"Except in America. But I didn't say he was married. I said he was
engaged to be married. There is a great difference. I have a distinct
remembrance of being married, but I have no recollection at all of
being engaged. I am inclined to think that I never was engaged."
"But think of Dorian's birth, and position, and wealth. It would be
absurd for him to marry so much beneath him."
"If you want him to marry this girl, tell him that, Basil. He is sure
to do it then. Whenever a man does a thoroughly stupid thing, it is
always from the noblest motives."
"I hope the girl is good, Harry. I don't want to see Dorian tied to
some vile creature, who might degrade his nature and ruin his
intellect."
"Oh, she is more than good--she is beautiful," murmured Lord Henry,
sipping a glass of vermouth and orange-bitters. "Dorian says she is
beautiful; and he is not often wrong about things of that kind. [33]
Your portrait of him has quickened his appreciation of the personal
appearance of other people. It has had that excellent effect, among
others. We are to see her to-night, if that boy doesn't forget his
appointment."
"But do you approve of it, Harry?" asked Hallward, walking up and down
the room, and biting his lip. "You can't approve of it, really. It is
some silly infatuation."
"I never approve, or disapprove, of anything now. It is an absurd
attitude to take towards life. We are not sent into the world to air
our moral prejudices. I never take any notice of what common people
say, and I never interfere with what charming people do. If a
personality fascinates me, whatever the personality chooses to do is
absolutely delightful to me. Dorian Gray falls in love with a
beautiful girl who acts Shakespeare, and proposes to marry her. Why
not? If he wedded Messalina he would be none the less interesting. You
know I am not a champion of marriage. The real drawback to marriage is
that it makes one unselfish. And unselfish people are colorless. They
lack individuality. Still, there are certain temperaments that
marriage makes more complex. They retain their egotism, and add to it
many other egos. They are forced to have more than one life. They
become more highly organized. Besides, every experience is of value,
and, whatever one may say against marriage, it is certainly an
experience. I hope that Dorian Gray will make this girl his wife,
passionately adore her for six months, and then suddenly become
fascinated by some one else. He would be a wonderful study."
"You don't mean all that, Harry; you know you don't. If Dorian Gray's
life were spoiled, no one would be sorrier than yourself. You are much
better than you pretend to be."
Lord Henry laughed. "The reason we all like to think so well of others
is that we are all afraid for ourselves. The basis of optimism is
sheer terror. We think that we are generous because we credit our
neighbor with those virtues that are likely to benefit ourselves. We
praise the banker that we may overdraw our account, and find good
qualities in the highwayman in the hope that he may spare our pockets.
I mean everything that I have said. I have the greatest contempt for
optimism. And as for a spoiled life, no life is spoiled but one whose
growth is arrested. If you want to mar a nature, you have merely to
reform it. But here is Dorian himself. He will tell you more than I
can."
"My dear Harry, my dear Basil, you must both congratulate me!" said the
boy, throwing off his evening cape with its satin-lined wings, and
shaking each of his friends by the hand in turn. "I have never been so
happy. Of course it is sudden: all really delightful things are. And
yet it seems to me to be the one thing I have been looking for all my
life." He was flushed with excitement and pleasure, and looked
extraordinarily handsome.
"I hope you will always be very happy, Dorian," said Hallward, "but I
don't quite forgive you for not having let me know of your engagement.
You let Harry know."
"And I don't forgive you for being late for dinner," broke in Lord [34]
Henry, putting his hand on the lad's shoulder, and smiling as he spoke.
"Come, let us sit down and try what the new chef here is like, and then
you will tell us how it all came about."
"There is really not much to tell," cried Dorian, as they took their
seats at the small round table. "What happened was simply this. After
I left you yesterday evening, Harry, I had some dinner at that curious
little Italian restaurant in Rupert Street, you introduced me to, and
went down afterwards to the theatre. Sibyl was playing Rosalind. Of
course the scenery was dreadful, and the Orlando absurd. But Sibyl!
You should have seen her! When she came on in her boy's dress she was
perfectly wonderful. She wore a moss-colored velvet jerkin with
cinnamon sleeves, slim brown cross-gartered hose, a dainty little green
cap with a hawk's feather caught in a jewel, and a hooded cloak lined
with dull red. She had never seemed to me more exquisite. She had all
the delicate grace of that Tanagra figurine that you have in your
studio, Basil. Her hair clustered round her face like dark leaves
round a pale rose. As for her acting--well, you will see her to-night.
She is simply a born artist. I sat in the dingy box absolutely
enthralled. I forgot that I was in London and in the nineteenth
century. I was away with my love in a forest that no man had ever
seen. After the performance was over I went behind, and spoke to her.
As we were sitting together, suddenly there came a look into her eyes
that I had never seen there before. My lips moved towards hers. We
kissed each other. I can't describe to you what I felt at that moment.
It seemed to me that all my life had been narrowed to one perfect point
of rose-colored joy. She trembled all over, and shook like a white
narcissus. Then she flung herself on her knees and kissed my hands. I
feel that I should not tell you all this, but I can't help it. Of
course our engagement is a dead secret. She has not even told her own
mother. I don't know what my guardians will say. Lord Radley is sure
to be furious. I don't care. I shall be of age in less than a year,
and then I can do what I like. I have been right, Basil, haven't I, to
take my love out of poetry, and to find my wife in Shakespeare's plays?
Lips that Shakespeare taught to speak have whispered their secret in my
ear. I have had the arms of Rosalind around me, and kissed Juliet on
the mouth."
"Yes, Dorian, I suppose you were right," said Hallward, slowly.
"Have you seen her to-day?" asked Lord Henry.
Dorian Gray shook his head. "I left her in the forest of Arden, I
shall find her in an orchard in Verona."
Lord Henry sipped his champagne in a meditative manner. "At what
particular point did you mention the word marriage, Dorian? and what
did she say in answer? Perhaps you forgot all about it."
"My dear Harry, I did not treat it as a business transaction, and I did
not make any formal proposal. I told her that I loved her, and she
said she was not worthy to be my wife. Not worthy! Why, the whole
world is nothing to me compared to her."
"Women are wonderfully practical," murmured Lord Henry,--"much more
practical than we are. In situations of that kind we often forget to
say anything about marriage, and they always remind us."
[35] Hallward laid his hand upon his arm. "Don't, Harry. You have
annoyed Dorian. He is not like other men. He would never bring misery
upon any one. His nature is too fine for that."
Lord Henry looked across the table. "Dorian is never annoyed with me,"
he answered. "I asked the question for the best reason possible, for
the only reason, indeed, that excuses one for asking any
question,--simple curiosity. I have a theory that it is always the
women who propose to us, and not we who propose to the women, except,
of course, in middle-class life. But then the middle classes are not
modern."
Dorian Gray laughed, and tossed his head. "You are quite incorrigible,
Harry; but I don't mind. It is impossible to be angry with you. When
you see Sibyl Vane you will feel that the man who could wrong her would
be a beast without a heart. I cannot understand how any one can wish
to shame what he loves. I love Sibyl Vane. I wish to place her on a
pedestal of gold, and to see the world worship the woman who is mine.
What is marriage? An irrevocable vow. And it is an irrevocable vow
that I want to take. Her trust makes me faithful, her belief makes me
good. When I am with her, I regret all that you have taught me. I
become different from what you have known me to be. I am changed, and
the mere touch of Sibyl Vane's hand makes me forget you and all your
wrong, fascinating, poisonous, delightful theories."
"You will always like me, Dorian," said Lord Henry. "Will you have
some coffee, you fellows?--Waiter, bring coffee, and fine-champagne,
and some cigarettes. No: don't mind the cigarettes; I have
some.--Basil, I can't allow you to smoke cigars. You must have a
cigarette. A cigarette is the perfect type of a perfect pleasure. It
is exquisite, and it leaves one unsatisfied. What more can you
want?--Yes, Dorian, you will always be fond of me. I represent to you
all the sins you have never had the courage to commit."
"What nonsense you talk, Harry!" cried Dorian Gray, lighting his
cigarette from a fire-breathing silver dragon that the waiter had
placed on the table. "Let us go down to the theatre. When you see
Sibyl you will have a new ideal of life. She will represent something
to you that you have never known."
"I have known everything," said Lord Henry, with a sad look in his
eyes, "but I am always ready for a new emotion. I am afraid that there
is no such thing, for me at any rate. Still, your wonderful girl may
thrill me. I love acting. It is so much more real than life. Let us
go. Dorian, you will come with me.--I am so sorry, Basil, but there is
only room for two in the brougham. You must follow us in a hansom."
They got up and put on their coats, sipping their coffee standing.
Hallward was silent and preoccupied. There was a gloom over him. He
could not bear this marriage, and yet it seemed to him to be better
than many other things that might have happened. After a few moments,
they all passed down-stairs. He drove off by himself, as had been
arranged, and watched the flashing lights of the little brougham in
front of him. A strange sense of loss came over him. [36] He felt that
Dorian Gray would never again be to him all that he had been in the
past. His eyes darkened, and the crowded flaring streets became
blurred to him. When the cab drew up at the doors of the theatre, it
seemed to him that he had grown years older.