The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde (motivational books for men TXT) 📕

same look of pity came into Dorian’s eyes, then he stretched out his hand, took a piece of paper, and wrote something on it. He read it over twice, folded it carefully, and pushed it across the table. Having done this, he got up, and went over to the window.

Campbell looked at him in surprise, and then took up the paper, and opened it. As he read it, his face became 225 of 250

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ghastly pale, and he fell back in his chair. A horrible sense of sickness came over him. He felt as if his heart was beating itself to death in some empty hollow.

After two or three minutes of terrible silence, Dorian turned round, and came and stood behind him, putting his hand upon his shoulder.

‘I am so sorry, Alan,’ he murmured, ‘but you leave me no alternative. I have a letter written already. Here it is.

You see the address. If you don’t help me, I must send it.

You know what the result will be. But you are going to help me. It is impossible for you to refuse now. I tried to spare you. You will do me the justice to admit that. You were stern, harsh, offensive. You treated me as no man has ever dared to treat me,—no living man, at any rate. I bore it all. Now it is for me to dictate terms.’

Campbell buried his face in his hands, and a shudder passed through him.

‘Yes, it is my turn to dictate terms, Alan. You know what they are. The thing is quite simple. Come, don’t work yourself into this fever. The thing has to be done.

Face it, and do it.’

A groan broke from Campbell’s lips, and he shivered all over. The ticking of the clock on the mantel-piece seemed to him to be dividing time into separate atoms of agony, 226 of 250

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each of which was too terrible to be borne. He felt as if an iron ring was being slowly tightened round his forehead, and as if the disgrace with which he was threatened had already come upon him. The hand upon his shoulder weighed like a hand of lead. It was intolerable. It seemed to crush him.

‘Come, Alan, you must decide at once.’

He hesitated a moment. ‘Is there a fire in the room up-stairs?’ he murmured.

‘Yes, there is a gas-fire with asbestos.’

‘I will have to go home and get some things from the laboratory.’

‘No, Alan, you need not leave the house. Write on a sheet of note- paper what you want, and my servant will take a cab and bring the things back to you.’

Campbell wrote a few lines, blotted them, and addressed an envelope to his assistant. Dorian took the note up and read it carefully. Then he rang the bell, and gave it to his valet, with orders to return as soon as possible, and to bring the things with him.

When the hall door shut, Campbell started, and, having got up from the chair, went over to the chimney-piece.

He was shivering with a sort of ague. For nearly twenty minutes, neither of the men spoke. A fly buzzed noisily 227 of 250

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about the room, and the ticking of the clock was like the beat of a hammer.

As the chime struck one, Campbell turned around, and, looking at Dorian Gray, saw that his eyes were filled with tears. There was something in the purity and refinement of that sad face that seemed to enrage him. ‘You are infamous, absolutely infamous!’ he muttered.

‘Hush, Alan: you have saved my life,’ said Dorian.

‘Your life? Good heavens! what a life that is! You have gone from corruption to corruption, and now you have culminated in crime. In doing what I am going to do, what you force me to do, it is not of your life that I am thinking.’

‘Ah, Alan,’ murmured Dorian, with a sigh, ‘I wish you had a thousandth part of the pity for me that I have for you.’ He turned away, as he spoke, and stood looking out at the garden. Campbell made no answer.

After about ten minutes a knock came to the door, and the servant entered, carrying a mahogany chest of chemicals, with a small electric battery set on top of it. He placed it on the table, and went out again, returning with a long coil of steel and platinum wire and two rather curiously-shaped iron clamps.

‘Shall I leave the things here, sir?’ he asked Campbell.

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‘Yes,’ said Dorian. ‘And I am afraid, Francis, that I have another errand for you. What is the name of the man at Richmond who supplies Selby with orchids?’

‘Harden, sir.’

‘Yes,—Harden. You must go down to Richmond at once, see Harden personally, and tell him to send twice as many orchids as I ordered, and to have as few white ones as possible. In fact, I don’t want any white ones. It is a lovely day, Francis, and Richmond is a very pretty place, otherwise I wouldn’t bother you about it.’

‘No trouble, sir. At what time shall I be back?’

Dorian looked at Campbell. ‘How long will your experiment take, Alan?’ he said, in a calm, indifferent voice. The presence of a third person in the room seemed to give him extraordinary courage.

Campbell frowned, and bit his lip. ‘It will take about five hours,’ he answered.

‘It will be time enough, then, if you are back at half-past seven, Francis. Or stay: just leave my things out for dressing. You can have the evening to yourself. I am not dining at home, so I shall not want you.’

‘Thank you, sir,’ said the man, leaving the room.

‘Now, Alan, there is not a moment to be lost. How heavy this chest is! I’ll take it for you. You bring the other 229 of 250

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things.’ He spoke rapidly, and in an authoritative manner.

Campbell felt dominated by him. They left the room together.

When they reached the top landing, Dorian took out the key and turned it in the lock. Then he stopped, and a troubled look came into his eyes. He shuddered. ‘I don’t think I can go in, Alan,’ he murmured.

‘It is nothing to me. I don’t require you,’ said Campbell, coldly.

Dorian half opened the door. As he did so, he saw the face of the portrait grinning in the sunlight. On the floor in front of it the torn curtain was lying. He remembered that the night before, for the first time in his life, he had forgotten to hide it, when he crept out of the room.

But what was that loathsome red dew that gleamed, wet and glistening, on one of the hands, as though the canvas had sweated blood? How horrible it was!—more horrible, it seemed to him for the moment, than the silent thing that he knew was stretched across the table, the thing whose grotesque misshapen shadow on the spotted carpet showed him that it had not stirred, but was still there, as he had left it.

He opened the door a little wider, and walked quickly in, with half- closed eyes and averted head, determined 230 of 250

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that he would not look even once upon the dead man.

Then, stooping down, and taking up the gold- and-purple hanging, he flung it over the picture.

He stopped, feeling afraid to turn round, and his eyes fixed themselves on the intricacies of the pattern before him. He heard Campbell bringing in the heavy chest, and the irons, and the other things that he had required for his dreadful work. He began to wonder if he and Basil Hallward had ever met, and, if so, what they had thought of each other.

‘Leave me now,’ said Campbell.

He turned and hurried out, just conscious that the dead man had been thrust back into the chair and was sitting up in it, with Campbell gazing into the glistening yellow face.

As he was going downstairs he heard the key being turned in the lock.

It was long after seven o’clock when Campbell came back into the library. He was pale, but absolutely calm. ‘I have done what you asked me to do,’ he muttered. ‘And now, good-by. Let us never see each other again.’

‘You have saved me from ruin, Alan. I cannot forget that,’ said Dorian, simply.

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As soon as Campbell had left, he went up-stairs. There was a horrible smell of chemicals in the room. But the thing that had been sitting at the table was gone.

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Chapter XIII

‘There is no good telling me you are going to be good, Dorian,’ cried Lord Henry, dipping his white fingers into a red copper bowl filled with rose-water. ‘You are quite perfect. Pray don’t change.’

Dorian shook his head. ‘No, Harry, I have done too many dreadful things in my life. I am not going to do any more. I began my good actions yesterday.’

‘Where were you yesterday?’

‘In the country, Harry. I was staying at a little inn by myself.’

‘My dear boy,’ said Lord Henry smiling, ‘anybody can be good in the country. There are no temptations there.

That is the reason why people who live out of town are so uncivilized. There are only two ways, as you know, of becoming civilized. One is by being cultured, the other is by being corrupt. Country-people have no opportunity of being either, so they stagnate.’

‘Culture and corruption,’ murmured Dorian. ‘I have known something of both. It seems to me curious now that they should ever be found together. For I have a new ideal, Harry. I am going to alter. I think I have altered.’

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‘You have not told me yet what your good action was.

Or did you say you had done more than one?’

‘I can tell you, Harry. It is not a story I could tell to any one else. I spared somebody. It sounds vain, but you understand what I mean. She was quite beautiful, and wonderfully like Sibyl Vane. I think it was that which first attracted me to her. You remember Sibyl, don’t you?

How long ago that seems! Well, Hetty was not one of our own class, of course. She was simply a girl in a village. But I really loved her. I am quite sure that I loved her. All during this wonderful May that we have been having, I used to run down and see her two or three times a week.

Yesterday she met me in a little orchard. The apple-blossoms kept tumbling down on her hair, and she was laughing. We were to have gone away together this morning at dawn. Suddenly I determined to leave her as flower-like as I had found her.’

‘I should think the novelty of the emotion must have given you a thrill of real pleasure, Dorian,’ interrupted Lord Henry. ‘But I can finish your idyl for you. You gave her good advice, and broke her heart. That was the beginning of your reformation.’

‘Harry, you are horrible! You mustn’t say these dreadful things. Hetty’s heart is not broken. Of course she 234 of 250

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cried, and all that. But there is no disgrace upon her. She can live, like Perdita, in her garden.’

‘And weep over a faithless Florizel,’ said Lord Henry, laughing. ‘My dear Dorian, you have the most curious boyish moods. Do you think this girl will ever be really contented now with any one of her own rank? I suppose she will be married some day to a rough carter or a grinning ploughman. Well, having met you, and loved you, will teach her to despise her husband, and she will be wretched. From a moral point of view I really don’t think much of your great renunciation. Even as a beginning, it is poor. Besides,