# ■ 12

It was the ninth of November， the evening before his thirty-eighth birthday． Dorian Gray was walking home from Lord Henry's house when he saw Basil Hallward．He felt strangely afraid and tried to pretend that he had not seen him，but Basil hurried after him．

Dorian！'he called．'What extraordinary luck！I'm catching the midnight train to Paris and I wanted to see you before I left．I'll be away from England for six months．'He put his hand on Dorian's arm．'Look，we're near your house．May I come in for a moment？ I have something to say to you．'

Of course．But won't you miss your train？'asked Dorian lazily，as he walked up the steps to his door．

I have plenty of time．It's only eleven o'clock．'

They went in and sat down by the fire．

Now，my dear Dorian，I want to speak to you seriously，'Basil began．'I must tell you that people in London are saying the most terrible things about you．'

Dorian lit a cigarette and looked bored．'I don't want to know anything about it．It doesn't interest me．'

But it must interest you，Dorian，'said Basil．'Every gentleman is interested in his good name．Of course，when I look at you， I know that these stories can't be true．A man's face shows if his life is good or bad． But why does Lord Berwick leave the room when you enter it？ Why does Lord Staveley say that no honest woman is safe with you？ That young soldier， who was your friend—why did he kill himself？There was Sir Henry Ashton， who had to leave England with a bad name． And what about Lord Kent's son？ What kind of life does he have now？'

Stop，Basil．You don't know what you're talking about，'said Dorian coldly．'Did I teach these people how to live their lives？ And the people who tell these stories—are their lives any better than mine？'

And there are other stories too，'continued Basil．'Are they true？ Can your life really be so bad，so evil？ You were a fine young man once，but now，when I hear these stories，I wonder…Do I know you at all？ What has happened to the real Dorian Gray？ I think I would have to see your soul before I could answer those questions．'

The real Dorian Gray？'asked Dorian quietly， his face white with fear．

Yes，'said the artist sadly．'But only God can see your soul．'

A terrible laugh came from the younger man．'Come，Basil，'he cried．'Come with me！I will show you what only God can see． Why not？It's your own work． You've talked enough about evil．Now you must look at it．'

He took Basil upstairs to the locked room．Inside，he turned to the artist，with smiling lips and cold， hard eyes．'You're the one man in the world who should know my secret．Are you sure that you want to？'

Yes．'

Then uncover that picture， Basil，and you will see my soul．'

A cry of horror came from the artist when he saw the terrible face in the portrait． How could that evil and unlovely face be Dorian Gray's？But yes，it was．He went nearer to the picture．It could not be the portrait that he had painted．But yes， there was his name written in the corner． He turned and looked at Dorian Gray with the eyes of a sick man．

What does this mean？'he asked at last．

When you finished the portrait，'replied Dorian，'I made a wish…'

I remember，yes，'said Basil．'You wished that the picture could become old，and that you could stay young．But this…'He stared again at the picture．'This is impossible．And you told me that you'd destroyed the picture．'

I was wrong．It has destroyed me．'

My God，Dorian！'cried the artist．'If this is true…If this is the face of your soul， then you are more evil than the worst of the stories about you．'He sat down at the table and put his face in his hands．'You must ask God for his help．'

It's too late， Basil．'

It's never too late， Dorian．Look at that terrible face．Look at it！'

Dorian turned and stared at the face in the picture， and suddenly he hated Basil more than he had ever hated anyone in his life．Basil now knew his secret， and had seen the real Dorian Gray．Violent feelings burned inside Dorian．He picked up a knife from the table． Then the hate inside him exploded，and like a wild animal， he ran towards Basil，and dug the knife into the artist's neck，again and again and again．The murdered man's head fell forwards， and the blood ran slowly across the table，and down onto the floor．

Dorian stood and listened． He could hear nothing—only the drip， drip of blood onto the floor． He went to the window and looked down into the street． He felt strangely calm． The friend who had painted his portrait had gone out of his life．That was all．

He locked the door behind him and went quietly downstairs．His servants were all in bed．He sat down and began to think．No one had seen Basil in Dorian's house tonight．Paris．Yes！Basil had gone to Paris， of course， so it would be six months before people asked where he was． Six months！That was more than enough time．

Dorian walked up and down the room． Then he took out a book from his desk and began to search for a name． Alan Campbell．Yes，that was the name that he wanted．

■ 12

11月9日，也就是他38歲生日的前一天晚上，多裡安·格雷正從亨利勳爵家朝自己家走時看見了巴茲爾·霍爾沃德。他奇怪地覺得害怕，就假裝沒看見他。但是巴茲爾在後面緊追。

“多裡安！”他叫道，“太幸運了！我要乘午夜的火車去巴黎，走之前我想見你。我要離開英格蘭半年。”他把手放在多裡安的胳膊上。“瞧，我們離你家不遠了，我可以進去一會兒嗎？我有話對你說。”

“當然可以。你不會誤車嗎？”多裡安順著臺階朝房門口走，他懶洋洋地問。

“我有足夠的時間，現在剛11點。”

他們進屋，坐在爐火旁。

“親愛的多裡安，我現在想認真地對你說一說。”巴茲爾開口了，“我必須告訴你倫敦的人正在談論有關你的最可怕的事情。”

多裡安點燃一支菸，顯得不耐煩。“我不想知道這些事，沒意思。”

“但是你應該關注這些事，多裡安。”巴茲爾說，“每位紳士都關心他的好名聲。當然，我看你時，我就知道這些傳說都不是真的。一個人的臉能顯示他的生活是好還是壞。可為什麼你進房間後貝里克勳爵要離開？為什麼斯特夫利勳爵說沒有一個誠實的女人會安全地和你在一起？那個年輕士兵，你的朋友——他為什麼自殺了？亨利·阿什頓聲名狼藉地離開了英格蘭。還有肯特勳爵的兒子？他現在過著怎樣的生活？”

“住嘴，巴茲爾，你不知道你在說些什麼。”多裡安冷冷地說，“我教這些人如何生活了嗎？講這些事情的人——他們的生活比我的好嗎？”

“還有其它故事。”巴茲爾繼續說，“都是真的嗎？你的生活真的會這麼壞，這麼邪惡？你曾是個很好的年輕人，可是現在，我聽見這些故事時，我想……我瞭解你嗎？真正的多裡安·格雷發生了什麼事？我想我只有看見你的靈魂後才能回答那些問題。”

“真正的多裡安·格雷？”多裡安輕聲地問，他的臉已嚇得發白。

“是的。”畫家痛苦地說，“可只有上帝才能看見你的靈魂。”

年輕點的人發出了可怕的笑聲。“來吧，巴茲爾。”他高聲說，“跟我來！我要帶你看只有上帝才能看見的東西。為什麼不呢？那是你自己的作品。邪惡你講得夠多了，現在你必須看一看。”

他帶著巴茲爾上樓來到鎖著的房間。進屋後，他轉向畫家，嘴脣帶著笑容，眼神冷漠、嚴厲。“你是世界上應該知道我的祕密的人。你確信想知道嗎？”

“是的。”

“那麼掀開畫像，巴茲爾，你會看見我的靈魂。”

畫家看見畫像可怕的臉時發出了恐怖的喊叫。那張邪惡可憎的臉怎麼可能是多裡安·格雷的？可真是的，它是。他又走近畫像，這不可能是他畫的那幅。然而的確是他畫的，畫像的一角寫有他的名字。他轉身用病人似的眼神看著多裡安·格雷。

“這是怎麼回事？”他最後問。

“你完成畫像時，”多裡安答道，“我許了一個願……”

“我記起來了。”巴茲爾說。“你希望畫像會變老，你會永遠年輕。可是這……”他又盯著畫像：“這是不可能的，而且你告訴我你已經把畫像毀了。”

“我錯了，是畫像毀了我。”

“上帝，多裡安！”畫家喊著，“如果這是真的……如果這是你靈魂的臉，那麼你比關於你的最壞的傳說還要邪惡。”他坐在桌旁，手捂住臉。“你必須向上帝乞求幫助。”

“太遲了，巴茲爾。”

“還不晚，多裡安。看那張可怕的臉，看啊！”

多裡安轉身凝視著畫像中的臉，突然他比一生中恨其他的人更恨巴茲爾。巴茲爾現在知道了他的祕密，也看見了真正的多裡安·格雷。強烈的情感在多裡安心中燃燒，他從桌上拿起了一把刀。心中的仇恨爆發了，他像一隻野獸衝向巴茲爾，用刀刺進了畫家的脖子，一刀又一刀。被殺人的頭朝前耷拉下來，鮮血慢慢流到桌子上，又流到地板上。

多裡安站著聽聽動靜，他聽不見任何聲音——只有鮮血流到地板上的嘀嗒聲。他走到窗邊，向下看著街道。他很平靜，這有點奇怪。給他畫像的朋友已經從他的生活裡消失了，僅此而已。

他鎖上身後的門，輕輕走下樓。僕人都在睡覺。他坐下開始思考。今晚沒人看見巴茲爾在多裡安家。巴黎，是的！巴茲爾當然去了巴黎。因此半年後人們才會問起巴茲爾在哪兒。半年！時間足夠了。

多裡安在屋裡踱步。然後他從書桌裡取出一本書，開始找一個名字。艾倫·坎貝爾，是的，這就是他想找的名字。