Complete Works of Oscar Wilde. Оскар Уайльд
‘Prince Charming,’ she answered, looking after the victoria.
He jumped up, and seized her roughly by the arm. ‘Show him to me. Which is he? Point him out. I must see him!’ he exclaimed; but at that moment the Duke of Berwick’s four-in-hand came between, and when it had left the space clear, the carriage had swept out of the Park.
‘He is gone,’ murmured Sibyl sadly. ‘I wish you had seen him.’
‘I wish I had, for as sure as there is a God in heaven, if he ever does you any wrong I shall kill him.’
She looked at him in horror. He repeated his words. They cut the air like a dagger. The people round began to gape. A lady standing close to her tittered.
‘Come away, Jim; come away,’ she whispered. He followed her doggedly, as she passed through the crowd. He felt glad at what he had said.
When they reached the Achilles Statue she turned round. There was pity in her eyes that became laughter on her lips. She shook her head at him. ‘You are foolish, Jim, utterly foolish; a bad-tempered boy, that is all. How can you say such horrible things? You don’t know what you are talking about. You are simply jealous and unkind. Ah! I wish you would fall in love. Love makes people good, and what you said was wicked!’
‘I am sixteen,’ he answered, ‘and I know what I am about. Mother is no help to you. She doesn’t understand how to look after you. I wish now that I was not going to Australia at all. I have a great mind to chuck the whole thing up. I would, if my articles hadn’t been signed.’
‘Oh, don’t be so serious, Jim. You are like one of the heroes of those silly melodramas mother used to be so fond of acting in. I am not going to quarrel with you. I have seen him, and oh! to see him is perfect happiness. We won’t quarrel. I know you would never harm any one I love, would you?’
‘Not as long as you love him, I suppose,’ was the sullen answer.
‘I shall love him for ever!’ she cried.
‘And he?’
‘For ever, too!’
‘He had better.’
She shrank from him. Then she laughed and put her hand on his arm. He was merely a boy.
At the Marble Arch they hailed an omnibus, which left them close to their shabby home in the Euston Road. It was after five o’clock, and Sibyl had to lie down for a couple of hours before acting. Jim insisted that she should do so. He said that he would sooner part with her when their mother was not present. She would be sure to make a scene, and he detested scenes of every kind.
In Sibyl’s own room they parted. There was jealousy in the lad’s heart, and a fierce, murderous hatred of the stranger who, as it seemed to him, had come between them. Yet, when her arms were flung round his neck, and her fingers strayed through his hair, he softened, and kissed her with real affection. There were tears in his eyes as he went downstairs.
His mother was waiting for him below. She grumbled at his unpunctuality, as he entered. He made no answer, but sat down to his meagre meal. The flies buzzed round the table, and crawled over the stained cloth. Through the rumble of omnibuses, and the clatter of street-cabs, he could hear the droning voice devouring each minute that was left to him.
After some time, he thrust away his plate, and put his head in his hands. He felt that he had a right to know. It should have been told to him before, if it was as he suspected. Leaden with fear, his mother watched him. Words dropped mechanically from her lips. A tattered lace handkerchief twitched in her fingers. When the clock struck six, he got up, and went to the door. Then he turned back, and looked at her. Their eyes met. In hers he saw a wild appeal for mercy. It enraged him.
‘Mother, I have something to ask you,’ he said. Her eyes wandered vaguely about the room. She made no answer. ‘Tell me the truth. I have a right to know. Were you married to my father?’
She heaved a deep sigh. It was a sigh of relief. The terrible moment, the moment that night and day, for weeks and months, she had dreaded, had come at last, and yet she felt no terror. Indeed in some measure it was a disappointment to her. The vulgar directness of the question called for a direct answer. The situation had not been gradually led up to. It was crude. It reminded her of a bad rehearsal.
‘No,’ she answered, wondering at the harsh simplicity of life.
‘My father was a scoundrel then?’ cried the lad, clenching his fists.
She shook her head. ‘I knew he was not free. We loved each other very much. If he had lived, he would have made provision for us. Don’t speak against him, my son. He was your father, and a gentleman. Indeed he was highly connected.’
An oath broke from his lips. ‘I don’t care for myself,’ he exclaimed, ‘but don’t let Sibyl…It is a gentleman, isn’t it, who is in love with her, or says he is? Highly connected, too, I suppose.’
For a moment a hideous sense of humiliation came over the woman. Her head drooped. She wiped her eyes with shaking hands. ‘Sibyl has a mother,’ she murmured; ‘I had none.’
The lad was touched. He went towards her, and stooping down he kissed her. ‘I am sorry if I have pained you by asking about my father,’ he said, ‘but I could not help it. I must go now. Good-bye. Don’t forget that you will only have one child now to look after, and believe me that if this man wrongs my sister, I will find out who he is, track him down, and kill him like a dog. I swear it.’
The exaggerated folly of the threat, the passionate gesture that accompanied it, the mad melodramatic words, made life seem more vivid to her. She was familiar with the atmosphere. She breathed more freely, and for the first time for many months she really admired her son. She would have liked to have continued the scene on the same emotional scale, but he cut her short. Trunks had to be carried down, and mufflers looked for. The lodging-house drudge bustled in and out. There was the bargaining with the cabman. The moment was lost in vulgar details. It was with a renewed feeling of disappointment that she waved the tattered lace handkerchief from the window, as her son drove away. She was conscious that a great opportunity had been wasted. She consoled herself by telling Sibyl how desolate she felt her life would be, now that she had only one child to look after. She remembered the phrase. It had pleased her. Of the threat she said nothing. It was vividly and dramatically expressed. She felt that they would all laugh at it some day.
6
‘I SUPPOSE you have heard the news, Basil?’ said Lord Henry, that evening, as Hall ward was shown into a little private room at the Bristol, where dinner had been laid for three.
‘No, Harry,’ answered the artist, 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 white-washing.’
‘Dorian Gray is engaged to be married,’ said Lord Henry, watching him as he spoke.
Hallward started, and then frowned. ‘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.’
‘Except in America,’ rejoined Lord Henry, languidly. ‘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.’