文字难度：★★☆
《道林·格雷的画像》是一部充满魔幻色彩的小说。天生俊美异常的道林·格雷因看见了画家霍尔沃德给他画的和本人一样大的肖像,发现了自己的惊人之美,又听信了亨利勋爵的吹嘘,开始为自己的韶华易逝,美貌难以持久这样的事实而感到痛苦。他希望那幅画像可以代替自己承担岁月和心灵的负担,而自己却保持青春貌美。而这个不切实际的愿望却莫名其妙地得以实现。一天晚上,他粗暴地对待了自己爱的女演员西比尔·韦恩,回到家里他就发现画像上出现了残忍的表情——原来画像开始随着道林·格雷心灵的变化而改变了。第二天,西比尔·韦恩因失恋自杀,格雷却在亨利勋爵的花言巧语下将韦恩的死看成是一个浪漫故事。从此他便一天一天堕落,干了许多腐朽不堪的事情,把身边的朋友情人都一一弄得身败名裂。而画像也随之变得愈加丑陋狰狞。后来他杀死了好友——画家霍尔沃德,并销毁其尸体。他曾经的恋人西比尔·韦恩的弟弟在二十年后来找他算帐,但却莫名其妙地意外身亡。画像成了他的护身符,代替了他承受所有的罪恶,而他依旧青春韶秀。格雷希望自己的罪恶永远免于败露,于是打算毁掉记录了他衰败的容貌和罪行的画像。就在他把刀子插进画像的同时,他却横死在自己的手上。
《道林·格雷的画像》是英国“唯美主义”艺术运动倡导人奥斯卡·王尔德的唯一一部小说。奥斯卡·王尔德(1854—1900),剧作家、诗人、散文家,是19世纪与大剧作家萧伯纳齐名的英国才子。其作品中,如The Happy Prince(《快乐王子》)、The Nightingale and the Rose(《夜莺与蔷薇》)、The Devoted Friend(《忠实的朋友》)都是脍炙人口的名篇。
本篇节选自《道林·格雷的画像》的最后一章。
It was a lovely night, so warm that he threw his coat over his arm and did not even put his silk scarf round his throat. As he strolled home, smoking his cigarette, two young men in evening dress passed him. He heard one of them whisper to the other, “That is Dorian Gray.” He remembered how pleased he used to be when he was pointed out, or stared at, or talked about. He was tired of hearing his own name now.
When he reached home, he found his servant waiting up for him. He sent him to bed, and threw himself down on the sofa in the library, and began to think over some of the things that Lord Henry had said to him. Was it really true that one could never change? He felt a wild longing for the unstained purity of his boyhood—his rose-white boyhood, as Lord Henry had once called it. He knew that he had1)tarnished himself, filled his mind with corruption and 2)given horror to his fancy. The curiously carved mirror that Lord Henry had given to him, so many years ago now, was standing on the table, and the white-limbed Cupids laughed round it as of old. He took it up, as he had done on that night of horror when he had first noted the change in the fatal picture, and with wild, tear- 3)dimmed eyes looked into its polished shield. Then he 4)loathed his own beauty, and 5)flinging the mirror on the floor, crushed it into silver 6)splinters beneath his heel. It was his beauty that had ruined him, his beauty and the youth that he had prayed for. But for those two things, his life might have been free from stain. His beauty had been to him but a mask, his youth but a mockery. What was youth at best? A green, an unripe time, a time of shallow moods, and sickly thoughts. Why had he worn its 7)livery? Youth had spoiled him.
He took the lamp from the table and crept upstairs. As he unbarred the door, a smile of joy 8)flitted across his strangely young-looking face and lingered for a moment about his lips.
…
那是个宜人的夜晚,暖暖的,于是他把外套搭在手臂上,连丝巾也没围上。当他抽着烟散步回家时,两个穿着晚礼服的年轻男子与他擦肩而过。他听见其中一个向同伴低声说道:“那就是道林·格雷。”这要放在以前,被人认出,或凝视,或谈论时,会让他得意开怀。然而现在,他对别人提起他的名字只感到厌烦。
到家时,他发现仆人正在等他。他让仆人回去休息,然后就瘫倒在书房的沙发上,回想亨利勋爵对他说过的那些话。难道一个人真的就永远都无法改变吗?(编者注:此指“走回正道”)他抑制不住内心对重返纯真少年时代的渴望——像亨利勋爵曾经形容的那样,他那如白玫瑰那般纯洁的少年时代。他知道自己已经满身污秽,现在他脑子里充斥的都是堕落和假象所带来的恐惧。亨利勋爵多年前赠送给他的那个有着奇特雕花的镜子,此刻立在桌上,那个白色羽翼的丘比特仍像过往那样地笑着。他拿起镜子看着里面的映像,就像那个恐怖的夜晚,他第一次发现那幅关乎到他命运的画像上的变化后那般,用疯狂的泪眼注视这光滑的镜面。他开始憎恶自己的美貌了,将镜子摔到地上,然后用脚将它踩得粉碎。毁掉他的就是他的美貌,他一直全心渴求的美貌和青春。如果不是这两样东西,他的生命也许还是纯洁无暇的。如今,他的美貌于他来说,只是一个假面,而他的青春则成了一个笑话。青春归根到底是什么?青涩、未尽成熟的时期,心绪浅淡、思想病态的日子。为什么他偏要披着这青春的躯壳?青春早已毁掉了他。
他从桌上拿起油灯,轻轻地走上楼去。当他开门的时候,一抹笑意掠过他那年轻得异常的脸蛋,在他的嘴角停留了片刻。
……
He went in quietly, locking the door behind him, as was his custom, and dragged the purple hanging from the portrait. A cry of pain and 9)indignation broke from him. He could see no change, save that in the eyes there was a look of cunning and in the mouth the curved wrinkle of the 10)hypocrite. The thing was still 11)loathsome—more loathsome, if possible, than before—and the scarlet 12)dew that spotted the hand seemed brighter, and more like blood newly spilled. Then he trembled. And why was the red stain larger than it had been? It seemed to have crept like a horrible disease over the wrinkled fingers. There was blood on the painted feet, as though the thing had dripped-blood even on the hand that had not held the knife. Confess? Did it mean that he was to confess? To give himself up and be put to death? He laughed. He felt that the idea was 13)monstrous. Besides, even if he did confess, who would believe him? There was no trace of the murdered man anywhere. Everything belonging to him had been destroyed. He himself had burned what had been below-stairs. The world would simply say that he was mad. They would shut him up if he persisted in his story…Yet it was his duty to confess, to suffer public shame, and to make public 14)atonement. His sin? He shrugged his shoulders. The death of Basil Hallward seemed very little to him.
But this murder—was it to 15)dog him all his life? Was he always to be burdened by his past? Was he really to confess? Never. There was only one bit of evidence left against him. The picture itself—that was evidence. He would destroy it. Why had he kept it so long? Once it had given him pleasure to watch it changing and growing old. 16)Of late he had felt no such pleasure. It had kept him awake at night. When he had been away, he had been filled with terror lest other eyes should look upon it. It had brought 17)melancholy across his passions. Its mere memory had 18)marred many moments of joy. It had been like conscience to him. Yes, it had been conscience. He would destroy it.
He looked round and saw the knife that had19)stabbed Basil Hallward. He had cleaned it many times, till there was no stain left upon it. It was bright, and 20)glistened. As it had killed the painter, so it would kill the painter’s work, and all that that meant. It would kill the past, and when that was dead, he would be free. He seized the thing, and stabbed the picture with it.
There was a cry heard, and a crash. The cry was so horrible in its 21)agony that the frightened servants woke and crept out of their rooms. Two gentlemen, who were passing in the square below, stopped and looked up at the great house. They walked on till they met a policeman and brought him back. The man rang the bell several times, but there was no answer. Except for a light in one of the top windows, the house was all dark. After a time, he went away and stood in an 22)adjoining 23)portico and watched.
“Whose house is that, 24)Constable?” asked the elder of the two gentlemen.
“Mr. Dorian Gray’s, sir,” answered the policeman.
They looked at each other, as they walked away, and sneered.
Inside, in the servants’ part of the house, the half-25)clad 26)domestics were talking in low whispers to each other. Old Mrs. Leaf was crying and 27)wringing her hands. Francis was as pale as death. After about a quarter of an hour, he got the coachman and one of the 28)footmen and crept upstairs. They knocked, but there was no reply. They called out. Everything was still. Finally, after vainly trying to force the door, they got on the roof and dropped down on to the balcony. The windows 29)yielded easily—their 30)bolts were old.
When they entered, they found hanging upon the wall a splendid portrait of their master as they had last seen him, in all the wonder of his 31)exquisite youth and beauty. Lying on the floor was a dead man, in evening dress, with a knife in his heart. He was withered, wrinkled, and loathsome of 32)visage. It was not till they had examined the rings that they recognized who it was.
他悄悄地走进去,锁上身后的门,如往常一般,将画像上紫色的幔帘扯了下来。他发出一声喊叫,声音中混合着痛苦和愤怒。除了眼神中流露出的奸佞,嘴角泛起伪君子那笑纹,他看不到那画中的人还有什么变化。这幅画还是那么的惹人讨厌——如果可能的话,是变得更加面目可憎了——手上那点点猩红的水珠似乎更明显了,更像是刚刚溢出来的血滴。他微微地颤抖了。怎么那红色污点变大了?就像可怕的病毒在布满皱纹的手上偷偷蔓延似的。画中人那脚上还有血迹——甚至好像连没有拿过刀的手也在淌血。认罪?这意味着他要认罪吗?自首然后被处死吗?他笑了起来。他觉得这想法太荒唐了。即使他认罪自首,谁会相信他呢?根本找不到死者的任何痕迹。死者的一切都被销毁了。他已经在楼下亲自烧毁了那一切。全世界只会认定他疯了。如果他坚称自己杀了人,他们会把他关起来……然而,他有责任认罪,承受公众的谴责并去赎罪。他的罪名?他耸了耸肩。巴兹尔·霍尔沃德的死在他看来只是微不足道。
但这场谋杀会成为他终生的梦魇吗?他要一直背负着他的过去吗?他真的要认罪吗?绝对不行!对他不利的证据只剩一个了。这幅画本身——那就是证据。他要毁掉它。他为什么还要留着它这么久?曾经,看着画中人一点点地变化、老去,这给他带来了快乐。但最近,这样的喜悦已经荡然无存了。它让他夜里辗转难眠。外出的时候,他还惶恐不安,担心会有别人看到这幅画。它让他抑郁寡欢。只要一想起它,快乐时光尽被吞噬。它就像他的良知。是的,它一直就是他的良知。所以,他一定要摧毁它。
他环顾了一下,看到他用来刺杀巴兹尔·霍尔沃德的匕首。这匕首他已经清洁过很多次了,上面早已没有任何痕迹。刀锋亮泽,闪闪发光。因为它是杀死画家的凶器,所以,也是可以用来摧毁那个画家的作品,毁掉它意味的一切的。这样就可以毁掉过去,然后他就能重获自由。他一把抓起匕首,向画像刺去。
一声惨叫传来,接着是倒地声。那叫声凄厉恐怖,仆人们都被惊醒了,纷纷从自己的房间里走出来。两个男子恰巧从楼下经过,停下脚步抬头看了看这所大房子。他们又继续往前走,直到遇见了一个警察,将其带到了房子前面。警察摇了门铃很多次,始终没有回应。除了顶楼一扇窗子透出的光线,整座房子黑压压一片。过了一阵子,他走到隔壁的门廊里,观察屋里的动静。
“那是谁的房子,警官大人?”两个男人中年纪较大的那一位男子问道。
“先生,那是道林·格雷先生的家,”警察回答说。
他们对视了一下,然后走开了,充满了鄙夷的神色。
屋内,在仆人房里,衣衫不整的仆人们正与同伴低声谈论。丽芙老太太在扼腕痛哭。弗朗西斯面如死灰。大约过了一刻钟,他找来马夫和一个男仆,蹑手蹑脚地走上楼去。他们敲了敲门,但没有回应。他们喊了几声。依旧没有声响。最后,破门而入的尝试落空后,他们爬上了屋顶,然后跳下阳台。窗子很容易就被打开了——窗闩已经腐蚀老旧了。
他们进入房间后,发现墙上挂着一幅他们主人的画像,画中他们的主人美貌绝伦,就像他们最后一次见到他时那样,散发着标致动人的青春美丽气息。在地上,躺卧着一具尸体,穿着晚礼服,心窝上插着一把匕首。干瘪,布满皱纹,面容丑陋。直到他们检查尸体上的戒指时,他们才知道那是谁。