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- Портрет Дориана Грея
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But
it
appeared
to
Dorian
Gray
that
the
true
nature
of
the
senses
had
never
been
understood
,
and
that
they
had
remained
savage
and
animal
merely
because
the
world
had
sought
to
starve
them
into
submission
or
to
kill
them
by
pain
,
instead
of
aiming
at
making
them
elements
of
a
new
spirituality
,
of
which
a
fine
instinct
for
beauty
was
to
be
the
dominant
characteristic
.
As
he
looked
back
upon
man
moving
through
History
,
he
was
haunted
by
a
feeling
of
loss
.
So
much
had
been
surrendered
!
and
to
such
little
purpose
!
There
had
been
mad
wilful
rejections
,
monstrous
forms
of
self-torture
and
self-denial
,
whose
origin
was
fear
,
and
whose
result
was
a
degradation
infinitely
more
terrible
than
that
fancied
degradation
from
which
,
in
their
ignorance
,
they
had
sought
to
escape
,
Nature
,
in
her
wonderful
irony
,
driving
out
the
anchorite
to
feed
with
the
wild
animals
of
the
desert
and
giving
to
the
hermit
the
beasts
of
the
field
as
his
companions
.
Yes
:
there
was
to
be
,
as
Lord
Henry
had
prophesied
,
a
new
Hedonism
that
was
to
recreate
life
,
and
to
save
it
from
that
harsh
,
uncomely
puritanism
that
is
having
,
in
our
own
day
,
its
curious
revival
.
It
was
to
have
its
service
of
the
intellect
,
certainly
;
yet
,
it
was
never
to
accept
any
theory
or
system
that
would
involve
the
sacrifice
of
any
mode
of
passionate
experience
.
Its
aim
,
indeed
,
was
to
be
experience
itself
,
and
not
the
fruits
of
experience
,
sweet
or
bitter
as
they
might
be
.
Of
the
asceticism
that
deadens
the
senses
,
as
of
the
vulgar
profligacy
that
dulls
them
,
it
was
to
know
nothing
.
But
it
was
to
teach
man
to
concentrate
himself
upon
the
moments
of
a
life
that
is
itself
but
a
moment
.
There
are
few
of
us
who
have
not
sometimes
wakened
before
dawn
,
either
after
one
of
those
dreamless
nights
that
make
us
almost
enamoured
of
death
,
or
one
of
those
nights
of
horror
and
misshapen
joy
,
when
through
the
chambers
of
the
brain
sweep
phantoms
more
terrible
than
reality
itself
,
and
instinct
with
that
vivid
life
that
lurks
in
all
grotesques
,
and
that
lends
to
Gothic
art
its
enduring
vitality
,
this
art
being
,
one
might
fancy
,
especially
the
art
of
those
whose
minds
have
been
troubled
with
the
malady
of
reverie
.
Gradually
white
fingers
creep
through
the
curtains
,
and
they
appear
to
tremble
.
In
black
fantastic
shapes
,
dumb
shadows
crawl
into
the
corners
of
the
room
,
and
crouch
there
.
Outside
,
there
is
the
stirring
of
birds
among
the
leaves
,
or
the
sound
of
men
going
forth
to
their
work
,
or
the
sigh
and
sob
of
the
wind
coming
down
from
the
hills
,
and
wandering
round
the
silent
house
,
as
though
it
feared
to
wake
the
sleepers
,
and
yet
must
needs
call
forth
sleep
from
her
purple
cave
.
Veil
after
veil
of
thin
dusky
gauze
is
lifted
,
and
by
degrees
the
forms
and
colours
of
things
are
restored
to
them
,
and
we
watch
the
dawn
remaking
the
world
in
its
antique
pattern
.
The
wan
mirrors
get
back
their
mimic
life
.
The
flameless
tapers
stand
where
we
had
left
them
,
and
beside
them
lies
the
half-cut
book
that
we
had
been
studying
,
or
the
wired
flower
that
we
had
worn
at
the
ball
,
or
the
letter
that
we
had
been
afraid
to
read
,
or
that
we
had
read
too
often
.
Nothing
seems
to
us
changed
.
Out
of
the
unreal
shadows
of
the
night
comes
back
the
real
life
that
we
had
known
.
We
have
to
resume
it
where
we
had
left
off
,
and
there
steals
over
us
a
terrible
sense
of
the
necessity
for
the
continuance
of
energy
in
the
same
wearisome
round
of
stereotyped
habits
,
or
a
wild
longing
,
it
may
be
,
that
our
eyelids
might
open
some
morning
upon
a
world
that
had
been
refashioned
anew
in
the
darkness
for
our
pleasure
,
a
world
in
which
things
would
have
fresh
shapes
and
colours
,
and
be
changed
,
or
have
other
secrets
,
a
world
in
which
the
past
would
have
little
or
no
place
,
or
survive
,
at
any
rate
,
in
no
conscious
form
of
obligation
or
regret
,
the
remembrance
even
of
joy
having
its
bitterness
,
and
the
memories
of
pleasure
their
pain
.
It
was
the
creation
of
such
worlds
as
these
that
seemed
to
Dorian
Gray
to
be
the
true
object
,
or
amongst
the
true
objects
,
of
life
;
and
in
his
search
for
sensations
that
would
be
at
once
new
and
delightful
,
and
possess
that
element
of
strangeness
that
is
so
essential
to
romance
,
he
would
often
adopt
certain
modes
of
thought
that
he
knew
to
be
really
alien
to
his
nature
,
abandon
himself
to
their
subtle
influences
,
and
then
,
having
,
as
it
were
,
caught
their
colour
and
satisfied
his
intellectual
curiosity
,
leave
them
with
that
curious
indifference
that
is
not
incompatible
with
a
real
ardour
of
temperament
,
and
that
indeed
,
according
to
certain
modern
psychologists
,
is
often
a
condition
of
it
.
It
was
rumoured
of
him
once
that
he
was
about
to
join
the
Roman
Catholic
communion
;
and
certainly
the
Roman
ritual
had
always
a
great
attraction
for
him
.
The
daily
sacrifice
,
more
awful
really
than
all
the
sacrifices
of
the
antique
world
,
stirred
him
as
much
by
its
superb
rejection
of
the
evidence
of
the
senses
as
by
the
primitive
simplicity
of
its
elements
and
the
eternal
pathos
of
the
human
tragedy
that
it
sought
to
symbolise
.
He
loved
to
kneel
down
on
the
cold
marble
pavement
,
and
watch
the
priest
,
in
his
stiff
flowered
vestment
,
slowly
and
with
white
hands
moving
aside
the
veil
of
the
tabernacle
,
or
raising
aloft
the
jewelled
lantern-shaped
monstrance
with
that
pallid
wafer
that
at
times
,
one
would
fain
think
,
is
indeed
the
"
panis
cælestis
,
"
the
bread
of
angels
,
or
,
robed
in
the
garments
of
the
Passion
of
Christ
,
breaking
the
Host
into
the
chalice
,
and
smiting
his
breast
for
his
sins
.
The
fuming
censers
,
that
the
grave
boys
,
in
their
lace
and
scarlet
,
tossed
into
the
air
like
great
gilt
flowers
,
had
their
subtle
fascination
for
him
.
As
he
passed
out
,
he
used
to
look
with
wonder
at
the
black
confessionals
,
and
long
to
sit
in
the
dim
shadow
of
one
of
them
and
listen
to
men
and
women
whispering
through
the
worn
grating
the
true
story
of
their
lives
.
But
he
never
fell
into
the
error
of
arresting
his
intellectual
development
by
any
formal
acceptance
of
creed
or
system
,
or
of
mistaking
,
for
a
house
in
which
to
live
,
an
inn
that
is
but
suitable
for
the
sojourn
of
a
night
,
or
for
a
few
hours
of
a
night
in
which
there
are
no
stars
and
the
moon
is
in
travail
.
Mysticism
,
with
its
marvellous
power
of
making
common
things
strange
to
us
,
and
the
subtle
antinomianism
that
always
seems
to
accompany
it
,
moved
him
for
a
season
;
and
for
a
season
he
inclined
to
the
materialistic
doctrines
of
the
Darwinismus
movement
in
Germany
,
and
found
a
curious
pleasure
in
tracing
the
thoughts
and
passions
of
men
to
some
pearly
cell
in
the
brain
,
or
some
white
nerve
in
the
body
,
delighting
in
the
conception
of
the
absolute
dependence
of
the
spirit
on
certain
physical
conditions
,
morbid
or
healthy
,
normal
or
diseased
.
Yet
,
as
has
been
said
of
him
before
,
no
theory
of
life
seemed
to
him
to
be
of
any
importance
compared
with
life
itself
.
He
felt
keenly
conscious
of
how
barren
all
intellectual
speculation
is
when
separated
from
action
and
experiment
.
He
knew
that
the
senses
,
no
less
than
the
soul
,
have
their
spiritual
mysteries
to
reveal
.
And
so
he
would
now
study
perfumes
,
and
the
secrets
of
their
manufacture
,
distilling
heavily-scented
oils
,
and
burning
odorous
gums
from
the
East
.
He
saw
that
there
was
no
mood
of
the
mind
that
had
not
its
counterpart
in
the
sensuous
life
,
and
set
himself
to
discover
their
true
relations
,
wondering
what
there
was
in
frankincense
that
made
one
mystical
,
and
in
ambergris
that
stirred
one
's
passions
,
and
in
violets
that
woke
the
memory
of
dead
romances
,
and
in
musk
that
troubled
the
brain
,
and
in
champak
that
stained
the
imagination
;
and
seeking
often
to
elaborate
a
real
psychology
of
perfumes
,
and
to
estimate
the
several
influences
of
sweet-smelling
roots
,
and
scented
pollen-laden
flowers
,
or
aromatic
balms
,
and
of
dark
and
fragrant
woods
,
of
spikenard
that
sickens
,
of
hovenia
that
makes
men
mad
,
and
of
aloes
that
are
said
to
be
able
to
expel
melancholy
from
the
soul
.
At
another
time
he
devoted
himself
entirely
to
music
,
and
in
a
long
latticed
room
,
with
a
vermilion-and-gold
ceiling
and
walls
of
olive-green
lacquer
,
he
used
to
give
curious
concerts
,
in
which
mad
gypsies
tore
wild
music
from
little
zithers
,
or
grave
yellow-shawled
Tunisians
plucked
at
the
strained
strings
of
monstrous
lutes
,
while
grinning
negroes
beat
monotonously
upon
copper
drums
,
and
,
crouching
upon
scarlet
mats
,
slim
turbaned
Indians
blew
through
long
pipes
of
reed
or
brass
,
and
charmed
,
or
feigned
to
charm
,
great
hooded
snakes
and
horrible
horned
adders
.
The
harsh
intervals
and
shrill
discords
of
barbaric
music
stirred
him
at
times
when
Schubert
's
grace
,
and
Chopin
's
beautiful
sorrows
,
and
the
mighty
harmonies
of
Beethoven
himself
,
fell
unheeded
on
his
ear
.
He
collected
together
from
all
parts
of
the
world
the
strangest
instruments
that
could
be
found
,
either
in
the
tombs
of
dead
nations
or
among
the
few
savage
tribes
that
have
survived
contact
with
Western
civilisations
,
and
loved
to
touch
and
try
them
.
