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41
began to applaud. Motionless, and as one in a dream, sat Dorian Gray,
looking at her. Lord Henry watched through his glasses, saying,
"Charming! Charming!"
But although Sibyl looked beautiful, her voice sounded unnatu-
ral. It was lovely but it was absolutely false. It was wrong in colour. It
took away all the life from the great Shakespear's play.
Dorian Gray grew pale as he watched her. Neither of his friends
could say anything to him. They were horribly disappointed. Yet they
knew that the true test of any Juliet is the balcony scene of the second
act. They waited for that. If she failed there, there was nothing in her.
She looked charming as she came out in the moonlight. But her acting
was very poor, and grew worse as she went on. It was simply bad art.
She was a complete failure.
Even the common uneducated audience lost their interest in the
play. They got restless, and began to talk loudly and to whistle. The
only person unmoved was the girl herself.
When the second act was over, Lord Henry got up from his chair
and put on his coat.
"She is quite beautiful, Dorian," he said, "but she can't act. Let us
go."
"I am going to see the play up to the end," answered the lad. "I
am very sorry that I have made you waste an evening, Harry."
"My dear Dorian, I should think Miss Vane was ill," said Hall-
ward. "We will come some other night."
"I wish she were ill," Dorian said. "But she seems to me cold.
She has changed. Last night she was a great actress. This evening she is
a common actress."
"Don't talk like that about any one you love, Dorian. Love is a
more wonderful thing than art."
"But do let us go. Dorian, you must not stay here any longer. It is
not good for one's morals to see bad acting. Besides, I don't suppose
you will want your wife to act, so what does it matter if she plays Juliet
like a wooden doll?" said Lord Henry. "My dear boy, don't look so
tragic!
Come to the club with Basil and myself. We will smoke ciga-
rettes and drink to the beauty of Sibyl Vane. She is beautiful. What
more can you want?"
42
"Go away, Harry," cried the lad. "I want to be alone. Basil, you
must go. Ah! can't you see that my heart is breaking?" The hot tears
came to his eyes. His lips trembled, and rushing to the back of the box,
he hid his face in his hands.
"Let us go, Basil," said Lord Henry, and the two young men
went away.
A few moments afterwards the curtain rose on the third act.
Dorian Gray went back to his seat. He looked pale and indifferent. The
play went on. Half of the audience went out, laughing. The whole thing
was a failure. The last act was played to almost empty benches. At last
the curtain went down.
As soon as it was over, Dorian Gray went to see Sibyl. The girl
was standing there alone, with a look of triumph on her face. Her eyes
were lit with a fire. Her lips were smiling over some secret of their
own.
When he entered, she looked at him, and an expression of infi-
nite joy came over her. "How badly I acted tonight, Dorian!" she cried.
"Horribly!" he answered. "Horribly! It was dreadful. Are you
ill?"
The girl smiled. "Dorian, you should have understood. But you
understand now, don't you?"
"Understand what?" he asked, angrily.
"Why I was so bad tonight. Why I shall always be bad. Why I
shall never act well again."
"You are ill, I suppose. When you are ill you shouldn't act. You
make yourself ridiculous. My friends were bored. I was bored."
She seemed not to listen to him. "Dorian, Dorian," she cried,
"before I knew you, acting was the one reality of my life. It was only in
the theatre that I lived. I thought that it was all true. I was Rosalind one
night and Portia the other. I believed in everything. The common peo-
ple who acted with me seemed to me to be godlike. The painted scenes
were my world. I knew nothing but shadows, and I thought them real.
You came – oh, my beautiful love! – and you freed my soul from
prison. You taught me what reality really is. Tonight, for the first time
in my life I saw that the Romeo was ugly, and old, and painted, that the
moonlight in the garden was false, that the scenery was dreadful, and
that the words were unreal. They were not my words, were not the
began to applaud. Motionless, and as one in a dream, sat Dorian Gray, "Go away, Harry," cried the lad. "I want to be alone. Basil, you
looking at her. Lord Henry watched through his glasses, saying, must go. Ah! can't you see that my heart is breaking?" The hot tears
"Charming! Charming!" came to his eyes. His lips trembled, and rushing to the back of the box,
But although Sibyl looked beautiful, her voice sounded unnatu- he hid his face in his hands.
ral. It was lovely but it was absolutely false. It was wrong in colour. It "Let us go, Basil," said Lord Henry, and the two young men
took away all the life from the great Shakespear's play. went away.
Dorian Gray grew pale as he watched her. Neither of his friends A few moments afterwards the curtain rose on the third act.
could say anything to him. They were horribly disappointed. Yet they Dorian Gray went back to his seat. He looked pale and indifferent. The
knew that the true test of any Juliet is the balcony scene of the second play went on. Half of the audience went out, laughing. The whole thing
act. They waited for that. If she failed there, there was nothing in her. was a failure. The last act was played to almost empty benches. At last
She looked charming as she came out in the moonlight. But her acting the curtain went down.
was very poor, and grew worse as she went on. It was simply bad art. As soon as it was over, Dorian Gray went to see Sibyl. The girl
She was a complete failure. was standing there alone, with a look of triumph on her face. Her eyes
Even the common uneducated audience lost their interest in the were lit with a fire. Her lips were smiling over some secret of their
play. They got restless, and began to talk loudly and to whistle. The own.
only person unmoved was the girl herself. When he entered, she looked at him, and an expression of infi-
When the second act was over, Lord Henry got up from his chair nite joy came over her. "How badly I acted tonight, Dorian!" she cried.
and put on his coat. "Horribly!" he answered. "Horribly! It was dreadful. Are you
"She is quite beautiful, Dorian," he said, "but she can't act. Let us ill?"
go." The girl smiled. "Dorian, you should have understood. But you
"I am going to see the play up to the end," answered the lad. "I understand now, don't you?"
am very sorry that I have made you waste an evening, Harry." "Understand what?" he asked, angrily.
"My dear Dorian, I should think Miss Vane was ill," said Hall- "Why I was so bad tonight. Why I shall always be bad. Why I
ward. "We will come some other night." shall never act well again."
"I wish she were ill," Dorian said. "But she seems to me cold. "You are ill, I suppose. When you are ill you shouldn't act. You
She has changed. Last night she was a great actress. This evening she is make yourself ridiculous. My friends were bored. I was bored."
a common actress." She seemed not to listen to him. "Dorian, Dorian," she cried,
"Don't talk like that about any one you love, Dorian. Love is a "before I knew you, acting was the one reality of my life. It was only in
more wonderful thing than art." the theatre that I lived. I thought that it was all true. I was Rosalind one
"But do let us go. Dorian, you must not stay here any longer. It is night and Portia the other. I believed in everything. The common peo-
not good for one's morals to see bad acting. Besides, I don't suppose ple who acted with me seemed to me to be godlike. The painted scenes
you will want your wife to act, so what does it matter if she plays Juliet were my world. I knew nothing but shadows, and I thought them real.
like a wooden doll?" said Lord Henry. "My dear boy, don't look so You came – oh, my beautiful love! – and you freed my soul from
tragic! prison. You taught me what reality really is. Tonight, for the first time
Come to the club with Basil and myself. We will smoke ciga- in my life I saw that the Romeo was ugly, and old, and painted, that the
rettes and drink to the beauty of Sibyl Vane. She is beautiful. What moonlight in the garden was false, that the scenery was dreadful, and
more can you want?" that the words were unreal. They were not my words, were not the
41 42
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