17 
　  
　　At home he thought about his conversation with Lord Henry．Could he really change， he wondered？ He had lived an evil life，and had destroyed other people's lives as well．Was there any hope for him？ 
　　Why had he ever made that wish about the picture？ He had kept his youth and beauty， but he had paid a terrible price for it．His beauty had destroyed his soul．He picked up a mirror and stared at his face．What was he now？ A face without a heart． Suddenly he hated his own beauty， and dropped the mirror on the floor where it broke into many small pieces． 
　　James Vane，Basil Hallward，Sybil Vane—these deaths were not important to him now． It was better not to think of the past． Nothing could change that． He must think of himself．'Perhaps，'he thought，'if I live a better life， the picture will become less ugly．'He remembered the pretty village girl—he had not destroyed her young life．He had done one good thing． Perhaps the picture had already begun to look better． 
　　He went quietly upstairs to the locked room． Yes， he would live a good life，and he need not be afraid any more of the evil face of his soul． But when he uncovered the picture， he gave a cry of pain． There was no change． The face in the picture was still terrible—more hateful，if possible， than before—and the red on the hand seemed brighter， like new blood． 
　　He stared at the picture with hate and fear in his eyes．Years ago he had loved to watch it changing and growing old；now he could not sleep because of it．It had stolen every chance of peace or happiness from him．He must destroy it． 
　　He looked round and saw the knife that had killed Basil Hallward．'Now it will kill the artist's work，'he said to himself．'It will kill the past， and when that is dead， I will be free．'He picked up the knife and dug it into the picture． 
　　There was a terrible cry， and a loud crash．The servants woke，and two gentlemen，who were passing in the road below， stopped and looked up at the house． A policeman came by， and they asked him： 
　　'Whose house is that？' 
　　'Mr Dorian Gray's，sir，'was the answer． 
　　The two gentlemen looked at each other， then turned away from the house and walked on． 
　　Inside the house the servants talked in low， frightened voices． After some minutes they went up to the room． They knocked， but there was no reply． They called out． Nothing．They could not open the door， so they climbed down from the roof and got in through the window． 
　　Against the wall they saw a fine portrait of the young Dorian Gray， in all his wonderful youth and beauty． Lying on the floor was a dead man， with a knife in his heart． His face was old and ugly and yellow with disease． 
　　Only the rings on his fingers told them who he was．  
　 
17 
　  
　　回到家他思考着和亨利勋爵的谈话。他真的能改变吗？他想着。他曾有过邪恶的生活，也曾毁掉过他人的生活，他还有希望吗？ 
　　他为什么对画像许了那个愿？他保住了青春和美貌，但却为此付出了可怕的代价。他的美貌毁了他的灵魂。他拿起一面镜子看着自己的脸。他现在成了什么？一张没有心的脸。突然他恨自己的美貌，便把镜子扔在地上，摔成了碎片。 
　　詹姆斯·文、巴兹尔·霍尔沃德和西比尔·文——他们的死现在对他已不重要。最好不再想起过去，那已无法改变。他必须想想自己。他想：“如果我过一种好一点的生活，画像会变得不那么丑陋。”他想起了那个可爱的乡下姑娘——他没有毁掉她的生活，他做了一件好事，可能画像已经开始好看些。 
　　他快步上楼奔向那间锁着的房间。是的，他要过好人的生活，他再不必害怕他灵魂的那张邪恶的脸了。但当他掀开画像，他痛苦地喊出了声。没有变化。画像的脸依旧可怕——可能比以前更可憎——手上的红色似乎更鲜亮，像新鲜的血。 
　　他凝视着画像，眼里饱含憎恨和恐惧。数年前他还喜欢看画像变老；现在他因为画像简直不能入睡。画像偷走了他每一次平静快乐的机会，他要毁掉画像。 
　　他四周张望，看见了杀死巴兹尔·霍尔沃德的那把刀。“现在这把刀要扼杀画家的作品。”他自言自语，“这刀要杀死过去。过去死后，我将会自由。”他拿起刀刺进了画像。 
　　一声可怕的喊叫和一阵猛烈的碰撞声。仆人们醒了；两个正路过的绅士停住向上看着房间。一个警察走过来，他们问他： 
　　“那是谁的房子？” 
　　他们回答：“多里安·格雷先生的。” 
　　两个绅士互相看了一眼，然后转身离开房子走了。 
　　房子里仆人用低沉、害怕的声音说话。过了几分钟他们上楼来到那个房间。他们敲了敲门，可是没有回答。他们用力喊，没任何答复。他们打不开门，就从房顶向下爬，从窗户进了屋。 
　　他们看见了靠墙而立的年轻的多里安·格雷的精美画像，青春无比，美貌动人。躺在地上的是一个死人，心脏上插着一把刀。他的脸又老又丑而且病得发黄。 
　　只有他手上的戒指告诉了他们他是谁。 
　　　    


 