I believed in everything.The common people 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.To-night, for the first time in my life, I saw through the hollowness, the sham, the silliness of the empty pageant in which I had always played.To-night, for the first time, I became conscious that the Romeo was hideous, and old, and painted, that the moonlight in the orchard was false, that the scenery was vulgar, and that the words I had to speak were unreal, were not my words, were not what I wanted to say.You had brought me something higher, something of which all art is but a reflection.You had made me understand what love really is.My love! My love! Prince Charming! Prince of life! I have grown sick of shadows.You are more to me than all art can ever be.What have I to do with the puppets of a play? When I came on to-night, I could not understand how it was that everything had gone from me.I thought that I was going to be wonderful.I found that I could do nothing.Suddenly it dawned on my soul what it all meant.The knowledge was exquisite to me.I heard them hissing, and I smiled.What could they know of love such as ours? Take me away, Dorian--take me away with you, where we can be quite alone.I hate the stage.I might mimic a passion that I do not feel, but I cannot mimic one that burns me like fire.Oh, Dorian, Dorian, you understand now what it signifies? Even if I could do it, it would be profanation for me to play at being in love.You have made me see that."He flung himself down on the sofa and turned away his face."You have killed my love," he muttered.
She looked at him in wonder and laughed.He made no answer.She came across to him, and with her little fingers stroked his hair.She knelt down and pressed his hands to her lips.He drew them away, and a shudder ran through him.
Then he leaped up and went to the door."Yes," he cried, "you have killed my love.You used to stir my imagination.Now you don't even stir my curiosity.You simply produce no effect.I loved you because you were marvellous, because you had genius and intellect, because you realized the dreams of great poets and gave shape and substance to the shadows of art.You have thrown it all away.You are shallow and stupid.My God! how mad I was to love you! What a fool I have been! You are nothing to me now.
I will never see you again.I will never think of you.I will never mention your name.You don't know what you were to me, once.Why, once...Oh, I can't bear to think of it! I wish I had never laid eyes upon you! You have spoiled the romance of my life.How little you can know of love, if you say it mars your art! Without your art, you are nothing.I would have made you famous, splendid, magnificent.The world would have worshipped you, and you would have borne my name.What are you now? A third-rate actress with a pretty face."The girl grew white, and trembled.She clenched her hands together, and her voice seemed to catch in her throat."You are not serious, Dorian?"she murmured."You are acting."
"Acting! I leave that to you.You do it so well," he answered bitterly.
She rose from her knees and, with a piteous expression of pain in her face, came across the room to him.She put her hand upon his arm and looked into his eyes.He thrust her back."Don't touch me!" he cried.
A low moan broke from her, and she flung herself at his feet and lay there like a trampled flower."Dorian, Dorian, don't leave me!" she whispered."I am so sorry I didn't act well.I was thinking of you all the time.But I will try--indeed, I will try.It came so suddenly across me, my love for you.I think I should never have known it if you had not kissed me-- if we had not kissed each other.Kiss me again, my love.Don't go away from me.I couldn't bear it.Oh! don't go away from me.My brother...No; never mind.He didn't mean it.He was in jest....But you, oh! can't you forgive me for to-night? I will work so hard and try to improve.
Don't be cruel to me, because I love you better than anything in the world.
After all, it is only once that I have not pleased you.But you are quite right, Dorian.I should have shown myself more of an artist.It was foolish of me, and yet I couldn't help it.Oh, don't leave me, don't leave me."A fit of passionate sobbing choked her.She crouched on the floor like a wounded thing, and Dorian Gray, with his beautiful eyes, looked down at her, and his chiselled lips curled in exquisite disdain.There is always something ridiculous about the emotions of people whom one has ceased to love.Sibyl Vane seemed to him to be absurdly melodramatic.Her tears and sobs annoyed him.
"I am going," he said at last in his calm clear voice."I don't wish to be unkind, but I can't see you again.You have disappointed me."She wept silently, and made no answer, but crept nearer.Her little hands stretched blindly out, and appeared to be seeking for him.He turned on his heel and left the room.In a few moments he was out of the theatre.
Where he went to he hardly knew.He remembered wandering through dimly lit streets, past gaunt, black-shadowed archways and evil-looking houses.Women with hoarse voices and harsh laughter had called after him.
Drunkards had reeled by, cursing and chattering to themselves like monstrous apes.He had seen grotesque children huddled upon door-steps, and heard shrieks and oaths from gloomy courts.
As the dawn was just breaking, he found himself close to Covent Garden.The darkness lifted, and, flushed with faint fires, the sky hollowed itself into a perfect pearl.Huge carts filled with nodding lilies rumbled slowly down the polished empty street.The air was heavy with the perfume of the flowers, and their beauty seemed to bring him an anodyne for his pain.He followed into the market and watched the men unloading their waggons.