アーサー・サヴィル卿の犯罪 — Oscar Wilde
W.H., and Other Stories This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org . If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook. Title : Lord Arthur Savile's Crime; The Portrait of Mr. W.H., and Other Stories Author : Oscar Wilde Release date : January 1, 1997 [eBook #773] Most recently updated: March 14, 2013 Language : English Other information and formats : www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/773 Credits : Transcribed from the 1913 Methuen and Co. edition by David Price *** START OF W.H., AND OTHER STORIES *** Transcribed from the 1913 Methuen and Co. edition by David Price, email ccx074@pglaf.org LORD ARTHUR SAVILE’S CRIME THE PORTRAIT OF Mr. W. H. AND OTHER STORIES BY OSCAR WILDE METHUEN & CO. LTD. 36 ESSEX STREET W.C. LONDON Tenth Edition First Published — Lord Arthur Savile’s Crime , The Canterville Ghost , The Sphinx without a Secret , and the Model Millionaire 1887 Issued in Collected Form 1891 The Portrait of Mr. W. H. 1889 First Issued by Methuen and Co. ( Limited Edition on Handmade Paper and Japanese Vellum ) March 1908 Third Edition ( F’cap. 8vo 5s. net ) September 1908 Fourth Edition ( 5s. net ) October 1909 Fifth Edition ( 5s. net ) March 1911 Sixth and Seventh Editions ( F’cap. 8vo 1s. net ) April 1912 Eighth Edition ( 1s. net ) September 1912 Ninth Edition ( 1s.net ) May 1913 Tenth Edition ( 5s. net ) 1913 CONTENTS PAGE LORD ARTHUR SAVILE’S CRIME 3 THE CANTERVILLE GHOST 65 THE SPHINX WITHOUT A SECRET 121 THE MODEL MILLIONAIRE 133 THE PORTRAIT OF MR. W. H. 145 LORD ARTHUR SAVILE’S CRIME A STUDY OF DUTY CHAPTER I It was Lady Windermere’s last reception before Easter, and Bentinck House was even more crowded than usual. Six Cabinet Ministers had come on from the Speaker’s Levée in their stars and ribands, all the pretty women wore their smartest dresses, and at the end of the picture-gallery stood the Princess Sophia of Carlsrühe, a heavy Tartar-looking lady, with tiny black eyes and wonderful emeralds, talking bad French at the top of her voice, and laughing immoderately at everything that was said to her. It was certainly a wonderful medley of people. Gorgeous peeresses chatted affably to violent Radicals, popular preachers brushed coat-tails with eminent sceptics, a perfect bevy of bishops kept following a stout prima-donna from room to room, on the staircase stood several Royal Academicians, disguised as artists, and it was said that at one time the supper-room was absolutely crammed with geniuses. In fact, it was one of Lady Windermere’s best nights, and the Princess stayed till nearly half-past eleven. As soon as she had gone, Lady Windermere returned to the picture-gallery, where a celebrated political economist was solemnly explaining the scientific theory of music to an indignant virtuoso from Hungary, and began to talk to the Duchess of Paisley. She looked wonderfully beautiful with her grand ivory throat, her large blue forget-me-not eyes, and her heavy coils of golden hair. Or pur they were—not that pale straw colour that nowadays usurps the gracious name of gold, but such gold as is woven into sunbeams or hidden in strange amber; and they gave to her face something of the frame of a saint, with not a little of the fascination of a sinner. She was a curious psychological study. Early in life she had discovered the important truth that nothing looks so like innocence as an indiscretion; and by a series of reckless escapades, half of them quite harmless, she had acquired all the privileges of a personality. She had more than once changed her husband; indeed, Debrett credits her with three marriages; but as she had never changed her lover, the world had long ago ceased to talk scandal about her. She was now forty years of age, childless, and with that inordinate passion for pleasure which is the secret of remaining young. Suddenly she looked eagerly round the room, and said, in her clear contralto voice, ‘Where is my cheiromantist?’ ‘Your what, Gladys?’ exclaimed the Duchess, giving an involuntary start. ‘My cheiromantist, Duchess; I can’t live without him at present.’ ‘Dear Gladys! you are always so original,’ murmured the Duchess, trying to remember what a cheiromantist really was, and hoping it was not the same as a cheiropodist. ‘He comes to see my hand twice a week regularly,’ continued Lady Windermere, ‘and is most interesting about it.’ ‘Good heavens!’ said the Duchess to herself, ‘he is a sort of cheiropodist after all. How very dreadful. I hope he is a foreigner at any rate. It wouldn’t be quite so bad then.’ ‘I must certainly introduce him to you.’ ‘Introduce him!’ cried the Duchess; ‘you don’t mean to say he is here?’ and she began looking about for a small tortoise-shell fan and a very tattered lace shawl, so as to be ready to go at a moment’s notice. ‘Of course he is here; I would not dream of giving a party without him. He tells me I have a pure psychic hand, and that if my thumb had been the least little bit shorter, I should have been a confirmed pessimist, and gone into a convent.’ ‘Oh, I see!’ said the Duchess, feeling very much relieved; ‘he tells fortunes, I suppose?’ ‘And misfortunes, too,’ answered Lady Windermere, ‘any amount of them. Next year, for instance, I am in great danger, both by land and sea, so I am going to live in a balloon, and draw up my dinner in a basket every evening. It is all written down on my little finger, or on the palm of my hand, I forget which.’ ‘But surely that is tempting Providence, Gladys.’ ‘My dear Duchess, surely Providence can resist temptation by this time. I think every one should have their hands told once a month, so as to know what not to do. Of course, one does it all the same, bu