feat_summary_path: finished_summaries/gradesaver/The Picture of Dorian Gray/section_3_part_0.txt
feat_book_id: The Picture of Dorian Gray.chapter 5
feat_summary_id: chapter 5
feat_summary: {"name": "Chapter 5", "url": "https://web.archive.org/web/20210421171214/https://www.gradesaver.com/the-picture-of-dorian-gray/study-guide/summary-chapter-5", "summary": "Sibyl Vane tells her mother all about her love for Dorian, but only refers to him as \"Prince Charming,\" since she has promised not to disclose his true name to anyone. Mrs Vane is greatly distressed over her daughter's well-being and the family's financial status. She reminds Sibyl that they owe money to Mr Isaacs, the theater owner, but Sibyl doesn't care about anything but her Prince Charming. Mrs Vane is full of affectations, always seeming to behave as if she is on stage. Sibyl's younger brother James enters, wanting to walk with his sister and bid farewell to his mother, as he is leaving for Australia to become a sailor. James is not an actor, and hates the city and the stage. He is a very serious, stocky young man. It is his hope that he will never have to return to London, and will make enough money to keep his mother and sister from having to act. When Sibyl leaves to prepare for their walk, James urges his mother to protect her. He is very jealous, protective of his sister, and suspicious of the situation, since Sibyl doesn't even seem to know her suitor's name. Mrs Vane reminds her son that Prince Charming is a gentleman, and that it could be a very profitable marriage for the family. Sibyl returns, and the siblings leave. On their walk, other people stare at them because Sibyl's beauty contrasts with James's stocky, disheveled appearance. Sibyl romanticizes her brother's life as a sailor: she is sure that he will find gold in a distant land, fight off robbers, and rescue a beautiful heiress. James is distressed about his sister's affair, and tells her that he doesn't trust her suitor. Sibyl defends Dorian, always referring to him as \"Prince Charming\", and tells James that he will only understand her feelings once he falls in love himself. Sibyl spots Dorian riding by and James runs to see what he looks like, but the carriage drives off. James states, \"I wish I had , for as sure as there is a God in heaven, if he ever does you any wrong, I shall kill him.\" Sibyl scolds her brother for being bad-tempered, and doesn't take his threat seriously. After returning home for dinner, James tells his mother that \"if this man ever wrongs my sister, I will find out who he is, track him down, and kill him like a dog.\" The melodrama of the statement and the theatrical manner of its delivery make Mrs Vane admire her son, because she is only truly comfortable when life mimics the theater. James's departure, however, disappoints her, because the potentially heart-jerking farewell \"was lost in vulgar details\" of haggling with a cab driver.", "analysis": "This is one of the few chapters in the novel that does not focus primarily on Dorian or Lord Henry. Like the preface, and all of the later chapters dealing with James Vane, this chapter was absent from the original version of the novel printed in Lippincott's Monthly.  This fact is made apparent from the tone of writing: by introducing three new characters that barely interact with the main players of the story, this chapter seems to deviate from the plot. However, Wilde does use the Vanes to further explore the complex relationship between life and art.  Sibyl and her mother both seem to be stuck in theatrical mentalities.  This is most striking in the character of Mrs Vane, who is actually disappointed when the events in her life don't live up to the melodrama of the theater.  She appreciates Sibyl's love-stricken outbursts because they are worthy of the stage.  When James enters their room, \"she mentally elevated her son to the dignity of an audience.  She felt sure that the tableau was interesting.\"  She is disappointed with the farewell of her only son, because \"It was crude.  It reminded her of a bad rehearsal.\"  To Mrs Vane, life has become a shadow of her art. Sibyl is similarly afflicted, but to a lesser degree.  The theatricality of her actions can be attributed to her naivetA and the intensity of her love for Dorian.  This love exists in the real world, and thus saves Sibyl from the need to feel that she is constantly in a play.  Ironically, this desire to live in the \"real world\" and experience true love eventually leads to her death. The threats made by James, which are dismissed by Sibyl as byproducts of the over-zealousness of youth, return to haunt Dorian in the later chapters .  James comes to represent the inescapable consequences of Dorian's past transgressions.  The threats that Sibyl finds so harmless and endearing prove to be earnest declarations of intent. When Dorian drives by in a carriage, unseen by James but noticed by Sibyl, Wilde is emphasizing the discrepency between their social classes.  Dorian rides in an expensive carriage, while the Vanes walk the filthy streets.  This discrepency is the source of much of James's rage and frustration, and also Sibyl's tragically idealistic hopes for a better life."}
text: 
  "Mother, Mother, I am so happy!" whispered the girl, burying her face
  in the lap of the faded, tired-looking woman who, with back turned to
  the shrill intrusive light, was sitting in the one arm-chair that their
  dingy sitting-room contained.  "I am so happy!" she repeated, "and you
  must be happy, too!"
  
  Mrs. Vane winced and put her thin, bismuth-whitened hands on her
  daughter's head.  "Happy!" she echoed, "I am only happy, Sibyl, when I
  see you act.  You must not think of anything but your acting.  Mr.
  Isaacs has been very good to us, and we owe him money."
  
  The girl looked up and pouted.  "Money, Mother?" she cried, "what does
  money matter?  Love is more than money."
  
  "Mr. Isaacs has advanced us fifty pounds to pay off our debts and to
  get a proper outfit for James.  You must not forget that, Sibyl.  Fifty
  pounds is a very large sum.  Mr. Isaacs has been most considerate."
  
  "He is not a gentleman, Mother, and I hate the way he talks to me,"
  said the girl, rising to her feet and going over to the window.
  
  "I don't know how we could manage without him," answered the elder
  woman querulously.
  
  Sibyl Vane tossed her head and laughed.  "We don't want him any more,
  Mother.  Prince Charming rules life for us now." Then she paused.  A
  rose shook in her blood and shadowed her cheeks.  Quick breath parted
  the petals of her lips.  They trembled.  Some southern wind of passion
  swept over her and stirred the dainty folds of her dress.  "I love
  him," she said simply.
  
  "Foolish child! foolish child!" was the parrot-phrase flung in answer.
  The waving of crooked, false-jewelled fingers gave grotesqueness to the
  words.
  
  The girl laughed again.  The joy of a caged bird was in her voice.  Her
  eyes caught the melody and echoed it in radiance, then closed for a
  moment, as though to hide their secret.  When they opened, the mist of
  a dream had passed across them.
  
  Thin-lipped wisdom spoke at her from the worn chair, hinted at
  prudence, quoted from that book of cowardice whose author apes the name
  of common sense.  She did not listen.  She was free in her prison of
  passion.  Her prince, Prince Charming, was with her.  She had called on
  memory to remake him.  She had sent her soul to search for him, and it
  had brought him back.  His kiss burned again upon her mouth.  Her
  eyelids were warm with his breath.
  
  Then wisdom altered its method and spoke of espial and discovery.  This
  young man might be rich.  If so, marriage should be thought of.
  Against the shell of her ear broke the waves of worldly cunning.  The
  arrows of craft shot by her.  She saw the thin lips moving, and smiled.
  
  Suddenly she felt the need to speak.  The wordy silence troubled her.
  "Mother, Mother," she cried, "why does he love me so much?  I know why
  I love him.  I love him because he is like what love himself should be.
  But what does he see in me?  I am not worthy of him.  And yet--why, I
  cannot tell--though I feel so much beneath him, I don't feel humble.  I
  feel proud, terribly proud.  Mother, did you love my father as I love
  Prince Charming?"
  
  The elder woman grew pale beneath the coarse powder that daubed her
  cheeks, and her dry lips twitched with a spasm of pain.  Sybil rushed
  to her, flung her arms round her neck, and kissed her.  "Forgive me,
  Mother.  I know it pains you to talk about our father.  But it only
  pains you because you loved him so much.  Don't look so sad.  I am as
  happy to-day as you were twenty years ago.  Ah! let me be happy for
  ever!"
  
  "My child, you are far too young to think of falling in love.  Besides,
  what do you know of this young man?  You don't even know his name.  The
  whole thing is most inconvenient, and really, when James is going away
  to Australia, and I have so much to think of, I must say that you
  should have shown more consideration.  However, as I said before, if he
  is rich ..."
  
  "Ah!  Mother, Mother, let me be happy!"
  
  Mrs. Vane glanced at her, and with one of those false theatrical
  gestures that so often become a mode of second nature to a
  stage-player, clasped her in her arms.  At this moment, the door opened
  and a young lad with rough brown hair came into the room.  He was
  thick-set of figure, and his hands and feet were large and somewhat
  clumsy in movement.  He was not so finely bred as his sister.  One
  would hardly have guessed the close relationship that existed between
  them.  Mrs. Vane fixed her eyes on him and intensified her smile.  She
  mentally elevated her son to the dignity of an audience.  She felt sure
  that the _tableau_ was interesting.
  
  "You might keep some of your kisses for me, Sibyl, I think," said the
  lad with a good-natured grumble.
  
  "Ah! but you don't like being kissed, Jim," she cried.  "You are a
  dreadful old bear."  And she ran across the room and hugged him.
  
  James Vane looked into his sister's face with tenderness.  "I want you
  to come out with me for a walk, Sibyl.  I don't suppose I shall ever
  see this horrid London again.  I am sure I don't want to."
  
  "My son, don't say such dreadful things," murmured Mrs. Vane, taking up
  a tawdry theatrical dress, with a sigh, and beginning to patch it.  She
  felt a little disappointed that he had not joined the group.  It would
  have increased the theatrical picturesqueness of the situation.
  
  "Why not, Mother?  I mean it."
  
  "You pain me, my son.  I trust you will return from Australia in a
  position of affluence.  I believe there is no society of any kind in
  the Colonies--nothing that I would call society--so when you have made
  your fortune, you must come back and assert yourself in London."
  
  "Society!" muttered the lad.  "I don't want to know anything about
  that.  I should like to make some money to take you and Sibyl off the
  stage.  I hate it."
  
  "Oh, Jim!" said Sibyl, laughing, "how unkind of you!  But are you
  really going for a walk with me?  That will be nice!  I was afraid you
  were going to say good-bye to some of your friends--to Tom Hardy, who
  gave you that hideous pipe, or Ned Langton, who makes fun of you for
  smoking it.  It is very sweet of you to let me have your last
  afternoon.  Where shall we go?  Let us go to the park."
  
  "I am too shabby," he answered, frowning.  "Only swell people go to the
  park."
  
  "Nonsense, Jim," she whispered, stroking the sleeve of his coat.
  
  He hesitated for a moment.  "Very well," he said at last, "but don't be
  too long dressing."  She danced out of the door.  One could hear her
  singing as she ran upstairs.  Her little feet pattered overhead.
  
  He walked up and down the room two or three times.  Then he turned to
  the still figure in the chair.  "Mother, are my things ready?" he asked.
  
  "Quite ready, James," she answered, keeping her eyes on her work.  For
  some months past she had felt ill at ease when she was alone with this
  rough stern son of hers.  Her shallow secret nature was troubled when
  their eyes met.  She used to wonder if he suspected anything.  The
  silence, for he made no other observation, became intolerable to her.
  She began to complain.  Women defend themselves by attacking, just as
  they attack by sudden and strange surrenders.  "I hope you will be
  contented, James, with your sea-faring life," she said.  "You must
  remember that it is your own choice.  You might have entered a
  solicitor's office.  Solicitors are a very respectable class, and in
  the country often dine with the best families."
  
  "I hate offices, and I hate clerks," he replied.  "But you are quite
  right.  I have chosen my own life.  All I say is, watch over Sibyl.
  Don't let her come to any harm.  Mother, you must watch over her."
  
  "James, you really talk very strangely.  Of course I watch over Sibyl."
  
  "I hear a gentleman comes every night to the theatre and goes behind to
  talk to her.  Is that right?  What about that?"
  
  "You are speaking about things you don't understand, James.  In the
  profession we are accustomed to receive a great deal of most gratifying
  attention.  I myself used to receive many bouquets at one time.  That
  was when acting was really understood.  As for Sibyl, I do not know at
  present whether her attachment is serious or not.  But there is no
  doubt that the young man in question is a perfect gentleman.  He is
  always most polite to me.  Besides, he has the appearance of being
  rich, and the flowers he sends are lovely."
  
  "You don't know his name, though," said the lad harshly.
  
  "No," answered his mother with a placid expression in her face.  "He
  has not yet revealed his real name.  I think it is quite romantic of
  him.  He is probably a member of the aristocracy."
  
  James Vane bit his lip.  "Watch over Sibyl, Mother," he cried, "watch
  over her."
  
  "My son, you distress me very much.  Sibyl is always under my special
  care.  Of course, if this gentleman is wealthy, there is no reason why
  she should not contract an alliance with him.  I trust he is one of the
  aristocracy.  He has all the appearance of it, I must say.  It might be
  a most brilliant marriage for Sibyl.  They would make a charming
  couple.  His good looks are really quite remarkable; everybody notices
  them."
  
  The lad muttered something to himself and drummed on the window-pane
  with his coarse fingers.  He had just turned round to say something
  when the door opened and Sibyl ran in.
  
  "How serious you both are!" she cried.  "What is the matter?"
  
  "Nothing," he answered.  "I suppose one must be serious sometimes.
  Good-bye, Mother; I will have my dinner at five o'clock. Everything is
  packed, except my shirts, so you need not trouble."
  
  "Good-bye, my son," she answered with a bow of strained stateliness.
  
  She was extremely annoyed at the tone he had adopted with her, and
  there was something in his look that had made her feel afraid.
  
  "Kiss me, Mother," said the girl.  Her flowerlike lips touched the
  withered cheek and warmed its frost.
  
  "My child! my child!" cried Mrs. Vane, looking up to the ceiling in
  search of an imaginary gallery.
  
  "Come, Sibyl," said her brother impatiently.  He hated his mother's
  affectations.
  
  They went out into the flickering, wind-blown sunlight and strolled
  down the dreary Euston Road.  The passersby glanced in wonder at the
  sullen heavy youth who, in coarse, ill-fitting clothes, was in the
  company of such a graceful, refined-looking girl.  He was like a common
  gardener walking with a rose.
  
  Jim frowned from time to time when he caught the inquisitive glance of
  some stranger.  He had that dislike of being stared at, which comes on
  geniuses late in life and never leaves the commonplace.  Sibyl,
  however, was quite unconscious of the effect she was producing.  Her
  love was trembling in laughter on her lips.  She was thinking of Prince
  Charming, and, that she might think of him all the more, she did not
  talk of him, but prattled on about the ship in which Jim was going to
  sail, about the gold he was certain to find, about the wonderful
  heiress whose life he was to save from the wicked, red-shirted
  bushrangers.  For he was not to remain a sailor, or a supercargo, or
  whatever he was going to be.  Oh, no!  A sailor's existence was
  dreadful.  Fancy being cooped up in a horrid ship, with the hoarse,
  hump-backed waves trying to get in, and a black wind blowing the masts
  down and tearing the sails into long screaming ribands!  He was to
  leave the vessel at Melbourne, bid a polite good-bye to the captain,
  and go off at once to the gold-fields. Before a week was over he was to
  come across a large nugget of pure gold, the largest nugget that had
  ever been discovered, and bring it down to the coast in a waggon
  guarded by six mounted policemen.  The bushrangers were to attack them
  three times, and be defeated with immense slaughter.  Or, no.  He was
  not to go to the gold-fields at all.  They were horrid places, where
  men got intoxicated, and shot each other in bar-rooms, and used bad
  language.  He was to be a nice sheep-farmer, and one evening, as he was
  riding home, he was to see the beautiful heiress being carried off by a
  robber on a black horse, and give chase, and rescue her.  Of course,
  she would fall in love with him, and he with her, and they would get
  married, and come home, and live in an immense house in London.  Yes,
  there were delightful things in store for him.  But he must be very
  good, and not lose his temper, or spend his money foolishly.  She was
  only a year older than he was, but she knew so much more of life.  He
  must be sure, also, to write to her by every mail, and to say his
  prayers each night before he went to sleep.  God was very good, and
  would watch over him.  She would pray for him, too, and in a few years
  he would come back quite rich and happy.
  
  The lad listened sulkily to her and made no answer.  He was heart-sick
  at leaving home.
  
  Yet it was not this alone that made him gloomy and morose.
  Inexperienced though he was, he had still a strong sense of the danger
  of Sibyl's position.  This young dandy who was making love to her could
  mean her no good.  He was a gentleman, and he hated him for that, hated
  him through some curious race-instinct for which he could not account,
  and which for that reason was all the more dominant within him.  He was
  conscious also of the shallowness and vanity of his mother's nature,
  and in that saw infinite peril for Sibyl and Sibyl's happiness.
  Children begin by loving their parents; as they grow older they judge
  them; sometimes they forgive them.
  
  His mother!  He had something on his mind to ask of her, something that
  he had brooded on for many months of silence.  A chance phrase that he
  had heard at the theatre, a whispered sneer that had reached his ears
  one night as he waited at the stage-door, had set loose a train of
  horrible thoughts.  He remembered it as if it had been the lash of a
  hunting-crop across his face.  His brows knit together into a wedge-like
  furrow, and with a twitch of pain he bit his underlip.
  
  "You are not listening to a word I am saying, Jim," cried Sibyl, "and I
  am making the most delightful plans for your future.  Do say something."
  
  "What do you want me to say?"
  
  "Oh! that you will be a good boy and not forget us," she answered,
  smiling at him.
  
  He shrugged his shoulders.  "You are more likely to forget me than I am
  to forget you, Sibyl."
  
  She flushed.  "What do you mean, Jim?" she asked.
  
  "You have a new friend, I hear.  Who is he?  Why have you not told me
  about him?  He means you no good."
  
  "Stop, Jim!" she exclaimed.  "You must not say anything against him.  I
  love him."
  
  "Why, you don't even know his name," answered the lad.  "Who is he?  I
  have a right to know."
  
  "He is called Prince Charming.  Don't you like the name.  Oh! you silly
  boy! you should never forget it.  If you only saw him, you would think
  him the most wonderful person in the world.  Some day you will meet
  him--when you come back from Australia.  You will like him so much.
  Everybody likes him, and I ... love him.  I wish you could come to the
  theatre to-night. He is going to be there, and I am to play Juliet.
  Oh! how I shall play it!  Fancy, Jim, to be in love and play Juliet!
  To have him sitting there!  To play for his delight!  I am afraid I may
  frighten the company, frighten or enthrall them.  To be in love is to
  surpass one's self.  Poor dreadful Mr. Isaacs will be shouting 'genius'
  to his loafers at the bar.  He has preached me as a dogma; to-night he
  will announce me as a revelation.  I feel it.  And it is all his, his
  only, Prince Charming, my wonderful lover, my god of graces.  But I am
  poor beside him.  Poor?  What does that matter?  When poverty creeps in
  at the door, love flies in through the window.  Our proverbs want
  rewriting.  They were made in winter, and it is summer now; spring-time
  for me, I think, a very dance of blossoms in blue skies."
  
  "He is a gentleman," said the lad sullenly.
  
  "A prince!" she cried musically.  "What more do you want?"
  
  "He wants to enslave you."
  
  "I shudder at the thought of being free."
  
  "I want you to beware of him."
  
  "To see him is to worship him; to know him is to trust him."
  
  "Sibyl, you are mad about him."
  
  She laughed and took his arm.  "You dear old Jim, you talk as if you
  were a hundred.  Some day you will be in love yourself.  Then you will
  know what it is.  Don't look so sulky.  Surely you should be glad to
  think that, though you are going away, you leave me happier than I have
  ever been before.  Life has been hard for us both, terribly hard and
  difficult.  But it will be different now.  You are going to a new
  world, and I have found one.  Here are two chairs; let us sit down and
  see the smart people go by."
  
  They took their seats amidst a crowd of watchers.  The tulip-beds
  across the road flamed like throbbing rings of fire.  A white
  dust--tremulous cloud of orris-root it seemed--hung in the panting air.
  The brightly coloured parasols danced and dipped like monstrous
  butterflies.
  
  She made her brother talk of himself, his hopes, his prospects.  He
  spoke slowly and with effort.  They passed words to each other as
  players at a game pass counters.  Sibyl felt oppressed.  She could not
  communicate her joy.  A faint smile curving that sullen mouth was all
  the echo she could win.  After some time she became silent.  Suddenly
  she caught a glimpse of golden hair and laughing lips, and in an open
  carriage with two ladies Dorian Gray drove past.
  
  She started to her feet.  "There he is!" she cried.
  
  "Who?" said Jim Vane.
  
  "Prince Charming," she answered, looking after the victoria.
  
  He jumped up and seized her roughly by the arm.  "Show him to me.
  Which is he?  Point him out.  I must see him!" he exclaimed; but at
  that moment the Duke of Berwick's four-in-hand came between, and when
  it had left the space clear, the carriage had swept out of the park.
  
  "He is gone," murmured Sibyl sadly.  "I wish you had seen him."
  
  "I wish I had, for as sure as there is a God in heaven, if he ever does
  you any wrong, I shall kill him."
  
  She looked at him in horror.  He repeated his words.  They cut the air
  like a dagger.  The people round began to gape.  A lady standing close
  to her tittered.
  
  "Come away, Jim; come away," she whispered.  He followed her doggedly
  as she passed through the crowd.  He felt glad at what he had said.
  
  When they reached the Achilles Statue, she turned round.  There was
  pity in her eyes that became laughter on her lips.  She shook her head
  at him.  "You are foolish, Jim, utterly foolish; a bad-tempered boy,
  that is all.  How can you say such horrible things?  You don't know
  what you are talking about.  You are simply jealous and unkind.  Ah!  I
  wish you would fall in love.  Love makes people good, and what you said
  was wicked."
  
  "I am sixteen," he answered, "and I know what I am about.  Mother is no
  help to you.  She doesn't understand how to look after you.  I wish now
  that I was not going to Australia at all.  I have a great mind to chuck
  the whole thing up.  I would, if my articles hadn't been signed."
  
  "Oh, don't be so serious, Jim.  You are like one of the heroes of those
  silly melodramas Mother used to be so fond of acting in.  I am not
  going to quarrel with you.  I have seen him, and oh! to see him is
  perfect happiness.  We won't quarrel.  I know you would never harm any
  one I love, would you?"
  
  "Not as long as you love him, I suppose," was the sullen answer.
  
  "I shall love him for ever!" she cried.
  
  "And he?"
  
  "For ever, too!"
  
  "He had better."
  
  She shrank from him.  Then she laughed and put her hand on his arm.  He
  was merely a boy.
  
  At the Marble Arch they hailed an omnibus, which left them close to
  their shabby home in the Euston Road.  It was after five o'clock, and
  Sibyl had to lie down for a couple of hours before acting.  Jim
  insisted that she should do so.  He said that he would sooner part with
  her when their mother was not present.  She would be sure to make a
  scene, and he detested scenes of every kind.
  
  In Sybil's own room they parted.  There was jealousy in the lad's
  heart, and a fierce murderous hatred of the stranger who, as it seemed
  to him, had come between them.  Yet, when her arms were flung round his
  neck, and her fingers strayed through his hair, he softened and kissed
  her with real affection.  There were tears in his eyes as he went
  downstairs.
  
  His mother was waiting for him below.  She grumbled at his
  unpunctuality, as he entered.  He made no answer, but sat down to his
  meagre meal.  The flies buzzed round the table and crawled over the
  stained cloth.  Through the rumble of omnibuses, and the clatter of
  street-cabs, he could hear the droning voice devouring each minute that
  was left to him.
  
  After some time, he thrust away his plate and put his head in his
  hands.  He felt that he had a right to know.  It should have been told
  to him before, if it was as he suspected.  Leaden with fear, his mother
  watched him.  Words dropped mechanically from her lips.  A tattered
  lace handkerchief twitched in her fingers.  When the clock struck six,
  he got up and went to the door.  Then he turned back and looked at her.
  Their eyes met.  In hers he saw a wild appeal for mercy.  It enraged
  him.
  
  "Mother, I have something to ask you," he said.  Her eyes wandered
  vaguely about the room.  She made no answer.  "Tell me the truth.  I
  have a right to know.  Were you married to my father?"
  
  She heaved a deep sigh.  It was a sigh of relief.  The terrible moment,
  the moment that night and day, for weeks and months, she had dreaded,
  had come at last, and yet she felt no terror.  Indeed, in some measure
  it was a disappointment to her.  The vulgar directness of the question
  called for a direct answer.  The situation had not been gradually led
  up to.  It was crude.  It reminded her of a bad rehearsal.
  
  "No," she answered, wondering at the harsh simplicity of life.
  
  "My father was a scoundrel then!" cried the lad, clenching his fists.
  
  She shook her head.  "I knew he was not free.  We loved each other very
  much.  If he had lived, he would have made provision for us.  Don't
  speak against him, my son.  He was your father, and a gentleman.
  Indeed, he was highly connected."
  
  An oath broke from his lips.  "I don't care for myself," he exclaimed,
  "but don't let Sibyl.... It is a gentleman, isn't it, who is in love
  with her, or says he is?  Highly connected, too, I suppose."
  
  For a moment a hideous sense of humiliation came over the woman.  Her
  head drooped.  She wiped her eyes with shaking hands.  "Sibyl has a
  mother," she murmured; "I had none."
  
  The lad was touched.  He went towards her, and stooping down, he kissed
  her.  "I am sorry if I have pained you by asking about my father," he
  said, "but I could not help it.  I must go now.  Good-bye. Don't forget
  that you will have only one child now to look after, and believe me
  that if this man wrongs my sister, I will find out who he is, track him
  down, and kill him like a dog.  I swear it."
  
  The exaggerated folly of the threat, the passionate gesture that
  accompanied it, the mad melodramatic words, made life seem more vivid
  to her.  She was familiar with the atmosphere.  She breathed more
  freely, and for the first time for many months she really admired her
  son.  She would have liked to have continued the scene on the same
  emotional scale, but he cut her short.  Trunks had to be carried down
  and mufflers looked for.  The lodging-house drudge bustled in and out.
  There was the bargaining with the cabman.  The moment was lost in
  vulgar details.  It was with a renewed feeling of disappointment that
  she waved the tattered lace handkerchief from the window, as her son
  drove away.  She was conscious that a great opportunity had been
  wasted.  She consoled herself by telling Sibyl how desolate she felt
  her life would be, now that she had only one child to look after.  She
  remembered the phrase.  It had pleased her.  Of the threat she said
  nothing.  It was vividly and dramatically expressed.  She felt that
  they would all laugh at it some day.
  
  
  
feat_summary_name: Chapter 5
target: Sibyl Vane tells her mother all about her love for Dorian, but only refers to him as "Prince Charming," since she has promised not to disclose his true name to anyone. Mrs Vane is greatly distressed over her daughter's well-being and the family's financial status. She reminds Sibyl that they owe money to Mr Isaacs, the theater owner, but Sibyl doesn't care about anything but her Prince Charming. Mrs Vane is full of affectations, always seeming to behave as if she is on stage. Sibyl's younger brother James enters, wanting to walk with his sister and bid farewell to his mother, as he is leaving for Australia to become a sailor. James is not an actor, and hates the city and the stage. He is a very serious, stocky young man. It is his hope that he will never have to return to London, and will make enough money to keep his mother and sister from having to act. When Sibyl leaves to prepare for their walk, James urges his mother to protect her. He is very jealous, protective of his sister, and suspicious of the situation, since Sibyl doesn't even seem to know her suitor's name. Mrs Vane reminds her son that Prince Charming is a gentleman, and that it could be a very profitable marriage for the family. Sibyl returns, and the siblings leave. On their walk, other people stare at them because Sibyl's beauty contrasts with James's stocky, disheveled appearance. Sibyl romanticizes her brother's life as a sailor: she is sure that he will find gold in a distant land, fight off robbers, and rescue a beautiful heiress. James is distressed about his sister's affair, and tells her that he doesn't trust her suitor. Sibyl defends Dorian, always referring to him as "Prince Charming", and tells James that he will only understand her feelings once he falls in love himself. Sibyl spots Dorian riding by and James runs to see what he looks like, but the carriage drives off. James states, "I wish I had , for as sure as there is a God in heaven, if he ever does you any wrong, I shall kill him." Sibyl scolds her brother for being bad-tempered, and doesn't take his threat seriously. After returning home for dinner, James tells his mother that "if this man ever wrongs my sister, I will find out who he is, track him down, and kill him like a dog." The melodrama of the statement and the theatrical manner of its delivery make Mrs Vane admire her son, because she is only truly comfortable when life mimics the theater. James's departure, however, disappoints her, because the potentially heart-jerking farewell "was lost in vulgar details" of haggling with a cab driver.
feat_summary_analysis: This is one of the few chapters in the novel that does not focus primarily on Dorian or Lord Henry. Like the preface, and all of the later chapters dealing with James Vane, this chapter was absent from the original version of the novel printed in Lippincott's Monthly.  This fact is made apparent from the tone of writing: by introducing three new characters that barely interact with the main players of the story, this chapter seems to deviate from the plot. However, Wilde does use the Vanes to further explore the complex relationship between life and art.  Sibyl and her mother both seem to be stuck in theatrical mentalities.  This is most striking in the character of Mrs Vane, who is actually disappointed when the events in her life don't live up to the melodrama of the theater.  She appreciates Sibyl's love-stricken outbursts because they are worthy of the stage.  When James enters their room, "she mentally elevated her son to the dignity of an audience.  She felt sure that the tableau was interesting."  She is disappointed with the farewell of her only son, because "It was crude.  It reminded her of a bad rehearsal."  To Mrs Vane, life has become a shadow of her art. Sibyl is similarly afflicted, but to a lesser degree.  The theatricality of her actions can be attributed to her naivetA and the intensity of her love for Dorian.  This love exists in the real world, and thus saves Sibyl from the need to feel that she is constantly in a play.  Ironically, this desire to live in the "real world" and experience true love eventually leads to her death. The threats made by James, which are dismissed by Sibyl as byproducts of the over-zealousness of youth, return to haunt Dorian in the later chapters .  James comes to represent the inescapable consequences of Dorian's past transgressions.  The threats that Sibyl finds so harmless and endearing prove to be earnest declarations of intent. When Dorian drives by in a carriage, unseen by James but noticed by Sibyl, Wilde is emphasizing the discrepency between their social classes.  Dorian rides in an expensive carriage, while the Vanes walk the filthy streets.  This discrepency is the source of much of James's rage and frustration, and also Sibyl's tragically idealistic hopes for a better life.