The Importance of Being Earnest Page #4

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with you daily.

My own one.

Yes. I must confess.

I do smoke.

I know nothing, Lady Bracknell.

I can produce the handbag

at a moment's notice.

Shh! Shh.

Before you can be found...

in a handbag

at a railway station...

someone must have lost you

in a handbag...

at a railway station.

Do you see?

In the first place,

what with Lady Bracknell...

sniffing about,

dear, dissolute Ernest...

is a risk

I can no longer afford.

And secondly, Cecily

is becoming a little too much...

interested in him.

It's rather a bore.

I'd rather like to meet Cecily.

Well. I shall take

very good care you never do.

She is excessively pretty

and only just eighteen.

No, I'll say he died

in Paris of apoplexy.

But it's hereditary,

my dear fellow.

It's the sort of thing

that runs in families.

You had much better say

it was a severe chill.

Very well. then.

Poor brother Ernest

is carried off suddenly...

in Paris by a severe chill.

That gets rid of him.

Have you told Gwendolen

that you have...

an excessively pretty ward

who's only just eighteen?

No. One doesn't blurt

these things out to people.

Cecily and Gwendolen

are perfectly certain...

to become extremely

great friends.

I bet you anything half

an hour after they've met...

they will be calling

each other sister.

Women only

do that when they have...

called each other a lot

of other things first.

Don't let me

disturb you.

I hope tomorrow

will be a fine day, Lane.

It never is, sir.

You are a perfect pessimist.

I do my best to give

satisfaction, sir.

Thank you.

You can put out

my dress clothes...

my smoking jacket...

and even bring on

the curling tongs.

Yes, sir.

Tomorrow, Lane...

I'm going Bunburying.

Yes. sir.

That must be it over there.

Bring it down there,

Mr. Smithers.

Ask Mr. Ernest Worthing

to come here.

Yes. Miss.

You are my little cousin

Cecily, I'm sure.

You are under

some strange mistake.

I'm not little.

In fact, I believe...

I'm more than usually

tall for my age.

But I am your cousin Cecily.

And you--you,

I see from your card...

are Uncle Jack's brother,

my cousin Ernest.

My wicked cousin Ernest.

I'm not really wicked

at all, Cousin Cecily.

You mustn't think

that I'm wicked.

Well, if you are not,

then you've certainly...

been deceiving us all

in a very inexcusable manner.

Well, I have been

rather reckless.

I'm glad to hear it.

In fact, now that

you mention the subject...

I have been very bad

in my own small way.

Well, I don't think you should

be so proud of that...

though I am sure

it must've been very pleasant.

It's much pleasanter

being here with you.

I can't understand

how you're here at all.

Uncle Jack won't be back

till Monday afternoon.

Oh, that is a great

disappointment.

I'm obliged to go out...

by the first train

on Monday morning.

I have a business appointment

that I'm anxious to miss.

That's all very well,

but still...

I think you had better wait

until Uncle Jack arrives.

I know he wants to speak to you

about your emigrating.

About my what?

Uncle Jack is sending you

to Australia.

Australia? I'd sooner die.

He said at dinner

on Wednesday night...

that you would have to choose

between this world...

the next world, and Australia.

Oh, well.

The accounts I have

received of Australia...

and the next world

are not particularly...

encouraging, Cousin Cecily.

This world

is good enough for me.

Yes, but are you

good enough for it?

No, I'm afraid not.

That is why I want you

to reform me.

You might make that

your mission...

if you don't mind,

Cousin Cecily.

I'm afraid I've no time

this afternoon.

Well, would you mind me...

reforming myself

this afternoon?

It is rather quixotic of you,

but I think you should try.

I will.

-I feel better already.

-You're looking a little worse.

Well,

that's because I'm hungry.

-Mr. Worthing!

-Mr. Worthing!

This is indeed a surprise.

We did not look for you

till Monday afternoon.

I have returned

sooner than I expected.

Dear Mr. Worthing,

I trust this garb of woe...

does not betoken

some terrible calamity.

My brother.

More shameful debts

and extravagance.

Still leading

a life of pleasure.

Dead.

Your brother Ernest is dead?

Quite dead.

What a lesson for him!

I trust he will profit by it.

He had many faults,

but it is a sad, sad blow.

Yes. indeed. sad.

Um, were you with him

at the end?

No. He died abroad.

In Paris, in fact.

I had a telegram last night...

from the manager

of the Grand Hotel.

Is the cause of death

mentioned?

A severe chill, it seems.

As a man sows,

so shall he reap.

Oh, charity,

Miss Prism, charity.

I myself am peculiarly

susceptible to draft.

Ah...ah...Ah-choo!

Bless you.

Uncle Jack, I'm so pleased

to see you back.

What is the matter, Uncle Jack?

Do look happy.

You look as if

you had toothache...

and I have such

a surprise for you.

Who do you think

is in the rose garden?

Your brother.

-Who?

-Your brother Ernest.

He arrived about

half an hour ago.

Nonsense.

I haven't got a brother.

-I mean...

-Well, he's...

Come, he'll be so pleased

to see you've returned so soon.

I--

These are joyful tidings.

Good heavens.

Brother John,

I've come down from town...

to tell you

that I'm very sorry...

for all the trouble

I have given you...

and that I fully intend...

to lead a better life

in the future.

Well, what can I say?

The old Ernest is dead.

Long live the new Ernest.

I thought you'd like

my little joke.

Your little joke?

Knowing me as you do,

brother John...

I'm surprised

you took it so seriously.

At any rate,

I stand before you now...

an entirely new man,

risen, as it were...

like a phoenix from the ashes.

Uncle Jack,

you're not going to refuse...

your own brother's hand.

Nothing would induce me

to take his hand.

I think his behaviour

utterly disgraceful.

He knows perfectly well why!

Do shake his hand, Uncle Jack.

After all, it could be worse.

I could be dead in Paris.

You could, indeed.

Of a severe chill.

Sorry about that, Jack.

Shake. Go on.

Excuse me, sir.

We're putting

Mr. Ernest's things...

in the blue room

on the second floor.

Very nice to see you, Doctor.

Do tell me, when is confession?

What?

Mr. Ernest's luggage, sir.

We're taking it up

to the blue room.

-His luggage?

-Yes, sir.

Two portmanteaus,

two dressing cases...

two hat boxes,

and a large luncheon basket.

I fear I can only

stay a week this time.

Heh heh.

-You scoundrel, Algy.

-Mm?

What have you

to say for yourself?

What I have to say,

Uncle Jack...

is that little Cecily

is a darling.

You are not to talk

of Miss Cardew like that!

I don't like it.

Your vanity is ridiculous...

your conduct an outrage,

and your presence...

in my house utterly absurd!

However, you have got

to catch the four-five train.

I hope you have a pleasant

journey back to town.

This Bunburying,

as you call it...

has not been

a great success for you.

It's pleasant. is it not...

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