The Picture of Dorian Gray Page #5

It's tragic, of course,

but you mustn't let yourself brood over it.

You must learn to see it

in its proper perspective.

For the moment,

you must put it out of your mind.

You must come and dine with me,

and afterwards,

we'll look in at the opera.

It's Don Giovanni.

Everybody'll be there,

and you can come to my sister's box.

So I have murdered Sibyl Vane,

as surely as if I'd cut her throat.

I can't see why you should blame yourself.

I suppose you had a quarrel,

and she foolishly thought she had lost you.

But no woman destroys herself

who isn't already unbalanced.

Where do you keep your sherry?

lf you'd married this girl,

you would have been wretched,

and so in time would she have been.

I assure you, the whole thing

would have been an absolute failure.

I remember your saying once,

there's a fatality about good resolutions.

They're always made too late.

-Mine certainly were.

-You should look upon this tragedy

as an episode

in the wonderful spectacle of life.

What is it that has really happened?

Someone has killed herself for love of you.

I wish that I'd had such an experience.

The women who have admired me,

and there have been some,

have always insisted on living on long

after I have ceased to care for them

or they to care for me.

They've become stout and tedious.

And when I meet them,

they go in at once for reminiscences.

That awful memory of woman.

Drink this. It'll make you feel better.

I found myself sitting

next to such a woman

the other night at dinner.

She had once proposed to sacrifice

the whole world for me.

That's always a dreadful moment.

It fills one with the terror of eternity.

It happened years ago,

but she insisted on dragging

the whole thing out again,

and she assured me

that I'd spoiled her life.

However, she ate an enormous dinner.

Not one of the women I've known

would have done for me

what Sibyl Vane did for you.

But you haven't told me yet whether

you will dine with me tonight.

I don't feel up to it, Harry.

Then perhaps you'll join me

later at the opera.

My sister's box number is 27.

It's on the Grand Tier.

You'll see her name on the door.

I hope to see you before half past nine.

I don't want you to miss

de Reszke in the duet.

I'm sorry, Mr. Hallward. Mr. Gray isn't in.

He's gone to the opera.

-To the opera?

-Yes, sir. Is there any message, sir?

No. No, I'll come by in the morning.

But in the morning,

Dorian no longer wanted

the consolation of his friend,

nor his reproaches.

His pride and his sense of guilt

prompted him

to assume an air of indifference.

Hello, Basil. Sorry to keep you.

-Have you had breakfast?

-Yes, I have, thank you.

I'm famished. You don't mind

if I have a bite while we talk?

Of course not.

You went to the opera while Sibyl Vane

was lying dead in some sordid lodging?

-What is past is past.

-You call yesterday the past?

It's only shallow people

who require years to get rid of an emotion.

A man who is master of himself

can end a sorrow as easily

as he can invent a pleasure.

I don't want to be at the mercy

of my emotions.

I want to use them,

enjoy them, and dominate them.

Something has changed you

completely, Dorian.

You look exactly the same.

You talk as if you had

no heart, no pity in you.

You've come too late.

lf you had come in yesterday

at a particular moment,

about half past five or a quarter to six,

you would've seen

how deeply I was affected.

Even Harry, who brought me the news,

had no idea what I was going through.

I suffered immensely.

Then it passed away.

I cannot repeat an emotion. No one can.

This isn't you talking, Dorian.

These are Harry's ideas.

It has nothing to do with Harry.

I suppose Harry didn't give you

that yellow book I saw on your table.

-What's wrong with that book?

-Everything.

It's vile, evil, corrupt, decadent. I detest it.

What would you like me to read, Basil?

Since you asked me.

-"The Light of Asia."

-I'm never without it.

-The story of Buddha, isn't it?

-The story of Buddha, a good man.

-Promise me you'll read it, Dorian.

-I promise.

You've done a sketch of Sibyl.

It's charming. May I have it?

Of course. I must go now, Dorian.

I'm relieved to find you

in such good spirits

in spite of what has happened.

Thank you, Basil.

It's good of you to be so concerned.

Before I go, I'd like to look at the painting

I did of you.

There's a screen in front of it.

I thought the room looked different

when I came in.

-The light was too strong on the portrait.

-Surely not. It's an admirable place for it.

Wait. You must not look at it.

Not look at my own work?

You're not serious.

-Why shouldn't I look at it?

-I don't offer any explanation,

and you're not to ask for any,

but if you try to look at that picture, Basil,

on my word of honor,

I will never speak to you again.

What on earth is the matter with you?

I'm planning to exhibit it next month.

-That's why I wanted to look at it.

-Exhibit it?

But you told me a month ago,

you would never exhibit it.

You told Harry the same thing.

At that time the painting

had a strange fascination for me.

It seemed almost to have a life of its own.

It affected me so much,

I felt I couldn't let it be seen publicly.

Perhaps you've seen

the same mysterious quality in it, Dorian.

Have you noticed

something curious in the painting?

Something that probably

at first did not strike you,

but that revealed itself to you suddenly?

-I see you did.

-I saw something in it.

Something that seemed

to be very curious.

You are right. There can be something

fatal about a portrait.

I think I understand what you feel about it.

And I respect your wishes.

Perhaps someday you'll recover from it,

as I did.

At any rate, I'll certainly not let it destroy

our friendship.

-I'm glad of that.

-Goodbye, Dorian.

Goodbye, Basil.

It had been mad of him to allow

the thing to remain, even for an hour,

in a room to which

any of his friends had access.

Henceforth, he must be on his guard

against everyone.

At the top of the house

was his old schoolroom,

which had not been used for years.

No one ever entered it.

Nothing was in it

but his old school books and his toys,

gathering dust and cobwebs.

The picture

could be safely hidden away there.

He could lock it up.

He himself would keep the key.

There was no need for the servants

ever to enter the room.

He would have to let Victor go,

and the others.

He must bring new servants

into the house.

ln this room,

every moment of his childhood

and its stainless purity came back to him.

Here among the innocent souvenirs

of his childhood,

the hideous portrait

would be forever hidden away.

The face painted in the canvas

could grow bestial, sodden and unclean.

No one would ever see it.

No one, except himself.

He was to have eternal youth,

while the portrait

bore the burden of his shame.

He was caught in an evil destiny.

As the years passed,

the miracle of Dorian's changeless youth

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