The Picture of Dorian Gray Page #9

that can be viewed under a microscope.

The eternal words are as true today

as when he uttered them.

"What shall it profit a man

if he gain the whole world

"and lose his soul?"

The soul is not an illusion.

It is a terrible reality.

It can be bought and sold

and bartered away.

It can be poisoned or made perfect.

That man, rich or poor, who has the light

of faith and charity within himself,

even though he were plunged

into the very pit of darkness,

would still enjoy the clear light of day.

But the wretched creature

whose soul is filled with dark thoughts

and foul deeds must dwell in darkness.

Even though he walk

under the noonday sun,

he must carry his own vile

dungeon round with him.

What's that you're playing?

It has a name, hasn't it?

A kind of name.

It's called Prelude.

Play something else!

-Why you do not like that music?

-I heard someone play that piece before.

-Eighteen years ago.

-A woman?

Every time I get back to London,

I look for him.

Sir Tristan, my sister called him.

Because he was like a knight.

If he was in Rangoon or Valparaiso,

I'd find him.

But in London,

it's like looking for a needle in a haystack.

I don't know his real name.

-I don't even know what he looks like.

-And when you find him, what will you do?

Maybe he's dead already.

Did you think of that?

I'll keep on looking.

-You're not English.

-What is English?

There are men and there are women.

This is Sir Tristan, Kate darling.

I've asked you not to call me that, Adrian.

I heard Lord Henry call you Sir Tristan,

and at the time I thought it fit.

-Why do we never see you?

-I have all I need here.

Drink and drugs and no friends.

I've had too many friends.

Oh, he's drawing a picture of you, sir.

Come and look at it.

What would you like?

A song, a poem, a painting?

I do all three surpassingly well.

It seems to me there's something lacking.

I have it.

"But grim to see

"is the gallows-tree."

Goodbye, Adrian.

"And, green or dry, a man must die

Before it bears its fruit."

Goodbye, Sir Tristan.

What did you call him?

Sit down.

I'll draw your picture

for the price of three drinks.

-Four drinks.

-Sir Tristan, you said.

And Sir Tristan rode forth into the forest,

seeking his only love.

He has gone to kill your friend.

Justice has come to England

without wig or gown.

Come on, Kate.

If it's money you want...

I'm Sibyl Vane's brother.

Does that mean anything to you?

-No, nothing.

-Why are you called Sir Tristan?

It happens to be my name.

You're lying.

18 years I've been looking for you.

How old do you think I am?

Why didn't you murder him?

They could only have hanged you for it.

He's not the man I'm looking for.

He's too young.

-How old do you think he is?

-22, I'd say.

What are you laughing at?

Dorian Gray has looked

22 for the last 20 years.

What did you say his name was?

When a man says he has exhausted life,

you may be sure that

life has exhausted him.

But in your case,

this strange impulse to be good

is merely the effect of your

approaching marriage.

It will wear off in time. Do you mind,

pulling down that blind, Dorian?

Not at all. The truth is I want to be better.

I'm determined to be better.

Well, at least it will be a novel sensation,

and needn't become a habit.

Marriage itself is merely a habit,

a very bad habit.

I trust it won't make you

a hopelessly reformed character.

Harry, I've been away so long.

What are people talking about in London?

They were talking

about Basil's disappearance.

But now they are completely taken up

with Allen Campbell's suicide.

What do you think has happened to Basil?

I haven't the slightest idea.

I suppose in a fortnight or so,

we shall be told that

he's been seen in San Francisco.

It's an odd thing,

but everyone who disappears

is said to be seen in San Francisco.

It must be a delightful city and possess

all the attractions of the next world.

He was a fine painter. I'm certain of that.

You know, the best thing

that Basil ever did

was that wonderful portrait of you.

I remember you told me

it was stolen or destroyed or something.

What is your secret, Dorian?

You don't look a day older than

you did when that portrait was painted.

Perhaps I'll tell you some day.

To get back my youth,

I'd do anything in the world,

except get up early,

take exercise or be respectable.

I sometimes think I'd give anything

if I could change

and grow old like other people.

My good resolutions

may have come too late.

Though Dorian placed

guards about the estate,

the consciousness of being hunted,

snared, tracked down

began to dominate him.

ln the small hours of the night,

when every sound is seized upon

by the distraught imagination,

remorse and terror laid hold of him.

Each detail of his crimes came back to him

in nightmares with added horror,

haunting him relentlessly

with the living death of his soul.

With the day came the cruel necessity

to dissemble to Gladys and to his guests.

-Have you had good sport, Geoffrey?

-Not very good, Dorian.

I think most

of the birds have gone to the open.

It may be better after lunch,

when we get to new ground.

-Don't shoot it, Geoffrey.

-Nonsense.

Good heavens, I've hit a beater.

What an idiot the man was

to get in front of the gun.

Stop shooting there. A man's hurt.

Where, sir? Where is he?

Here. Why on earth

don't you keep your men back?

Spoiled my shooting for the day.

I've told them

the shooting's stopped for today.

It wouldn't look well to go on.

-Is the man...

-Yes, he's dead.

He received the full charge in his chest.

Thornton, come in.

I suppose you've come about

the unfortunate accident this morning.

Was he married? Did he have

any people dependent upon him?

I'll write them any sum

you think necessary.

We don't know who he is, sir. That's why

I took the liberty of coming to you.

-Wasn't he one of your men?

-No, sir. Never saw him before.

Seemed like a sailor.

A sailor!

Looks as if he'd been a sort of sailor.

Tattooed on both arms

and that kind of thing.

Wasn't anything found on him,

anything that would tell his name?

Some money, not much, and a six-shooter.

No name of any kind.

Decent-looking man, sir. But rough-like.

A sort of sailor, we think.

-Where is the body?

-In an empty stable at the home farm, sir.

Show me his face.

Come in.

What is it, Dorian?

Oh, but you haven't changed.

You'll be late for dinner.

I wanted to look at you.

I know, darling.

I've felt that way so often about you.

-Goodbye, Gladys.

-Goodbye? Until half past eight.

Until half past eight.

Go on.

-Shall I go on, sir?

-Yes.

Dorian.

Dorian!

David! What brings you to Selby?

Have you seen Dorian?

Well, what is it? What's happened?

Dorian's gone to London. Didn't you know?

David passed him

on his way from the station.

-It's strange, his rushing away like that.

-He looked black as thunder.

I thought perhaps he'd found out

what I've been up to.

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