All language subtitles for A.Woman.Of.No.Importance.2018.720p.WEBRip.x264.AAC-[YTS.MX]

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(animals faintly chirping)
(gentle music)

(birds rustling)

- I believe this is the
first English country house

you have stayed at, Miss Worsley?

- Yes, Lady Caroline.

- You have no country houses,
I am told, in America?

- We have not many.

- Have you any country?
What we should call country?

- We have the largest country
in the world, Lady Caroline.

They used to tell us at
school that some of our states

are as big as France and
England put together.

- Ah, you must find it very
drafty, I should fancy.

John, you should have your muffler.

What is the use of my always
knitting mufflers for you

if you won't wear them?

- I am quite warm, Caroline, I assure you.

- I think not, John.

Well, you couldn't come to a
more charming place than this,

Miss Worsley, though the
house is excessively damp,

quite unpardonably damp,
especially the bedrooms,

and dear Lady Hunstanton
is sometimes a little lax

about the people she asks down here.

Jane mixes too much.

Lord Illingworth is, of course,
a man of high distinction.

It is a privilege to meet him,

and that member of Parliament, Mr. Kettle.

- Kelvil, my love, Kelvil.

- He must be quite respectable.

One has never heard his name before

in the whole course of one's life,

and that speaks volumes
for a man, nowadays,

but Mrs. Allonby is hardly
a very suitable person.

- I dislike Mrs. Allonby. I
dislike her more than I can say.

- I am not sure, Miss Worsley,
that foreigners like yourself

should cultivate likes or dislikes

about the people they are invited to meet.

Mrs. Allonby is very well born.

She is a niece of Lord Brancaster's.

It is said, of course,
that she ran away twice

before she was married,

but you know how unfair people often are.

I myself don't believe she
ran away more than once.

- Mr. Arbuthnot is very charming.

- Ah, yes, the young man
who has a post in a bank.

Lady Hunstanton is most
kind in asking him here,

and Lord Illingworth seems to have

taken quite a fancy to him.

I am not sure, however, that Jane is right

in taking him out of his position.

In my young days, Miss Worsley,

one never met any one who
worked for their living.

It was not considered the thing.

- In America, those are
the people we respect most.

- I have no doubt of it.

- Mr. Arbuthnot has a beautiful nature!

He is so simple, so
sincere, and so upright.

It is a privilege to meet him.

- It is not customary in
England, Miss Worsley,

for a young lady to speak
with such enthusiasm

of any person of the opposite sex.

English women conceal their feelings

'til after they are married.

They show them then.

- Do you allow no friendship to exist

between a young man and a young girl?

- We think it very inadvisable.

Jane, I was just saying
what a pleasant party

you have asked us to meet.

You have a wonderful power of selection.

It is quite a gift.

- Oh, dear Caroline, how kind of you!

I think we all do fit
in very nicely together,

The cushion, there, Francis, and my shawl.

The Shetland. Get the Shetland.

- Lady Hunstanton, I have
such good news to tell you.

Lord Illingworth has just
offered to make me his secretary.

- His secretary? That is
good news indeed, Gerald.

That means a very brilliant
future in store for you.

Your dear mother will be delighted.

I really must try and induce
her to come up here tonight.

Do you think she would, Gerald?

I know how difficult it is
to get her to go anywhere.

- Oh, I am sure she
would, Lady Hunstanton,

if she knew Lord Illingworth
had made me such an offer.

- I will write and tell her about it,

and ask her to come up and meet him.

Just wait, Francis.

- That is a very wonderful opening

for so young a man as
you are, Mr. Arbuthnot.

- It is indeed, Lady Caroline.

I trust I shall be able to
show myself worthy of it.

- I trust so.

- You have not congratulated
me yet, Miss Worsley.

- Are you very pleased about it?

- Of course I am.

Things that were out of
the reach of hope before

may be within hope's reach now.

- Nothing should be out
of the reach of hope.

Life is a hope.

- John, muffler!

This September air is chilly.

- I'm quite warm, Caroline!

- I think not!

- I fancy, Caroline, that diplomacy is

what Lord Illingworth is aiming at.

I heard he was offered Vienna.

- I don't think England

should be represented abroad
by an unmarried man, Jane.

It might lead to complications.

- Oh, you are too nervous, Caroline.

Believe me, too nervous.

Besides, Lord Illingworth
may marry any day.

I was in hopes he would
have married Lady Kelso,

but I believe he said
her family was too large,

or was it her feet?

I forget which.

Tell Henry to wait for an answer.

I have written a line to
your dear mother, Gerald,

to tell her your good news,

and to say she must come to dinner.

- That is kind of you, Lady Hunstanton.

Will you come for a stroll, Miss Worsley?

- With pleasure.

- I am much gratified at Gerald
Arbuthnot's good fortune.

He is quite a protege of mine.

- John, the grass is too damp for you!

You had better go and put
on your overshoes at once.

- I am quite comfortable,
Caroline, I assure you.

- You must allow me to be
the best judge of that, John.

Pray do as I tell you.

- Very well, dear.

- You spoil him, Caroline, you do indeed!

Well, dear, I hope you like the park.

It is said to be well timbered.

- The trees are wonderful,
Lady Hunstanton.

- Quite, quite wonderful.

- But I think that's the
drawback of the country.

There's so many trees, one
can't see the temptations.

(group chuckles)

I feel sure, if I lived in
the country for six months,

no one would take the
slightest notice of me.

- Oh, I can assure you, dear,

the country has not that effect at all.

Why, it was from Melthorpe,

which is only two miles from here,

that Lady Belton eloped
with Lord Fethersdale.

I remember the occurrence perfectly.

Poor Lord Belton died three
days afterwards of joy,

or gout, I forget which.

- To elope is cowardly.

It's running away from danger,

and danger has become
so rare in modern life.

We all live in the most vulgar security.

- Well, as far as I can make out,

the young women of the present day

make it the sole object of their lives

to be always playing with fire.

- The one advantage of playing
with fire, Lady Caroline,

is that one never gets even singed.

It's the people who don't
know how to play with it

that get burned up.

- Yes, I see that. It
is very, very helpful.

- I'm afraid, dear, you
like making fools of men.

- That is never necessary.

- Ah, the world was made
for men and not for women.

- Oh, don't say that, Lady Stutfield.

We have a much better time than them.

There are far more things forbidden to us

than are forbidden to them.

- Yes, that is quite, quite
true. I had not thought of that.

- Your last remark, Mrs. Allonby,

sounds rather like tempting providence.

- Oh, surely, providence
can resist temptation

by this time, Lady Caroline.

- Oh.

- Well, Mr. Kelvil, have
you got through your work?

- I have finished my writing
for the day, Lady Hunstanton.

It has been an arduous task.

The demands on the time of a public man

are very heavy nowadays,
very heavy indeed,

and I don't think they meet
with adequate recognition.

- John, have you got your overshoes on?

- Yes, my love.

- You should have
brought your muffler too.

- Well, dear-

- I think you had better
come and sit over here, John.

It is more sheltered.

- I am quite comfortable, Caroline.

- I think not, John. You
had better sit beside me.

- And what have you been writing about

this afternoon, Mr. Kelvil?

- On the usual subject,
Lady Stutfield, on purity.

- That must be such a very,
very interesting thing

to write about.

- It is the one subject of
really national importance,

nowadays, Lady Stutfield.

I purpose addressing my
constituents on the question

before Parliament meets.

I find that the poorer
classes of this country

display a marked desire for
a higher ethical standard

among the upper classes.

- How quite, quite nice of them.

- Are you in favor of women

taking part in politics, Mr. Kettle?

- Kelvil, my love, Kelvil.

- The growing influence of women
is the one reassuring thing

in our political life, Lady Caroline.

Women are always on the side of morality,

public and private.

- It is so very, very
gratifying to hear you say that.

- Ah, yes, the moral qualities in women,

that is the important thing.

I am afraid, Caroline,
that dear Lord Illingworth

doesn't value the moral qualities in women

as much as he should.

- The world says that Lord
Illingworth is very, very wicked.

- But what world says
that, Lady Stutfield?

It must be the next world.

This world and I are on excellent terms.

- Every one I know says
you are very, very wicked.

- It is perfectly monstrous

the way people go about, nowadays,

saying things against
one behind one's back

that are absolutely and entirely true.

- Dear Lord Illingworth is
quite hopeless, Lady Stutfield.

I have given up trying to reform him.

It would take a public company
and a Board of Directors

and a paid secretary to do that,

but you have the secretary already,

haven't you, Lord Illingworth?

Gerald Arbuthnot has
told us his good news.

It really is most kind of you.

- Oh, don't say that, Lady Hunstanton.

Kind is a dreadful word.

He will be excessively useful.

I never answer my letters,

and as I get an unbearable
amount every morning,

I want someone to help
me, not to answer them.

- Oh, he's an admirable young man,

and his mother is one
of my dearest friends.

He has just gone for a walk
with our pretty American.

She is very pretty, is she not?

- Far too pretty.

These American girls carry
off all the good matches.

- Who are Miss Worsley's parents?

- Oh, Miss Worsley is an orphan, Caroline.

Her father was a very wealthy
millionaire or philanthropist,

or both, I believe, who
entertained my son, James,

quite hospitably, when he visited Boston.

I don't know how he made
his money, originally.

- I fancy in American dry goods.

I remember the name in connection

with a question of tariff duties.

- What are American dry goods?

- American novels.

- Well, from whatever source
her large fortune came,

I have a great esteem for Miss Worsley.

- I am afraid you don't
appreciate America,

Lord Illingworth.

It is a very remarkable country,

especially considering its youth.

- The youth of America
is its oldest tradition.

It has been going on now for 300 years.

To hear them talk, one would think

they're in their first childhood.

- There is undoubtedly a
great deal of corruption

in American politics.

I suppose you allude to that?

- I wonder.

- Do you take no side then

in modern politics, Lord Illingworth?

- One should never take sides
in anything, Mr. Kelvil.

Taking sides is the
beginning of sincerity,

and earnestness follows
shortly afterwards.

No educated person is
interested in politics.

- I wonder what Mr. Kettle says of that.

- Kelvil, dear, Kelvil.

- I consider the House of Commons

to be a most admirable institution.

- I have nothing to say
against the House of Commons.

It is the last bulwark of
our national stupidity.

- You cannot deny that the House

has shown great sympathy with
the sufferings of the poor.

- That is its special vice.

That is the special vice of the age.

One should sympathize with the joy,

the beauty, the color of life.

The less said about life's
sores, the better, Mr. Kelvil.

- Still, our East End is
a very important problem.

- Quite so.

It is the problem of slavery,

and we are trying to solve
it by amusing the slaves.

- Dear Dr. Daubeny, our
rector here, provides,

with the assistance of his curates,

really admirable recreations
for the poor during the winter,

and much good may be done
by means of a magic lantern,

or a missionary, or some
popular amusement of that kind.

- I am not at all in favor of amusements

for the poor, Jane.

Blankets and coals are sufficient.

There is too much love of pleasure

amongst the upper classes as it is.

Health is what we want in modern life.

- You are quite right, Lady Caroline.

- I believe I am usually
right, Mr. Kettle.

- Kelvil, my own one, Kelvil.

- Horrid word, "health".

- Silliest word in our language,

and one knows so well the
popular idea of health.

The English country gentleman
galloping after a fox,

the unspeakable in full
pursuit of the uneatable.

- Are you going, Mrs. Allonby?

- Just as far as the
conservatory, Lady Hunstanton.

Lord Illingworth told me this morning

that there is an orchid in there

as beautiful as the seven deadly sins.

- Oh, my dear, I hope there
is nothing of the kind.

I will certainly speak to the gardener.

- Remarkable type, Mrs. Allonby.

- She lets her clever tongue
run away with her sometimes.

- Is that the only thing, Jane,

Mrs. Allonby allows to run away with her?

- I hope so, Caroline, I am sure.

- You...

- Oh, dear Lord Alfred, do join us.

- You believe good of every
one, Jane. It is a great fault.

- Do you really, really
think, Lady Caroline,

that one should believe evil of every one?

- I think it is much safer
to do so, Lady Stutfield.

Until, of course, people
are found out to be good.

- But there is so much unkind
scandal in modern life.

- Lord Illingworth remarked
to me last night at dinner

that the basis of every scandal

is an absolutely immoral certainty.

- Lord Illingworth is, of course,

a very brilliant man, but
he seems to me to be lacking

in that fine faith in the purity of life

which is so important in this century.

- Yes, quite, quite important, is it not?

- I have heard him
speak, with much levity,

about the married time.

- That seems very, very
wrong, does it not?

- I fear Lord Illingworth
regards woman simply as a toy.

Now, I have never regarded woman as a toy.

Without woman, we should
forget the true ideals.

- It is so very, very
gratifying to hear you say that.

- You a married man, Mr. Kettle?

- Kelvil, dear, Kelvil.

- I am married, Lady Caroline.

- [Caroline] Family?

- Yes.

- [Caroline] How many?

- Eight.

- Mrs. Kettle and the children are,

I suppose, at the seaside?

- My wife is at the seaside

with the children, Lady Caroline.

- You will join them later on, no doubt?

- If my public engagements permit me.

- Your public life must be a
great source of gratification

to Mrs. Kettle.

- Kelvil, my love, Kelvil.

- John, John, John, you're
getting fever. I can see it.

Sit, sit, sit.

- How very, very charming,

those gold-tipped cigarettes
of yours are, Lord Alfred.

- They are awfully expensive.

I can only afford them when I'm in debt.

- It must be terribly, terribly
distressing to be in debt.

- One must have some occupation nowadays.

If I hadn't my debts,

I shouldn't have anything to think about.

All the chaps I know are in debt.

- I am afraid you are sadly,
sadly extravagant, Lord Alfred.

- I think, if one can
get it for 10 shillings,

it's absurd not to pay 15 for it.

- But don't the people
to whom you owe the money

give you a great, great deal of annoyance?

- Oh, no, they write, I don't.

- How very, very strange.

- Oh, here is a letter, Caroline,

from dear Mrs. Arbuthnot.

Oh, she will not dine.

I am so sorry, but she
will come in the evening.

Oh, I am very pleased indeed.

She is one of the sweetest women.

Writes a beautiful hand,
too, so large, so firm.

- A little lacking in femininity, Jane.

Femininity is the quality
I admire most in women.

- Oh, she is very feminine,
Caroline, and so good too.

You should hear what the
Archdeacon says of her.

He regards her as his
right hand in the parish.

(butler indistinctly whispers)

In the Yellow Drawing Room.

Oh, shall we all go in?

Fresh tea in the drawing room.

Lady Stutfield?

- With pleasure, Lady Hunstanton.

- John!

If you would allow your nephew

to look after Lady Stutfield's things,

you might help me with my workbasket.

- Certainly, my love.

- [Caroline] John!

- I should have thought Lady
Caroline would have tired of

conjugal anxiety by this time.

Sir John is her fourth!

- So much marriage is
certainly not becoming.

20 years of romance make
a woman look like a ruin,

but 20 years of marriage

make her something like a public building.

- 20 years of romance!
Is there such a thing?

- Not in our day. Women
have become too brilliant.

- The men, too tedious.

- Nothing spoils a romance so much as

a sense of humor in a woman.

- Or the want of it in the man.

- You are quite right.

In a temple, everyone should be serious,

except the thing being worshiped.

- And that should be man?

- Women kneel so gracefully, men don't.

- You are thinking of Lady Stutfield!

- I assure you I have not
thought of Lady Stutfield

for the last quarter of an hour.

- Is she such a mystery?

- She is more than a
mystery. She is a mood.

- Moods don't last.

- It is their chief charm.

- Lord Illingworth, everyone
has been congratulating me,

Lady Hunstanton and Lady
Caroline, and everyone.

I hope I shall make a good secretary.

- Gerald, you will be
the pattern secretary.

- You enjoy country life, Miss Worsley?

- Very much indeed.

- You don't find yourself longing
for a London dinner party?

- I dislike London dinner parties.

- Oh, well, I adore them.

The clever people never listen,

and the stupid people never talk.

- I find the stupid
people talk a great deal.

- Oh, well, I never listen!

- My dear boy, if I didn't like you,

I wouldn't have made you the offer.

It is because I like you so much

that I want to have you with me.

Don't you think I made

a wise choice of secretary, Ms. Worsley?

- I think you have.

- Charming fellow.

- Very nice, very nice indeed,

but I can't stand the American young lady.

- Why?

- She told me yesterday, and
in quite a loud voice too,

that she was only 18.

It was really most annoying.

- One should never trust a woman
who tells one her real age.

A woman who would tell one
that would tell you anything.

- She is a Puritan besides.

- Oh, that is inexcusable,
but she is decidedly pretty.

- What a thoroughly bad man you must be!

- What do you call a bad man?

- The sort of man who admires innocence.

- And a bad woman?

- Oh, the sort of woman
a man never tires of.

- You are severe on yourself.

- Define us as a sex.

- Sphinxes without secrets.

- And men?

- Oracles without wisdom.

Sphinxes? Does that
include the Puritan women?

- Do you know, I don't believe in

the existence of Puritan women?

I don't think there is
a woman in the world

who would not be a little
flattered to be made love to.

- You do not think there
is a woman in the world

who would object to being kissed?

- Very few.

- Oh, Miss Worsley would
not let you kiss her.

- Are you sure?

- Quite.

- I am not.

- I am.

- What do you think
she'd do if I kissed her?

- Either marry you,

or strike you across
the face with her glove.

What would you do if she
struck you across the face

with her glove?

- Fall in love with her, probably.

- Oh, then it is lucky you
are not going to kiss her!

- Is that a challenge?

- It is an arrow shot into the air.

- Don't you know that I always
succeed in everything I try?

- Oh, I am sorry to hear it.

We women adore failures. They lean on us.

- How tantalizing you are!

- Lord Illingworth, there is one thing

I shall always like you for.

- Only one thing? And I
have so many bad qualities.

- Ah, don't be too conceited about them.

You may lose them as you grow old.

- Oh, I never intend to grow old.

The soul is born old and grows young.

That is the comedy of life.

- And the body is born
young and grows old.

That is life's tragedy.

- Its comedy too, sometimes,

but what is the mysterious reason

why you will always like me?

- It is that you have
never made love to me.

- I thought I have.

- Never.

- Are you quite sure?

- You have to ask? We're
good friends still.

- You are quite right. I
have never made love to you.

I wonder why.

- I think our time tables
did not correspond.

- It's fortunate. It
would have be a collision.

- A catastrophe for both of us.

- We should each have survived.

- Oh, one can survive anything
nowadays, except death,

and live down everything
except a good reputation.

- Have you tried a good reputation?

- It is one of the many annoyances

to which I have not been subjected.

- It may come.

- Why do you threaten me?

- I will tell you when you
have kissed the Puritan.

- Oh, it'll be this weak then.

- I think not.

- You annoy me horribly by saying so.

- I see that I do.

- Fresh tea is served in the
Yellow Drawing Room, my lord.

- Tell her ladyship we are coming in.

- Yes, my lord.

- Shall we go in for tea?

- Do you like such simple pleasures?

- Oh, I adore simple pleasures.

They are the last refuge of the complex,

but, if you wish, let us stay here.

Yes, let us stay here.

The Book of Life begins with
a man and a woman in a garden.

- It ends with Revelations.

- You fence divinely, but the
button has come off your foil.

- I have still the mask.

- It makes your eyes lovelier.

- Thank you.

Come.

- What a curious handwriting!

It reminds me of the
handwriting of a woman

I used to know years ago.

- Who?

- Oh, no one. No one in particular.

A woman of no importance.

(birds fluttering)

(animals faintly chirping)

- Good evening, ladies and gentlemen,

and now for a little
after-dinner entertainment,

supported by myself with Tilly
on the clarinet, Francis,

our very special guest,
Lady Stutfield on violin,

and with a song whose
sentiment will never tired,

the fabled chanters of the
home counties, Lady Hunstanton.

(gentle folk music)

♪ While plodding on our way
the toilsome road of life ♪

♪ How few the friends
that daily there we meet ♪

♪ Not many will stand by
in trouble or in strife ♪

♪ With counsel and affection ever sweet ♪

♪ But there is one whose
smile will ever on us beam ♪

♪ Whose love is dearer
far than any other ♪

♪ And wherever we may turn ♪

♪ This lesson we will learn ♪

♪ A boy's best friend is his mother ♪

♪ Then cherish her with care ♪

♪ And smooth her silvery hair ♪

♪ When gone, you will never get another ♪

♪ And wherever we may turn ♪

♪ This lesson we will learn ♪

♪ A boy's best friend is his mother ♪

♪ Her fond and gentle face ♪

♪ Not long may greet us here ♪

♪ Then cheer her with your
kindness and your love ♪

♪ And your love ♪

♪ Remember at her need ♪

♪ In childhood, bright and dear ♪

♪ We heard her voice
like angels from above ♪

♪ From above ♪

♪ Though afteryears may bring
their kindness and their woe ♪

♪ Her love is sweeter far than any other ♪

♪ And wherever we may turn ♪

♪ This lesson, we will learn ♪

♪ A boy's best friend is his mother ♪

♪ Then cherish her with care ♪

♪ And smooth her silvery hair ♪

♪ When gone, you will never get another ♪

♪ And wherever we may turn ♪

♪ This lesson we will learn ♪

♪ A boy's best friend is his mother ♪

(audience applauding)

- Thank you!

Thank you most kindly.

- Now, if the gentlemen would follow me

to the billiards room for port,

the ladies may withdraw for
coffee in the drawing room.

(gentle music)

- What a comfort it is

to have got rid of the men for a little!

- Yes, men persecute us
dreadfully, don't they?

- Persecute us? Oh, I wish they did.

- Oh, my dear!

- The annoying thing is that

the wretches can do
perfectly well without us.

That is why I think it
is every woman's duty

never to leave them alone
for a single moment,

except for this short
breathing space after dinner,

without which I believe we poor women

would be absolutely worn to shadows.

- Worn to shadows, dear?

- Yes, Lady Hunstanton.

It is such a strain
keeping men up to the mark.

They are always trying to escape from us.

- Men are so very, very heartless.

They know their power and use it.

- What stuff and nonsense
all this about men is!

The thing to do is to keep
men in their proper place.

- And what is their proper
place, Lady Caroline?

- Looking after their wives, Mrs. Allonby.

- Really? And if they're not married?

- If they are not married,

they should be looking after a wife.

It's perfectly scandalous
the amount of bachelors

who are going about society.

There should be a law
passed to compel them all

to marry within 12 months.

I shall speak to that Mr.
Kettle on the subject.

- But if they're in love
with some one who, perhaps,

is tied to another?

- In that case, Lady Stutfield,

they should be married off in a week

to some plain respectable
girl, in order to teach them

not to meddle with
other people's property.

- I don't think that we
should ever be spoken of

as other people's property.

All men are married women's property.

We don't belong to any one.

- Oh, I am so very, very
glad to hear you say so.

- Well, I suppose the type of husband

has completely changed
since my young days,

but I'm bound to state
that poor dear Hunstanton

was the most delightful of
creatures, and as good as gold.

- Ah, well, my husband is
a sort of promissory note.

I'm tired of meeting him.

- But you renew him from
time to time, don't you?

- Oh, no, Lady Caroline.

I have only ever had one husband as yet.

I suppose you look upon
me as quite an amateur.

- With your views on life,
I wonder you married at all.

- So do I.

- My dear child, I believe
you are really very happy

in your married life,

but you like to hide your
happiness from others.

- I assure you I was
horribly deceived in Ernest.

- Oh, have you never forgiven him then?

How sad that seems,

but then all life is
very, very sad, is it not?

- Life, Lady Stutfield, is
simply a mauvais quart d'heure

made up of exquisite moments.

- Yes, there are moments, certainly,

but was it something very, very
wrong that Mr. Allonby did?

Did he become angry with you,

or say anything that was unkind or true?

- Oh dear, no. Ernest is invariably calm.

That is one of the reasons
he always gets on my nerves.

Nothing is so aggravating as calmness.

- It certainly would be a good thing

if modern husbands lost their
tempers a little more often.

They're too easy-going, no spitting.

- I would so much like to know

what was the wrong thing
that Mr. Allonby did.

- Well, I will tell you,

if you solemnly promise
to tell everybody else.

- Oh, thank you. I will make
a point of repeating it.

- When Ernest and I were engaged,

he swore to me on his knees

that he had never loved anyone before

in the whole course of his life.

I was very young at the time,

so I didn't believe
him, I needn't tell you.

Unfortunately, however, I
made no inquiries of any kind

until after I had been actually
married four or five months.

I'd been so occupied with my frocks,

I'd forgotten all about it, I suppose.

- And when you made careful
inquiries, you found that-

- That it was perfectly
true, and that sort of thing

makes a man so absolutely uninteresting.

- Oh, my dear!

- Men always want to be
a woman's first love.

That is their clumsy vanity.

We women have a more subtle instinct.

What we like is to be
a man's last romance.

- My dear child, you don't mean to tell me

you won't forgive your husband

because he never loved anyone else?

Did you ever hear such a thing, Caroline?

I am quite surprised.

- Oh, women have become
so highly educated, Jane,

that nothing should surprise us nowadays,

except happy marriages.

They apparently are
getting remarkably rare.

- Marriages, Lady Caroline,
are ruined nowadays

more by the commonsense of the
husband than anything else.

How can a woman be expected
to be happy with a man

who insists on treating her

as if she were a perfectly rational being?

- Oh, my dear!

- Man, poor, awkward,
reliable, necessary man

belongs to a sex that has been rational

for millions and millions of years.

He can't help himself. It's in his race.

The caveman began it in
order to annoy his wife.

I have no doubt.

The history of woman is very different.

We have always been picturesque protests

against the mere
existence of common sense.

We saw its dangers from the first.

- Yes, the common sense of husbands

is certainly most, most trying.

Do tell me your conception
of the ideal husband.

I think it would be so very, very helpful.

- The ideal husband? There
couldn't be such a thing.

The institution is wrong.

- Well, the ideal man,
then. Tell us about him.

- He would probably be
extremely realistic.

- The ideal man!

Oh, well, the ideal man should talk to us

as if we were goddesses,

and treat us as if we were children.

He should deny all our serious requests,

and gratify every one of our whims.

He should encourage us to have caprices,

and forbid us to have missions.

He should always say
much more than he means,

and always mean much more than he says.

- As far as I can see, he is to do nothing

but pay bills and compliments.

- He should persistently
compromise us in public,

yet treat us with absolute
respect when we're alone,

and yet he should be always ready

to have a perfectly terrible
scene, whenever we want one,

and to become miserable,
absolutely miserable,

at a moment's notice, and to overwhelm us

with just reproaches in
less than 20 minutes,

and to become positively violent
at the end of half an hour,

and to leave us for ever
at a quarter to eight,

when we have to go and dress for dinner.

And, after that, when one has left him

for really the last time, and
he has refused to take back

all the little things he has given one,

and promised never to
communicate with one again,

or write one any foolish letters,

he should be perfectly brokenhearted,

and telegraph to one all day long,

and send one little notes every
half hour by private hansom,

and dine quite alone at the club,

so that everyone should
know how unhappy he was,

and then, after a whole dreadful week,

during which one has gone about everywhere

with one's husband,

just to show how
absolutely lonely one was,

he may be given a third last
parting, in the evening,

and if his conduct has
been quite irreproachable,

and one has behaved
really badly towards him,

he should be allowed to admit that

he has been entirely in the wrong,

and once he has admitted that,

and grown sad and pale
and tired under the eyes,

it becomes a woman's duty to forgive,

and one can do it all over again

from the beginning, with variations.

(group chuckles)

- How clever you are, my dear!

You don't mean a single word you say.

- Thank you. It has been
quite, quite entrancing.

I must try and remember it all.

There are such a number of details

that are so very, very important.

- But you have not told us yet

what the reward of the ideal man is to be.

- His reward? Ah.

Infinite expectation.

That is quite enough for him.

- Yes, I see that.

Do you think, Mrs. Allonby, I
shall ever meet the ideal man?

Or are there more than one?

- There are just four in
London, Lady Stutfield.

- Oh, my dear!

- What has happened? Do tell me.

- I had completely forgotten
that the American young lady

has been in the room all the time.

I am afraid some of this clever talk

may have shocked her a little.

- Ah, that will do her so much good!

- Let us hope she didn't understand much.

I think I had better go and talk to her.

(group chuckles)

My dear Miss Worsley.

- Are you there, Miss Worsley?

- Yes, Lady Caroline.

- How quiet you have been

in your nice little corner all this time!

I suppose you have been reading a book?

- No, I have been listening
to the conversation.

- Oh, you mustn't believe

everything that was said, you know, dear.

- I didn't believe any of it.

- That is quite right, dear.

- I couldn't believe that any women

could really hold such views of life

as I have heard tonight
from some of your guests.

- I believe you have such
pleasant society in America.

It's quite like our own in places,

my son James wrote to me.

- There are cliques in
America as elsewhere,

Lady Hunstanton, and money is
thought far too much of there

as it is here, and we
also have foolish people

who pride themselves on the
accident of family and birth,

but they are of no importance to us.

The true American society
consists simply of

all the good women and all the good men

we have in our country.

- What a very sensible system,

and quite pleasant too, I dare say.

I am afraid, in England,

we have too many
artificial social barriers.

We don't see as much as we should

of the middle and lower classes.

- In America, we have no lower classes.

- Really? What a very strange arrangement!

- What is that dreadful
girl talking about?

- She is painfully natural, is she not?

- There are a great many things
you haven't got, I'm told,

in America, Miss Worsley.

They say you have no
ruins, and no curiosities.

- The English aristocracy supply us

with our curiosities, Lady Caroline.

They are sent over to us
every summer, regularly,

in the steamers, and propose
to us the day after they land.

As for ruins, we are trying
to build up something

that will last longer than brick or stone.

- And what is that, dear?

Oh, the iron exhibition,

is it not, at that place
with the curious name?

- We are trying to build
up life, Lady Hunstanton,

on a better, truer, purer
basis than life rests on here,

to construct society on other foundations

than those of selfishness and sin,

for it is sin that allows others to starve

that it may serve it,

and lives in idleness itself

on the work of weak hands and
the toil of wretched days.

This sounds strange to you all, no doubt.

How could it sound other than strange?

You rich people in England,

you don't know how you are living.

How could you know?

You shut out from your society
the gentle and the good.

You laugh at the simple and the pure.

Living, as you all do,
on others and by them,

you sneer at self-sacrifice,

and if you throw bread to the poor,

it is merely to keep
them quiet for a season.

You cultivated people in England,

you don't know why you are living.

What does your wealth
bring you but weariness?

What do your pleasures bring
you but ennui and pain?

With all your pomp and wealth and art,

you don't know how to live.

You don't even know that.

You love the beauty that you
can see and touch and handle,

the beauty that you can
destroy, and do destroy,

but of the unseen beauty of life,

of the unseen beauty of a
higher life, you know nothing.

You have lost life's secret.

Oh, your English society seems to me

shallow, selfish, foolish!

It has blinded its eyes,
and stopped its ears.

It lies like a leper in purple.

It sits like a dead
thing smeared with gold.

It is all wrong, all wrong!

- I don't think one should
know of these things.

It's not very, very nice, is it?

- My dear Miss Worsley,

I thought you liked
English society so much.

You were such a success in it,

and admired by the best people.

I quite forget what Lord
Henry Weston said of you,

but it was most complimentary.

- Lord Henry Weston! I
remember him, Lady Hunstanton.

A man who, I am told, has
brought many women to misery

and to shame!

Oh, he is asked everywhere.

No dinner party is complete without him.

What of the women whose
ruin is due to him?

They are outcasts. They are nameless.

I don't complain of their punishment.

Let all women who have sinned be punished.

- My dear young lady!

- It is right that they
should be punished,

but don't let them be
the only ones to suffer.

If a man and woman have sinned,

let them both go forth into the desert

to love or loathe each other there.

Let them both be branded.

Don't have one law for
men and another for women.

Until you count what is a shame in a woman

to be an infamy in a man,
you will always be unjust,

and right, that pillar of fire, and wrong,

that pillar of cloud, will
be made dim to your eyes.

- Oh, might I, dear Miss
Worsley, as you are standing up,

ask you for my thread
which is just behind you?

- Oh, my dear Mrs. Arbuthnot!

I am so pleased you have come up,

but I didn't hear you announced.

- Oh, I came straight in from the terrace,

Lady Hunstanton, just as I was.

- Oh!

- You didn't tell me
you were having a party.

- Oh, it's not a party.

It's just a few guests who
are staying in the house,

and whom you must know.

Allow me.

Caroline, this is Mrs. Arbuthnot,

one of my sweetest friends.

Lady Caroline Pontefract,
Lady Stutfield, Mrs. Allonby,

and this is my young American
friend, Miss Worsley,

who has just been telling
us all how wicked we are.

- I am afraid you think

I spoke too strongly, Lady Hunstanton,

but there are some things in England-

- Oh, my dear young lady, there
was a great deal of truth,

I dare say, in what you said,

and you looked very
pretty when you said it,

and that's much more important.

The only point where I
thought you were a little hard

was about Lady Caroline's
brother, poor Lord Henry.

He really is such good company.

Take Mrs. Arbuthnot's things.

- Lady Caroline, I had no
idea it was your brother.

I am sorry for the pain
it must have caused you.

- My dear Miss Worsley, the
only part of your little speech,

if I may so term it, with
which I thoroughly agreed,

was the part about my brother.

Nothing you could possibly
say could be too bad for him.

I regard him as infamous,
absolutely infamous,

but I am bound to state, as
you were remarking, Jane,

he is excellent company,

and he has one of the
best cooks in London,

and after a good dinner,
one can forgive anybody,

even one's own relations.

- Now, do come, dear, and make
friends with Mrs. Arbuthnot.

Now, she is one of the
good, sweet, simple people

that you told us we never
admitted into society.

- What a bore it is, the men
staying so long after dinner!

I expect they are saying the
most dreadful things about us.

- Do you really think so?

- I was sure of it.

- How very, very horrid of them!

- Oh, I wish to goodness they would come!

- Shall we go out onto the terrace?

- Oh, anything to get away from

the dowagers and the dowdies.

We are going to look at
the stars, Lady Hunstanton.

- Oh, you will find a great
many, dear, a great many,

but don't catch cold!

Miss Worsley and Gerald are
fast friends, Mrs. Arbuthnot.

- Your son has been very kind
to me during my stay here.

- Yes, he's spoken to me
about you several times.

He's so pleased to have had
the honor of meeting you.

- Oh, we're all going
to miss Gerald so much,

dear Mrs. Arbuthnot.

- But has Lord Illingworth really offered

to make Gerald his secretary?

- Oh, yes, and he has been
most charming about it.

He has the highest possible
opinion of your boy.

You don't know Lord
Illingworth, I believe, dear.

- No, I have never met him.

- But you know of him by name, no doubt?

- No, I'm afraid I don't.

I live so much out of the
world, and see so few people.

I remember hearing about
an old Lord Illingworth

who lived in Yorkshire, I think.

- Oh, oh, that would be
the last Earl but one.

He was a very curious man.

He wanted to marry beneath
him, or wouldn't, I believe.

No, there was some scandal about it.

The present Lord Illingworth
is quite different.

He is very distinguished,

and he is comparatively a young man still,

and only came to his title within, um,

how long exactly is it, Caroline,

since Lord Illingworth succeeded?

- About four years, I think, Jane.

I know it was the same year my brother

had his last exposure in
the evening newspapers.

- Oh, I remember.

Yes, that would be about four years.

Of course, there were a great many people

between the present Lord Illingworth

and the title, Mrs. Arbuthnot.

There was, um, who was there, Caroline?

- There was poor Margaret's baby.

You remember how anxious
she was to have a boy,

and it was a boy, but it died,

and her husband died shortly afterwards,

and she married almost
immediately one of Ascot's sons,

who, I am told, beats her.

- Oh, that's in the family, dear,

that's in the family, and
there was also, I remember,

a clergyman who wanted to be a lunatic,

or a lunatic who wanted to be
a clergyman, I forget which,

but I know the Court of Chancery
investigated the matter,

and decided he was quite sane,

and I saw him afterwards
at poor Lord Plumstead's

with straws in his hair.

There was something very odd about him.

I can't recall what.

Oh, I often regret, Caroline,
that dear Lady Cecilia

never lived to see her son get the title.

- Lady Cecilia?

- Lord Illingworth's
mother, dear Mrs. Arbuthnot.

She married Sir Thomas Harford,

who wasn't considered a very
good match for her at the time.

I knew them all quite intimately,

and both the sons, Arthur and George.

- It was the eldest son who succeeded,

of course, Lady Hunstanton?

- No, dear, he was killed
in the hunting field,

or was it fishing, Caroline?

I forget, and George
came in for everything.

I always tell him that no younger son

has ever had such good luck as he has had.

- Lady Hunstanton, I'd like
to speak to Gerald at once.

Might I see him? Could he be sent for?

- Oh, certainly, dear.

I will send one of the servants

into the dining room to fetch him.

I don't know what keeps
the gentlemen so long.

- I hope Sir John has
not been drinking port.

It is excessively bad for him.

- I don't think it'll do
him any harm, Caroline.

- Sir John is very delicate!

He requires to be carefully watched.

- You spoil him, Caroline, you do indeed.

When I knew Lord Illingworth
as plain George Harford,

he was simply a very brilliant
young man about town,

with not a penny of money

except what poor dear
Lady Cecilia gave to him.

She was devoted to him.

Chiefly, I fancy,

because he was on bad
terms with his father.

(Archdeacon guffawing)

Oh, here is the dear Archdeacon.

It doesn't matter.

- Lord Illingworth has
been most entertaining.

I have never enjoyed myself more.

Ah, Mrs. Arbuthnot.

- You see, I have got Mrs.
Arbuthnot to come to me at last.

- That is a great honor, Lady Hunstanton.

Mrs. Daubeny will be quite jealous of you.

- Ah, I am so sorry Mrs. Daubeny

could not come with you tonight.

Headache as usual, I suppose.

- Yes, Lady Hunstanton, a perfect martyr,

but she is happiest alone.

(Archdeacon chuckles)

She is happiest alone.

- John!

- Yes, my love?

- How is the most charming
woman in the world?

- Oh, we are both quite well,
thank you, Lord Illingworth,

but what a short time you
have been in the dining room!

It seems as if we had only just left.

You might have waited
for another cigarette.

- I was bored to death. Never
opened my lips the whole time.

Absolutely longing to come in to you.

- Oh, you should have.

The American girl has
been giving us a lecture.

- Really? All Americans
lecture, I believe.

It must be the climate.

What was she lecturing about?

- Oh, Puritanism, of course.

- I am going to convert her, am I not?

How long do you give me?

- [Allonby] A week.

- A week is more than enough.

- I don't think so!

- Dear mother!

- Gerald, I don't feel at all well.

Gerald, see me home.
I shouldn't have come.

- I am so sorry, mother.

Certainly, but you must
know Lord Illingworth first.

- Not tonight, Gerald.

- Oh, do speak to him for a moment.

This is so important to me.

Lord Illingworth, I want you
so much to know my mother.

- With the greatest pleasure.

I'll be back in a moment.

People's mothers always bore me to death.

All women become like their mothers.

That is their tragedy.

- No man does. That is his.

- What a delightful mood
you're in this evening!

- Mother, this is Lord Illingworth,

who has offered to take me
as his private secretary.

It is a wonderful
opening for me, isn't it?

I hope he won't be disappointed
in me, that is all.

You'll thank Lord Illingworth,
mother, won't you?

- Lord Illingworth in
very good, I am sure,

to interest himself in you for the moment.

- Oh, Gerald and I are
great friends already,

Mrs. Arbuthnot.

- There can be nothing in common

between you and my son, Lord Illingworth.

- Dear mother, how can you say so?

Of course, Lord Illingworth
is awfully clever

and that sort of thing.

There is nothing Lord
Illingworth doesn't know.

- My dear boy!

- He knows more about life
than any one I have ever met.

He's been awfully good to me, mother.

No one has ever been so good.

- Lord Illingworth may change his mind.

He may not really want
you as his secretary.

- Mother, why do you say that?

- You must remember, you
have had so few advantages.

- Lord Illingworth, I
need to speak to you.

Do come over.

- Will you excuse me, Mrs. Arbuthnot?

Now, Gerald, don't let
your charming mother

make any more difficulties.

The thing is quite settled, isn't it?

- I hope so.

- What is the attraction
saints always have for sinners?

I thought you would never
leave the lady in black velvet.

- She is excessively handsome.

- Caroline, shall we make
a move to the music room?

Miss Worsley is going to play.

- Cock-a-doodle-doo!

- Oh, you'll come too, won't
you, dear Mrs. Arbuthnot?

I must really take Miss
Worsley down some afternoon

to the rectory.

I should so like dear Mrs. Daubeny

to hear her on the violin.

Oh, I forgot.

Mrs. Daubeny's hearing is a
little defective, is it not?

- Her deafness is a
great privation to her.

She can't even hear my sermons now.

She reads them at home,

but she has many resources
in herself, many resources.

- She reads a good deal, I suppose?

- Just the very largest print.

The eyesight is rapidly going,

but she's never morbid, never morbid.

(group indistinctly muttering)

- Do speak to my mother, Lord Illingworth,

before you go into the music room.

She seems to think, somehow,

you don't mean what you said to me.

- Aren't you coming?

- In a few moments.

Lady Hunstanton, if Mrs.
Arbuthnot would allow me,

I would like to say a few words to her,

and we will join you later on.

- Oh, yes, of course.

You will have a great deal to say to her,

and she will have a great
deal to thank you for.

It is not every son that gets
such an offer, Mrs. Arbuthnot,

but I know you appreciate that, dear.

- John!

- Yes, my love.

- Now, don't keep Mrs. Arbuthnot
too long, Lord Illingworth.

We can't spare her,

and don't say any of your
clever things to her.

She doesn't know any of the
wickedness of the world.

(gentle violin music)

- So that is our son, Rachel!

Well, I am very proud of him.

He is a Harford, every inch of him.

By the way, why Arbuthnot, Rachel?

- One name is as good as another,

when one has no right to any name.

- I suppose so but why Gerald?

- After a man whose heart
I broke after my father.

- And why Wrockley?

- Well, I had hopes that,
in a little English village,

I would not meet anyone
who had ever known me.

- Well, Rachel, what is over is over.

I am very, very much pleased with our son.

It's a curious thing, Rachel.

My life seemed to be quite complete.

It was not so. It lacked something.

It lacked a son.

I have found my son now. I
am glad I have found him.

- You have no right to claim him,

or the smallest part of him.

The boy is entirely mine,
and shall remain mine.

- My dear Rachel, you
have had him to yourself

for over 20 years.

Why not let me have him a little now?

He is quite as much mine as yours.

- Are you talking of
the child you abandoned?

Of the child who, as
far as you're concerned,

might have died of hunger and of want?

- You forget, Rachel,
it was you who left me.

It was not I who left you.

- I left you because you refused
to give the child a name!

Before my son was born, I
implored you to marry me.

You refused.

- That was my mother's doing, Rachel.

She said it would be perfect madness.

I had no expectations then.

And besides, Rachel, I wasn't
much older than you were.

I was only 22.

I was 21, I believe, when
the whole thing began

in your father's garden.

- When a man is old enough to do wrong,

he should be old enough to do right also.

- My dear Rachel, to say
I left our child to starve

is untrue and silly.

My mother offered you 600 a year,

but you wouldn't take anything.

You simply disappeared, and
carried the child away with you.

- I wouldn't have
accepted a penny from her.

Your father was different.

He told you, in my presence,

when we were in Paris, it
was your duty to marry me.

- Oh, duty is what one
expects from others.

It is not what one does oneself.

- Your father was an English gentleman!

- Yes, and my mother was an English lady.

I was influenced by her.
Every man is when he is young.

- I am glad to hear you say so.

Gerald shall certainly
not go away with you.

- Oh, what nonsense, Rachel!

- Do you think I would allow my son -

- Our son!

- My son!

To go away with the
man who ruined my life?

You don't realize what my past has been

in suffering and in shame.

- My dear Rachel, I think Gerald's future

considerably more
important than your past.

- Gerald cannot separate
his future from my past.

- But that is exactly what he should do.

Don't let us have a scene.

Rachel, I want you to look at this matter

from the commonsense point of view.

What is our son at present?

What is his occupation?

Sitting behind a ledger
in a small provincial bank

from 10 'til 4.

What are his pleasures?

A tea party at the rectory once a month.

Cricket on a Sunday afternoon.

Dinner with the village
doctor who drinks too much.

If you imagine that Gerald is quite happy

in such a position, you are mistaken.

He is thoroughly discontented.

- He was not discontented 'til he met you.

You have made him so.

- Of course, I made him so.

Discontent is the first step

in the progress of a man or a nation,

but I did not leave
him with a mere longing

for things he could not get.

No, I made him a charming offer.

He jumped at it, any
young man would, and now,

simply because it turns out that

I am the boy's own
father and he my own son,

you propose practically
to ruin his career.

- I will not allow him to go.

- You absolutely refuse?

- Yes!

- Because you have had what
is called a painful past,

you're to bar him from
having a brilliant future?

It comes to that?

- I will not allow him to go!

- But how can you prevent it?

What excuse can you give to him

for making him decline such an offer?

I will not tell him in what
relations I stand to him,

I need hardly say, but
you daren't tell him.

You know that.

Look how you have brought him up.

- I have brought him up to be a good man.

- Quite son, and what is the result?

You have educated him to be your judge

if he ever finds you out,

and a bitter judge he will be to you.

Don't be deceived, Rachel.

Children begin by loving their parents.

After a time, they judge them.

Rarely, if ever, do they forgive them.

- George, don't take my son away from me.

I have had 20 years of sorrow,

and I have only had one thing to love me,

only one thing to love.

You have had a life of joy,
of pleasure, and success.

Don't come now, and rob me of...

Of all I have in the whole world.

You are so rich in other things.

Leave me the little vineyard of my life.

Leave me the walled-in
garden and the well of water,

the ewe-lamb God sent
me, in pity or in wrath.

Oh, leave me that.

George.

Don't take Gerald from me.

- Rachel, at the present moment,

you are not necessary to Gerald's career.

I am.

There is no more to be
said on the subject.

- I will not let him go.

- Well, here is Gerald.

He has the right to decide for himself.

- Well, dear mother, I hope
you have settled it all

with Lord Illingworth?

- I have not, Gerald.

- Your mother seems not to like

you coming with me, for some reason.

- Why, mother?

You know I've set my heart on going.

- Well, I had hoped

you were quite happy here with me, Gerald.

I did not know you were
so anxious to leave me.

- Dear mother, how can you talk like that?

Of course I have been
quite happy with you,

but a man can't stay
always with his mother.

No chap does.

I want to make myself a
position, to do something.

I thought you would have been proud

to see me Lord Illingworth's secretary.

- I do not think you would be suitable

to be a private secretary
to Lord Illingworth.

You have no qualifications.

- I don't wish to seem to interfere

for a moment, Mrs. Arbuthnot,

but as far as your last
objection is concerned,

I surely am the best judge.

Your son has all the
qualifications I had hoped for.

He has more, in fact, than I
had even thought of, far more.

Have you some other
reason, Mrs. Arbuthnot,

why you don't wish your
son to accept this post?

- Have you, mother? Do answer.

- If you have, Mrs.
Arbuthnot, pray, pray say it.

We are quite by ourselves here.

Whatever it is, I will not repeat it.

- Mother?

- If you would like to
be alone with your son,

I will leave you.

You may have some other reason

that you don't wish me to hear.

- I have no other reason.

- Then, my dear boy, we may
look upon the matter as settled.

Come, you and I will
smoke a cigarette together

on the terrace, and Mrs. Arbuthnot,

pray, let me tell you,

I think you have acted very, very wisely.

(crowd distantly chuckling)

(somber violin music)

(audience applauding)

(audience faintly chattering)

- Thank you!

(audience applauding)

Thank you.

Good evening again, ladies and gentlemen,

and thank you, Miss Worsley,

for the beautiful violin playing.

It plucked at every heart string.

Another song now, with thanks
to the temperance society.

Ma'am?

(audience applauding)

- I'll sing a song.

I'll sing a song.

- One, two, three.

(peaceful folk music)

♪ Out in the gloomy night, sadly I roam ♪

♪ I have no mother
dear, no pleasant home ♪

♪ Nobody cares for me, no one would cry ♪

♪ Even if poor little Bessie should die ♪

♪ Barefoot and tired, I
have wandered all day ♪

♪ Asking for work but
I'm too small they say ♪

♪ On the damp ground, I
must now lay my head ♪

♪ Father's a drunkard,
and mother is dead ♪

♪ Mother, oh, why did you leave me alone ♪

♪ With no one to love me,
no friends and no home ♪

♪ Dark is the night, and
the storm rages wild ♪

♪ God pity Bessie, the
drunkard's lone child ♪

♪ We were so happy 'til Father drank rum ♪

♪ Then all our sorrows
and troubles begun ♪

♪ Mother grew paler, and wept every day ♪

♪ Baby and I were too hungry to play ♪

♪ Slowly, they faded,
and one summer night ♪

♪ Found their dear faces
all silent and white ♪

♪ Then with big tears
slowly dropping, I said ♪

♪ Father's a drunkard, and mother ♪

♪ Oh, if the temperance
men only could find ♪

♪ Poor, wretched father,
and talk very kind ♪

♪ If they could stop him from drinking ♪

♪ Why, then I would be
so very happy again ♪

♪ Is it too late ♪

♪ Men of temperance, please try ♪

♪ Or poor little Bessie
may soon starve and die ♪

♪ All the day long, I've
been begging for bread ♪

♪ Father's a drunkard,
and mother is dead ♪

♪ Mother, oh, why did you leave me alone ♪

♪ With no one to love me,
no friends and no home ♪

♪ Dark is the night, and
the storm rages wild ♪

♪ God pity Bessie, the
drunkard's lone child ♪

(audience applauding)

- Thank you. Thank you very kindly.

Next, Dr. Daubeny will give us

a taste of his forthcoming sermon

on the endurance of Christianity
in our modern times,

entitled, "Believing
Where We Can Not Prove".

Please do rejoin us in the
drawing room for fresh lemonade,

after which we will retire to the terrace.

(animals distantly chittering)

(solemn music)
(crickets chirping)

- Thoroughly sensible woman, your mother.

I knew she would come round in the end.

- But I am so ignorant of
the world, Lord Illingworth.

- Don't be afraid, Gerald.

Remember that you've got on your side

the most wonderful thing
in the world, youth.

There is nothing like youth.

The middle-aged are mortgaged to life.

The old are in life's lumber room,

but youth is the lord of life.

To win back my youth, Gerald,
there is nothing I wouldn't do

except take exercise,

get up early,

or be a useful member of the community.

- But you don't call yourself
old, Lord Illingworth?

- I am old enough to
be your father, Gerald.

- I don't remember my
father. He died years ago.

- So Lady Hunstanton told me.

- My mother never talks
to me about my father.

I sometimes think she must
have married beneath her.

- Really?

- I fancy that they
were not happy together,

or perhaps so happy

that it would give her
pain to talk of him.

- You have missed not
having a father, Gerald?

- Oh, no, my mother
has been so good to me.

No one ever had such a mother.

- I'm quite sure of that.

Still, I imagine that most mothers

don't quite understand their sons.

Don't realize, I mean,
that a son has ambitions.

After all, Gerald, you
couldn't be expected

to pass away your days

in such a hole as Wrockley, could you?

- Oh, no! It would be dreadful!

- A mother's love is
very touching, of course,

but it is often curiously selfish.

I mean, there is a good
deal of selfishness in it.

- I suppose there is.

- Your mother is a thoroughly good woman,

but good women have such
limited views of life,

their horizon is so small, isn't it?

- They are awfully interested, certainly,

in things we don't care much about.

- I suppose your mother is very religious,

and that sort of thing.

- Oh, yes, she's always going to church.

- Ah, well, she is not modern,

and to be modern is the only
thing worth being nowadays.

You want to be modern, don't you, Gerald?

To see life as it really is.

Well, all you have to do for the present

is to fit yourself for the best society.

And, Gerald, you should learn
how to tie your tie better.

A well-tied tie is the
first serious step in life.

With the mere knotting of a necktie

or the choice of a buttonhole,

there is a whole creed of life.

- I might be able to learn

how to tie a tie, Lord Illingworth,

but I should never be
able to talk as you do.

I don't know how to talk.

- Oh, talk to every woman
as if you loved her,

and to every man as if he bored you,

and at the end of your first season,

you will have the reputation for

possessing the most perfect social tact.

- I suppose society is
wonderfully delightful!

- Oh, to be in it is merely a bore,

but to be out of it simply a tragedy.

Society is a necessary thing.

No man has any real success in this world

unless he has got women to back
him, and women rule society.

If you have not got women on
your side, you are quite over.

You might just as well be a
barrister, or a stockbroker,

or a journalist at once.

- It is very difficult to
understand women, is it not?

- Excuse me, sir.

- I'm sorry.

- You should never try to understand them.

Women are pictures. Men are problems.

If you want to know what
a woman really means,

which, by the way, is always
a dangerous thing to do,

look at her, don't listen to her.

- But women are awfully
clever, aren't they?

- One should always tell them so,

but, to the philosopher, my dear Gerald,

women represent the
triumph of matter over mind

just as men represent the
triumph of mind over morals.

- How then can women have so much power

as you say they have?

- The history of women is the history of

the worst form of tyranny
the world has ever known.

The tyranny of the weak over the strong.

It is the only tyranny that lasts.

- But there are good women
in society, aren't there?

- Far too many.

- You have never been married,
Lord Illingworth, have you?

- No.

- I wonder why.

- Men marry because they are tired.

Women because they are
curious. Both are disappointed.

- But don't you think one can
be happy when one is married?

- Perfectly happy,

but the happiness of a
married man, my dear Gerald,

depends on the people he has not married.

- But if one is in love?

- One should always be in love.

That is the reason one should never marry.

- Love is a very
wonderful thing, isn't it?

- When one is in love, one
begins by deceiving oneself,

and one ends by deceiving others.

A really grand passion is
comparatively rare nowadays.

It is the privilege of people
who have nothing to do,

and the only possible
explanation for us Harfords.

- Harfords, Lord Illingworth?

- That is my family name.

You should study the Peerage, Gerald.

It is the one book a young man about town

should know thoroughly, and
the best thing in fiction

the English have ever done.

And now, Gerald, you are going into

a perfectly new life with me,

and I want you to know how to live,

for the world has been made by fools

that wise men should live in it!

- This way, Dr. Daubeny!

We do like to complete the
evening with a little night air.

(Daubeny chuckles)

- Oh, here you are, dear Lord Illingworth.

Everyone's been looking for you.

Well, except Caroline has
been looking for Sir John.

I suppose you've been giving
our young friend Gerald here

a great deal of good advice
over a pleasant cigarette.

- The best of advice, Lady Hunstanton,

and the best of cigarettes.

(Archdeacon loudly chuckles)

- Oh, I'm sorry, I was not here to listen

I suppose I'm too old now to learn.

Oh, except from you, dear Archdeacon,

when you are in your nice pulpit,

but I always know what
you're going to say,

so I never feel alarmed.

Oh, dear Mrs. Arbuthnot, do join us.

Do come, dear.

Gerald has been having

such a long talk with Lord Illingworth.

You must feel very much flattered

at the pleasant way that
everything's turned out for him.

Oh!
(Hunstanton chuckles)

Oh, let's sit down.

Please.

How is your beautiful embroidery going on?

- I am always at work, Lady Hunstanton.

- Mrs. Daubeny embroiders
a little, too, doesn't she?

- She was very deft with her
needle once, quite a Dorcas.

(Archdeacon chuckles)

But the gout has crippled
her fingers a good deal.

She has not touched the tambour
frame for 9 or 10 years,

but she has many other amusements.

She is very much interested
in her own health.

- Oh, well, that is always a
nice distraction, is it not?

Now, what have you been talking
about, Lord Illingworth?

Do tell us.

I had the dim idea that you are always

on the side of the sinners,

and I know I always try to
be on the side of the saints.

- Well, the only difference
between the saint and the sinner

is that every saint has a past,

and every sinner has a future.

- Oh, that quite does for
me. I haven't a word to say.

You and I, dear Mrs.
Arbuthnot, are behind the age.

We can't follow Lord Illingworth.

Too much care was taken with
our education, I am afraid.

- I should be sorry to
follow Lord Illingworth

in any of his opinions.

- You are quite right, dear.

- Jane, have you seen John anywhere?

- Oh, you needn't be
anxious about him, Caroline.

He is with Lady Stutfield.

I saw them some time ago,
in the Yellow Drawing Room,

and they seemed quite happy together.

Oh, you are not going,
Caroline. Pray sit down.

- I think I had better look after John.

- She spoils him, dear
rector, she spoils him.

- Yeah.

- Caroline has nothing
to be anxious about.

Lady Stutfield is very sympathetic.

She is just as sympathetic

about one thing as she
is about another thing.

She has a most beautiful nature.

(Illingworth speaks in foreign language)

- That is what Lady Stutfield is.

I delight in her.

- You retch, you delight
in anyone who's pretty,

and quite right, too.

Oh, here is Sir John, with Mrs. Allonby!

Oh, I suppose it was Mrs.
Allonby I saw him with.

Oh, Sir John, Caroline has been
looking everywhere for you.

Where have you been?

- Inspecting the orchids

in the conservatory, Lady Hunstanton.

- I thought it was the
Yellow Drawing Room.

My memory is getting so defective.

Mrs. Daubeny has a wonderful
memory, has she not?

- She was quite remarkable for her memory,

but since her last attack,

she recalls chiefly the
events of her early childhood,

and she has great pleasure

in such retrospections, great pleasure.

- Oh.
(Hunstanton chuckles)

- Oh, Lady Stutfield,

and what has Mr. Kelvil
been talking to you about?

- About Bimetallism,
as well as I remember.

- Bimetallism! Is that
quite a nice subject?

However, I know people discuss

everything quite freely nowadays.

What has Sir John been talking
to you about, Mrs. Allonby,

over the orchids?

- About Patagonia.

- Oh, what a remote topic!

But very improving, I have no doubt.

- He has been most interesting
on the subject of Patagonia.

The Tierra del Fuegons, it seems,

have quite the same views as ourselves

on practically every subjects.

They're excessively advanced.

- What do they do?

- According to Sir
John, almost everything.

(group chuckles)

- How gratifying, dear Archdeacon, to know

that human nature is permanently one.

- The world is simply
divided into two classes,

those who believe the
incredible, like the public,

and those who do the improbable.

- Like yourself?

- Yes, I am always astonishing myself.

It is the only thing that
makes life worth living.

- And what have you been doing
lately that astonishes you?

- I have been discovering all
kinds of beautiful qualities

in my own nature.

- Oh, don't become quite
perfect all at once.

Do it gradually!

- Oh, I never intend
to grow perfect at all.

At least, I hope I shan't.

It would be most inconvenient.

Women love us for our defects.

If we have enough of them, they
will forgive us everything,

even our gigantic intellects.

- Oh, I think we women
should forgive everything,

don't you, dear Mrs. Arbuthnot?

I am sure you agree with me in that, dear.

- I do not, Lady Hunstanton.

I think there are many things
women should never forgive.

- Oh, what sort of things, dear?

- The ruin of another woman's life.

- Oh, well, dear.

Those things are very sad, no doubt,

but I believe there are admirable homes

where people of that
kind are looked after.

(chair clatters)

Oh, dear Lord Alfred, do
find a comfortable chair.

(chair clattering)

I think on-

(chair rattles)

I think on...

I think, on the whole,
that the secret of life

is to take things very, very easily.

- The secret of life is
never to have an emotion

that is unbecoming.

- The secret of life is to appreciate

the pleasure of being
terribly, terribly deceived.

- The secret of life is

to resist temptation, Lady Stutfield.

- There is no secret of life.

Life's aim, if it has one,

is simply to be always
looking for temptations.

There are not nearly enough.

I sometimes pass a whole day

without coming across a single one.

- Oh, dear Lord Illingworth,

I don't know why it is, but
everything you have said today

seems to me to be excessively immoral.

It has been most interesting,
listening to you.

- All thought is immoral.

Its very essence is destruction.

If you think of anything, you kill it.

Nothing survives being thought of.

- I don't understand a
word, Lord Illingworth,

but I'm quite sure it's all true.

Personally, I'm beginning
to forget everything.

It's a great misfortune.

- It is one of

your most fascinating
qualities, Lady Hunstanton.

No woman should have a memory.

Memory in a woman is the
beginning of dowdiness.

- Oh, how charming you
are, dear Lord Illingworth.

You always find out that
one's most glaring fault

is one's most important virtue.

- Doctor Daubeny's carriage!

- Oh, dear Archdeacon!

It's only half past 10.

- Oh, I am afraid I must
be going, Lady Hunstanton.

Tuesday is always one of
Mrs. Daubeny's bad nights.

- Oh, well, I won't keep you from her.

(Hunstanton and Daubeny grunt)

(Hunstanton and Daubeny chuckle)

Oh, no, I will see you as
far as the hall, dear rector.

We are old enough friends for that.

(Hunstanton sighs)

Oh, I've told Falker to
put a braise of partridge

in the carriage, because
Mrs. Daubeny may fancy them.

- That's very kind of you,

but Mrs. Daubeny never touches solids now.

She lives entirely on jellies,

but she's wonderfully
cheerful, wonderfully cheerful.

She's nothing to complain of.

Good night.

- Good night.

- Good night!

- [Group] Good night.

- Good night, Mrs. Arbuthnot.

Oh.
(birds chirping)

- Star light, star bright.

- And all of them most happily on account.

- [Allonby] Beautiful moon tonight.

- Let us go and see its
reflection in the lake.

To look on anything that isn't constant

is charming nowadays.

- You have your mirror.

- It is unkind.

It merely shows me my wrinkles.

- Mine is much better behaved.

It never tells me the truth.

- Then it is in love with you.

- May I come to?

- [Illingworth] Do, my dear boy.

- John!

John!

- Gerald!

- [Gerald] What, mother?

- It is getting late. Let us go home.

- My dear mother, do let
us wait a little longer.

Lord Illingworth is so delightful,
and, by the way, mother,

I have a great surprise for you.

We are starting for India
at the end of this month.

- Let us go home.

- If you really want
to, of course, mother,

but I must bid goodbye to
Lord Illingworth first.

I'll be back in five minutes.

(crickets chirping)

- Let him leave me if he chooses,

but not with him,

not with him!

- What a lovely night
it is, Mrs. Arbuthnot.

- Is it?

- Mrs. Arbuthnot, I wish you
would let me know you better.

Your son has spoken so much of you.

I seem to know you quite well.

When you came in this evening,
somehow you brought with you

a sense of what is good and pure in life.

I had been foolish.

There are things that are right to say,

but that may be said at the wrong time

and to the wrong people.

- No, I heard what you said.

I agree with it, Miss Worsley.

- I didn't know you had heard it,

but I knew you would agree with me.

A woman who has sinned should
be punished, shouldn't she?

- Yes.

- She shouldn't be allowed

into the society of good men and women?

- She should not.

- And the man should be
punished in the same way?

- In the same way.

And the children, if there are children,

in the same way also?

- Yes.

The sins of the parents should
be visited on the children.

It is a just law.

It is God's law.

- It is one of God's terrible laws.

- You are distressed about

your son leaving you, Mrs. Arbuthnot?

- Yes.

- I know you'll miss him very much.

- I will miss him, very much.

- Do you like him going
away with Lord Illingworth?

But position and money are
not everything, are they?

- No, they are nothing. They bring misery.

Do you think Lord Illingworth
a good man, Mrs. Arbuthnot?

(Arbuthnot chuckles)

- Who is good in these days?

- None of us, but some of us try to be.

Why do you let your son go with him?

- He wishes it himself.

- But if you asked him, he
would stay, would he not?

- He has set his heart on going.

- He couldn't refuse you
anything. He loves you too much.

Ask him to stay.

I think it is your duty,
but let me send him to you.

I can find him for you.

- Don't trouble, Miss Worsley. I can wait.

It is of no consequence.

- No, no, no, I will find him
and tell him you want him.

Do, do ask him to stay.

- He won't come. He won't come.

No tears, Rachel, no tears.

Sir John is not here,
Mrs. Arbuthnot, is he?

- No, Lady Caroline.

- Oh, Mr. Arbuthnot.

Have you seen Sir John anywhere?

- No, Lady Caroline.

This is very curious.

It is time for him to retire.

- Dear mother, I am
afraid I kept you waiting.

I forgot all about it. I am
so happy tonight, mother,

I have never been so happy.

- At the prospect of going away?

- Don't put it like that, mother.

Of course I am sorry to leave you,

but as Lord Illingworth
says, it is impossible

to live in such a place as Wrockley.

You don't mind it, but I'm ambitious.

I want something more than that.

- Gerald, don't go away
with Lord Illingworth.

I implore you not to. Gerald, I beg you!

- Mother, how changeable you are!

An hour and a half ago
in the drawing room,

you agreed to the whole thing.

Now you turn round and make objections,

It is very strange that when I have had

such a wonderful piece of good luck,

the one person to put
difficulties in my way

should be my own mother.

- Shh, shh!

- Besides, you know, mother.

I love Hester Worsley.

- What?

- I love her more than
I have ever told you,

more than I could ever tell her, far more,

and if I had a position,
if I had prospects,

I could ask her to...

If I were Lord Illingworth's secretary,

I could ask Hester to be my wife.

- I fear you need have
no hopes of Miss Worsley.

- You have always tried to

crush my ambition, mother, haven't you?

You have told me that the
world is a wicked place,

that success is not worth having,

that society is shallow.

Well, I don't believe it, mother.

I think the world must be delightful.

I think society must be exquisite.

You have been wrong

in all that you taught
me, mother, quite wrong.

Lord Illingworth is a successful
man, a fashionable man.

Well, I would give anything

to be just like Lord Illingworth.

- Oh, God!

I would sooner see you dead.

- Mother, what is your
objection to Lord Illingworth?

Tell me, tell me right out.

What is it?

- He is a bad man.

- In what way bad?

I don't understand what you mean.

- I will tell you.

- I suppose you think him bad,

because he doesn't believe
the same things as you do.

He doesn't believe all
the old conventionalities

one has been taught about.

He's perfectly right!

- It is not what Lord Illingworth

believes or does not
believe that makes him bad.

It is what he is.

- Is it something you know of him?

Something you actually know?

- Yes, it is something I know.

- Something you are quite sure of?

- Quite sure of.

- How long have you known it?

- For 20 years.

- Is it fair to go back 20
years in any man's career?

You have always told me it is unfair

to judge people on their pasts.

And what have you or I to do with

Lord Illingworth's early life?

What business is it of ours?

- Gerald, what this man has been,

he is now, and will be always.

- Mother, tell me what
Lord Illingworth did.

If he did anything shameful,
I will not go away with him.

- Gerald, come near to me.

Come, quite close,

as you used to when you were a little boy,

when you were mother's own boy.

Gerald.

There was a girl once.

She was very young.

She was little over 18 at the time.

George Harford met her.

She knew nothing about life.

He knew everything.

He made this girl love him.

He made her love him so much

that she left her father's
house with him one morning.

She stayed with him for a year abroad.

She loved him so much, and
he had promised to marry her!

He had solemnly promised,
and she had believed him.

She was very young, and
ignorant of what life really is,

but he put the marriage off

from week to week, from month to month.

She trusted in him all the while.

She loved him.

Before her child was born,

for she had a child,

she implored him for the
child's sake to marry,

that the child might have a name,

that her sin might not
be visited on the child,

who was innocent.

He refused.

After the child was born, she left him,

taking the child away,

and her life was ruined,

and her soul ruined,

and all that was sweet and pure
and good in her ruined also.

She suffered terribly. She suffers now.

She will always suffer.

For her, there is no atonement.

She drags a chain like a guilty thing.

She wears a mask like a
thing that is a leper.

The fire cannot purify her.

The waters cannot quench.

Nothing can heal her!

No anodyne can give her sleep!

No poppies forgetfulness!

A lost soul!

That is why I call Lord
Illingworth a bad man.

That is why I do not want
my boy to be with him.

- My dear mother,

it all sounds very tragic, of course,

but I dare say the girl

was just as much to blame
as Lord Illingworth was.

After all, would a really nice girl,

a girl with any nice feelings at all,

go away from her home with a man

to whom she was not married,
and live with him as his wife?

No nice girl would.

- Gerald, I withdraw all my objections.

You are at liberty to go
away with Lord Illingworth,

when and where you choose.

- Dear mother, I knew you
wouldn't stand in my way.

You are the best woman God ever made,

and, as for Lord
Illingworth, I don't believe

he is capable of anything
infamous or base.

I can't believe it of him, I can't.

- [Hester] Let me go! Let me go!

- What is that?

- Oh, save me!
- What?

- Save me from him!

- From whom?

- He has insulted me!

Horribly insulted me!
- Who?

- Save me!
- Who has dared?

Lord Illingworth, you have insulted

the purest thing on God's earth,

a thing as pure as my own mother.

You have insulted the woman
I love as I love my mother!

- Dear boy-

- You are infamous, foul, polluted!

As there is a God in
Heaven, I will kill you!

- No, no, no!

- Don't hold me, mother. Don't hold me.

I'll kill him!
- Gerald!

- Let me go, I say! Don't hold me!

- Stop, Gerald, stop!

He is-
- Rachel, don't!

- He is your own father!

(birds fluttering)

(solemn string music)

(audience applauding)

(audience chuckles)

Good morning, ladies and gentlemen.

Before a fresh walk across the gardens,

a cautionary tale.

(audience chuckles)

(lively folk music)

♪ Do not trust him, gentle lady ♪

♪ Though his voice be low and sweet ♪

♪ Heed not him who kneels before you ♪

♪ Gently pleading at thy feet ♪

♪ Now thy life is in its morning ♪

♪ Blight not this, thy happy lot ♪

♪ Listen to the gypsy's warning ♪

♪ Gentle lady, trust him not ♪

♪ Listen to the gypsy's warning ♪

♪ Gentle lady, trust him not ♪

(lively folk music)

♪ Do not turn so coldly from me ♪

♪ I would only guard thy youth ♪

♪ From his stern and withering powers ♪

♪ I would only tell the truth ♪

♪ I would shield thee from all danger ♪

♪ Save thee from the tempter's snare ♪

♪ Lady, shun that dark-eyed stranger ♪

♪ I have warned thee, now beware ♪

♪ Lady, shun that dark-eyed stranger ♪

♪ I have warned thee, now beware ♪

(lively folk music)

♪ Lady, once there lived a
maiden, pure and bright ♪

♪ And, like thee, fair ♪

♪ And he wooed, and wooed and won her ♪

♪ Filled her gentle heart with care ♪

♪ Then he heeded not her weeping ♪

♪ Nor cared he her life to save ♪

♪ So she perished ♪

♪ Now she's sleeping in
a cold and silent grave ♪

♪ So she perished ♪

♪ Now she's sleeping in
a cold and silent grave ♪

(lively folk music)

♪ Keep thy gold, I do not wish it ♪

♪ Lady, I have prayed for this ♪

♪ For the hour when I might foil him ♪

♪ Rob him of expected bliss ♪

♪ Gentle lady, do not wonder ♪

♪ At my words so cold and wild ♪

♪ Lady, in that green grave yonder ♪

♪ Lies the gypsy's only child ♪

♪ Lady, in that green grave yonder ♪

♪ Lies the gypsy's only child ♪

(lively folk music)

(audience applauding)

(birds chirping)

- [Alice] Good morning, Lady Hunstanton.

- [Hunstanton] This is Mrs. Allonby.

- [Alice] How do you do?

- [Allonby] How do you do?

- [Hunstanton] We've come to
inquire for Mrs. Arbuthnot.

if she's available.

- [Alice] Of course. Right this way.

- [Hunstanton] Thank you.

- Lady Hunstanton and Mrs. Allonby.

- Good morning, Gerald.

- Good morning, Lady Hunstanton.

Good morning, Mrs. Allonby.

- Good morning, Mr. Arbuthnot.

How serious you look!

- We've come to inquire for
your dear mother, Gerald.

I do hope she's better.

- My mother has not come
down yet, Lady Hunstanton.

- Oh, I'm afraid the heat was
too much for her last night.

It felt like thunder in the air,

or perhaps it was the music.

Music makes one feel so romantic.

Well, at least it always
gets on one's nerves.

- It's the same thing, nowadays.

- I can't make out what
happened to everyone last night.

My pretty little American
disappeared to bed

without bidding me good night,

Lord Illingworth never
went to the smoking room,

and Lady Caroline sent me a
note by her maid this morning

to say that her poodle had

had a severe attack of indigestion,

and Sir John had been
obliged to sit up with it

'til four in the morning.

Oh, I see you're examining
Mrs. Arbuthnot's pretty room.

Isn't it nice and old-fashioned?

- Quite the happy English home.

- That's just the word,
dear, that just describes it.

One feels your mother's good influence

in everything, Gerald.

I should like to see Lord Illingworth

in a happy English home.

- It would do him a
great deal of good, dear.

Here, we have the room of a sweet saint,

and what nice books
your mother has, Gerald.

All written by archdeacons
and colonial bishops.

That makes one feel so safe, doesn't it?

And fresh natural flowers,

and pictures one can
look at without blushing.

- But I like blushing.

- Well, there is a great
deal to be said for blushing,

if one can do it at the proper moment.

Poor dear Hunstanton used to tell me

I didn't blush nearly often enough,

but he was so very particular.

He didn't introduce me to
one of his female friends,

and as for his men friends,

he would only let me know
those who were over 70.

- I delight in men over 70.

They always offer one the
devotion of a lifetime.

- She is quite incorrigible,
Gerald, isn't she?

And by the by, Gerald, I
do hope your dear mother

will come and see me more often now.

You and Lord Illingworth

start almost immediately, don't you?

- I have given up my intention

of being Lord Illingworth's secretary.

- Oh, surely not, Gerald!

That would be most unwise of you.

- I don't think I should
be suitable for the post.

- I wish Lord Illingworth would
ask me to be his secretary.

- Oh, really, dear!

You mustn't talk like that in this house.

Really, Gerald, what do you
mean by not being suitable?

Why, to be a private secretary nowadays,

you don't need to know anything!

You needn't even know how to spell!

My son James could be a private secretary,

and his spelling is the
most daring thing possible.

The amount of letters
James gets into a word

is quite extraordinary.

He says it's not good form to spell well.

- Lord Illingworth's views of life

and mine are too different.

- Oh, now, Gerald, at your age,

you shouldn't have any views of life.

You need to be guided by
others in this matter.

Lord Illingworth has made you
the most flattering offer,

and traveling with him,
you would see the world.

Well, at least as much of
it as one should look at,

under the best auspices possible.

- I don't want to see the world.

I've seen enough of it.

- I hope you don't think

you have exhausted life, Mr. Arbuthnot.

When a man says that, one knows
that life has exhausted him.

- I don't wish to leave my mother.

- Oh, now, Gerald, that is
pure laziness on your part.

Really, you young men of the present day,

you have no ambition at all!

It all goes in cigarettes, I believe.

Not leave your mother!

If I was your mother, I
would insist on your going.

- Mrs. Arbuthnot's compliments, my lady,

but she has a bad headache,

and cannot see anyone this morning.

- A bad headache.

How very interesting.

I had a bad headache myself lately.

I forget when it was.

I cured at once with the
most wonderful medicine.

I can't remember its name,

but your dear mother
should use it, Gerald.

You'll tell her, won't you?

And you'll bring her to
Hunstanton this afternoon,

if she is better.

- I am afraid not this
afternoon, Lady Hunstanton.

- Well, tomorrow, then.

If you had a father, Gerald,

he wouldn't let you waste your life here,

but mothers are so weak.

We give up to their sons in everything.

We are all heart, all heart.

Come, dear, I must call at the rectory

and inquire for Mrs. Daubeny,

who, I am afraid, is far from well.

It is wonderful how the
Archdeacon bears up,

quite wonderful.

He is the most sympathetic of husbands.

Quite a model.

Goodbye, Gerald. Give my
fondest love to your mother.

- Goodbye, Mr. Arbuthnot.

- Are you afraid of Lord Illingworth

that you refuse such an offer?

- I am not afraid of anyone, Mrs. Allonby.

- I'm afraid of him. That's
why I like him so much.

- Oh, come, dear.

You mustn't flirt with Mr. Arbuthnot.

He is in my black books.

- Goodbye.

- Goodbye.

What name can I sign?

I, who have no right to any name.

- Goodbye again, Gerald.

We're gonna take the short
cut across your pretty garden,

and remember my advice.

Start at once with Lord Illingworth.

- Au revoir, Mr. Arbuthnot.

Mind you bring me back something
nice from your travels.

- Mother, I have just written to him.

- To whom?

- To my father.

I have written to tell him to come here

at four o'clock this afternoon.

- He shall not come here.

He shall not cross the
threshold of my house.

- He must come.

- Gerald, if you are going
away with Lord Illingworth,

go at once.

Go before it kills me, but
don't ask me to meet him.

- Mother, you don't understand.

Nothing in the world would induce me

to go away with Lord Illingworth.

No, I have written to him to say-

- What can you have to say to him?

- Can't you guess, mother,

what I have written in this letter?

- No.

- Mother, surely you can.

Think, think what must
be done, now, at once.

- There is nothing to be done.

- I have written to Lord Illingworth

to tell him that he must marry you.

- What?

What, marry me?

- Mother, the wrong that has
been done you must be repaired.

Atonement must be made.

- But, Gerald!
- In a few days,

you shall be Lord
Illingworth's lawful wife.

I will insist upon his doing it.

He will not dare to refuse.

- But, Gerald, it is I who refuse.

I will not marry Lord Illingworth.

- Not marry him? Mother!

- I will not marry him.

- But you don't understand.

It is for your sake I am
talking, not for mine.

This marriage, this necessary marriage,

will not help me, but surely
it will be something for you,

that you, my mother, should, however late,

become the wife of the
man who is my father.

Will not that be something?

- I will not marry him.

- Mother, you must.

- I will not!

What atonement can be made to me?

There is no atonement possible.

I am disgraced. He is not.

That is all.

It is the usual history
of a man and a woman

as it always happens,

and the ending is the ordinary ending.

The woman suffers. The man goes free.

- Your life, mother,
shall not end like that.

The man shall make whatever
reparation is possible.

It is not enough.

It does not wipe out
the past, I know that,

but at least it makes the future better,

better for you, mother.

- I refuse to marry Lord Illingworth!

I'd rather lie in a grave
than be George Harford's wife!

- Mother, it is to take away

the bitterness out of your life,

to take away the shadow
that lies on your name,

that this marriage must take place!

It is a duty that you owe
not merely to yourself

but to all other women!

- I owe nothing to other women!

There is not one of them to help me.

There is not one woman in the world

to whom I could go for
pity, if I would take it!

That girl last night, good though she is,

fled from the room as though
I were a tainted thing,

and she was right.

I am a tainted thing,

but my wrongs are my own,
and I will bear them alone.

What have women who have
not sinned to do with me,

or I with them?

We do not understand each other.

- Mother, don't say that!

- [Rachel] Why should I not if it's true?

- It is not, and I implore
you to do what I ask you!

- I will not do it!

- Don't turn away from me, mother.

Listen, it is only why
you should listen, mother!

Surely, your religion, the
religion that you taught me

when I was a boy, mother,
must tell you that I am right.

You know it. You feel it.

- I do not know it, I do not feel it,

nor will I ever stand before God's altar

and ask God's blessing
on so hideous a mockery

as a marriage between
me and George Harford.

I will not say the words
the Church bids us to say.

I will not say them, no!

Marriage is a sacrament for
those who love each other.

It is not for such as him, or such as me.

Gerald.

To save you from the
world's sneers and taunts,

I have lied to the world.

For 20 years, I have lied to the world.

I could not tell the world the truth.

Who can, ever?

But not for my own sake will I lie to God,

and in God's presence.

No, Gerald, no ceremony,
church-hallowed or state-made,

shall ever bind me to George Harford.

It may be that I am too
much bound to him already.

- I don't understand you now.

- Men don't understand what mothers are.

To bear you, I had to look on death.

To nurture you, I had to wrestle with it.

Death fought with me for you.

All women have to fight with
death to keep their children.

Death, being childless,
wants our children from us.

Gerald, when you were
naked, I clothed you.

When you were hungry, I gave you food.

When you were cold, I warmed you.

If you were sleepless,

I walked with you all
night long in my arms.

If you were fretful, I
made songs to soothe you.

Night and day, I tended you.

No office is too mean, no care too lowly,

for the thing we women love,

and, oh, how I loved you.

Not Hannah, Samuel more,

and you needed love, for you were weakly,

and only love could have kept you alive.

Only love can keep any one alive,

and then you began to grow up,

and grew stronger, much stronger,

and ran about and wanted playmates,

and I felt you'd be happier
at school than at home,

so I sent you to school, and I was glad

when you wrote me a blotted boyish scrawl

once in a term!

You made many friends and
went into their houses

and were glad with them,
and I, knowing my secret,

did not dare to follow,

but stayed at home and closed
the door and shut out the sun.

What should I have done
in honest households?

My past was ever with me, and
you thought I didn't care for

the pleasant things of life.

I tell you, I longed for them,

but I did not dare to touch them,

feeling I had no right.

You thought I was happier
working amongst the poor.

That was my mission, you imagined.

It was not, but where else was I to go?

The sick do not ask if

the hand that smooths
their pillow is pure,

nor the dying care if the
lips that touch their brow

have known the kiss of sin.

It was you I thought of all the time.

I gave to them the love you did not need.

And you thought I spent
too much of my time

going to church, and in church duties,

but where else could I turn?

God's house is the only house

where sinners are made welcome,

and you were always in my heart, Gerald,

too much in my heart,
for, though day after day,

at morn or evensong, I
have knelt in God's house,

I have never repented of my sin.

How could I,

when you, my love, were its fruit?

You are more to me than innocence.

I would rather be your mother,

oh, much rather,

than have been always pure.

Don't you see?

Don't you understand?

It is my dishonor that has
made you so dear to me.

It is my disgrace that has
bound you so closely to me.

It's the price I paid for you,

the price of soul and body,

that makes me love you as I do.

Don't ask me to do this horrible
thing, child of my shame.

Be still the child of my shame!

- Mother, I didn't know you
loved me so much as that,

and I will be a better son
to you than I have been.

I have no one to love me but you, mother.

I suppose I never did.

You and I must never leave each other,

but, mother, I can't help it.

You must become my father's wife.

You must marry him.

It is your duty.
- No.

- No, no, no, you shall not.
- Hester?

Hester?

- That would be real dishonor,

the first you have ever known.

Real disgrace, the first to touch you.

Leave him and come with me.

There are other countries than England,

with its evil society,

better, wiser, and less unjust lands.

The world is wide.

- No, not for me.

For me, the world is
shriveled to a palm's breadth.

- It shall not be so.

- Where I walk, there are thorns.

- We shall find green
valleys and fresh waters,

and if we weep, well,
we shall weep together.

- Hester!

- Don't, don't!

You cannot love me at all,
unless you love her also.

You cannot honor me, unless
she is holier to you.

- Hester, Hester, what shall I do?

- Do you respect the
man who is your father?

- Respect him? I despise him!

Tell me what to do now.

- Ask your own heart, not mine.

I never had a mother to save, or shame.

- He is hard. He is hard.

Let me go away.

- Mother, forgive me.
I have been to blame.

- Oh, don't kiss my hands.

They are cold.

My heart is cold.

Something has broken it.
- Don't say that.

Hearts live by being wounded.

Pleasure may turn a heart to stone,

riches may make it callous, but sorrow,

sorrow cannot break it.

Besides, what sorrows have you now?

Why, at this moment, you are
more dear to him than ever,

Be kind to him.

- You are my mother and
my father all in one.

I need no second parent.

Oh, say something, mother.

Have I but found one love to lose another?

- Oh, God.

Has he found indeed another love?

- I have loved him always.

- But we are very poor.

Poorer than Gerald knows.

- Who, being loved, is poor?

No one. I hate my riches.

They are a burden. Let
him share it with me.

- But we are disgraced.

We rank among the outcasts.
Gerald is nameless.

The sins of the parents should
be visited on the children.

It is God's law.

- I was wrong.

- It is God's law.

- God's law is only love.

- Gerald, Gerald!

(Rachel chuckles)

Gerald.

I cannot give you a father,

but I have brought you a wife.

- I am not worthy either of her or you.

- So she comes first, you are worthy,

and when you are away, Gerald, with her,

think of me sometimes.

Don't forget me.

You will be happy, Gerald.

- You don't think of leaving us?

You will come with us.

- Mother, you won't leave us?

- I might bring shame upon you!

- Mother!

- Be with us! Be with us!

- Mother!

- For a little then, and if
you let me, near you always.

Now, leave me. T

The roses in our garden are
in bloom and have no thorns.

- Come out to the garden.

- Later on, later on.

(birds chirping)

- A gentleman to see you, ma'am.

- Say I'm not at home.

Show me the card.

Say I will not see him.

- Leave us.

Don't you hear me?

- That'll do, Alice.

Well, what can you have to say
to me today, George Harford?

You must leave this house.

- Rachel.

- My son may come in at any moment.

I saved you last night.

I may not be able to save you again.

My son feels my dishonor
strongly, terribly strongly.

I beg you to go.

- Last night was excessively unfortunate.

That silly Puritan girl making a scene

merely because I wanted to kiss her.

What harm is there in a kiss?

- A kiss may ruin a human
life, George Harford.

I know that. I know that too well.

- We won't discuss that at present.

What is of importance today,

as yesterday, is still our son.

I am extremely fond of Gerald,

more fond than I ever thought

I should be of anybody or anything.

Odd though it may seem to you,

I admired his conduct
last night immensely.

He took up the cudgels
for that pretty prude

with wonderful promptitude.

He is just what I should have
wanted a son of mine to be,

Now, what I propose is this.

- Lord Illingworth, no
proposition of yours interests me.

- According to our
ridiculous English laws,

I can't legitimize Gerald, but
I can leave him my property.

What more could a gentleman
require in this world?

- Nothing more, I am quite sure.

- As for a title, a title is really

rather a nuisance in
these democratic days.

Well, my proposal is this.

- I told you I was not
interested, and I beg you to go.

- The boy is to be with you
for six months in the year,

and with me for the other six.

That is perfectly fair, is it not?

You may have what allowance you wish,

and live where you choose,
and you needn't be afraid

that Gerald won't be my heir.

I have not the slightest
intention of marrying.

- You come too late.

My son has no need of you.

You are not necessary.

- What do you mean, Rachel?

- That you are not necessary
to Gerald's career.

He does not require you.

- I do not understand you.

- Look into the garden.

You had better not let them see you.

You bring unpleasant memories.

She loves him.

They love each other.

We are safe from you,
and we are going away.

- Where?

- We will not tell you,

and if you find us, we will not know you.

You seem surprised.

What welcome would you get from the girl

whose lips you tried to soil,

from the boy whose life you have shamed,

from the mother whose
dishonor comes from you?

- You have grown hard, Rachel.

- I was too weak once.

It is well for me that I have changed.

- I was very young at the time.

We men know life too early.

- And we women know life too late.

- Huh.

Rachel.

- My son has never smoked in this room.

- No matter.

- Had you not better go, Lord Illingworth?

- Rachel, I want my son.

My money may be of no use to him now.

I may be of no use to
him, but I want my son.

Bring us together, Rachel.

You can do it if you choose.

- There is no room in
my boy's life for you.

He is not interested in you.

- Then why does he write to me?

- What do you mean?

- What letter is this?

- Oh, that's nothing. Give it to me.

- It is addressed to me.

- You are not to open it.
I forbid you to open it.

- And in Gerald's handwriting.

- It is a letter he wrote
to you this morning,

before he saw me,

but he is sorry now he
wrote it, very sorry.

You are not to open it. Give it to me.

- It belongs to me.

Um...

You have read this
letter, I suppose, Rachel?

- No.

- You know what is in it?

- Yes.

- I don't admit for a moment
that the boy is right.

I don't admit that it is any
duty of mine to marry you.

I deny it entirely, but to
get back my son, I am ready.

Yes, I am ready to marry you,

and treat you always

with the deference and
respect due to my wife.

I will marry you as soon as you choose.

I give you my word of honor.

- You made that promise to
me once before and broke it.

- I will keep it now,

and that will show you that I love my son,

at least as much as you love him,

for when I marry you, Rachel,

there are some ambitions
I shall have to surrender.

High ambitions, too, if
any ambition be high.

- So you, again, propose to marry me?

- I do.

- I decline to marry
you, Lord Illingworth.

- You decline?

- I refuse.

- Are you serious?

- Yes.

- Do tell me your reasons.

They would interest me enormously.

- I have already explained them to my son.

- I suppose they were intensely
sentimental, weren't they?

You women live by your
emotions and for them.

You have no philosophy of life.

- You are right.

We women live by our
emotions and for them.

By our passions, and
for them, if you will.

I have two passions, Lord Illingworth,

my love of him and my hate of you.

You cannot kill those.
They feed each other.

- What kind of love is that

which needs to have hate as its brother?

- The sort of love I have for Gerald.

Do you think that terrible?

Well, it is terrible.

All love is terrible.

All love is a tragedy.

I loved you once, Lord Illingworth.

What a tragedy for a
woman to have loved you.

- So you really refuse to marry me?

- Yes.

- Because you hate me?

- Yes.

- And does my son hate me as you do?

- No.

- Well, I am glad of that, Rachel.

- He merely despises you.

- What a pity.

What a pity for him, I mean.

- Don't be deceived, George.

Children begin by loving their parents.

After a time, they judge them.

Rarely, if ever, do they forgive them.

- May I ask by what arguments

you made the boy who wrote this letter,

this beautiful, passionate letter,

believe that you should
not marry his father,

the father of your own child?

- It was not I that made
him see it. It was another.

- Oh, what findesiecle person?

- The Puritan, Lord Illingworth.

- Ah.

- There is not then much
for me to do here, Rachel?

- Nothing.

- It is goodbye, is it?

- Forever, I hope, this
time, Lord Illingworth.

- How curious.

At this moment, you look
exactly as you looked

the night you left me 20 years ago.

You have just the same
expression in your mouth.

Upon my word, Rachel, no woman
ever loved me as you did.

You gave yourself to me like a flower,

to do anything I liked with.

You were to love me forever, weren't you?

Until the boy came.

You were the prettiest of playthings,

the most fascinating of small romances.

Pity the boy came, wasn't it?

(Illingworth sighs)

Quarter to two!

Must be strolling back to Hunstanton.

Don't suppose I shall see you there again.

I'm sorry.

I am, really.

It's been an amusing experience

to meet amongst people of one's own rank,

and treated quite seriously too,

one's mistress, and one's-

(glove thumps)

You are the woman I did the
honor of asking to be my wife.

How foolish the wisest of us are at times,

but one day, your son may
call you by a worse name.

He has my blood in his
veins, as well as yours.

- He would have said it.

He would have said it!

- Well, dear mother, you
never came out after all,

so we have come in to fetch you.

Mother, you have not been crying?

- My boy, my boy, my boy!

- But you have two children now.

You'll let me be your daughter?

- Would you choose me for a mother?

- You of all women I have ever known.

- Dear child, I owe you everything.

- You owe me nothing.

- There are things so far
away, we can not see their use,

so near, we can not see their beauty,

and you have shown them to me,

but we will not talk of what is over.

For us, life is just beginning.

We will find a new life in a new land,

and be so happy.

- Happiness.

Is that in store for me?

- So much.

- Come, the sun is brighter than ever.

Let us go out and bid
goodbye to the old garden.

- My daughter.

My daughter!

- Hello, mother, whose glove is this?

You have had a visitor. Who was it?

- Oh, no one.

No one in particular.

A man of no importance.

(birds chirping)
(gentle music)

(audience applauding)

(audience faintly chattering)