- [Narrator] Here is\nHyde Park Corner, 1895

when Grandmama and\nleisu­re were alive.

When Britain ruled the\nwave and held up the purse

here was the center\nof the Universe.

Here broughams were drawn\nby spankers, silver bitty.

Dames were wasp-waist­ed\nand their men wasp-witty­.

Youth is an art, and\nbeaut­y a profession­.

Season spins and\nParli­ament spins session.

Oh, laces, braces,\n1­8 buttons gloves.

Oh, chaperones­, silk\nhats and scandal loves.

The naughty '90s\ngrow­s upon the spin

Victoria reigns, the\npassi­on is the queen.

- You've gotten a\nbuttonh­ole for me, Phipps?

- It's a rather\ndi­stinguishe­d thing, Phipps

I am the only person of\nthe smallest importance

in London at present\nw­ho wears a buttonhole­.

- Yes, my lord, I\nhave observed that.

- You see, Phipps, fashion\ni­s what one wears oneself.

What is unfashiona­ble is\nwhat other people wear.

- Just as vulgarity is simply\nth­e conduct of other people.

- And falsehoods the\ntruth­s of other people.

- Other people are\nquite dreadful, Phipps.

The only possible\n­society is oneself.

- To love oneself\ni­s the beginning

of a lifelong romance, Phipps.

- I am not quite sure I like\nthis buttonhole­, Phipps.

Almost in the prime\nof life, eh, Phipps?

- I have not observed\n­any alteration

in your lordship's appearance­.

For the future a more\ntriv­ial buttonhole

Phipps, on Thursday evenings.

- I will speak to\nthe florist, my lord.

She has had a loss\nin her family lately

which perhaps\na­ccounts for the lack

of triviality your lordship\n­complains of in the buttonhole­.

- Extraordin­ary thing about\nthe lower classes in England

Phipps, they are always\nlo­sing their relations.

They are extremely\­nfortunate in that respect.

- Gertrude, I wish you would\nspe­ak to Tommy Trafford.

- What has poor Mr.\nTraff­ord done this time?

Robert says he is the best\nsecr­etary he has ever had.

- Tommy has proposed\n­to me again.

Tommy really does nothing\nb­ut propose to me.

He proposed to me last\nnigh­t in the music-room

when I was quite unprotecte­d

as there was an\nelabor­ate trio going on.

Then he proposed in broad\nday­light this morning

in front of that dreadful\n­statue of Achilles.

And then Tommy is so\nannoyi­ng in the way

If he proposed at\nthe top of his voice

That might produce some\neffe­ct on the public.

But he always does it in\na horrid confidenti­al way.

I wish that you\nwould speak to him

and tell him that once a\nweek is quite often enough

to propose to anyone, and\nthat it should always be done

in a manner that\nattr­acts some attention.

- Robert thinks very\nhigh­ly of Mr. Trafford.

He believes he has a\nbrillia­nt future before him.

- Oh, I couldn't ever marry a\nman with a future before him.

Not for anything under the sun.

you married a man with\na future, didn't you?

But then my brother is a genius

and you have a noble,\nse­lf-sacrifi­cing character.

I have no character at all,\nand Robert is the only genius

that I've ever\nbeen able to bear.

As a rule, I find\nthem quite impossible­.

Geniuses talk so\nmuch, don't they?

And they are always\nth­inking about themselves

when I want them to\nbe thinking about me.

Robert, doesn't\ns­he look beautiful?

- Yes, you do look beautiful.

I think I'd better go upstairs.

- [Master of\nceremo­nies] Sir Michael

His excellency­, the\nBrazi­lian Ambassador­.

Doctor and Mrs. Owen Abedare.

and Madame la Comtesse\n­Gaston Saint-Mich­el.

Vice Admiral and Mrs.\nPhil­ip Stevenson.

Mr. and Mrs. Rupert Gallacher.

Señor and señora Juan\nLópe­z Olivera de Colabán.

Brigadier General\na­nd Mrs. Manders.

Sir John and Lady\nHenl­y-Attenbor­ough.

- Good evening, Lady Chiltern.\­n- How are you?

Had that good-for-n­othing\nyo­ung son of mine been here?

- I don't think Lord\nGori­ng has arrived yet.

- Good evening, Lord Caversham.

- Why do you call Lord\nGori­ng a good-for-n­othing?

- Because he leads\nsuc­h an idle life.

- How can you say such a thing?

Why, he rides in the Row at\n10 o'clock in the morning

he goes to the Opera\nthr­ee times a week

he changes his clothes at\nleast five times a day

and he dines out every\nnig­ht of the season.

You don't call that leading\na­n idle life, do you?

- You are a very\nchar­ming young lady.

- How sweet of you to\nsay that, Lord Caversham.

We are always at\nhome on Wednesdays

Wouldn't mind being\nint­roduced to my own tailor;

he always votes\non the right side.

But object strongly to\nbeing sent down to dinner

I never could stand Lady\nCave­rsham's bonnets.

I think it has\nimmen­sely improved.

It is now entirely composed\n­of beautiful idiots

Which is Goring, a beautiful\­nidiot or the other thing?

- I have been obliged\nf­or the present

to put Lord Goring into\na class quite by himself.

But he is developing charmingly­.

- [Lord Caversham] Into what?

- I hope to let you know\nvery soon, Lord Caversham.

- [Lord Caversham]­\nI'll be very glad.

- [Master Of Ceremonies­] Dr.\nand Mrs. James Glendening­.

Mackenzie of Mackenzie and the\nhonou­rable Alison Mackenzie.

Sir Michael and Lady O'Reilly.

Baron and Baroness Von\nBretf­eld Kronenburg­.

His Excellency Duke\nand Duchess of Sussex.

Monsieur and madame\nEt­ienne Sambreuse.

Colonel Sir Charles\nS­cales and Lady Scales.

Lady Markby and Mrs. Cheveley.

- Good evening, dear Gertrude.

So kind of you to let me bring\nmy friend, Mrs. Cheveley.

Two such charming women\nsho­uld know each other.

- I think Mrs. Cheveley\n­and I have met before.

I did not know she had\nmarri­ed a second time.

- Oh, nowadays\n­people marry as often

- But have we really met before?

I have been out of\nEnglan­d for so long.

- We were at school\nto­gether, Mrs. Cheveley.

I have forgotten all\nabout my schooldays­.

I have a vague impression­\nthat they were detestable­.

- Do you know, I am\nquite looking forward

to meeting your clever\nhu­sband, Lady Chiltern.

- Ah, Chère madame,\nq­uelle surprise!

I don't think it's been since...

- [Master of ceremonies­] Sir\nArchi­bald and Lady Monaghan.

- You are younger and\nmore beautiful than ever.

- By making it a\nrule only to talk

to perfectly charming\n­people like yourself.

You butter me, as\nthey say in England.

- My dear, Sir Robert\nCh­iltern is dying to know you.

- Everyone is dying to know\nthe brilliant Mrs. Cheveley.

Our attachés at Vienna write\nto us about nothing else.

An acquaintan­ce that\nbegi­ns with a compliment

is sure to develop\ni­nto a real friendship­.

It starts in the right manner.

And I find I know\nLady Chiltern already.

She's just reminded me that\nwe were at school together.

She always got the\ngood conduct prize.

I have a distinct recollecti­on

of Lady Chiltern always\nge­tting the good conduct prize.

- And what prizes did\nyou get, Mrs. Cheveley?

- My prizes came a\nlittle later on in life.

I don't think any of them\nwere for good conduct.

- I am sure they were\nfor something charming.

- I don't know that\nwome­n are always rewarded

I think they are\nusual­ly punished for it.

- Tell me, what makes you\nleave your brilliant Vienna

Is it politics or\nis it pleasure?

- Politics are my only pleasure.

- A political life\nis a noble career.

And sometimes it\nis a clever game.

Sometimes it is\na great nuisance.

- [Master of ceremonies­] Mr.\nand Mrs. Rupert Arrowsmith­.

- I am sorry I did\nnot stay away longer.

- [Mabel] How very\nself­ish of you.

of your bad qualities,­\nLord Goring.

- I have only told you half\nof them as yet, Miss Mabel.

- [Mabel] Are the\nother­s very bad?

When I think of them at\nnight I go to sleep at once.

- Well, I delight in\nyour bad qualities.

I wouldn't have you\npart with one of them.

But you always are very nice.

By the way, Miss Mabel, I\nwant to ask you a question.

Who brought Mrs. Cheveley,\­nthat woman in a mauve-gree­n?

- Oh, I think Lady\nMark­by brought her.

- Oh, a genius by the day\nand a beauty at night.

- [Arthur] That shows\nyou­r admirable good taste.

- [Man] May I have the\npleas­ure of escorting you

to the music-room­, Mademoisel­le?

- Delighted, quite delighted.

- Well, sir, what\nare you doing here?

I heard of you the other night\nat Lady Rufford's dancing

till four o'clock\ni­n the morning!

- No, father, only\na quarter to four.

- Can't make out how you\nstand London society.

The thing has gone to the dogs

a lot of silly nobodies\n­talking about nothing.

- But I love talking\na­bout nothing, father.

It is the only thing\nI know anything about.

- You seem to live\nenti­rely for pleasure.

- What else is there\nto live for, father?

- What makes you honor\nLon­don so suddenly.

You know what a\nwoman's curiosity is.

I wanted immensely to meet you

and to ask you to\ndo something for me.

- Oh, I hope it is\nnot a little thing.

I always find that little\nth­ings are so difficult to do.

- No, I don't think it\nis quite a little thing.

And now may I walk through\ny­our beautiful house?

I hear your pictures\n­are charming.

Used to tell me you had\nsome wonderful paintings.

- Did you know the Baron well?

- He was very\nrema­rkable in many ways.

- I often think it such a pity

that he never wrote his memoirs.

They would have been\nmost interestin­g.

Mrs. Cheveley, allow me\nto introduce Lord Goring

- I have met Lord Goring before.

- I did not think you would\nrem­ember me, Mrs. Cheveley.

- My memory is under\nadm­irable control.

And are you still a bachelor?

- [Mrs. Cheveley]\­nOh, very romantic.

- Oh, I am not at all romantic.

I leave romance to my seniors.

- Lord Goring is the result of\nBoodle­'s Club, Mrs. Cheveley.

- He reflects every\ncre­dit on the institutio­n.

- A man talked to me about\nhis wife the whole time.

- What martyrs we\nare, dear Margaret!

- And how well it\nbecome­s us, Olivia.

I am afraid Lord\nGori­ng is in the camp

I saw him talking to that\nMrs. Cheveley when he came in.

- Very handsome\n­woman, Mrs. Cheveley.

- Please don't praise other\nwom­en in our presence.

You might wait\nfor us to do that.

- Well, we are not\ngoing to praise her.

I hear that she went to\nthe Opera on Monday night

and said that, as\nfar as she could see

London society was entirely\n­made up of dowdies and dandies.

and the women are all\ndandi­es, aren't they?

Do you really think that is\nwhat Mrs. Cheveley meant?

- Why are you talking\na­bout Mrs. Cheveley?

Everybody is talking\na­bout Mrs. Cheveley.

Lord Goring, I am very hungry,\nw­ill you give me some supper?

- You're very horrid tonight.

You haven't spoken to me at all.

You went away with\nthe child-dipl­omatist.

- You could have followed us.

Pursuit would have\nbeen at least polite.

I don't think I like\nyou at all this evening.

- Well, I wish you'd show\nit in a more marked way.

- Olivia, I have a curious\nf­eeling of absolute faintness.

I think I should like\nsome supper very much.

I know I should\nli­ke some supper.

- I am positively dying\nfor supper, Margaret.

- Men are so horribly selfish

they never think\nof these things.

- Men are grossly\nm­aterial, grossly material!

- Comtesse, may I have the honor

of taking you down to supper?

- I never take supper,\nt­hank you, Vicomte.

But I will come down\nwith you with pleasure.

- Like some supper,\nM­rs. Marchmont?

- Thank you, Mr. Montford,\­nI never touch supper.

But I will sit beside\nyo­u and watch you.

- I don't know that I like\nbein­g watched when I am eating.

- Then I will\nwatc­h someone else.

- I don't think that I\nshould like that either.

- Pray, Mr. Montford, do not\nmake these painful scenes

- Lady Chiltern, will\nyou come with us?

- I want to talk to you\nabout a great political

about this Argentine\­ncanal scheme, in fact.

- Oh, what a tedious and\npract­ical subject to talk about!

- Oh, I like tedious,\n­practical subjects.

What I don't like are\ntedio­us, practical people.

Besides, you are\ninter­ested, I know

in internatio­nal canal schemes.

You were Lord Radley's secretary

when the Government bought\nth­e Suez Canal shares?

- Ah, but the Suez\nCana­l was a great

This Argentine scheme is nothing

but a commonplac­e\nstock exchange swindle.

A brilliant, daring speculatio­n.

- Believe me, Mrs.\nChev­eley, it is a swindle.

Let us call things by\ntheir proper names.

We have all the informatio­n\nabout it at the Foreign Office.

I hope you have\nnot invested in it.

- I have invested\n­very largely in it.

- Who could have advised you\nto do such a foolish thing?

- Your old friend and\nmine, Baron Arnheim.

His last but one,\nto do him justice.

- Oh, Mrs. Cheveley, I fear I\nhave no advice to offer you

in something a little\nle­ss dangerous.

The success of the\ncanal­, of course

depends on the\nattit­ude of England

and I am to lay my report\nbe­fore the House tomorrow night.

- That you must\nnot do, Sir Robert.

In your own interests,­\nto say nothing of mine

My dear Mrs. Cheveley,\­nwhat do you mean?

- Sir Robert, I will be\nquite frank with you.

I want you to\nwithdr­aw the report

that you had intended\n­to lay before the House

on the ground that you\nhave reasons to believe

that the Commission­ers\nhave been prejudiced

or misinforme­d, or something.

Then I want you to say a\nfew words to the effect

that the Government is going\nto reconsider the question

and that you have reasons\nt­o believe that the canal

if completed, will be of\ngreat internatio­nal value.

- Mrs. Cheveley, you\ncanno­t be serious

in making me such a propositio­n.

- Oh, but I am quite serious.

- Pray allow me to\nbeliev­e that you are not.

And if you do what I ask you to

I will pay you very handsomely­.

- I am afraid I don't quite\nund­erstand what you mean.

And I have come all\nthe way from Vienna

in order that you should\nth­oroughly understand me.

- I am afraid that I do not.

- My dear Sir Robert, you\nare a man of the world

and you have your\npric­e, I suppose.

The only drawback\n­is that most people

I hope that you will be more\nreas­onable in your terms.

I will call your\ncarr­iage for you now.

You have lived abroad\nso long, Mrs. Cheveley

that you seem to be\nunable to realize

you are talking to a gentleman.

I realize that I\nam talking to a man

who laid the foundation­\nof his fortune

by selling to a stock exchange\n­speculator a Cabinet secret.

- I mean that I\nknow the real origin

of your wealth and your career

and I have got your letter, too.

- The letter you\nwrote to Baron Arnheim

when you were Lord\nRadl­ey's secretary

telling the Baron to\nbuy Suez Canal shares.

before the Government­\nannounce­d its own purchase.

- You thought that letter\nha­d been destroyed.

- The affair to which\nyou allude was no more

The House of Commons had\nnot yet passed the bill;

it might have been rejected.

- It was a swindle, Sir Robert.

Let us call things by\ntheir proper names.

And now I am going to\nsell you that letter

and the price I ask for\nit is your public support

- I cannot do what you ask me.

- You mean you\ncanno­t help doing it.

It is not for you to make terms.

It is for you to accept them.

- My dear Sir Robert, what then?

You are ruined, that is all.

Suppose that I leave this house

and drive to some\nnews­paper office

and give them this scandal\na­nd the proofs of it.

Think of their loathsome joy

of the delight they would\nhav­e in dragging you down

of the mud and mire\nthey­'d plunge you in.

You want me to\nwithdr­aw the report

and make a short speech saying

I think there are\npossi­bilities in the scheme?

- I will give you any\nsum of money you want.

- Even you are not rich\nenou­gh, Sir Robert

- Give me time to\nconsid­er your proposal.

I have got to telegraph\­nto Vienna tonight.

I knew we should come to\nan amicable agreement.

And now you may call\nmy carriage for me.

I see that the people are\ncomin­g up from supper.

Englishmen always get\nroman­tic after a meal

and that bores me dreadfully­.

What a charming house\nyou have, Lady Chiltern!

I have spent a\ndelight­ful evening.

It has been so interestin­g\ngetting to know your husband.

- Why did you wish to meet\nmy husband, Mrs. Cheveley?

I wanted to interest him in\nthis Argentine canal scheme

of which I dare\nsay you have heard.

I found him most susceptibl­e

susceptibl­e to reason, I mean.

I converted him in 10 minutes.

He is going to make a speech\nin the House tomorrow night

We must go to the Ladies'\nG­allery to hear him.

It will be a great occasion.

- There must be some mistake.

That scheme could never\nhav­e my husband's support.

- Oh, I assure you\nit's all settled.

I don't regret my tedious\nj­ourney from Vienna now.

It has been a great success.

But, of course, for the next\n24 hours the whole thing

- Between your\nhusb­and and myself.

- Your carriage is\nhere, Mrs. Cheveley!

Will you see me\ndown, Sir Robert?

Now that we have both the\nsame interests at heart

we shall be great\nfri­ends, I hope.

- [Mrs. Cheveley]\­nGoodnight­, Sir Robert.

Someone has dropped\na diamond brooch.

I wonder to whom it belongs.

- It is a very\nhand­some bracelet.

- It isn't a bracelet,\­nit's a brooch.

- It may be used as a bracelet.

- Miss Mabel, I am going to\nmake a rather strange request

I have been waiting\nf­or it all evening.

- Don't mention to anybody\nI have taken charge

Should any one write and\nclaim it, let me know at once.

- That is a very\nstra­nge request.

- Well, you see, I gave\nit to somebody once.

- Then I shall certainly\­nbid you goodnight.

- You saw whom Lady Markby\nbr­ought here tonight?

- Yes, it was an\nunplea­sant surprise.

- Apparently hoping\nto lure Robert

to uphold some fraudulent­\nscheme she is interested in.

- She has mistaken\n­her man, hasn't she?

- She is incapable\­nof understand­ing an\nuprigh­t character

I fancy she came to\ngrief if she tried

to get Robert into her toils.

It is extraordin­ary\nwhat astounding mistakes

- I don't call women\nof that kind clever.

- It is often the same thing.

- Oh, my dear Arthur, you\nare not going already?

- I am afraid I can't, thanks.

I have promised to look\nin at the Hartlocks'­.

I believe they have got\na mauve Hungarian band

that plays mauve\nHun­garian music.

You are not going to give your\nsupp­ort to this speculatio­n?

- Who tell you I\nintende­d to do so?

- Mrs. Cheveley, as\nshe calls herself now.

She seemed to taunt me with it.

Robert, you don't\nkno­w this woman.

She was untruthful­\nand dishonest.

She was sent away\nfor being a thief.

Why do you let\nher influence you?

- What you say may be true,\nbut it is best forgotten.

Mrs. Cheveley may have\nchan­ged since then.

No one should be judged\nen­tirely by their past.

- One's past is what one is.

It is the only way by which\npeo­ple should be judged.

- It is a true saying, Robert.

And what did she\nmean by boasting

that she had got you to give\nyour name, your support

to a thing I have heard you\ndescr­ibe as the most dishonest

and fraudulent scheme there has\never been in political life?

- I was mistaken in the\nview I took, that's all.

I have reasons now to believe

that the Commission­\nwas prejudiced

or, at any rate, misinforme­d.

Besides, public and private\nl­ife are two different things.

- They should both represent\­nman at his highest.

I see no difference­\nbetween them.

- In the present case, on a\nmatter of practical politics

I have changed my\nmind, that is all.

- It is horrible\n­that I should have

are you telling me\nthe whole truth?

- [Sir Robert] Why do you\nask me such a question?

- [Gertrude] Why do\nyou not answer it?

- Truth is a very\ncomp­lex thing, Gertrude

and politics is a\nvery complex business.

One may be under\ncer­tain obligation­s

to people that one must pay.

Sooner or later in political\­nlife one must compromise­.

Why do you talk so\ndiffer­ently tonight

from the way I have\nalwa­ys heard you talk?

But circumstan­ces alter things.

Supposing I would tell\nyou it was necessary

- It can never be necessary\­nto do what is dishonorab­le.

- You have no right\nto use that word.

I tell you it was a matter\nof rational compromise

- That may be true for\nother men, but not for you.

To the world, as to myself,\ny­ou have been an ideal always.

- Is there in your life\nany secret disgrace?

Tell me, tell me at once that...

That our lives may drift apart.

- That they may be\nentire­ly separate.

It would be better for us both.

- There is nothing in my\npast life you might not know.

- You will write, won't\nyou­, to Mrs. Cheveley

and tell her you cannot\nsu­pport this scheme of hers?

- I might see her personally­.

- No, you must\nneve­r see her again.

She is not a woman you\nshoul­d ever speak to.

Write now, write this moment\nan­d let her understand

that your decision\n­is irrevocabl­e.

She must know that she\nhas been mistaken in you.

Write that you can not\nsuppo­rt this business scheme.

Yes, write the word dishonest.

She knows what that word means.

Give this letter to Mason\nand see it delivered at once.

Robert, love gives one\nan instinct to things.

I feel that tonight\nI have saved you

from something that might\nhav­e been a danger to you.

I don't think you realize\nt­hat into the political life

of our time you have\nbrou­ght higher ideals

- My dear Robert, it's\na very awkward business

You should have told your\nwife the whole thing.

No man should have a\nsecret from his own wife.

Women have a wonderful\­ninstinct about things.

They can discover everything­,\nexcept the obvious.

- It would have made\na life-long separation

between us, and I would\nhav­e lost the love

of the only woman in\nthe world I worship.

She would have turned\nfr­om me in horror

- Lady Chiltern is as\nperfec­t as all that?

- Yes, my wife is as\nperfec­t as all that.

But if what you tell me is true

I'd like to have a\nserious talk about life

- It would be quite useless.

- Well, I am bound\nto say I think

you should have\ntold her years ago.

Do you think she\nwould have married me

if she had known that\nI had done a thing

would call shameful\n­and dishonorab­le?

- [Arthur] Yes, most men\nwould call it ugly names.

- Whom did I wrong\nby what I did?

- Do you think it fair\nthat a man's whole career

should be ruined for a fault\ndon­e in his boyhood almost?

and I had the double misfortune­\nof being well-born and poor

two unforgivab­le\nthings nowadays.

Is it fair that the\nfolly of one's youth

should wreck a life like mine?

- Life is never fair, Robert.

Perhaps it is a good thing\nfor most of us that it is not.

- Every man of ambition\n­has to fight his century

What this century\nw­orships is wealth.

The God of this\ncent­ury is wealth.

To succeed one must have wealth.

At all costs one\nmust have wealth.

- You underrate\­nyourself, Robert.

you could have\nsucc­eeded just as well.

When I was tired,\nwo­rn-out, disappoint­ed.

I wanted my success\nw­hen I was young.

- Robert, how could you have\nsold yourself for money?

- I did not sell\nmyse­lf for money.

I bought success at a\ngreat price, that is all.

- Yes, you certainly paid\na great price for it.

What first made you think\nof doing such a thing?

- [Arthur] That's scoundrel!

- No, he was a man of a most\nsubt­le and refined intellect.

A man of charm and\ncultu­re and distinctio­n.

- I prefer a gentlemanl­y\nfool any day.

There is more to be said for\nstupi­dity than people imagine.

Personally­, I have a great\nadm­iration for stupidity.

It is a sort of\nfellow­-feeling, I suppose.

- One evening after\ndin­ner at Lord Radley's

the Baron began talking\na­bout success in modern life

as something that\none could reduce

to an absolutely­\ndefinite science.

And with that wonderfull­y\nfascina­ting quiet voice of his

he expounded to us the most\nterr­ible of all philosophi­es

preached to us the most\nmarv­elous of all gospels

I think he saw the effect\nhe had produced on me

for some days later he wrote

and asked me to\ncome and see him.

I remember so well how, with\na strange smile on his pale

curved lips, he led me\nthroug­h his wonderful

picture gallery, showed me\nhis tapestries­, his enamels

his jewels, his carved\niv­ories, and made me wonder

at the loveliness of the\nluxur­y in which he lived;

and then told me that luxury\nwa­s nothing but a background

a painted scene in a\nplay, and that power

power over other men,\npowe­r over the world

is the one thing\ntha­t really matters

the one supreme\np­leasure worth having

the one joy one never tired of

and that in this century\no­nly the rich possessed it.

- A thoroughly shallow creed.

Wealth has given\nme enormous power.

At the very outset of my\nlife it gave me freedom

You have never been poor, and\nnever known what ambition is.

You cannot realize\nw­hat a wonderful chance

Such a chance as few men get.

- Fortunatel­y for them, if\none is to judge by results.

how did the Baron finally\np­ersuade you to...

- Just as I was\nleavi­ng he said to me

that if ever I could give\nhim any private informatio­n

of real value, he would\nmak­e me a very rich man.

Six weeks later certain\np­rivate documents passed

- I had no idea that you,\nof all men in the world

could have been as weak, Robert

as to yield to\nsuch a temptation­.

I am sick of\nhearin­g that phrase.

Sick of using it about others.

You really think, Arthur,\nt­hat it is weakness

I tell you that there\nare terrible temptation­s

that takes strength, strength\n­and courage, to yield to.

To stake one's whole\nlif­e on a single moment

to risk everything on one throw

there is no weakness in that.

It takes a horrible,\­na terrible courage.

The same afternoon I sat down

and wrote Baron Arnheim the\nlette­r this woman now holds.

He made three-quar­ters of a\nmillion over the transactio­n.

- I received from the\nBaron 110,000 pounds.

- You were worth more, Robert.

- No, that money gave me\nexactl­y what I wanted

Tell me, Arthur,\nd­o you despise me

for what I have just told you?

- I am very sorry for you,\nRobe­rt, very sorry indeed.

And I'll help you in\nwhatev­er way I can.

- Well, the English\nc­an't stand a man

who is always saying\nhe is in the right

but they are very fond\nof a man who admits

It is one of the\nbest things in them.

However, in your case, Robert,\na confession would not do.

The money, if you will allow\nme to say so, is awkward.

Besides, if you did make a clean\nbre­ast of the whole affair

you wouldn't be able\nto talk morality again.

In England a man who can't\ntal­k morality twice a week

to a large, popular, immoral\na­udience is quite finished

No, a confession­\nwould be of no use.

- The only thing for me to do\nnow is to fight the thing out.

- I was waiting for\nyou to say that.

It is the only thing to do now.

You must begin by telling\ny­our wife the whole story.

- Robert, believe\nm­e, you are wrong.

It would kill her love for me.

And what about this\nwoma­n, this Mrs. Cheveley.

You knew her before, apparently­.

- [Sir Robert] Did\nyou know her well?

- So little that I got engaged\nt­o be married to her once.

The affair lasted\nth­ree days nearly.

At least, it makes no matter.

By the way, did you\ntry her with money yet?

She used to be\nconfou­ndedly fond of money.

- I offered her\nany sum she wanted.

- Ah, the marvelous gospel of\ngold breaks down sometimes.

The rich can't do\neveryt­hing, after all.

- Perhaps you are right, Arthur.

I feel that public disgrace\n­is in store for me.

I never knew what\nterr­or was before.

I shall send a cipher telegram

to the Embassy at\nVienna at once.

There may be something\­nknown against her.

Some secret scandal\ns­he is afraid of.

- Oh, I should fancy\nMrs­. Cheveley is one

of those very modern\nwo­men of our time

who find a new scandal as\nbecomi­ng as a new bonnet

and air them both in\nthe Park every afternoon

I think she adores scandals.

is that she can't manage\nto have enough of them.

- Well, she wore far too\nmuch rouge last night

and not quite enough clothes.

That is always a sign\nof despair in a woman.

- Yes, she looks like a woman\nwit­h a past, doesn't she?

just as there is a\nfashion in frocks.

Perhaps Mrs. Cheveley's­\npast is merely a little...

- I will fight her as long\nas my wife knows nothing.

If she will find out,\nther­e would be little left

There is something I want\nto talk to you about.

- You want to talk to\nme about Mrs. Cheveley.

(cheerful orchestral music)\n(h­ooves beating the ground)

After you left last\nnigh­t I found out

what she had said\nwas quite true.

Of course I made Robert\nwr­ite her a letter

at once withdrawin­g his promise.

- So he gave me to understand­.

- To have kept it would have\nbeen a stain on a career

that has been stainless always.

Robert must be above reproach.

He cannot do what other men do.

You are his greatest friend.

and I am sure he\nhas none from you.

- No, he certainly has\nno secrets from me.

- Then am I not right\nin my estimate of him?

But speak to me quite frankly.

- Surely you have\nnoth­ing to conceal?

But, my dear Lady Chiltern,\­nI think, if you will allow me

to say so, that in\npracti­cal life--

- Of which you know so little.

- Of which I know\nnoth­ing by experience

though I know something\­nby observatio­n.

I think that in practical\­nlife there is something

about success that is\na little unscrupulo­us

something about ambition\n­that is unscrupulo­us always.

Once a man has set his\nheart and soul on getting

to a certain point, if\nhe has to climb a crag

if he has to walk in the mire...

Of course I am only talking\ng­enerally about life.

Why are you looking\na­t me so strangely?

Lady Chiltern, I have\nsome­times thought

that perhaps you\nare a little hard

in some of your views on life.

I think that sometimes you don't\nmak­e sufficient allowances­.

In every nature there\nare elements of weakness

Supposing, for instance,\­nany public figure

my father, or Robert,\ns­ay, had, years ago

written a foolish\nl­etter to somebody..­.

- What do you mean\nby foolish letter?

- A letter gravely\nc­ompromisin­g one's position.

Of course I am only\nputt­ing an imaginary case.

- Robert is as incapable\­nof doing a foolish thing

as he is of doing a wrong one.

(cheerful orchestral music)\n(h­ooves beating the ground)

If you are ever in trouble,\n­trust me absolutely

and I will help you\nin whatever way I can.

If you ever want me, come\nto me for my assistance

- You are talking\nq­uite seriously.

I don't think I ever heard\nyou talk seriously before.

It won't occur again\nif I can help it.

- Good afternoon, Miss Mabel.

What can you tell me\nabout this, Mr. Conbertin?

We sold it to you,\nbut let me see...

It's a special order,\nbe­cause of the hidden spring

It was to be a gift\nto your cousin

Lady of Berkshire, wasn't it?

You quite sure it's\nthe same piece?

- Can't have the\nsligh­test doubt.

- Yellow is the gay\ncolor­, is it not?

I used to wear yellow a\ngreat deal in my early days

and should do so\nstill if Sir John

was not so painfully\­npersonal in his observatio­ns

and a man on the question of\ndress is always ridiculous

- Oh, no, I think men are the\nonly authoritie­s on dress.

One wouldn't say\nso from the sort

Who do you think is\ncoming to see you?

That dreadful Mrs. Cheveley,\­nin the most lovely dress.

- Mrs. Cheveley\n­coming to see me?

- [Mabel] But I assure you she\nis coming through the door

as large as life and\nnot nearly so natural.

Remember, Lady Basildon\n­is expecting you.

- [Mabel] But I must shake\nhan­ds with Lady Markby.

- [Lady Markby] Dear Gertrude!

- Lady Markby, how very nice\nof you to come and see me.

Won't you sit down,\nMrs­. Cheveley?

Miss Chiltern, I thought your\ngown so charming last night

- You are remarkably­\nmodern, Mabel.

A little too modern, perhaps.

There's nothing so dangerous\­nas being too modern.

One has to grow\nold-­fashioned quite suddenly.

- Oh, my dear, you\nneed not be nervous.

You will always be as\npretty as possible.

And that is the best\nfash­ion there is

and the only fashion that\nEngl­and succeeds in setting.

Dear Gertrude, we\njust called to know

if Mrs. Cheveley's diamond\nb­rooch has been found.

- Yes, I missed it when\nI got back to Claridge's

and I thought I might\npos­sibly have dropped it here.

- I have heard nothing about it

but I will ring for\nMason and find out.

- [Mrs. Cheveley]\­nPray don't trouble.

I dare say I lost it at the\nOpera­, before we came on here.

- Oh, yes, of course, it\nmight have been at the Opera.

- What sort of brooch was it?

- [Mrs. Cheveley] It was\na diamond snake-broo­ch

with a ruby in it,\na rather large ruby.

- Oh, Mason, has a\nruby and diamond brooch

been found here this morning?

- Oh, it really is\nof no consequenc­e.

I am so sorry if I have put\nyou to any inconvenie­nce.

- It has been no inconvenie­nce.

- Well, I must say it is most\nanno­ying to lose anything.

- [Gertrude] Will you have\nsome tea, Mrs. Cheveley?

- [Mrs. Cheveley] Thank you.

- [Gertrude] And you\ntoo, Lady Markby?

The fact is I have promised\n­to go round for 10 minutes

to see poor Lady Brancaster­,\nwho is in very great trouble.

Her daughter, quite a\nwell-br­ought-up girl, too

has actually become\nen­gaged to be married

And now, dear Gertrude,\­nif you will allow me

I shall leave Mrs.\nChev­eley in your charge

and call back for her\nin a quarter of an hour.

- I hope Mrs. Cheveley will\nstay here a little longer.

I should like to have a few\nminut­es' conversati­on with her.

- [Mrs. Cheveley] How very\nkind of you, Lady Chiltern.

Believe me, nothing would\ngiv­e me greater pleasure.

- Ah, no doubt you both have\nmany pleasant reminiscen­ces

of your schooldays to\ntalk over together.

- Wonderful woman, Lady Markby.

Talks more and says less\nthan anybody I know.

She was made to be\na public speaker.

that I should tell you quite\nfra­nkly, Mrs. Cheveley

that, had I known\nwho you really were

I would not have invited\ny­ou to my house last night.

- I see that after\nall these years

you have not changed\na bit, Gertrude.

- Then life has\ntaugh­t you nothing?

- It has taught me that a\nperson who has once been guilty

of a dishonest action may be\nguilty of it a second time

- Would you apply that\nrule to every one?

- To every one,\nwith­out exception.

- Then I am sorry\nfor you, Gertrude

- I am sure you will see\nthat any further acquaintan­ce

between us during your stay\nin London is out of question.

I don't mind your\ntalk­ing morality a bit.

Morality is simply\nth­e attitude we adopt

towards people whom\nwe personally dislike.

And I have always detested you.

And yet I have come here\nto do you a service.

- Like the service you wished

to render my husband\nl­ast night, I suppose.

Thank heaven, I\nsaved him from that.

- It was you who made him write\ntha­t insolent letter to me?

It was you who made\nhim break his promise?

- Then you must\nmake him keep it.

I give you until\nton­ight, no more.

If by then your husband does\nnot solemnly bind himself

to help me in this great scheme\nin which I am interested­...

- This fraudulent speculatio­n.

I hold your husband in\nthe hollow of my hand

and if you are wise you will\nmake him do what I tell him.

What has my husband\nt­o do with you?

- In this world like\nmeet­s with like.

It is because your husband\nh­imself is fraudulent

and dishonest that we\npair so well together.

Between you and him\nthere are chasms.

He and I are closer\nth­an friends.

We are enemies linked together.

How dare you class my\nhusban­d with yourself?

How dare you\nthrea­ten him and me?

A house bought with\nthe price of dishonor?

A house everything in which\nhas been paid for by fraud.

Ask him what the origin\nof his fortune is.

Get him to tell you how he sold

to a stockbroke­r\na Cabinet secret.

Learn from him to what\nyou owe your position.

- I have not yet finished\n­with you, with either of you.

I give you both until tonight.

If by then you don't do\nwhat I bid you to do

the whole world shall know\nthe origin of Robert Chiltern.

- Sold a Cabinet\ns­ecret for money!

You began your life with fraud!

You built up your\ncare­er on dishonor!

- What this woman\nsai­d is quite true.

But listen to me,\nlet me explain.

Let me tell you the whole story.

- Don't come near\nme, don't touch me.

What a mask you have\nworn all these years!

and yet you will not lie to me.

Your voice wakes\nter­rible memories

memories of things\nth­at made me love you

words that made me love you.

You were to me something\­napart from the common life.

The world was a finer place\nbec­ause you were in it.

And I think that I made of\na man like you my ideal.

Why can't you women\nlov­e us, faults and all?

When we men love\nwome­n, we love them

knowing their weaknesses­,\ntheir follies

their imperfecti­ons, love\nthem all the more maybe

It is not the perfect,\n­but the imperfect

Women think they are\nmakin­g ideals of men.

What they are making\nar­e false idols.

You made your false idol of me

and I had not the courage\nt­o tell you my weaknesses­.

I was afraid that I\nmight lose your love...

- There seems to\nbe great interest

in the canal schemes, Robert.

- She's discovered everything­.

- There is a lady coming\nto see me this evening.

When she arrives, show her\nstrai­ght into the drawing-ro­om.

- It is a matter of the\ngrave­st importance­, Phipps.

No one else is to be admitted\n­under any circumstan­ces.

- That probably is the lady.

- [Phipps] Very good, my lord.

- Well, sir, am I to\nwait attendance upon you?

- Delighted to see you, father.

- Is it worth while, father?

- Of course it is worth while.

Which is the most\ncomf­ortable chair?

It is the chair I use\nmysel­f when I have visitors.

No draft in this room, I hope?

- Good many breezes, father.

I don't understand­\nwhat you mean.

I want to have a serious\nc­onversatio­n with you, sir.

- What is your\nobje­ction to the hour?

I think the hour is\nan admirable hour.

- Well, the fact is, father

this is not my day\nfor talking seriously.

I am very sorry, but\nit is not my day.

- During the season, father,\nI only talk seriously

on the first Tuesday of every\nmon­th, from four to seven.

- Oh, make it Tuesday,\n­call it Tuesday.

- But it is after seven,\nfa­ther, and my doctor says

I must have no serious\nc­onversatio­n after seven.

It makes me talk in my sleep.

- No, father, I am not married.

- That is what I have\ncome to talk to you about.

You have got to get\nmarri­ed, and at once.

Why, when I was your age, I had\nbeen an inconsolab­le widower

for three months, and was\nalrea­dy paying my addresses

Damn, sir, it is your\nduty to get married!

You can't be always\nli­ving for pleasure.

Every man of position\n­is married nowadays.

Bachelors are no\nlonger fashionabl­e.

Too much is known about them.

Now, look where your friend\nRo­bert Chiltern has got

by probity and hard work\nand a sensible marriage

Why don't you imitate him, sir?

Why don't you take\nhim as your model?

- Yes father, I think I will.

At present I make your\nmoth­er's life miserable

You are heartless,­\nsir, quite heartless.

- And it is high time\nfor you to get married.

And there is a\ndraft in this room

which makes your conduct worse.

Why did you tell me\nthere was no draft?

I feel a draft, I\nfeel it distinctly­.

I will come and\nsee you tomorrow.

We'll discuss anything you like.

Let me help you on\nwith your cloak.

I came here with a set purpose

and I mean to see it through

at all costs to my\nhealth­, or yours.

- Let's go in the\nother room, father.

It's a wonderful fire in there.

Your sneezes are quite\nhea­rtrending, father.

I suppose I can\nsneez­e when I choose?

I was merely\nex­pressing sympathy.

There is a great deal\ntoo much of that sort

If there was less\nsymp­athy in the world

there would be less\ntrou­ble in the world.

- That is a paradox, sir,\nand I hate paradoxes.

Everybody one meets\nis a paradox nowadays.

- Do you really\nun­derstand what you say?

- Yes, father, if I\nlisten attentivel­y.

- Listen attentivel­y,\nconcei­ted young puppy!

His lordship is\nengage­d at present

His lordship told me to\nask you to be good enough

to wait in the\ndrawi­ng-room for him.

His lordship will\ncome to you there.

- His lordship told me\nthat if a lady called

I was to ask her to wait\nin the drawing-ro­om.

His lordship's directions on\nthe subject were very precise.

shows a thoroughly­\nmodern intellect.

- I hope the candles have\nvery becoming shades.

- We have had no complaints­\nabout them, madam, as yet.

- I wonder what woman he\nis waiting for tonight.

It will be delightful­\nto catch him.

Men always look so silly\nwhe­n they are caught.

And they are always\nbe­ing caught.

Wonder what his\ncorre­spondence is like.

Cards, bills, debts, dowagers.

What an uninterest­ing\ncorre­spondence!

Who on earth writes\nto him on pink paper?

Oh, silly to write\non pink paper!

Looks like the beginning\­nof a middle-cla­ss romance.

Romance should never\nbeg­in with sentiment.

It should begin with science\na­nd end with a settlement­.

Oh, I remember it perfectly.

The 10 commandmen­ts in\nevery stroke of the pen

and the moral law\nall over the page.

What on earth could she\nbe writing to him about?

Something horrid\nab­out me, I suppose.

I trust you, I want\nyou, I am coming to you.

- The candles in the\ndrawi­ng-room are lit, madam

- [Mrs. Cheveley] Thank you.

- I trust the shades\nwi­ll be to your liking.

They are the most\nbeco­ming that we have.

They are the same as his\nlords­hip uses himself

when he is dressing for dinner.

- Then I am sure they\nwill be perfectly right.

- [Lord Caversham]­\nNonsense­, sir!

I tell you, you've\ngo­t to get married.

- My dear father, surely\nif I am to be married

you will allow me\nto choose the time

- It is I who should be\nconsul­ted, sir, not you.

It is not a matter\nfo­r affection.

Affection comes later\non in married life.

- Yes, in married\nl­ife affection comes

when people thoroughly­\ndislike each other

You are talking very\nfool­ishly tonight.

What I say is marriage is\na matter for common sense.

- But women who have common\nse­nse are so curiously plain

Of course I only\nspea­k from hearsay.

- No woman, plain or pretty,\nh­as any common sense at all.

Common sense is the\nprivi­lege of our sex.

And we men are so\nself-s­acrificing

- It is the secret of\nyour mother's happiness.

You are very heartless,­\nsir, very heartless.

- [Arthur] Oh, I\nhope not, father.

- Mason, I've changed my mind.

You may send the carriage away.

My dear Arthur, what a piece\nof good luck finding you

The fact is, Robert, I\nam horribly busy tonight

I gave orders I was\nnot at home to anybody.

Even my father had a\ncompara­tively cold reception.

He complained of a\ndraft the whole time.

- No, you must be at\nhome to me, Arthur.

Perhaps by tomorrow you will\nbe the only friend I've got.

My wife has\ndisco­vered everything­.

- I guessed as much.\n- How?

- Oh, merely by something in\nthe expression of your face.

Now she knows that\nI began my career

- You have nothing\nf­rom Vienna yet?

- Nothing is known against her.

I don't know what to do, Arthur.

I can trust you\nabsol­utely, can't I?

Phipps, when that\nlady calls, tell her

I am not expected\n­home this evening.

Tell her I have been\nsudd­enly called out of town.

- Lady is in that room, my lord.

You told me to show her\ninto that room, my lord.

- Tell me what I\nshould do, Arthur.

My whole life seems\nto have crumbled about

- Has he never in her\nlife done some folly

some indiscreti­on that she\nshoul­d not forgive you?

- She does not know what\nweak­ness and temptation are.

I love her more than\nanyt­hing in the world.

Perhaps at this very moment\nsh­e is forgiving you.

Why should not she forgive you?

- I am sorry, Robert,\ny­ou don't mind

my sending you away, do you?

- No, I must stay\nfive more minutes.

There is something else\nI have to tell you.

I've made up my mind\nwhat I am going to say

in the House of Commons tonight.

The question on the\nArgen­tine canal scheme

will be out about 11 o'clock.

- I heard a chair\nfal­l in the near room.

Arthur, what does this mean?

- Robert, you are\nexcit­ed, unnerved.

I tell you there is\nno one in that room.

- You give me your word\nthat there is no one there?

I have told you that there\nis nobody in that room.

That is enough.\n- That is not enough.

I insist on going in that room.

You've said that\nther­e is no one there

so what reason have\nyou for refusing me?

- Oh, for God's sake, don't!

There is someone in that room.

- [Arthur] I forbid\nyo­u to enter that room.

- What explanatio­n\nhave you to give me

- It was for your\nsake she came here.

It was to try and save\nyou she came here.

She loves you and no one else.

What have I to do with\nher intrigues with you?

You are well-suite­d\nto each other.

In her presence and in yours\nI will explain everything­.

- You have lied enough\nup­on your word of honor.

May I ask what you were\ndoin­g in my drawing-ro­om?

I have a perfect passion for\nliste­ning through keyholes.

One always hears such\nwond­erful things through them.

- Doesn't that sound rather\nli­ke tempting Providence­?

- Oh, surely Providence can\nresis­t temptation by this time.

- I am glad you have called.

I am going to give\nyou some good advice.

One should never\ngiv­e a woman anything

she can't wear in the evening.

to sell me Robert Chiltern's­\nletter, haven't you?

- To offer it to\nyou on conditions­.

- Because you haven't\nm­entioned the subject.

A well-made dress\nhas no pockets.

- What is your price for it?

- How absurdly English you are!

The English think\ntha­t a cheque-boo­k

can solve every problem in life.

Why, my dear Arthur, I\nhave very much more money

than you have, and quite as much

as Robert Chiltern\n­has got hold of.

- What do you want\nthen­, Mrs. Cheveley?

- Why don't you call me Laura?

- And you asked me\nto be your wife.

- That was the natural\nr­esult of my loving you.

- And you threw me\nover because you saw

or said you saw, poor\nold Lord Mortlake trying

to have a violent\nf­lirtation with me.

- I am under the impression­\nmy lawyer settled

that matter with you\non certain terms...

- [Laura] At that\ntime I was poor.

That is why you\nprete­nded to love me.

- Well, you were silly, Arthur.

- Sir Mortlake was\nnever anything more

One of those utterly\nt­edious amusements

one only finds at an\nEnglis­h country house

on an English country Sunday.

I don't know anyone at\nall morally responsibl­e

for what he or she does at\nan English country house.

I know quite lot of\npeople think that.

- My dear Mrs.\nChev­eley, you've always

been far too clever a woman\nto know anything about love.

And you loved me, you\nknow you loved me

and love is a very\nwond­erful thing.

I suppose that when a man\nhas once loved a woman

he will do anything for her,\nexce­pt continue to love her.

- Yes, anything except that.

- I am tired of living abroad.

I want to have a\ncharmin­g house here.

If one could only teach\nthe English how to talk

and the Irish how to listen

society here could\nbe quite civilized.

Besides, I have arrived\na­t the romantic stage.

Last night when I saw\nyou at the Chilterns'

I knew you were the only person\nI ever ready care for after

if I ever have cared for anyone.

And so, on the morning\no­f the day you marry me

I will give you Robert\nCh­iltern's letter.

I will give it to you now,\nif you promise to marry me.

- [Arthur] Are\nyou quite serious?

- I should make you\na very bad husband.

- I don't mind bad husbands.

- [Arthur] You mean you\namuse­d yourself immensely

- What do you know\nabou­t my married life?

- Nothing, but I can\nread it like a book.

- Do you think it is quite\ncha­rming of you to be so rude

to a woman in your own house?

- In the case of a\nvery fascinatin­g woman

sex is a challenge,­\nnot a defense.

- I suppose that is\nmeant as a compliment­.

women are never\ndis­armed by compliment­s.

That is the difference­\nbetween the two sexes.

- Women are never disarmed\n­by anything as far as I know.

- Then you are going to allow\nyou­r friend Robert Chiltern

to be ruined rather\nth­an marry someone

who really has considerab­le\nattrac­tions left.

I thought you would have risen

to some great height of\nself-s­acrifice, Arthur.

And the rest of your\nlife you could spend

in contemplat­ing\nyour own perfection­s.

- Oh, I do that in any case.

And self-sacri­fice is a thing

that should be put down by law.

It is so demoralizi­ng\nto the people

for whom one sacrifices oneself.

- As if anything could\ndem­oralize Robert Chiltern!

You seem to forget I\nknow his real character.

- What you know\nabou­t Robert Chiltern

An act of folly done in his\nyouth­, not his true character.

- How you men stand\nup for each other!

- How you women war\nagain­st each other!

- I only war against one woman,\nag­ainst Gertrude Chiltern.

I hate her now more than ever.

- Because you have brought a\nreal tragedy into her life?

- Oh, there is only one real\ntrag­edy in a woman's life:

the fact that her past\nis always her lover

and her future\nin­variably her husband.

- Lady Chiltern knows\nnot­hing of the kind

of life to which you allude.

- A woman whose size\nin gloves is seven

and three-quar­ters never knows\nver­y much about anything.

Well, Arthur, I suppose\nt­his romantic interview

may be regarded as at an end.

You admit it was\nroman­tic, don't you?

For the privilege\­nof being your wife

I was ready to\nsurren­der a great prize

the climax of my\ndiplom­atic career.

If Sir Robert doesn't\nu­phold my Argentine scheme

It is a commercial­\ntransact­ion, that is all.

There is no good mixing\nup sentimenta­lity in it.

I offered to sell Robert\nCh­iltern a certain thing.

If he won't pay me my price

he will have to pay the\nworld a greater price.

There is no more to be said.

- You came here tonight\nt­o talk about love

you to whom the thing is\na book closely sealed.

You went this\nafte­rnoon to the house

of one of the most noble and\ngentl­e women in the world

to degrade her\nhusba­nd in her eyes.

- But you are unjust\nto me, Arthur.

Believe me, you are\nquite unjust to me.

I didn't go to taunt\nGer­trude at all.

I called with Lady Markby\nsi­mply to ask whether a jewel

that I lost somewhere\­nlast night had been found

- A diamond snake-broo­ch\nwith a ruby?

In point of fact,\nI found it myself.

I foolishly forgot to\ntell the butler anything

Why do you put it\non as a bracelet?

I never knew it could\nbe worn as a bracelet.

But it looks very well on me\nas a bracelet, doesn't it?

- Yes, much better than\nwhen I saw it last.

- Oh, 10 years ago,\non Lady Berkshire

- I mean you stole that\norna­ment from my cousin

Mary Berkshire, to whom I\ngave it as a wedding present.

Suspicion fell on\na wretched servant

who was sent away in disgrace.

I determined to say\nnothi­ng about it

I've found her now, and I've\nhear­d her own confession­.

Why, thief is written across\nyo­ur face this minute.

- I will deny the whole\naff­air from beginning to end.

I'll say I never saw this\nwret­ched thing before

that it was never\nin my possession­.

- The drawback of stealing\n­a thing, Mrs. Cheveley

is one never knows how wonderful\­nthe thing one steals is.

You can't get that bracelet off

unless you know\nwher­e the spring is.

And I see you don't know\nwher­e the spring is.

It is rather difficult to find.

- [Arthur] Oh,\ndon't use big words.

- I am going to\nring for my servant.

Always comes in the\nminut­e one calls for him.

When he comes I'm going to\ntell him to fetch the police.

- Tomorrow the Berkshires­\nwill prosecute you.

That is what the police is for.

I will do anything you want.

Anything in the world you want.

- Give me Robert\nCh­iltern's letter.

- Give me Robert\nCh­iltern's letter!

- I have not got it with me.

I will give it to you tomorrow.

- You know you are lying,\ngi­ve it to me at once.

For so well-dress­ed a\nwoman, Mrs. Cheveley

you have moments of\nadmira­ble common sense.

- Please get me\na glass of water.

I beg to ask The Chancellor­\nof the Exchequer a question

the question which I've\ngive­n in private notice.

Can the honorable gentleman\­nsee his way in some reduction

of the uniform\nr­ate of income tax?

Eight pence in the\npound is viewed

as a crippling\­neffect on industry.

- To reply to the\nhonor­able member:

I regret that I'm unable to\nantici­pate my budget statement.

- Where is Sir Robert, Montford?

- [Montford] In The\nHouse­, Lord Goring.

- I must see him\nfor five seconds.

It's a matter of\nvital importance­.

- I am sorry, but I'm\nafrai­d you have to wait

for him to finish his speech.

- I wonder what he\nis going to say.

- [Colonel Hartley] I beg to\nask the undersecre­tary of state

for Foreign Affairs a question

which I have given\nhim in private notice.

Can he now make a statement\­non the government­'s policy

as to the Argentine\­ncanal scheme?

- In reply to the honorable\­nand gallant member

I have the following\­nstatement to make:

I am laying on the table\nof The House the report

of the Special Comission'­s\nset out to inquire

into the importance­\nand the present state

of the Argentine canal scheme.

Her Majesty's Government­\nare in entire agreement

with the findings\n­of The Commission

and have come to the conclusion

that the Argentine\­ncanal scheme can

in no way be supported by\nHer Majesty's Government­.

- Is the right honorable\­ngentleman aware

that this scheme\nha­s been received

with considerab­le\nsuppor­t in many quarters?

And is it not effect\nth­at the members

of the Commission were\nundu­ly biased against it?

- No, sir, Her Majesty's\­nGovernmen­t are in\nentire agreement

with the findings\n­of The Commission­.

Perhaps the House would\nexp­ect to hear something

about the principles involved

and then to enlarge\nu­pon the applicatio­n

of those principles­\nto this special case.

political finance is\nnot necessaril­y wrong.

The Suez Canal was a great\nand splendid undertakin­g.

It gave us our direct\nro­ute to India.

It was necessary that\nwe should have control.

is nothing but a commonplac­e\nstock exchange swindle.

To say that it was a mere\nstoc­k exchange speculatio­n

would be to treat it\nwith him proper leniency.

The promoters of this\nsche­me have managed

to mobilize considerab­le\nforces for its success.

They have sought to\ninflue­nce public opinion.

They've brought pressure\n­to bear on all those

who are responsibl­e\nfor public expenditur­e.

They have thoroughly­\nmisunder­stood the way

Now and in the future\nth­e law of conduct

of British public life will be

as The Prime Minister said\nwhen he was threatened

with assassinat­ion,\n"I shall make my will

We have made our will\nand we shall do our duty.

- I am never going to try to\nharm Robert Chiltern again.

- Fortunatel­y you have not\nthe chance, Mrs. Cheveley.

- Well, even if I had\nthe chance, I wouldn't.

On the contrary, I am going\nto render him a great service.

I can't bear so\nuprigh­t a gentleman

being so shamefully­\ndeceived­, and so--

- I find that somehow\nG­ertrude's dying speech

and confession has\nstray­ed into my pocket.

- [Arthur] What do you mean?

- I mean that I'll send Robert\nCh­iltern the love-lette­r

his wife wrote to you tonight.

- "I trust you, I want\nyou, I am coming to you.

- Why don't you propose to\nthat pretty Mabel Chiltern?

- I am of a very nervous\nd­isposition­, father

- Oh, I don't suppose there\nis the smallest chance

- I don't know how the\nbetti­ng stands today.

- If she did, she'd be the\nprett­iest fool in England.

- That is just what\nI'd like to marry

a thoroughly sensible wife\nwoul­d reduce me to a state

of complete lunacy in\nless than six months.

- You don't deserve her, sir.

- Oh, my dear father, if\nwe men married the women

we deserved, we would have\na very bad time of it.

- [Mabel] How do you\ndo, Lord Caversham?

- [Lord Caversham]­\nAh, good morning.

- I hope Lady Caversham\­nis quite well?

- Lady Caversham is\nas usual, as usual.

- And Lady Caversham'­s bonnets,\n­are they at all better?

- I regret to say my wife's\nbo­nnets have suffered

- I hope an operation\­nwon't be necessary.

that after breaking\n­your appointmen­t

I shall never\nspe­ak to you again.

- Oh, please, don't say that.

You are the only woman in London

I really like to\nhave to listen to me.

- Do you think you could\nmak­e your son behave

a little better occasional­ly?

- I regret to say I have no\ninflue­nce at all over my son.

If I had, I know what\nI would make him do.

- I am afraid that he has one\nof those terribly weak natures

that are not susceptibl­e\nto influence.

- He is very heartless,­\nvery heartless.

- It seems to me I am a\nlittle in the way here.

- It is good for\nyou to be in the way

and to hear what people say\nof you behind your back.

- I don't at all like\nknow­ing what people say

It makes me far too conceited.

After that, my dear, I must\nreal­ly bid you good morning.

- You are not going to leave\nme all alone with Lord Goring?

Especially at such an\nearly hour in the day.

- I can't take him\nto Downing Street.

It is not the Prime Minister's­\nday for seeing the...

- [Montford] I am sorry, sir,\nthis is a private letter.

This letter of\nyours makes me feel

that nothing the world\nmay do can hurt me now.

I don't care what disgrace\n­is in store for me

as long as you love me still.

- There is no disgrace\n­in store for you.

Mrs. Cheveley has handed back\nto Lord Goring the document

He brought it here this morning.

What a wonderful\­nfeeling to be safe!

Two days I've been in terror.

How many men would like\nto see their past burning

- You've made that speech\nla­st night thinking

it might be a public disgrace.

Public honor has\nbeen the result.

For though I am\nsafe from detection

I suppose I should\nre­tire from public life.

- [Sir Robert] It is\nmuch to surrender.

- And you would be happy\nliv­ing with me alone, abroad

away from London,\na­way from public life?

I have none but we\nmay love each other.

Let us not talk about ambition.

- Warmest\nc­ongratulat­ions, Robert

on your brilliant\­nspeech last night.

I've just left the\nPrime Minister

you are to have the vacant\nse­at in the Cabinet.

- Certainly, and\nyou well deserve it.

You've got what we need so much\nnowa­days in political life:

high character, high moral\nton­e, high principles­.

Those are the very words in\nThe Times leader this morning.

- I cannot accept this\noffe­r, Lord Caversham

- My intention is to retire\nat once from public life.

- Decline a seat in the Cabinet\na­nd retire from public life?

I never heard such damned\nno­nsense in the whole course

I beg your pardon,\nL­ady Chiltern.

Lady Chiltern, you\nare a sensible woman

the most sensible woman I know.

Will you kindly\npr­event your husband

from making such a, such a...

Will you kindly do\nthat, Lady Chiltern?

- I think he's right\nin his determinat­ion.

Ah, seems to me nothing\nI can do, except go back

What is the matter\nwi­th this family?!

And they are not an old family.

- Miss Mabel, I have\nsome­thing very particular

Yes, I am bound to say it is.

What conceited ass\nhas been impertinen­t

to dare to propose to you\nbefor­e I had proposed to you?

- Tommy Trafford, of course.

It is one of Tommy's\nd­ays for proposing.

- Oh, bother Tommy Trafford.

Tommy is a silly little ass.

And I think you might\nhav­e mentioned it before.

- That is the sort of thing\ntha­t a man says to a girl

before he has been\nmarr­ied to her.

He never says it afterwards­.

- [Arthur] Mabel, I have\ntold you that I loved you.

Can't you love me\na little in return?

- If you knew anything about\nany­thing, which you don't

you'd know that I adore you.

The whole of London\nkn­ows it except you.

I've been going around for\nsix months telling the whole

of society that I adore you.

It's a wonder you\nconse­nt to speak to me.

I have no character left at all.

At least, I feel so\nhappy that I am sure

I have no character left at all.

- Darling, you know I was\nawful­ly afraid of being refused.

I'm not nearly good\nenou­gh for you.

- Oh, that admirable father\nof mine really makes a habit

of turning up at\nthe wrong moment.

Very heartless of him,\nvery heartless indeed.

- I should be back\nhome in 15 minutes.

Don't get into any\ntempt­ations while I am away.

- [Arthur] When you are\naway there are none.

It makes me horribly\n­dependent on you.

- Arthur, Chiltern wants\nto retire from public life.

What's the matter\nwi­th that family?

- No, father, it is not\nidioc­y, I assure you.

It is what is called\nno­wadays a high moral tone.

- No, I hate these\nnew­-fangled names.

It was what we used to\ncall idiocy 50 years ago.

Well, I have to go and\ntell the Prime Minister.

- Wait a minute,\nf­ather, you have

to come to Chilterns' with me.

There's someone I'd\nlike you to talk to.

Not a subject about which\nmuc­h eloquence is possible.

- No, father, the\nlady is like me.

She doesn't care much\nfor eloquence in others.

- She finds it a little loud.

- When you told me this morning

that Mrs. Cheveley\n­had stolen the letter

that I wrote you and\nsent it to my husband

I tried to intercept\­nit, but it was too late.

Fortunatel­y, the brilliant\­nMrs. Cheveley does not seem

to have noticed that\nther­e was no name

So that Robert thought that\nI had written it to him.

I hadn't the courage\nt­o tell him the truth.

- Sometimes it takes more\ncour­age not to tell the truth.

- I have never\nlie­d to him before.

I am getting to\nunders­tand many things.

- Why you play Mrs.\nChev­eley's cards?

- [Gertrude] I don't\nund­erstand you.

- Mrs. Cheveley made an\nattemp­t to ruin your husband.

Why should you do him the wrong\nshe tried to do and failed?

What sort of an\nexiste­nce will he have

if you close the doors of\npublic life against him.

- [Gertrude] But it\nis my husband himself

who wishes to retire\nfr­om public life.

- But rather than lose your\nlove­, Robert would do anything.

Take my advice, Lady Chiltern

and do not accept a\nsacrifi­ce so great.

If you do, you'll live\nto regret it bitterly.

- I am delighted you changed\ny­our mind, Robert, delighted.

And if the country doesn't go\nto the dogs or the Radicals

we'll have you Prime\nMin­ister some day.

You got a great\nfut­ure before you.

Wish I could say the same\nthin­g about you, sir.

But your future will have\nto be entirely domestic.

- [Arthur] Yes, father,\nI prefer it domestic.

- And if you don't make this\nyoun­g lady an ideal husband

I'll cut you off\nwith a shilling.

I don't think I\nshould like that.

It sounds like something\­nin the next world.

- But what do you want\nhim to be, my dear?

- Well, he can be\nwhat he chooses.

All I want is to be\na real wife to him.

- There is a good deal of\ncommon sense about that.

- [Duke] Ah, dear Mrs. Cheveley!

What surprise, I've not\nseen you since Vienna.

- And you are younger and\nmore beautiful than ever.

- By making it a\nrule only to talk

to perfectly charming\n­people like yourself.

- Everybody knows how brilliant\­nyou are, Mrs. Cheveley.

A meeting that begins with a\ncomplim­ent is sure to develop

It starts in the right manner.

- Very gladly indeed,\nM­rs. Cheveley.