All language subtitles for The Picture Of Dorian Gray - 1945

Lord Henry Wotton
had set himself early in life

to the serious study
of the great aristocratic art

of doing absolutely nothing.

He lived only for pleasure,

but his greatest pleasure

was to observe the emotions
of his friends

while experiencing
none of his own.

He diverted himself by
exercising a subtle influence

on the lives of others.

18, I think
you said, sir.

Shall I wait, sir?

Yes.

Among Lord Henry's friends was
the painter Basil Hallward.

He had been strangely secretive
about his latest painting,

and Lord Henry,
sensing a mystery,

determined to discover
what it was

that his friend
wished to conceal.

Hello.

I'm sorry, milord.
Mr. Hallward is not at home.

Mr. Hallward doesn't
wish to be disturbed.

It's your best work,
Basil.

Of course,
I can't believe

anybody's
really as handsome

as that portrait.

Who is he?

Why are you being
so secretive about it?

You ought to send it
to the grosvenor.

I shall not send it
anywhere.

I've put too much
of myself into it.

Ha ha ha!

I knew you'd laugh,
but it's true.

There isn't
any resemblance

between you
and this adonis.

You have an intellectual
expression,

and intellect destroys
the beauty of any face.

Don't flatter yourself.

You're not
the least like him.

Of course I'm not,
and I'm glad of it.

The wisdom of buddha.

Why are you glad
you're not like him?

We suffer for what
the gods give us,

and I'm afraid
Dorian Gray

will pay for
his good looks.

Is that his name?

Yes. I didn't intend
to tell you.

If I'm to keep
visiting you,

I'll have to send you
good sherry.

Why didn't you intend
to tell me his name?

As I've
grown older,

I've come
to love secrecy.

I suppose
that sounds foolish to you.

Come into the garden.
It doesn't sound foolish.

You forget
that I'm married.

The one charm
of marriage

is that it makes
a life of deception

absolutely necessary
to both parties.

I believe you're
a good husband

but that you're ashamed
of your own virtues.

Your cynicism
is simply a pose.

Being natural
is simply a pose-

the most irritating
pose I know.

Tell me
the real reason

you won't exhibit
the picture.

There's little
to tell, harry.

Besides, you won't
believe it.

I'll believe anything,

provided it's
quite incredible.

I'm afraid
this will seem so.

There's something
I can't quite understand,

something mystic
about it.

Mystic?

I can't explain it,

but whenever Dorian
poses for me,

it seems
as if a power outside myself

were guiding
my hand.

It's as if
the painting had

a life of its own,
independent of me.

That's why I won't
exhibit it.

It belongs
to Dorian Gray,

and I shall
give it to him.

I want to meet him.

We shall be friends.

I always choose my friends
for their good looks

and my enemies for
their good intellects.

I despise
your principles,

but I enjoy the way
you express them.

I like persons
better than principles

and persons
with no principles

better than
anything else.

I remember where I heard
the name of Dorian Gray.

Where was it?

Don't look startled.
It was at my aunt agatha's.

She said she'd discovered
a wonderful young man

to help her
with her charities,

and his name was
Dorian Gray.

I pictured somebody
with spectacles

tramping about
on huge feet,

so I avoided
meeting him.

That's a very common
butterfly, Basil- limenitis sevilla.

Hardly belongs
in a gentleman's garden.

I'm glad you didn't
meet Dorian Gray.

I don't
## want you to meet him.

Who's that at
your piano, Basil?

You've come early
today, Dorian.

Have i?

You must lend me
these pieces.

That depends on
how you sit today.

I thought the picture
would be finished today.

It will be.

Please go on,
mr. Gray.

This is Lord Henry Wotton,
an old oxford friend.

My aunt has spoken
to me about you.

You're one
of her favorites.

You shouldn't go in
for philanthropy.

Harry, would you mind
if I asked you to go?

Am I to go,
mr. Gray?

Stay and explain
about philanthropy.

Basil, you've said
you liked your sitters

to have someone
to chat to.

Sit down, then,
harry.

Dorian, get
on the platform

and don't pay attention
to Lord Henry.

He has a bad influence
over his friends,

with the exception
of myself.

Have you really
a bad influence?

There's no such thing
as a good influence.

All influence is immoral.

Why?

Because the aim of life
is self-development,

to realize one's nature
perfectly.

That's what we're here for.

A man should live out his life
fully and completely,

give form to every feeling,

expression to every thought,
reality to every dream.

Every impulse
that we suppress

broods in the mind
and poisons us.

There's one way to get rid
of a temptation,

and that's
to yield to it.

Resist it, and the soul
grows sick with longing

for the things it has
forbidden to itself.

There's nothing
that can cure the soul

but the senses,

just there's nothing

that can cure the senses but the soul.

Turn left, Dorian.

The gods
have been good

to you, mr. Gray.

Why do you say that?

You have youth,

the one thing
worth having.

I don't feel that,
Lord Henry.

Someday you'll
feel it terribly.

What the gods give,

they quickly
take away.

Time is
jealous of you.

Don't squander the gold
of your days.

Live! Let nothing be
lost upon you.

Be afraid of nothing.

Your youth will last
such a little time,

and you can never
get it back.

As we grow older,

our memories are haunted
by the exquisite temptations

we hadn't the courage
to yield to.

The world is yours
for a season.

It would be tragic
if you realized too late,

as so many others do,

that there's only one thing
in the world worth having,

and that is youth.

Dorian gray had never heard

the praise of folly
so eloquently expressed.

The creed of pleasure soared
into a philosophy of life

while Dorian stood as if
he were under a spell.

He felt afraid
of Lord Henry's ideas

and ashamed of himself
for being afraid.

It was as if he were
learning to know himself

for the first time,

as if a stranger
had revealed

his own secret thoughts to him.

For the first time,

he became conscious
of his youth

and of the fact

that one day
he would lose it.

My visit
hasn't been wasted.

I found a rare
and beautiful butterfly.

It's very unusual.

Don't you think
it's beautiful, mr. Gray?

Yes, Lord Henry.

Sit down, Dorian.

I'm glad you met
Lord Henry after all.

Are you glad,
mr. Gray?

I'm glad now.

I wonder if
I shall always be glad.

Always? That's
a dreadful word.

Women are so fond it.

They spoil romance by trying
to make it last forever.

The only difference between
caprice and lifelong passion

is that caprice
lasts a little longer.

I believe our hostess
has appeared.

You're just
in time, darling,

to watch me sign
Dorian's painting.

Can I sign it, too?

I think you're
entitled to,

since you haven't
missed a sitting.

"G" for "Gladys."

Which do you prefer, Gladys-

Dorian Gray
or his picture?

I like Dorian.

You prefer him today,

but when you're
a young lady,

you may prefer
the portrait.

It will look
as it does today,

but we shall
be changed-

your uncle and i
and even Dorian.

Dorian won't change.

Dorian will
stay just as he is

till I'm grown.

Won't you, Dorian?

Of course I shall,
darling.

You must say
good-bye, precious.

Nanny's waiting.
Come along.

Hurry. On your way.

What about me,
young lady?

Has Dorian Gray
stolen you from me completely?

Good-bye,
Lord Henry.

When this is known,
I shall be

torn to shreds
in every drawing room.

Shouldn't a gentleman
remove his hat

in the presence
of a lady, parker?

Ha ha!

I never
take off my hat

except when
I'm out of doors.

She'll be as lovely

as your sister
was, Basil.

Yes.

But I'm afraid Dorian
has stolen her heart

from me, too.

I must congratulate
you, Basil.

Look at yourself,
mr. Gray.

As I grow old,

this picture will remain
always young.

If it were only
the other way...

if it were I who would
always be young

and the picture
that would grow old.

That would be hard lines
on your work, Basil.

I should object
strongly.

You oughtn't to express
such a wish around that cat.

It's an egyptian god,
and it's quite capable

of granting your wish.

Lord Henry is right.

When one loses
one's youth,

one loses
everything.

Perhaps a cup of tea will
bring you around, Dorian.

You will have
some too, harry-

or do you object
to simple pleasures?

I adore
simple pleasures.

They're the last refuge
of the complex.

It's more than a painting.
It's part of myself.

As soon as you're
varnished and framed,

you'll be sent home.

Do whatever you like
with yourself.

Send the egyptian cat.

The god and the picture
shouldn't be separated.

If Dorian wants it.

If only the picture
could change

and I could be always
what I am now.

For that, I would
give everything.

There's nothing
in the whole world

I would not give.

I would give my soul
for that.

Dorian began to venture alone
on warm summer evenings

into surroundings
which were strange to him.

Filled with curiosity
about places and people

remote from his own experience,

he wandered to
the haugh world of London,

the words of Lord Henry

vibrating in his mind.

"Live! Let nothing be
lost upon you.

Be afraid of nothing."

The two turtles is honored
by the visit of a gentleman.

If you please, sir.

I give you

the sweetheart
of the two turtles,

our own sibyl vane.

The snow
was very plentiful

and crumbs were very few

when a weather-beaten
sparrow through

a mansion window flew

her eye fell
on a golden cage

a sweet love song
she heard

sung by a pet canary there

a handsome yellow bird

he said to her,
miss sparrow

I've been struck
by cupid's arrow

will you share
my cage with me?

She looked up
at his castle

with its ribbon
and its tassel

and in plaintive tones
said she

good-bye,
little yellow bird

I'd rather
brave the cold

on a leafless tree

than a prisoner be

in a cage of gold

I'd gladly
introduce you, sir,

but she's proud.

She won't
meet anybody.

Come, my delightful dove!

Descend and make
a pilgrimage with me

among these mortals.

The spoiled and petted
yellow bird

could scarce
believe it true

that a common sparrow
should refuse

a bird
with blood so blue

he told her
the advantages

of riches and of gold

she answered
that her liberty

for gold
could not be sold

she said,
I must be going

but he cried,
no, no, it's snowing

and the wintry
windstorm blows

stay with me,
my little deary

for without you,
'twould be dreary

but she only sighed,
ah, no

good-bye, little yellow bird

I'd gladly mate with you

I love you,
little yellow bird

but I love
my freedom, too

so, good-bye,
little yellow bird

I'd rather
brave the cold

on a leafless tree

than a prisoner be

in a cage

of

gold

she's taken
with you, sir.

Say the word,
and I'll take you backstage.

Thank you, no.

Night after night,

Dorian went to the two turtles
to watch sibyl vane.

A patron of the arts, mrs. Vane.

He's come each evening
for a fortnight.

He greatly admires
your daughter.

If you will permit me,
I have a request.

You're
very kind, sir.

Miss vane,
will you sing

the little yellow bird
for me... now?

She will, sir- gladly.

There's no one to play.
Everyone's gone.

I think I might manage
the accompaniment.

You will,
won't you, deary?

Yes...

on one condition.

Please.

I apologize
for my daughter.

So good-bye,
little yellow bird

I'd rather
brave the cold

on a leafless tree

than a prisoner be

in a cage of gold

it's wonderful.

Did... did you
write it?

Frederic chopin...

for a woman he loved.

Her name was george sand.

Someday I'll
tell you about it.

I should
like that.

What did the music
mean to you?

I don't know.

It is full
of emotion,

but it's not happy.

No, it's not happy.

Why was he unhappy?

Perhaps because
he felt his youth

slipping away from him.

What an odd thing
for you to say.

Why?

You're so young.

Yes... and you also.

What is
the music called?

Has it a name?

A kind of name.

It is called
prelude.

Is this how you watch
over sibyl, mother?

James, your sister-

I wish I wasn't going
to australia.

If only my articles
hadn't been signed.

I want sibyl to
make a brilliant marriage.

Actresses
often marry into upper classes.

Who is this
young dandy?

I don't know,
but he's rich.

What's his name,
sibyl?

What are
his intentions?

I don't know
his intentions,

but I know his name-
sir tristan.

You don't
know his name,

yet you
permitted him to...

you ought not to have
permitted such familiarity.

He is good.
There is no evil in him.

Did you see
his face?

No, but I wish
I had,

because if he
ever does you wrong, I'll kill him.

You're
foolish, jim.

You talk like
the melodramas

mother used to
act in.

I received a great deal
of gratifying attention

in those days.

Mother,
watch over sibyl while I'm gone.

##Jim.

You're going away
tonight.

The ship will
take you far away

over
the dark waters.

Don't let me
remember you

angry and troubled.

That's better.

Can't you read
what people are

in their faces?

You think I'm silly

when I call him
sir tristan,

but to me
he's like one

of king arthur's
knights

who took the vow
of chivalry

to battle against
all evildoers,

to defend the right,

to protect
all women,

to be true in friendship

and faithful in love.

I've never heard
a sweeter warbler.

Little yellow bird.

Late as usual, harry.

Forgive me,
aunt agatha.

Punctuality is
the thief of time,

harry says.

Victoria, darling.

I love coming
to your house, aunt agatha.

It's one of
the few places

I'm likely to
meet my husband.

Oh. I'm always
dropping it.

Mr. Gray has something
to tell you.

We're dying to learn
what it is.

It can wait until
luncheon is over.

Harry, why do you want mr. Gray

to give up
the east end?

He's a wonderful
musician.

They love
his playing.

The east end is
a very important problem.

It's the problem
of slavery,

and we try to solve it
by amusing the slaves.

I suspect, Lord Henry,

we're interested
in the poor

to amuse ourselves,

especially
as we grow older

and are unfit
for other amusements.

Tell me
how to become young again.

Can you remember
any great errors

you committed
in your youth, duchess?

A great many.

To regain one's youth,
one must repeat one's follies.

A dangerous theory.

One of life's secrets.

Most people die
of creeping common sense

and discover too late

that one never regrets
one's mistakes.

One pays
a terrible price.

We're overcharged
for everything.

One pays
in other ways than money.

What sort of ways,
sir thomas?

I should fancy
in remorse, in suffering,

in the consciousness
of degradation.

No civilized man
regrets a pleasure,

and no uncivilized man
knows what a pleasure is.

I know what
pleasure is-

it's to adore someone.

I think I can guess
what you have to tell me.

Adoring someone is better
than being adored.

Women treat us like
humanity treats its gods.

They worship us
and keep bothering us

to do something
for them.

Harry, you're incorrigible.

Women give men
the very gold of their lives.

But they invariably
want it back in small change.

Women inspire us with the desire
to do masterpieces

and prevent us
from carrying them out.

I don't understand you.

You seem to
know us women awfully well.

I'm analyzing women
at present.

The subject is less
difficult than I believed.

Women represent the triumph
of matter over mind,

just as men represent

the triumph of mind
over morals.

These views
are horrifying, lady agatha!

I did not
expect to hear

the devil's advocate
at your table.

I apologize for
my intelligent remarks.

I'd forgotten you were
a member of parliament.

You will forgive me
if I leave at once.

Before the quail-
the first of the season?

I ordered them
especially for you.

Surely not
before the quail, sir thomas.

Think with the liberals
and eat with the tories.

How men argue!

I never know what
they're talking about.

Do sit,
sir thomas.

Lord Henry's ideas
are demoralizing and delightful.

They're not
to be taken seriously.

I confess.

I never could resist
lady agatha's quail.

What have you
to tell me?

From what you said,

my guess is you've
fallen in love.

I'm engaged
to be married.

Where are we going,
harry?

Grosvenor square,
number 7.

It's Dorian
we're going to see?

We'll pick him up,
then see his fiancee.

Dorian, engaged?
To whom?

To an actress
in a cheap vaudeville.

With dyed hair
and a painted face.

Don't run down
such things.

There's extraordinary
charm in them.

Surely you can't
be serious.

I hope I shall never
be more serious.

You can't
possibly approve.

I never approve
or disapprove of anything.

Dorian proposes
to marry a girl.

Every experience
is of value,

and marriage is
certainly an experience.

Dorian will make
this girl his wife

and six months later

become infatuated
with someone else.

He could be
so unfaithful?

Faithfulness
is merely laziness.

Number 7, sir.

I've been
watching for you.

Go to lower euston road,
number 22.

Lower euston road,
sir?

Lower euston road.

They're always surprised

when I give
that address.

Hurry!

I want you to meet her
before she sings.

I hope
you'll always be

this happy, Dorian.

Thank you, Basil.

Our engagement's
still a secret.

What will
your guardian say?

He's sure to
be furious,

but there's nothing
he can do.

When did you
mention marriage?

I didn't make
any formal proposal.

I said I loved her.

She said she was not
worthy to be my wife.

Women are
wonderfully practical.

In situations
like that,

we forget
to mention marriage.

They always remind us.

Sibyl has made me forget
your poisonous theories-

theories about life,
about pleasure.

Only pleasure is worth
having a theory about.

It's nature's
sign of approval.

When we're happy,
we're good.

When we're good,
we're not always happy.

Sibyl is the answer
to your cynicism.

You'll understand
when you see her.

So, good-bye

little yellow bird

I'd rather
brave the cold

on a leafless tree

than a prisoner be

in a cage of gold

this marriage
is quite right.

The moment we met her,
I was convinced.

She's charming
and innocent- transparently so.

I knew you
would say that.

She's all that,

but I don't agree
with Basil.

She loves you
so much,

you have no need
to marry her.

What wickedness are
you contemplating?

I should be
angry, harry,

but I'm too happy.

Sibyl is sacred.

Only sacred things
are worth touching.

I begin to find
you disgusting.

Don't listen
to him, Dorian.

Don't worry, Basil.
I'm immune to his ideas.

Then I needn't
tell you

how I'd proceed.

What would you do,
harry?

I should invite her
to my house

to see
Basil's portrait.

I'd ask her
not to leave.

She'd be shocked.
I'd pretend to be disappointed.

If she still
wished to go, I'd become cold,

ask her to
let herself out,

saying I couldn't
bear sad farewells or something.

If she left, I'd
believe her to be

as good as she
is beautiful

and marry her.

I've always thought
your wickedness supposed.

I know better now.
You're an unmitigated cad.

Will you try
my experiment, Dorian?

Miss vane,
has sir tristan-

as you've charmingly
called him-

ever invited you
to see the portrait

Basil Hallward
has made of him?

No. I should love
to see it. May i?

Of course, darling-
tonight, if you wish.

I shall always
remember this room

just as it is now...

the lamplight,
you at the piano,

my own happiness.

Your clock
thinks it's time

for me to go.

Clocks can't help
being disagreeable.

They think
it's their duty.

It's that cat.

I thought I saw
its eyes move.

Perhaps you did.

Lord Henry says
it's one of the 73 great gods of egypt.

Doesn't it
frighten you?

It does, a little.

Listen to this.

"Dawn follows dawn,
and nights grow old,

"and all the while,
this curious cat

"lies crouching
on the chinese mat

"with eyes of satin
rimmed with gold.

"Get hence,
you loathsome mystery.

"Hideous animal,
get hence.

"You wake in me
each bestial sense.

"You make me what
I would not be.

"You make my creed
a barren sham.

"You wake foul dreams...

of sensual life."

What a strange poem.

Who wrote it?

A brilliant young
irishman out of oxford.

His name is oscar wilde.

Why do you look
at me so strangely?

What would
you do, sibyl,

if I should
say to you,

don't leave me now,
don't go home?

What would you do, sibyl?

I suppose I should
have expected

a conventional
reaction.

Good night, then.

Good night.

You don't mind

letting yourself
out, do you?

I can't bear
sad farewells.

A wise friend

warned me that
your innocence,

upon which
I would have staked my life,

would fail to meet
the test I set before you.

I called his wisdom
cynicism.

Now I know better.

You've killed
my love.

You have been false

to the ideal
I'd formed of you.

You used to stir
my imagination.

Now you are
nothing to me.

I will never
see you again

or mention your name
or think of you.

Henceforth, I shall live
only for pleasure.

Everything else
is meaningless,

and if this leads me
to the destruction of my soul,

only you are responsible.

Do not try to see me.

I shall leave england
and not return for a long time.

I'm sending with this letter
a gift of money

which will compensate you

for any disappointment
you may feel.

I have been living
in a land of illusions.

Now I shall make
an end of the dreams.

My real life begins-

my own life,

in which you cannot
possibly have any part.

Five minutes,
miss vane.

In spite of himself,

Dorian was troubled
by what he had done.

His uneasy conscience
made him avoid those he knew.

All night,
he had wandered alone

through the dimly lit streets
and evil-looking houses

of the London haugh world.

When at last he returned

to his silent,
shuttered house in mayfair,

he could not overcome

a sense of something...
ominous impending.

His eye fell
on the portrait

Basil Hallward
had painted of him.

In the dim,
shaded light,

the face appeared to him
to be a little... changed.

The expression looked
somehow different.

One would have said

that there was a touch
of cruelty in the mouth.

It was very strange.

There was no doubt

that the whole expression
had altered.

The lines of cruelty
about the mouth

were unmistakable.

There was no such expression
on## his ## face.

If only the picture

could change

and I could be always
as I am now.

For that, I would
give everything.

There's nothing
in the whole world

I would not give.

I would give my soul
for that.

But surely his wish
had not been fulfilled.

Such things
were impossible.

It was monstrous
even to think of it.

What if someone else
observed the horrible change-

his valet, perhaps?

What if Basil Hallward asked
to look at his own picture?

But he was
being ridiculous.

This was
a mere hallucination-

an illusion brought on
by his troubled senses.

The picture
had not changed.

He was mad to think so.

A painted canvas
could not alter.

He would look at it again

after he had slept,
when he was calmer,

and he would laugh
at this fantastic idea.

But in the afternoon

when he returned
to examine the portrait again,

fantastic as the idea was,

his memory of that cruel look
was disturbingly vivid.

It was true.

The expression
had altered.

There was no doubt of it.

It was incredible,
and yet, it was a fact.

Was this portrait
to become for him

the emblem
of his own conscience?

Would it teach him
to loathe his own soul?

But if this painting

was to be his conscience
made visible,

he would let it
instruct him.

He would give it no reason
to reproach him.

He would live
purely and nobly.

He had been cruel
to sibyl vane,

but he could
make that right.

She could still
be his wife.

He would marry her.
They could be happy together.

He implored her forgiveness.
He blamed himself.

He gave way to the luxury
of self-reproach.

When he finished
the letter,

he felt that
he had been forgiven.

Dorian, let me in. I must see you.

Open the door, Dorian.

I'll not go away
until I see you.

Dorian, let me in!

You shouldn't
lock yourself in.

I'm sorry
for it all.

You mean
about sibyl vane.

Yes, of course.

It's all right.
I'm grateful to you.

I've learned to know
myself better.

From now on, I'll do

what my conscience
bids me.

What on earth are
you talking about?

I'm going to marry
sibyl vane.

You're going to say
something cynical about marriage.

Don't say it.

I asked sibyl
to marry me.

I won't break
my word.

Then you don't know.

Know what?

Haven't you read
the morning paper?

No, I haven't.

What is it, harry?
What's happened?

Sibyl vane is dead.

That's why I hurried
here to see you.

I wanted
to see you first.

I assumed you knew.

Don't get mixed up
in the inquest.

They don't
know your name at the theater.

Did sibyl...

tell me everything,
harry.

It was obviously
not an accident.

It must be
put that way to the public.

12:30, she was
leaving the theater

with her mother.

She went back to
her dressing room.

They found her lying
on the floor.

She'd swallowed
something-

by mistake,
they say.

She died
instantaneously.

It's tragic,
of course,

but you mustn't
brood over it.

You must see it

in its proper
perspective.

Put it out
of your mind.

Come dine with me.

Afterwards, we'll
see## don giovanni.

You can come
to my sister's box.

So I have murdered
sibyl vane,

as surely as if
I'd cut her throat.

I can't see why you
should blame yourself.

She thought
she'd lost you,

but no woman
destroys herself

who isn't
already unbalanced.

If you'd married
this girl,

you'd both have
been wretched.

It would have failed.

I remember
your saying

good resolutions
are always made too late.

Mine certainly were.

View this tragedy
as an episode

in the spectacle
of life.

What is it
that has happened?

Someone has killed herself
for love of you.

I wish I'd had
such an experience.

The women who
have admired me

have always
insisted on living on

long after I've ceased
to care for them.

They become
stout and tedious.

They go in
for reminiscences-

that awful memory
of woman.

I found myself next
to such a woman the other night.

She had once proposed

to sacrifice
the world for me.

That moment fills one
with the terror of eternity.

It happened years ago.

She said I'd
spoiled her life.

However, she ate
an enormous dinner.

No woman would
have done for me

what sibyl
did for you.

Will you dine
with me tonight?

I don't feel up to it.

Perhaps
you'll join me at the opera.

My sister's
box number is 27.

You'll see her name
on the door.

I don't want you to miss the duet.

Mr. Hallward,
mr. Gray's gone to the opera.

To the opera?

Yes, sir. Is there
any message, sir?

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

In the morning,
Dorian no longer wanted

the consolation of his friend,
nor his reproaches.

His pride
and his sense of guilt

prompted him to assume
an air of indifference.

Hello, Basil.
Sorry to keep you.

Have you
had breakfast?

Yes, thank you.

I'm famished.
Mind if I eat?

Of course not.

You went to the opera

with sibyl vane
lying dead?

What is past
is past.

You call yesterday
the past?

Shallow people
require years

to get rid
of an emotion.

A man who is
master of himself

can end a sorrow
as easily as he invents pleasures.

I won't be
at the mercy of my emotions.

I want to use them.

Something has changed
you completely.

You look
exactly the same,

but you talk as if
you had no heart.

You've come too late.

If you'd come yesterday
at a particular moment-

half past 5:00
or quarter to 6:00-

you would have seen how
deeply I was affected.

Harry had no idea what
I was going through.

I suffered immensely.

Then it passed away.

I cannot repeat
an emotion.

No one can.

This isn't you
talking, Dorian.

These are
harry's ideas.

It has nothing
to do with harry.

Harry didn't give you
that yellow book I saw?

It's vile, evil,
corrupt, decadent.

I detest it.

What would you
like me to read, Basil?

Since you ask me...

the light of asia.

I'm never
without it.

The story of buddha?

The story of buddha,
a good man.

Promise me
you'll read it.

I promise.

You've done
a sketch of sibyl.

Charming.
May I have it?

Of course.

I must go now,
Dorian.

I'm relieved to find you
in good spirits

in spite of
what's happened.

It's good of you
to be so concerned.

Before I go,
I'd like to look

at my painting of you.

There's a screen
in front of it.

I thought the room
looked different.

The light was
too strong.

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

Wait.

You must not
look at it.

Not look at my work?
You're not serious.

Why shouldn't i?

I don't offer
any explanation,

but if you
try to look at that picture,

I'll never speak
to you again.

What on earth is
the matter with you?

I'm planning to
exhibit it next month.

You told me
a month ago you'd never exhibit it.

You told harry
the same thing.

At that time,
the painting had

a strange
fascination for me.

It seemed to have
a life of its own.

It affected me so much,

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

Perhaps you've seen

the same mysterious
quality in it.

Have you noticed
something curious in the painting-

something that
at first did not strike you

but revealed itself
to you suddenly?

I see you did.

I saw something in it-

something that seemed
to be very curious.

You were right.

There can be something
fatal about a portrait.

I think I understand
what you feel,

and I respect
your wishes.

Perhaps someday you'll
recover from it as I did.

I'll certainly not let it
destroy our friendship.

I'm glad of that.

Good-bye, Dorian.

Good-bye, Basil.

It had been mad of him

to allow the thing to remain,
even for an hour,

in a room to which
his friends had access.

Henceforth, he must be
on his guard against everyone.

At the top of the house
was his old schoolroom,

which had not
been used for years.

No one ever entered it.

Nothing was in it
but old schoolbooks and toys

gathering dust
and cobwebs.

The picture could be
safely hidden away there.

He would lock it up.

He himself
would keep the key.

There was no need
for the servants

ever to enter the room.

He would have to
let victor go

and the others.

He must bring new servants
into the house.

In this room,

every moment of his childhood
and its stainless purity

came back to him.

Here, among the innocent
souvenirs of his childhood,

the hideous portrait

would be forever hidden away.

The face painted
in the canvas

could grow bestial,
sodden, and unclean,

and no one
would ever see it-

no one... except himself.

He was to have
eternal youth

while the portrait bore
the burden of his shame.

He was caught
in an evil destiny.

As the years passed,

the miracle of Dorian's
changeless youth

caused wonder
but rarely suspicion.

Even those who had heard

the most evil things
against him-

strange rumors
about his mode of life

which became the chatter
of the clubs-

could not believe
anything to his dishonor

when they saw him.

He had the look of one

who had kept himself
unspotted from the world.

But while
he fascinated many,

there were not a few
who distrusted him.

Curious stories
were current about him.

It was rumored
he'd been seen in a low den

in the distant parts
of whitechapel.

His extraordinary absences
became notorious,

and when he reappeared
again in society,

men would whisper
to each other in corners

or look at him
with cold, searching eyes.

Some of those who had been
most intimate with him

appeared, after a time,
to shun him.

Women who, for his sake,
had set convention at defiance

would seem to go pale

if Dorian Gray
entered the room.

He could not endure
to be long out of england

or to be separated
from the picture.

He was afraid
that during his absence

someone might gain access

to the room
where it was hidden.

Then suddenly,
some night he would go down

to dreadful places
near blue gate fields

and stay there
day after day.

When he had recovered
from visits to the abyss,

he would stand in front
of the picture,

sometimes loathing it
and himself

but filled at other times

with that pride
of individualism

that is
half the fascination of evil.

He would examine
with minute care

the hideous lines that scarred
the wrinkling forehead

or crawled around
the heavy, sensual mouth,

wondering which were
more horrible-

the signs of sin
or the signs of age.

He found reasons
to justify his actions.

He told himself
that man was a being

with myriad lives
and myriad sensations.

To live the simple,
sincere, honest life

was hardly
to live at all.

Was insincerity
such a terrible thing?

Dorian thought not.

Twas merely a method

by which we could multiply
our personalities.

Yet, there was one person

towards whom he found it
difficult to be insincere.

It was Basil Hallward's
niece Gladys,

who had loved him
since she was a child.

So, good-bye,
little yellow bird

I'd rather
brave the cold

on a leafless tree

than a prisoner be

in a cage of gold

I was close by
and came in.

Found this old song
in your piano bench.

It's charming.

So is the face
my uncle sketched on it.

He did do it,
didn't he?

I know his style
so well.

Did she sing this song?

Who is she?

Do tell me about her.

She died
many years ago,

when you were only
a little girl.

Did you love her
very much, Dorian?

Yes.

Good-bye, Dorian.

I'm looking forward
to your party.

It will be wonderful.

I'm not as lovely
as that picture, am i?

Of course not.

I think
I've discovered

why Dorian
hasn't proposed to me.

I've decided what to do.

What have you decided?

I'm going to ask him
to marry me-

tonight, perhaps.

What about david stone?

He wouldn't take you
to Dorian's party

if he knew
your intentions.

Of course he would,

but I don't intend
to tell him.

No, don't tell david.

You cad!
I never thoughtu'd eavesdrop.

Don't be alarmed
about Dorian, mr. Hallward.

Gladys will marry me.

I have nothing
to say about it?

I wouldn't let you
marry that devil.

Don't say anything
against him.

There are others
to say it for me.

There's no evil
in Dorian.

Anybody can see that
by looking at him.

He hasn't asked you.

I'll ask him myself,
tonight.

In front
of those people?

I'll get him alone.
It's a big house.

Good night, sir.

Good night,
david.

What's wrong, Dorian?

Is there something
I don't know about?

You must have heard

the stories
they tell of me.

Don't they
frighten you?

I don't believe them.

Suppose I told you
they're true?

I will never believe
anything evil of you.

What do
## you ## know of evil?

I only know
there is none in you.

If you had some
great trouble, Dorian,

I would
want to share it.

If I were to marry you,

it would be
an incredible wickedness.

Is that a way of saying
you don't love me?

If you like.

It's very beautiful, Dorian.

Thank you.

Would you
find david for me?

I must go now.

I've been exploring
your house, Dorian.

It's better
than a museum.

You must have some priceless
possessions in that room

if you keep them
locked up.

May I see them sometime?

What rare things have you
stored away there, Dorian?

I suspected as much.

I want to leave
now, david.

Of course.

Good night,
Dorian.

Good night.

It was november 9th,
the eve of his 38th birthday,

as Dorian often remembered
afterwards.

He was walking home about 11:00
from Lord Henry's.

A strange sense of fear
for which he could not account

came over him at the sight
of Basil Hallward

and prevented him from making
any sign of recognition.

Dorian!

I thought it was you-
or your fur coat-

but I wasn't sure.

Didn't you
recognize me?

In this fog?

I can't recognize
grosvenor square.

My house must be
somewhere about,

but I'm not certain.

I've been waiting
for you since 9:00.

I told your man
to go to bed.

I'm off to Paris
tonight.

I wanted to see you
before I left.

I'm sorry
you're going away.

I suppose you'll
be back soon?

I shall be gone
for several months.

I'm taking
a studio in Paris

to finish a picture
I have in my head.

Gladys will join me
later on.

May I come in
for a moment?

Won't you miss
your train?

It leaves at 12:15.
It's only 11:00.

I was going to the club
to look for you.

Luggage won't delay me.
I've sent on my things.

I have only this bag.

Come in, or the fog
will get into the house.

I hope you're not
going to talk

about anything serious.

Nothing is serious
nowadays-

at least,
nothing should be.

What I have to say
is## serious, Dorian.

Don't frown like that.

You make it so much
more difficult for me.

I hope it's not
about myself.

I'm tired of myself.

It is about yourself,
and I must say it to you.

I'll only keep you
half an hour.

You sound
terrifying, Basil.

It's for your sake
I'm speaking.

I think you should know

the things that are being
said against you.

I don't want to know them.

I love scandals
about other people,

but scandals about myself
don't interest me.

They lack novelty.

You must be interested
in your own reputation.

Mind you, I don't
believe these rumors.

I can't believe them
when I see you.

There aren't
any secret vices.

Such things
write themselves

across a man's face.

You, with your
untroubled youth-

I find it hard to credit
anything against you.

When I hear these things
people whisper,

I don't know
what to say.

I absolve you

from the necessity
of defending me.

You can't dismiss
these charges.

Why does the duke leave
a room when you enter?

Not because he knows
about my life,

but because
I know about his.

Why are your friendships
fatal to people?

That boy in the guards
committed suicide.

What about adrian singleton
and Lord wayne's son?

What gentleman would be
seen with either of them?

The boy in the guards
loved a woman

he felt he couldn't
live without.

Am I to blame?

Wayne's son marries
a woman no one receives.

Is that my fault?

Adrian writes
his friend's name across a bill.

Am I his keeper?

One can judge a man

by the effect he has
on his friends.

Yours seem filled
with an insatiable madness for pleasure.

And when I think how
fond Gladys is of you...

what has Gladys
to do with it?

Nothing, I hope,

and nothing
in the future,

if I can prevent it.

I'm told things

it seems
impossible to doubt.

Lord wallace was
my friend at oxford.

He showed me a letter
his wife had written

when she was dying.

Your name was implicated

in the most terrible
confession I ever read.

I told him
that I knew you,

and you were incapable
of anything of the kind.

No. Do I know you?

Before I could
answer that,

I should have
to see your soul.

To see my soul.

Yes,
to see your soul,

but only god
can do that.

You shall see it
yourself, tonight.

Why shouldn't you
look at it?

It's your own handiwork.

You can tell the world
about it afterward,

if you like.

No one will believe you.

You've chattered enough
about corruption.

Now you'll look at it.

I'll show you my soul.

I can make no sense out
of what you're saying.

I only ask you
to give me some answer

to the horrible charges
against you.

Tell me they're untrue,
and I'll believe you.

Come upstairs, Basil.

I keep a diary
from day to day.

I'll show it to you.

I don't want to read
anything.

I want a plain answer
to my question.

You'll find that
upstairs.

You won't have to
read long.

You're the one man
in the world

who's entitled to know
everything about me.

You've had more
to do with my life

than you think.

You think it's only god
who sees the soul?

In spite of the indescribable
corruption of the portrait,

Basil was still able
to recognize

his painting of Dorian.

It was from within,
apparently,

that the foulness
and horror came.

It was as if
some moral leprosy

were eating the thing away.

He could not believe
he had made this portrait,

yet there was his name,

just as he had
painted it.

But this is monstrous.

It's beyond nature,
beyond reason.

What does it mean?

On the day you finished
this painting,

I made a wish.

Perhaps
## you ## would call it a prayer.

My wish was granted.

You told me you had
destroyed my painting.

I was wrong.

It has destroyed me.

It has the eyes
of a devil.

Each of us has heaven
and hell in him.

If this is true,

if this is what you've
done with your life,

it is far worse than
anything said of you.

Do you know
how to pray, Dorian?

What is it we were taught
to say in our boyhood-

lead us not
into temptation,

forgive us our sins,

wash away
our iniquities.

Let us say them
together.

It's too late, Basil.

The prayer
of your pride was answered.

The prayer
of your repentance

may be answered also.

Do you think
I haven't tried?

I tell you,
it's no use.

Isn't there a verse
somewhere-

"though your sins
be as scarlet,

yet I will make them
white as snow"?

Only last week,
Gladys recalled

the day this painting
was finished.

She remembered
putting her initial

under my signature.

There it is,
just as she made it.

If she could see it now.

I can still pray,
Dorian, if you can't.

Gladys must never know,

yet sometime, somehow,

Basil might reveal
his secret to her,

the one person
in the world

whose good opinion was
indispensable to him.

An uncontrollable feeling
of hatred for Basil

came over him,

together with a terror

of the knowledge
he had given him

and the use
he might make of it.

Panic seized him.

He felt like a hunted animal-
cornered, desperate.

Oh!

It was as if the painting

had sweated
a dew of blood.

He felt that he had
struck a mortal blow

not only at his friend,
but at himself.

It seemed to him
unbearable

that what he had done
could never be undone.

Basil was dead.

Men were strangled in england
for what he had done,

and yet, what evidence
was there against him?

Basil had left the house
at 11:00.

No one had seen him
come in again.

Most of the servants
were at selby.

His valet had gone to bed.

Paris! It was to Paris
that Basil had gone,

by the midnight train,
as he had intended.

I'm sorry to wake you,
francis.

I forgot my latchkey.

What time is it?

Half past 12:00,
sir.

Wake me at 9:00
in the morning.

I have work to do.

Yes, sir.

Did anyone call
this evening?

Mr. Hallward, sir.

He stayed till 11:00

and then went
to catch his train.

He was leaving
for Paris.

Did he leave
any message?

He said he would
write you from Paris

if he didn't find you
at your club.

Thank you, francis.

Is there anything
more, sir?

I'm writing a letter.

Deliver it early
in the morning

to mr. Allen campbell.

You'll find the address
on the envelope.

Yes, sir.
Good night, sir.

When allen campbell
received his letter,

he would come.

He would come at once.

Allen would help him.

He was the only one
who could " help him.

But what if allen campbell
should be out of england?

Days would pass
before he could come.

Perhaps he would
refuse to come.

Mr. Allen campbell, sir.

This is kind
of you, allen.

You said it was a matter
of life and death.

Listen to this.

"I sent my soul
through the invisible,

"some letter of
that after-life to spell:

"And by and by
my soul returned to me,

"I myself am heaven and hell."

That's quite good,
don't you think?

I didn't come to discuss
the verses of omar khayyam.

Of course not.
Please sit down.

I'll tell you
why I sent for you.

In a locked room
at the top of this house,

a room to which no one
but myself has access,

a dead man is lying
across a table.

He's been dead 10 hours.

Who he is, why he died,

are matters that
do not concern you.

What you must do-

there's no need
for you to go on.

Your horrible secrets
don't interest me.

They'll have
to interest you.

You are the one man
who is able to save me.

I've seen your name
in scientific reviews

in connection with
certain experiments.

What has that
to do with you?

You have got to destroy
the thing upstairs-

destroy it so that
not a vestige is left.

Nobody saw this person
come into the house.

When he is missed,

not a trace of him
must be found here.

Change him and everything
that belongs to him,

including his coat
and his traveling bag,

into a handful of ashes.

You must be insane

to suppose I'd lift
a finger to help you.

It was suicide.

What drove him
to it?

You won't
do this for me?

How can you ask me,
of all men,

to mix myself up
in this horror?

Allen, it was murder.

I killed him.

He was responsible
for the ruin of my life.

He didn't intend it,

but the result
was the same.

You are certain
to be caught.

No man
commits a crime

without doing
something stupid.

I'll have
no part of it.

We were friends
once, allen.

I regret that.

If you don't help me,
I am lost.

They will hang me.

Let them.

You refuse?

Yes.

I entreat you.

It's useless.

I'm sorry, allen.

You leave me
no alternative.

I've written a letter.

Here it is.

You see the address.

If you don't help me,
I must send it.

If you don't help me,

i! Will
"send it.

You know what
the result will be.

The thing is
quite simple, allen.

It would kill her.

I didn't think
you would want

her name involved
in such a scandal.

I cannot do it.

You have no choice.

I shall have to go home

and get some things
from the laboratory.

You've saved
my life.

Dorian dined that evening
with lady narborough,

who had
what Lord Henry described

as the remains of a really
remarkable ugliness.

You left early last night,
Dorian.

Did you go home
or to the club?

Why are you
so inquisitive?

I came in
at 12:30.

If you want
corroborative evidence,

you can ask
my man.

Two hours unaccounted for,
Dorian.

I suspect
they'll bear investigation-

or perhaps they will not.

You've hardly
touched my dinner.

I believe
you're in love.

I haven't been in love
for a week,

not since madame de ferrol
left town.

She's a wonderful woman.

When her third husband died,
her hair turned gold.

Husbands
of beautiful women

belong to
the criminal classes.

The world says
you're wicked.

What world says that?

It can only be
the## next world.

Everyone I know
says he's wicked.

It's monstrous
the way people go about

saying things
behind one's back

that are absolutely
and entirely true.

Women love us
for our defects.

If we have
enough of them,

they forgive us
anything.

No one will persuade me
that mr. Gray is wicked.

I shall never forgive him
for remaining a bachelor.

Shouldn't we find him
a wife, Lord Henry?

I'm always
telling him so.

I shall go through debrett

and draw out a list
of eligible young ladies.

With their ages?

Only slightly edited.

I want it to be
a suitable alliance.

I shall save you
the trouble of looking.

I have chosen her,
if she will have me.

I don't believe it.

Gladys, darling,
will you marry me?

Of course I will,
darling.

This is the only marriage

I've ever approved of.

How terribly exciting!

I congratulate you both.

For months, the mysterious
disappearance of Basil Hallward

was the sensation
of London.

You don't mind if
I work while we talk?

Not at all.

It's an urgent matter.

Tell me what you
discovered in france.

Nothing at all.

We hunted up
everyone

acquainted
with my uncle.

Not one
had seen him.

The Paris police

don't believe
he arrived in france.

Here at scotland yard,

we're equally convinced
he did leave London.

The man
in the gray ulster

who boarded
at victoria station

was undoubtedly
Basil Hallward.

What are we
to do now?

You're both young.

I understand you're
engaged to marry.

Go on with your own
lives peacefully.

Believe me,
that's the best course.

Scotland yard will not
forget Basil Hallward.

I thought Gladys
should go away for a while.

I'm going to my country place
at selby tomorrow.

Gladys will join me
with friends on thursday.

We'd be delighted
if you'd join us.

I can't get away,

but I'm glad
you're going.

The diversion
will do you good.

Thank you,
sir robert.

You've been
very kind.

Not at all.

Mr. Gray,

are you acquainted

with a young man
named allen campbell?

Yes. At one time,
we were great friends.

It's been a long time
since I've seen him.

Why do you ask?

I've just received
a tragic notice.

This morning,
allen campbell died

by his own hand.

Why on earth should
allen campbell...

I thought you might
give me a clue.

He had everything
to live for.

He was achieving
a name for himself in science.

He left no note,
no letter, no explanation?

None. Whatever
drove him to it,

he took the secret
with him.

How little
we really know

what goes on
inside a man.

Yes.

You've been sad
all evening.

Is it
allen campbell?

Perhaps.

I'm sorry.

Let's be married soon-
in a fortnight.

A simple wedding

with only
our closest friends.

A fortnight?
You call that soon?

Good night, darling.

I'll come to selby
on the thursday train with janet.

I'll be
at the station.

Allen campbell.

Would allen's blood
be on the painting now?

There were other roads
to forgetfulness

than the one
that allen took.

Where to, sir?

Blue gate fields.

Yes, sir.

One day,
we shall be awakened

with suffering and dismay

to the realization that the soul
is not a superstition

nor the spirit of man
a material substance

that can be viewed
under a microscope.

The eternal words
are as true today

as when he uttered them.

"What shall it profit a man
if he gain the whole world

and lose his soul?"

The soul is not an illusion.

It is a terrible reality.

It can be bought and sold
and bartered away.

It can be poisoned
or made perfect.

That man, rich or poor,

who has the light of faith
and charity within himself,

even though he were plunged
into the very pit of darkness,

would still enjoy
the clear light of day.

But the wretched creature
whose soul is filled

with dark thoughts
and foul deeds

must dwell in darkness

even though he walk
under the noonday sun.

He must carry his own vile
dungeon round with him.

What's that
you're playing?

It has a name,
hasn't it?

A kind of name.

It's called
## prelude.

Play something else.

Why you
like that music?

I heard someone play
that piece before...

18 years ago.

A woman?

Every time I get
back to London,

I look for him.

Sir tristan,
my sister called him,

because he was
like a knight.

If he was in rangoon
or valparaiso,

I'd find him,

but in London
it's like looking

for a needle
in a haystack.

I don't know
his real name.

I don't even know

what he
looks like.

When you find him,
what will you do?

Maybe he's dead
already.

Did you think
of that?

I'll keep on
looking.

You're not english.

What is "english"?

There are men,
and there are women.

This is sir tristan,
kate, darling.

Don't call me
that, adrian.

I heard Lord Henry
call you sir tristan.

At the time,
I thought it fit.

Why don't we
see you?

I have all I need here-

drink and drugs
and no friends.

I had too many friends.

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

Come and look at it.

What would you like-

a song, poem, painting?

I do all three
surpassingly well.

It seems to me

there's something lacking.

I have it.

But grim to see...

is a gallows tree.

Good-bye, adrian.

And green or dry,
a man must die

before it bears
its fruit.

Good-bye,
sir tristan.

What did you call him?

Sit down.

I'll draw
your picture

for the price
of three drinks...

four drinks.

Sir tristan,
you said.

And sir tristan rode forth
into the forest,

seeking his only love.

He has gone
to kill your friend.

Justice has
come to england...

without wig or gown.

Come on, kate.

If it's money
you want-

I'm sibyl vane's brother.

Does that mean
anything to you?

No, nothing.

Why are you called
sir tristan?

It happens to be
my name.

You're lying. 18 years,
I've been looking for you.

How old do you
think I am?

Why didn't you
murder him?

They could only
have hanged you for it.

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

He's too young.

How old
do you think he is?

22, I'd say.

Ha ha ha!

What are you
laughing at?

Dorian gray has looked 22
for the last 20 years.

What did you say
his name was?

In your case,

this strange impulse
to be good

is merely the effect

of your approaching
marriage.

It'll wear off.

Would you pull
that blind?

The truth is,
I want to be better.

At least it will be
a novel sensation.

It needn't
become a habit.

Marriage
is a habit- a bad habit.

I trust
it won't make you

a hopelessly
reformed character.

What are people
talking about in London?

They were talking about
Basil's disappearance.

Now they're taken up

with allen campbell's
suicide.

What do you think
happened to Basil?

I suppose
we shall be told

that he's been seen
in san francisco.

Everyone who disappears

is said to be seen
in san francisco.

It must be
a delightful city.

He was a fine painter,
I'm certain.

The best thing
Basil did

was that wonderful
portrait of you.

What is your secret?

You don't look a day
older than you did

when that portrait
was painted.

Perhaps I'll
tell you someday.

To get back my youth,
I'd do anything

except get up early,
exercise,

or be respectable.

I sometimes think
I'd give anything

if I could change
and grow old.

My good resolutions
may have come too late.

Though Dorian placed guards
about the estate,

the consciousness of being
hunted, snared, tracked down

began to dominate him.

In the small hours
of the night,

when every sound
is seized upon

by the distraught
imagination,

remorse and terror
laid hold of him.

Each detail of his crimes

came back to him in nightmares
with added horror,

haunting him relentlessly

with the living death
of his soul.

With the day
came the cruel necessity

to dissemble to Gladys
and to his guests.

Have you had
good sport?

Not very good.

The birds have gone
to the open.

It may be better
after lunch.

Don't shoot it,
geoffrey.

Nonsense!

I've hit a beater!

The idiot
got in front of the gun.

Stop shooting!
A man's hurt!

Sir, where is he?

Here. Why on earth don't you
keep your men back?

Spoiled my shooting
for the day.

I've told them

the shooting's
stopped for today.

It wouldn't
look well to go on.

Is the man-

he's dead. He received
the charge in his chest.

Thornton. Come in.

I suppose you've come
about the accident.

Was he married?
Did he have dependents?

I'll write them any sum
you think necessary.

We don't know him.

That's why
I came to you.

Wasn't he
one of your men?

Never saw him before.
Seems like a sailor.

A sailor?

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

tattooed on both arms.

Wasn't anything found on him
that would tell his names?

Money-not much-
and a six-shooter.

No name of any kind.

Decent-looking man,
but rough-like.

Sort of sailor,
we think.

Where is the body?

In an empty stable
at the home farm.

Show me his face.

Come in.

What is it, Dorian?

Oh, but you
haven't changed.

You'll be late
for dinner.

I wanted to look at you.

I know, darling.

I've felt that way
so often about you.

Good-bye, Gladys.

Good-bye?

Until
half past 8:00.

Until half past 8:00.

Go on.

Shall I go on,
sir?

Yes.

Dorian!

David, what brings you
to selby?

Have you seen Dorian?

What is it?
What's happened?

Dorian's
gone to London.

Didn't you know?

David passed him

on his way
from the station.

He looked
black as thunder.

I thought he'd found out
what I'd been up to.

What have you
been up to?

You'll put it down
to jealousy.

I don't deny jealousy's
mixed up in it.

I had a dreadful
presentiment.

When you announced
the marriage,

I grew desperate
to stop it.

What is it you've done,
david?

There's a locked room
in Dorian's house.

I didn't attach
any importance to it at first.

He could have
locked up anything.

Then one
of Dorian's valets

came to see me
about a position.

It struck me
how often Dorian changed his servants.

This one told me
Dorian locked himself

in that room
at all hours.

One night,
he heard a noise

and went to investigate.

Dorian came out
and looked at him

as if he could kill him,
he said.

He accused him of spying
and sacked him.

I felt if I could
get into that room,

I might find something
to stop this marriage.

And did you get in?

I bribed
one of the servants

to get me an impression
of the lock.

Here's the key.

I waited until Dorian
came down here to selby

and then let myself in.

I know you'll despise me
for stooping to this,

but it doesn't matter
what you think of me

if I can stop you
from marrying him.

What did you find
in the room?

Nothing, really.

It's an old schoolroom
with books

and a portrait with
a covering.

Portrait? Of whom?

I don't know.

The original must be
a monstrous person,

if an original exists.

Has a vague family
resemblance to Dorian-

a sort of middle-aged,
mad, gruesome uncle

with a debauched face
and blood all over it.

Your uncle painted it.

My uncle never painted
such a picture.

He signed it.

I'd been counting
so much

on finding
something to help me

that I decided I'd
been doing Dorian an injustice.

I had an impulse
to come here

and make a clean
breast of it,

give you my blessing

and ask
your forgiveness.

Describe the portrait
in greater detail.

There's a curious cat,

like the one in
Dorian's drawing room,

only in the portrait
the eyes shine

in an evil way
that's indescribable.

Did you notice
anything unusual

about the signature?

No,
I don't think so.

Now that I see you,
Gladys,

I can't say
what I intended to.

I know that this
marriage is wrong.

There's something
strange and evil in Dorian.

Was there a letter "g"

under the signature
on that painting, david,

like this?

I believe there was.
How did you know?

Yes, gibson?

Mr. Gray asked me
to bring you this letter

when I got back
from the station.

He said I must give it
to you in person.

Once I said

that if I were to marry you,

it would be
an incredible wickedness.

You thought
it was a way of saying

I didn't love you.

I do love you,

more than anything
in the world,

but I only bring disaster
on those who love me.

If you knew how I've
already wronged you,

you would turn from me
in horror.

You will never
see me again.

Try to remember me,
dear Gladys,

without bitterness.

This is the only good thing
I have ever done.

Won't you tell us
what it is?

Perhaps
we can help you.

We must go
to London at once.

Was it true that one could never change?

He longed for the unstained
purity of his youth,

before he had prayed

in a monstrous moment
of pride and passion

that the painting
should bear the burden

of the years
and of his corruption.

Sibyl vane was dead,

and now her brother

would be hidden
in a nameless grave.

Allen campbell
had shot himself,

and Basil...

nothing could alter that.

It was of the future
that he must think.

He had spared Gladys.

Would there be any sign
of his one good deed

in the portrait?

It was there-
almost imperceptible,

but surely it was there
in the eyes,

struggling through the horror
and the loathsomeness.

There was hope
for him, then.

He would go away,
leave england forever,

live obscurely
in a distant country,

find peace in a life
of humility and self-denial.

He would expel
every sign of evil

from the painted face.

He would watch the hideousness
fade and change.

But the painting
would always be there

to tempt his weakness.

Better to destroy it,

to grow old inevitably
as all men grow old.

If he fell
into evil ways,

to be punished
as all men are punished.

Better if each sin
of his life

were to breed
sure, swift penalty.

The knife that had killed
Basil Hallward

would kill
his portrait also

and free him at a stroke

from the evil enchantment
of the past.

But when the knife pierced
the heart of the portrait,

an extraordinary thing
happened.

Father, forgive me,

for I have sinned.

Father, forgive me,
for I have sinned.

Through my fault,
through my most grievous fault.

Heaven forgive me.

Take Gladys home,
david.