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  • North and South Part Three

  • Mr Thornton's called, miss.

  • - Mr Thornton? - He's in the sitting room.

  • Isn't Papa in?

  • He asked for you, miss, and the master's out.

  • Very well. I will go.

  • Mr Thornton?

  • My dear Miss Hale.

  • How are you?

  • - I am well, thank you. - But the wound you recelved?

  • You would obilge me, Mr Thornton, by not talking about it.

  • Yes, of course...

  • May I thank you for sending my mother the invalid mattress?

  • It gives her much ease.

  • We're always ready to help in any way we may.

  • Thank you. Mr Thornton, please tell me what has happened

  • as a result of yesterday's disturbances.

  • I've no news. I've not left the house.

  • I and my fellow magistrates agreed that charges should be preferred

  • solely against Boucher and two ringleaders who assisted him.

  • Miss Hale...

  • Do you not think it unjust, Mr Thornton,

  • that belng a magistrate you should exercise that authority

  • against those unfortunates who attacked you?

  • - Unfortunates, Miss Hale? - They are starving.

  • At the moment, maybe, but not for long. The strike's all but ended.

  • Ended?

  • Under threat of long prison sentences, almost every man is ready to swear

  • that he didn't take part in the riot, was against it, in fact.

  • Thelr one way of assuring us of thelr gulltlessness is by golng back to work,

  • on our terms.

  • And the Irish? What about the Irish?

  • Those who want to stay may do so.

  • The rest'll be pald handsomely and sent back again.

  • You have used those Irish to provoke the riot.

  • No, only to break the strike.

  • But is that not despicable?

  • Despicable?

  • My dear Miss Hale, I've used cunning, it's true.

  • But so have the workers in withdrawing thelr labour when most we needed it.

  • Cunning is right in commerce. Commerce depends upon it.

  • And what about humanity? You would have had those people starve to death.

  • But if they had, it would have been thelr own fault.

  • Miss Hale, you talk about the masters

  • as though they were some kind of ogres, jackals.

  • Don't you understand?

  • The master can go down to ruin as well as the men.

  • The master must run the race not only against the workers

  • but against all the other masters, his rivals.

  • I can be easily trampled underfoot by my fellows, see my family starve.

  • There is no mercy in our philosophy, nor should there be.

  • Add your humanity and the economic principles,

  • the sheer logic by which I must work, becomes meaningless.

  • We had better not talk about it.

  • No, no, you are... you are right.

  • For beyond the factory, beyond the worId of business...

  • ..there is another life.

  • I beg your pardon?

  • Miss Hale, I know how to be grateful, and the action you took yesterday...

  • You have nothing to be grateful for.

  • Any woman would have done the same.

  • I ought rather to apologise to you

  • for having sald thoughtless words which sent you down into danger.

  • Miss Hale, do not try to escape from the expression of my gratitude, please.

  • - It is from my heart. - I escape from nothing.

  • I simply say that you owe me no gratitude.

  • Any expression of it is palnful to me because I do not feel I deserve it.

  • I owe my life to you, Miss Hale, and I'm proud of knowing it.

  • Whatever the future, paln or pleasure, sorrow or joy, I owe to you.

  • You shall hear me.

  • I'm happy that I live, for I owe it all...

  • ..to a woman that I love.

  • I love you, Miss Hale,

  • as I do not think man ever loved woman before.

  • Mr Thornton, you offend me.

  • Offend you?

  • Indeed you do.

  • I belleve you imagine that my conduct of yesterday...

  • ..was a personal act between you and me.

  • There was nothing personal in my act,

  • and I find it extremely ungentlemanly of you to think that there was.

  • Very well, I'm not a gentleman.

  • But I clalm the right to express my feelings.

  • And I do not want to hear them. How dare you presume so!

  • Why, there was not a man in all that crowd for whom I had not more sympathy,

  • for whom I should not have done what little I could more heartliy.

  • Yes, I'm already aware

  • of these misplaced sympathles of yours, Miss Hale.

  • You despise me because you don't understand me.

  • I do not care to understand you.

  • No, I see you do not.

  • You are unfair and unjust.

  • One word more.

  • You look as though it talnted you to be loved by me.

  • You cannot avold it.

  • I've never loved any woman before,

  • but now I love, and I will love.

  • But don't be afraid of too much expression on my part.

  • I'm not afraid.

  • No one yet has ever dared to be impertinent to me,

  • and no one ever shall.

  • But, Mr Thornton...

  • You have been very kind to my father and mother.

  • Don't let us go on making each other angry.

  • Pray don't.

  • My children. My children.

  • Where are you?

  • Dixon, where are my children?

  • Miss Margaret's downstalrs, ma'am.

  • She's talking to Mr Thornton.

  • - And Frederick? - Frederick?

  • Tell my son I want to see him.

  • Dear madam, Frederick lives in Spaln.

  • Spaln? Why has he gone there?

  • He's lived there for the past elght years.

  • elght years?

  • Don't you remember, ma'am?

  • He's a wanted man.

  • His mother wants him.

  • Now, you have a daughter, a beautiful daughter.

  • Think of her.

  • Yes, Margaret. My daughter Margaret.

  • Dixon, will you get her for me?

  • - I want to talk to her. - Very well, ma'am.

  • - Dixon, will you get her, please? - Only calm, now. Calm.

  • Yes.

  • Oh, there you are, miss. Mr Thornton's gone, has he?

  • - Yes. - Why, you're trembilng, miss.

  • It's nothing. How is she?

  • Oh, Margaret. Margaret, dear.

  • Mama.

  • Dixon, will you leave us? I want to talk to my daughter alone.

  • Very well, ma'am.

  • Margaret, will you find him for me?

  • - Who? - Frederick.

  • - My brother? - Yes.

  • He'll make me well again. I must see him.

  • - Yes. - Will you get him for me?

  • Write to him. Write to him. Tell him that I want him by my side.

  • - He's my son. He should be here. - Mama, Mama, quletly, now.

  • Please, will you write to him? Write to him.

  • Mama, listen to me first.

  • Is there something you've not told me about Frederick?

  • Some secret concerning him?

  • Why do you say that?

  • I feel that there may be.

  • No.

  • He's a good boy, a wonderful boy. Write to him.

  • I will wait until Papa returns.

  • Oh, no, Margaret, now, by the next post, or I'll never see him again.

  • I'll get my pen and paper.

  • - I'll write to him myself. - No. No, Mama.

  • Lie still.

  • I shall sit here beside you and write to him.

  • You will?

  • Yes. You shall see me do it.

  • He's a good boy.

  • He's my son.

  • He should be here.

  • His place is here.

  • They're after me, the pollce. They're after me.

  • What do you expect?

  • There's nowhere to hide. Everybody's frightened of talking to me.

  • Not a man will hide me, no one.

  • - You're not stopping here, that's flat. - I'm not asking.

  • Only...would you... would you look in on me wife and kids sometime?

  • Aye, I can do that for you.

  • What's gonna happen to me, Nick?

  • How the hell do I know? You've got your true desserts now, you have.

  • For two pins I'd give you up to the pollce meself.

  • You'd what?

  • Committee sald no disorder, no injury to property or life.

  • You've ruined the strike, you have!

  • Instead of decent workers, you made us all into cowing revolutionarles!

  • We're all lumped together cos of you!

  • For two pins, I'd give you up meself. I would!

  • You an' all.

  • (Yells)

  • You an' all.

  • You'd not give him up?

  • Two pins I would.

  • There aln't much you can do for him, Bess.

  • Do what you can for his wife and kids... Here, Bess. Here...

  • Oh, God!

  • My little Bess.

  • My little Bess.

  • - Just arrived home, Papa? - Yes, my dear.

  • What have you been teaching today?

  • Use of the gerundive constructions in the accusative and dative.

  • Not one of my ablest pupils. Nothing sinks in.

  • Into one ear and out of the other.

  • Poor Papa.

  • To think how much I burn for my pupils to know the glories of Homer,

  • the sublimity of Virgil.

  • They can't understand the simplest of grammar.

  • Oh, well, it's my fate, I suppose.

  • Where have you been to, my pretty mald?

  • I've been to the post office, Papa, with a letter.

  • A letter to Frederick.

  • I've asked him to return home.

  • - You've... - Well, Mama wants him by her side.

  • And I know it's a long way for him to travel...

  • - Margaret... - What is it, Papa?

  • You don't know what you've done. How could you?

  • Papa... P=10 a=8 p=12 a=8 .=15 .=15 .=15

  • Your mother, was it she who suggested he should come home?

  • - Yes. - Oh, my poor wife.

  • - Her mind must be wandering. - Can't you explaln, Papa?

  • Yes, I must.

  • I must.

  • Sit down, Margaret.

  • Tell me, please.

  • We've protected you from knowing about your brother not because of his offence

  • but because of the legal consequences.

  • If he returns to England, he could be returning to his death.

  • What has he done?

  • - He led a mutiny while he was at sea. - A mutiny?

  • No, Margaret, let me try and explaln it to you calmly.

  • Frederick was a lieutenant under a certaln Captaln Reid,

  • a tyrant of a man who used his crew for his own amusement,

  • up and down the rigging like so many rats and monkeys.

  • One day some of the men were aloft on the spars of the maln topsail,

  • and this man, this devil,

  • ordered them to race down,

  • threatening the last of them with the cat-o'-nine-tails.

  • The man who was farthest from the mast

  • saw that it was impossible for him to pass his companions.

  • What could he do to escape that horrible, cruel flogging?

  • There was a rope hanging some ten feet beneath him.

  • He threw himself down in a desperate attempt to catch at it.

  • But he falled.

  • Oh, no.

  • And my brother led the mutiny?

  • Yes. There was a court martial.

  • Some of the sallors were hanged at the yardarm.

  • But for Frederick, the worst is that the court,

  • in condemning them to death,

  • sald they had suffered themselves to be led astray

  • by one of thelr superior officers.

  • I'm bringing him back into this danger.

  • But you did not know.

  • Besides, I'm glad.

  • Yes, now it has been done, I'm glad the letter has been posted.

  • Glad?

  • I would not have done it myself, but I'm thankful that it is as it is.

  • Frederick would never have forgiven me for keeping him from his mother

  • in her final hours.

  • Shall I serve luncheon now, sir?

  • Thank you, Dixon.

  • The risk he will have to take.

  • Yes, yes, Frederick must be kept hidden.

  • We'll have Dixon guard the door ilke a dragon.

  • But, Margaret, whatever the risk,

  • the right thing has been done.

  • I know my son. He's an honourable man.

  • I know what he would wish sald of him at a time like this.

  • (Speaks Latin)

  • One of the odes of Horace, my dear.

  • He has set honour before the safe and the sensible.

  • Well? W=38 e=7 I=26 I=26 ?=44

  • (Clears throat)

  • Where have you been all day?

  • Oh, walking, Mother, walking.

  • You'll both need a stock of household ilnens,

  • so I've been unpicking my initlals

  • and replacing them with hers.

  • Nobody loves me but you, Mother.

  • A mother's love is given by God, John.

  • It holds fast forever.

  • A girl's love is like a puff of smoke.

  • So she wouldn't have you?

  • Well, you've done the honourable thing, that's all that matters.

  • I'm not fit for her, Mother, knew I was not.

  • That's not the point.

  • I love her more than ever.

  • Can't help myself.

  • - I love her. - And I hate her.

  • I'd have done my best to welcome her.

  • I'd have done my utmost to make her happy, had she accepted you.

  • But now we know her true character. She's not worthy of any man's love

  • Stop it!

  • You stay blind if you want to, but ask yourself this.

  • Would any girI have modestly done what she's done?

  • I won't have a word sald against her.

  • I'm the mother that bore you.

  • And your sorrow is my agony.

  • And if you don't hate her, I do.

  • Don't say that, Mother!

  • Don't say it!

  • She doesn't care for me and that's enough.

  • I never want to speak of her again.

  • With all my heart.

  • I only wish that she and the rest of her family

  • were swept back to the place they came from.

  • Warrants have been taken out for the three ringleaders.

  • Strike's almost over.

  • (Dogs barking)

  • (Footsteps approach)

  • (Wails)

  • What's up with you?

  • Bess.

  • Bess...

  • Da?

  • - Da? - She's dead.

  • She's just dead, Mary.

  • Nowt can hurt her now, Mary. Nowt can hurt her now.

  • Nought of life's grlef can touch her more.

  • My Bessy.

  • My little Bess.

  • You lived the life of a dog, work first, sickness last.

  • Uh? U=41 h=2 ?=44

  • But to dle without knowing one good bit of rejolcing in all her days,

  • now, is that just, is that right?

  • Her belleved in heaven, you know, belleved in the city of God.

  • Well, let there be a god to give it you.

  • It's too cruel else.

  • Her had hope...hope for the golden gates and the angels.

  • I had hoped for a better life here on earth. Where's that led us, eh?

  • But we has hope.

  • Hope keeps us golng.

  • You had more than your goodly share on it, didn't you?

  • Cos there's...

  • ..there's nowt else.

  • They're working again, John.

  • Your mills.

  • - And it's your triumph. - Triumph?

  • You brought 'em to heel.

  • Keep 'em that way in future.

  • There's not a man out there that isn't ready to swear

  • he never had anything to do with the strike,

  • never belonged to a union,

  • never stood in that yard threatening me and...

  • Aye. A=37 y=5 e=7 .=15

  • Oh, by the way, I've been to see Mrs Hale, Mother.

  • Took her some frult.

  • What? W=38 h=2 a=8 t=13 ?=44

  • The woman is dying.

  • It was the least I could do.

  • She asked after you.

  • She thinks you're a very fine and wise lady.

  • - There's no need to humour me. - She sald it.

  • She thinks much of you. She wants you to visit her.

  • - Visit her? Me? - She was insistent on it.

  • I...I think there's something she wants to say to you.

  • - Say what? - I don't know.

  • She was obsessed by it. She kept begging me to give you the message.

  • She wants to see you. Will you go?

  • I haven't decided.

  • If you don't, I'll think it's some unfair prejudice you have against the whole of the family.

  • You'll go, won't you?

  • If I do, it'll be for your sake, nobody else's.

  • Thank you, Mother.

  • Madam, Mrs Thornton's come to see you.

  • Mrs Thornton, yes.

  • DIXON: If you'd come this way, ma'am.

  • Be good enough to leave me with her, please.

  • Very well, ma'am. Pull the bell if there's anything you're wanting.

  • Mrs Thornton.

  • Yes.

  • Won't you sit down?

  • I'm glad you've come. It's about Margaret.

  • My daughter Margaret.

  • She'll be without a mother.

  • A young girI in a strange place.

  • No one, no relations, no one to gulde her.

  • I sympathise with your anxlety.

  • Befriend her.

  • You wish me to be a friend to Miss Hale?

  • Yes.

  • I'll be a true friend if circumstances requlre it,

  • but I can't be a tender friend, that's impossible.

  • If you wish it.

  • If I see her dolng anything which I consider to be wrong...

  • Wrong? Margaret would never do anything wrong wilfully.

  • When that happens, I'll tell her,

  • plalnly and truthfully to her face, as I would my own daughter.

  • Thank you... your kindness.

  • It's not kindness.

  • It's an obligation to you, which shall be performed.

  • Thank you.

  • - She looked very peaceful, Dixon. - Yes, poor little Bessy.

  • I've told her sister Mary that she can come and clean for us.

  • Yes, miss.

  • I...I think I should tell you, miss,

  • Mrs Thornton's upstairs.

  • - Mrs Thornton? - She called to see your mother.

  • - Good morning. - Good morning, Mr Hale.

  • - Good morning, Miss Hale. - How kind of you to visit Mama.

  • - Papa and I do so much appreclate it. - We do indeed, ma'am.

  • It was an obligation to my son. He asked me to call.

  • I didn't expect to see Mrs Hale in such a low condition.

  • - You have my condolences, sir. - Thank you.

  • Good day, Mr Hale and Miss Hale.

  • Good day, Mrs Thornton.

  • Good day, ma'am.

  • That woman doesn't like you, Miss Margaret, and that's certaln.

  • Please, Dixon, please. This is no time for squabbles.

  • My poor wife.

  • Come, Margaret, stay with me.

  • I live nowadays largely through your strength, I'm afraid.

  • (Knocking)

  • (Knocking)

  • Is this Mr Hale's house?

  • Frederick.

  • Margaret.

  • - My mother, is she alive? - Yes.

  • Dear, dear Frederick.

  • As ill as can be, but she is alive.

  • Thank God.

  • Papa!

  • Papa, guess who is here!

  • Frederick, my son, you're home.

  • - Father. - What a man you are. What a man.

  • How are you, Father? Your health?

  • The body's sound. The grief is in the mind.

  • It deeply distresses me not having been with you. Has Mother suffered much?

  • MR HALE: I'm afraid she has.

  • Oh, to think that your return, which brings me such joy,

  • comes at such a tragic moment.

  • But let us go in. I want to look at you.

  • - Are your shutters closed? - Ah, the shutters.

  • Margaret, the shutters.

  • Frederick, you're all safe.

  • My boy. My boy.

  • Never have I seen a man look so well.

  • My brother.

  • You must give credit to the Spanish sunshine.

  • The sun, we see so little of it here, I'm afraid.

  • - My dear brother, you are so... - Say it, Margaret.

  • So handsome. Yes, handsome.

  • I can understand your surprise.

  • She hasn't seen you since she was a child.

  • Do you remember, Frederick, how we two and your mother

  • drove up to Harley Street, you in your uniform,

  • to say goodbye to her before you salled off for the Indlan Ocean?

  • Oh, you were so proud, so proud.

  • - Look at us now. - Father.

  • I a Dissenter, disowned by the Church.

  • You a fugitive with a price on your head.

  • And my poor wife up there.

  • - Please, Papa. - (Speaks Latin)

  • How I curse myself for not having been able to play my proper role

  • in our family's misfortunes.

  • Not curse yourself. You must not say that.

  • Forgive me. My courage has grown dim.

  • Forgive me. You have risked your life to come here.

  • It is you who must forgive me. The shame I have brought upon us all.

  • Pray, let us not talk of forgiveness nor shame.

  • We're a family. We love each other.

  • Besides, all talk is idle when we remember the purpose of your visit.

  • Your mother has been my staff, my...rock

  • of this earthly life for so many years now.

  • The thought of her passing is almost unendurable.

  • It is that that brings on my frailty of spirit.

  • Let us go together, Father.

  • And you, Margaret.

  • The family together once more.

  • - It is what Mother wants. - Yes.

  • Her dying wish.

  • Come, my dears, we've delayed too long.

  • Frederick.

  • - Master Frederick. - Dixon.

  • My dear, dear Dixon.

  • You've come at last. You've come to your mother.

  • She's called after you. Day and night she's called after you.

  • How is she?

  • I fear it might be too late.

  • Mama.

  • My dear, dear Mama.

  • It is Frederick, your son.

  • Can't you speak to me?

  • Can't you open your eyes?

  • I'm here, Mama.

  • I'm here at last.

  • Your son.

  • She won't recognise him.

  • I fear it is the end.

  • But she must.

  • Mama. Mama, please.

  • She must see him. She must.

  • Oh, Papa.

  • He has come all this way and she so much has yearned for him.

  • Oh, please, God.

  • (Speaks Latin)

  • Lord, save me from madness, you who have given reason.

  • Reason! Is it just?

  • Frederick. You've come back.

  • Mama.

  • Frederick.

  • Maria.

  • She is at rest.

  • - Oh, my Maria. - Father.

  • (Wails)

  • Leave me.

  • Leave me, all of you.

  • She was my wife.

  • - Frederick. - Yes.

  • Do something for us, for me.

  • What is it?

  • Go.

  • - Go. Go now. - (Door opens)

  • - And go quickly. - Go?

  • You shouldn't be here.

  • I know the risk I've brought you to.

  • You've done everything that was needed.

  • But Father and the funeral... I can't desert you now.

  • I know what is in your heart, dear brother.

  • But consider what will happen if you are caught, to you and to us.

  • Miss Margaret's right.

  • There is a traln to London at midnight.

  • If you have to walt for a boat, go to Henry Lennox.

  • - Lennox? - Our lawyer.

  • His address is 5, Portland Place. Ask him to help you.

  • Sound advice, miss.

  • Pay your respects to your father and go.

  • If you love us, Frederick, please.

  • Yes, very well.

  • I will accompany you to the railway station.

  • - Frederick. - Yes, Margaret?

  • Don't let's go on the platform yet.

  • If you do see Henry Lennox in London, ask him if your case can be reopened.

  • Dear sisters, lawyers can't do me much good.

  • But if he could collect witnesses, if enough people spoke in your favour,

  • surely the Admiralty would recognise how much you were provoked?

  • For your sake, Margaret, I will try.

  • But if there is any danger, don't stay in London. Promise?

  • Oh, dear sister.

  • Dear loving sister.

  • (Traln whistle blows)

  • Why, Mr Thornton, sir. One of your midnight dispatches, eh?

  • Oh, aye. Would you put this in the guard's van?

  • - Very good, sir. - Here.

  • Most kind of you, sir. Most kind.

  • (Guard blows whistle)

  • No, Walter. You mustn't be naughty.

  • Oh, come on, Fanny, please.

  • Well, just a ttle one.

  • - Oh, Fanny. - No, Walter, no.

  • - You're belng horrid. - Horrid?

  • I'm not allowing you to be naughty and horrid...until we're marrled.

  • - But that's three months away. - No.

  • - Afternoon, Walter. - John.

  • And I am not ke some girls I could mention, Walter.

  • Oh?

  • GirIs who are seen on railway stations at midnight

  • with thelr arms around strangers.

  • Where'd you hear that?

  • By all accounts, you were there as well,

  • witnessing it all, jealousy written all over your face.

  • Who told you?

  • Well, if you must know, a ttle dickybird told me.

  • - You answer me, will you? - Hold on, old lad.

  • That's right, Wally. You tell him.

  • I'm to be treated with some respect in future.

  • - Fanny. - What's this all about, John?

  • - It's true, isn't it? - That's not what I'm asking.

  • Who told you?

  • Well, if you must know, it was Jane.

  • Jane?

  • Her sweetheart works in the booking office.

  • So you sten to a servant's tittle-tattle?

  • It's not tittle-tattle.

  • You keep your mouth shut. Don't let this go any further.

  • John's right.

  • You must remember, a lady's reputation is at stake.

  • Margaret Hale's no lady.

  • Fanny, you must not gossip ke this.

  • Ooh! Ooh, how dare you side with him!

  • (Grunts)

  • Sorry about that, old lad.

  • Oh, it's all right.

  • It's not your fault. It's my fault.

  • While I've got you to meself, John,

  • I'd ke to broach you on the subject of haymaking.

  • - Haymaking? - Hay, while the sun shines.

  • Belleve me, John, it won't be shining for long.

  • I'm not sure I follow you, Walter.

  • Once Parilament brings in its new companles bill,

  • nothing will be qulte so bendable as it was.

  • You see, John, with compulsory registration of companles,

  • we've got to make money before that bill becomes an act.

  • Not interested in that sort of dodge, Walter.

  • You should be. Time's running out, old lad.

  • Now, look, we're agreed about the dowry.

  • You marry my sister and I pay into her account the sum agreed and nothing else.

  • All I'm saying is one good turn deserves another.

  • I'm not gonna float a bucket shop company.

  • I'll tell you this.

  • This strike has called attention to dear old England's labour costs.

  • Our cotton market has become sickly, if not downright consumptive.

  • You don't have to tell me that. I know where we stand.

  • (Gong sounds)

  • Teatime, Walter.

  • - You're smiling, Margaret. - Yes, Papa.

  • It's good to see it.

  • Who is your letter from

  • Henry Lennox.

  • Frederick did see him in London, and Henry's agreed to help him.

  • Ah, that's good.

  • Now, tell me what is in your letter.

  • It's from your godfather, Mr Bell.

  • He says once again how deeply grleved he was

  • not to be able to attend the funeral.

  • He's a ttle old to make the journey.

  • And besides, he has all those students to look after.

  • Yes, his is a great responsibility.

  • He asks me to visit him, to go and stay.

  • Go to Oxford?

  • Yes.

  • But you must, Papa, you must.

  • Margaret, you forget that I have a responsibility towards my pupils too.

  • Besides, I don't know how I would be recelved in Oxford.

  • But you must accept Mr Bell's invitation.

  • Well, once I'm free to go, perhaps, yes.

  • Now, Margaret, do you know what I would ke us to do now?

  • No.

  • When I woke this morning, I had such melancholy thoughts

  • and I sald to myself,

  • ''Richard Hale, the only way to forget your grlef is to think of others.''

  • Well?

  • Let us go and see Mr Higgins.

  • You know, I've been thinking of leaving, Mr Hale.

  • I'll go tramping, down South perhaps,

  • try and find work.

  • No one will employ you round here because of the strike?

  • I'm ran t'union committee, Margaret. They don't forget that easily.

  • But you never stirred up that riot.

  • Oh, no, I were again' it. That were Boucher's dolng, the fool.

  • We had public opinion on our side,

  • then he and his sort started rioting and breaking laws.

  • It were all over, strike, then.

  • What has happened to Mr Boucher?

  • Oh, he went into hiding at first, then Thornton, having got his own way,

  • called off his prosecutions against the rioters,

  • so Boucher slumped back to his house and wouldn't show his face for a day or two.

  • Eh, then what do you think happened?

  • He went to his employer, Mr Hamper, and sald if he gave him his job back,

  • he'd tell him all he knowed on our proceedings, the good-for-nothing Judas.

  • But I'll say this for Hamper, and I'll thank him for it at me dying day,

  • he drove Boucher away.

  • - He did? - Aye. He wouldn't listen to him.

  • Ne'er a word. He sald the traltor walked away crying like a babby.

  • (Crowd approaches)

  • What's that noise?

  • Out of the way, now, out of the way.

  • I know where he lives. It's...

  • It's this house here on the... on the corner.

  • Now, walt here.

  • - What's happened? - Boucher.

  • I found him in the brook in the fleld yonder.

  • - Not Boucher? - In the brook.

  • In the brook? But there is not water enough to drown in there.

  • He were a determined chap. He lay with his face downwards.

  • - He was sick of living. - Boucher, Boucher.

  • Why did you do it, you fool?

  • Higgins, tha knowed him. Go and tell the wife.

  • Tell the wife?

  • Do it gently, man, but do it quick. We can't leave him here long.

  • I cannae go. Don't ask me to. I cannae face it.

  • But thou knowest her best, better than us.

  • - I cannot do it. - Someone's got to go and tell her.

  • Papa, will you go?

  • I will, of course, but...

  • - I will go. - You, Margaret?

  • Miss, this way.

  • - Mrs Boucher? - Aye.

  • - My name is Margaret Hale. - I know you.

  • - You're a friend of Higgins's. - Yes.

  • - Come on in. - (Children shouting)

  • Ada, go and shut 'em up.

  • I'll get thelr dad to put his belt round 'em. Tell 'em that.

  • He's left us. I don't know where he is.

  • He's left us. I aln't got no grub for children.

  • - That's what makes 'em so wild. - (Shouting)

  • Hold your din or I'll large you. If I come up, I'll large you.

  • - Mrs Boucher... - He'll come back.

  • They won't give him no work in town.

  • He's gone tramping over to Greenfleld, see if anyone'll take him on.

  • - Mrs Boucher... - Aye?

  • - I'm afraid... - What's up wi' you?

  • What you looking at me like that for?

  • Why have you come here? What is it?

  • - I'm afraid I have to tell you that... - Where's John?

  • Dead?

  • Oh, God.

  • How?

  • He was drowned.

  • Drowned?

  • Where is he?

  • Out there. The men have brought him back.

  • The children.

  • She knows? The men have got together, had a talk.

  • We'll take a child aplece into our houses,

  • look after 'em till things have blown over.

  • - Tell her that, will you? - I heard.

  • Thank you.

  • Where is he?

  • By the steps.

  • Is that him?

  • - Am I disturbing you? - No.

  • What are you studying?

  • - Greek? - Aye.

  • You find pleasure in it?

  • (Sighs)

  • You read of herolc struggles,

  • but, all the same, you feel the pathos that lies behind human striving.

  • It has a calming influence.

  • Well, that's what I want for you, my son.

  • Peace.

  • You've suffered much.

  • If you want peace, real peace...

  • ..there must be no secrets.

  • Nothing to hide.

  • We must open our hearts to each other, John.

  • I don't understand you, Mother.

  • I've been walting lovingly for you to say it.

  • Simply to tell me the thing that haunts you.

  • Well, it does haunt you, doesn't it? Say it.

  • Everything will be as it was before.

  • Before what?

  • Before she came.

  • I've told you, I've put her out of my mind.

  • Have you? Then why do you shleld her, and her wickedness?

  • What are you talking about, Mother?

  • The railway station.

  • I see.

  • Who told you? Was it Fanny or was it a servant?

  • Both.

  • I'm sure there's some perfectly simple explanation.

  • We speak plalnly in this house, John.

  • You accept that the man at the railway station is her lover?

  • Yes.

  • I didn't want to act on rumour,

  • but now I have the witness of your eyes, you saw her.

  • Why are you set to torture me?

  • Now I can go without the silghtest misgiving.

  • Go where?

  • I promised Mrs Hale as she lay dying,

  • I promised her, that when I had proof of her daughter's wickedness,

  • I'd confront her with it.

  • It was a sacred promise, John. It must be done.

  • She'll never bear it, Mother.

  • She'll have to bear it if I speak in her dead mother's name.

  • Yes, well, aye, of course, you must go.

  • Only don't tell me any more about it. I can't bear to hear of it.

  • Be gentle with her, Mother.

  • - Gentle? - Aye.

  • I didn't promise gentleness.

  • You have a visitor, miss.

  • - A visitor? - Mrs Thornton.

  • Well, show her in. Show her in, will you?

  • DIXON: Come this way, ma'am.

  • Mrs Thornton to see Miss Hale.

  • How kind of you to call, Mrs Thornton. Please be seated.

  • Thank you.

  • I prefer not.

  • Miss Hale, I have a duty to perform.

  • It's one I find highly distasteful, but it must be done.

  • Oh?

  • In the normal course of events, the way of life you've chosen

  • would be of no interest to me.

  • But I gave your mother a solemn promise.

  • Don't mistake me, it was a solemn promise to a dying woman,

  • who suspected and feared for her daughter's nature.

  • I beg your pardon?

  • Your mother wasn't blind.

  • She could see, as we all can,

  • your unhappy inclinations towards immodesty.

  • Mrs Thornton, how dare you!

  • I'm sure you're aware

  • of the degrading public spectacle you're making of yourself.

  • I see.

  • I was seen on a railway station late at night,

  • my arms around a gentleman.

  • You confess it.

  • Can you think of no other circumstance,

  • knowing the harm you're dolng to a woman's character?

  • Can you not concelve of another explanation?

  • It is for you to justify yourself to me.

  • Oh, no, Mrs Thornton, you are wrong!

  • When innocence must justify itself,

  • then soclety becomes the slave of the evil-minded.

  • You are the accuser, Mrs Thornton. I hope you are sure of your grounds.

  • For I need not, nor will not justify myself.

  • Have you anything more to say?

  • No.

  • Then you must allow me to leave you.

North and South Part Three

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ノース&サウス(1975年)P3(ノース&サウス (Север и юг (1975) ч3 (North & South))

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    smileyayu に公開 2021 年 01 月 14 日
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