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(WOMAN SINGING OPERA)
Well...
I didn't think the Mingotts would have tried it on.
Parading her at the opera like that,
sitting her next to May Welland.
It's all very odd.
Well, she's had such an odd life.
Will they even bring her to the Beauforts' ball, do you suppose?
If they do, the talk will be of little else.
(SINGING CONTINUES)
NEWLAND: Good evening, Mrs Welland. Good evening, May.
Newland. You know my niece Countess Olenska.
Countess.
I hope you've told Madame Olenska.
What?
That we're engaged.
I want everybody to know.
Let me announce it this evening at the ball.
If you can persuade Mamma.
Why should we change what is already settled?
But you can tell my cousin yourself.
She remembers you. (SHUSHING)
I remember we played together.
How this brings it all back to me.
I remember everybody here the same way,
in knickerbockers and pantalettes. (LAUGHING)
(CLEARS THROAT)
You were horrid. You kissed me once behind a door.
But it was your cousin Vandie,
the one who never looked at me, I was in love with.
Yes, you have been away a very long time. Oh...
Centuries and centuries.
So long, I'm sure I'm dead and buried,
and this dear old place is heaven.
(BOTH SINGING)
NARRATOR: It invariably happened,
as everything happened in those days, in the same way.
As usual, Mrs Julius Beaufort appeared,
unaccompanied by her husband,
just before The Jewel Song.
And again, as usual, rose at the end
of the third act and disappeared.
New York then knew that a half hour later,
the Beauforts' AnnuaI Opera Ball would begin.
Carriages waited at the kerb for the entire performance.
It was widely known in New York, but never acknowledged,
that Americans want to get away from amusement,
even more quickly than they want to get to it.
The Beauforts' house was one of the few in New York
that possessed a ballroom.
Such a room, shuttered in darkness 364 days of the year,
was felt to compensate
for whatever was regrettable in the Beaufort past.
Regina Beaufort came from an old South Carolina family,
but her husband Julius, who passed for an Englishman,
was known to have dissipated habits,
a bitter tongue and mysterious antecedents.
His marriage assured him a sociaI position,
but not necessarily respect.
(LIVELY TUNE PLAYING)
Newland Archer had not stopped at his club,
as young men usually did,
but came directly to the Beauforts.
He wanted the announcement of his engagement
to divert gossip away from the Countess,
and show his most ardent support for May and her whole family.
The Beaufort house had been boldly planned.
Instead of squeezing through a narrow passage
to get to the ballroom, one marched solemnly
down a vista of enfiladed drawing rooms.
Good evening.
(CHATTERING)
But only by actually passing through the Crimson Drawing Room
could one see The Return of Spring,
the much-discussed nude by Bouguereau,
which Beaufort had had the audacity to hang in plain sight.
Good evening. Good evening, Mr Archer.
Archer enjoyed such challenges to convention.
He questioned conformity in private,
but in public he upheld family and tradition.
This was a world balanced so precariously
that its harmony could be shattered by a whisper.
On the whole, Archer was amused
by the smooth hypocrisies of his peers.
He may even have envied them.
Lawrence Lefferts, for instance,
was New York's foremost authority on form.
And his opinion on pumps versus patent-leather oxfords
had never been disputed.
On matters of surreptitious romance,
his skills went unquestioned.
Old Mr Sillerton Jackson was as great an authority on family
as Lawrence Lefferts was on form.
The mean and melancholy history
of Countess Olenska's European marriage
was a buried treasure he hastened to excavate.
He carried, like a calling card,
an entire register of the scandals and mysteries
that had smouldered under the unruffled surface
of society for the last 50 years.
Julius Beaufort's secret was the way he carried things off.
He could arrive casually at his own party,
as if he were another guest,
and might also leave early for a more modest,
but comforting address in the East 30s.
Beaufort was intrepid in his business,
but in his personaI affairs absolutely audacious.
Archer's fiancée was innocent to all of these intrigues and of much else.
May Welland represented for Archer all that was best in their world,
all that he honoured, and she anchored him to it.
You see, I've told all my friends, just as you've asked.
Yes, I couldn't wait. Only I wish it hadn't had to be at a ball.
But even here, we're alone together.
The worst of it is that I want to kiss you, and I can't.
Newland.
Did you tell Ellen as I asked you to?
No, I didn't have the chance after all.
She's my cousin, Newland. If others know before she does...
It's just that she's been away for so long. She's rather sensitive.
Of course I'll tell her, dearest, but I didn't see her yet.
She decided not to come at the last minute.
At the last minute?
She was afraid her dress wasn't smart enough.
We all thought it was so lovely,
but she asked my aunt to take her home.
Oh, well.
Very handsome. Very liberal.
In my time, a cameo set in pearls
was thought to be sufficient.
But it's the hand that sets off the ring, isn't it, my dear Mr Archer?
It's the new setting. It shows the stone beautifully.
But it looks a little bare to old-fashioned eyes.
I hope you don't mean mine, my dear.
I like all the novelties.
My hands were modelled in Paris by the great Roche.
He should do May's.
Show me, child.
Her hand is so tempered.
It's these modern sports that spread the joints. But the skin is white.
And when's the wedding to be? Oh...
As soon as ever it can, if only you'll back me up, Mrs Mingott.
We must give them time to get to know each other a little better, Mamma.
Know each other? Everybody in New York has always known everybody.
Don't wait till the bubble's off the wine.
Marry them before Lent.
I may catch pneumonia any winter now,
and I want to give the wedding breakfast.
Oh, what a kind offer.
NARRATOR: Even ifshe had not been grandmother to May,
Mrs Manson Mingott would still have been the first
to receive the required betrothaI visit.
She was not only the matriarch of this world,
she was nearly its dowager empress.
Much of New York was already related to her,
and she knew the remainder by marriage or by reputation.
Though brownstone was the norm,
she lived magisterially within a large house
of controversial pale cream-coloured stone
in an inaccessible wilderness near the Central Park.
The burden of her flesh had long since made it impossible
for her to go up and down stairs.
So with characteristic independence,
she had established herself on the ground floor of her house.
From her sitting room, there was
an unexpected vista of her bedroom.
Her visitors were startled and fascinated
by the foreignness of this arrangement,
which recalled scenes in French fiction.
This was how women with lovers lived in the wicked old societies.
But if Mrs Mingott had wanted a lover,
the intrepid woman would have had him, too.
For now she was content simply for life and passion
to flow northward to her door
and to anticipate eagerly the union of Newland Archer
with her granddaughter, May.
In them, two of New York's best families
would finally and momentously be joined.
Bye, Mamma. Good-bye.
Ellen! Ladies.
Aunt Tessa, May. Archer.
Beaufort, this is a rare favour.
Unnecessarily rare, I'd say. (GREETS IN FRENCH)
I met Countess Ellen in Madison Square,
and she was good enough to let me walk home with her.
This house will be merrier now that she's here.
Thank you. Beaufort, pull up that tuffet.
This one? I want a good gossip.
Of course, you already know about May and me.
She scolded me for not telling you at the opera.
Of course I know, and I'm so glad.
One doesn't tell such news first in a crowd.
Oh! Careful there. Don't let your ring catch on your sleeve.
Good-bye, Ellen. Good-bye. Good-bye.
Good-bye.
Come and see me someday.
It's a mistake for Ellen to be seen parading up
Fifth Avenue with Julius Beaufort,
at the crowded hour, the very day after her arrival.
His behaviour is always so flagrant.
Even his wife must know about Annie Ring.
NARRATOR: Sillerton Jackson enjoyed his frequent visits
to the Archer home more than the actuaI dining. (INAUDIBLE)
Newland Archer's mother and his sister Janey were both shy women
and shrank from society, but they like
to be well-informed of its doings
and doted on their bachelor friend.
Certain nuances escape Beaufort.
Oh, necessarily. Beaufort is a vulgar man.
Nevertheless, no business nuances escape him.
Most of New York trusts him with its affairs.
My grandfather Newland always used to say to Mother,
"Don't let that fellow Beaufort be introduced to the girls. "
(CHUCKLING)
At least he's had the advantage of association with gentlemen.
NARRATOR: The Archers and the Mingotts were two of the sturdiest branches
of New York's tangled family tree.
Granny Mingott's family could embrace May's traditionalism
and tolerate Ellen's unconventionality.
But Archer's family held fast to the old ways.
His mother and sister relied on him for every security.
He would always be, Mrs Archer assured May's mother,
their "strong right hand. "
And our new cousin, was she at the ball, too?
I appreciate the Mingotts wanting to support her,
to have her at the opera.
I admire their esprit de corps.
But why my son's engagement
should be mixed up with this woman's comings and goings,
I don't see.
Well, in any case, she was not at the ball.
At least she had that decency.
Sir?
Oh, no.
JANEY: I wonder if she wears a round hat or a bonnet in the afternoon.
The dress she wore to the opera was so plain and flat.
I'm sure it was in better taste not to go to the ball.
It don't think it was a question of taste, Mother.
May said the Countess decided her dress wasn't smart enough.
Poor Ellen.
We must always remember the eccentric bringing-up she had.
What can you expect of a girl
who was allowed to wear black satin at her coming out ball?
(CHUCKLING)
It's odd she should've kept such an ugly name as Ellen
when she married the Count.
I should have changed it to Elaine.
Why?
I don't know. It sounds more Polish.
It certainly sounds more conspicuous,
and that can hardly be what she wishes.
NEWLAND: Why not? Why shouldn't she be conspicuous if she chooses?
She made an awful marriage. But should she
hide her head as if it's her fault?
Should she go slinking around as if she disgraced herself?
She's had an unhappy life. That doesn't make her an outcast.
I'm sure that's the line the Mingotts mean to take.
I don't have to wait for their cue if that's what you mean, sir.
I'm told she's looking for a house.
She intends to live here.
I hear she means to get a divorce.
I hope she will.
SILLERTON: Understandably her marriage was intolerable.
But there are the rumours, too.
I've heard them. The secretary.
He helped get her away from the husband.
They say the Count kept her practically a prisoner.
Certainly the Count had his own way of life.
You knew him?
I heard of him at Nice.
Handsome, they say, but, um...
Eyes with a lot of lashes.
When he wasn't with women, he was collecting china.
Paying any price for both, I understand.
Then where's the blame?
Anyone of us under the same circumstances
would have helped the Countess,
just as the secretary did.
He was still helping her a year later then,
because somebody met them living together at Lausanne.
Living together?
Well, why not?
Who has the right to make her life over if she hasn't?
Why should we bury a woman alive
if her husband prefers to live with whores?
Oh, it's hardly a question of entombment.
The Countess is here after all.
Or do you believe
a woman should share the same freedoms as men?
I suppose I do. Yes, I do.
Well, apparently Count Olenski takes a similarly modern view.
I never heard of him lifting a finger to get his wife back.
NARRATOR: Three days later, the unthinkable happened.
Mrs Manson Mingott sent out invitations
summoning everyone to a formal dinner.
Such an occasion demanded the most careful consideration.
It required the appropriated plate.
It called for three extra footmen,
two dishes for each course
and a Roman punch in the middle.
The dinner, New York read on the invitation,
was "to meet the Countess Olenska. "
And New York declined.
MRS ARCHER: "Regret unable to accept. "
And from some of our own family.
No one cares enough even to conceal their feelings about the Countess.
This is a disgrace.
They all lived in a kind of hieroglyphic world.
The reaI thing was never said or done or even thought,
but only represented by a set of arbitrary signs.
Archer knew these signs.
They were not subtle and were not meant to be.
They were more than a simple snubbing.
They were an eradication.
There was a single court of appeaI.
He would plead their case before the van der Luydens.
And all this, you think, is due to some intentional interference by...
Larry Lefferts. Yes, sir, I'm certain of it.
The van der Luydens dwelled above the city's families
in a kind of super-terrestriaI twilight.
Archer appealed to their exquisitely refined sense of tribal order.
And he spoke plainly.
Whenever poor Gertrude Lefferts begins
to suspect her husband of something,
Larry starts making some great diversionary fuss to show how moral he is.
Well, it's the principle that I dislike.
I mean to say, if a member of a well-known family
is backed by that family,
it should be considered final.
We all felt this slight on the Countess should
not pass without our consulting you.
So, we are giving a little dinner
for our cousin, the Duke of St Austrey,
who arrives next week on the Russia.
I'm sure Louisa will be as glad as I am,
if Countess Olenska will let us include her among our guests.
The occasion was a solemn one,
but the Countess Olenska arrived rather late,
signalling a carelessness of which she was entirely unaware.
She entered without haste or embarrassment
the drawing room in which New York's most chosen company
was somewhat awfully assembled.
Ah, Countess Olenska.
Good evening.
We're delighted you're here. Good evening.
The Duke of St Austrey, may I present Countess Olenska.
(GREETS IN FRENCH)
The Trevenna George ll plate was out.
So was the van der Luyden Lowestoft from the East India Company.
And the Dagonet Crown Derby.
Dining with the van der Luydens was at best no light matter.
Dining there with a duke who was their cousin
was almost a religious solemnity.
When the van der Luydens chose,
they knew how to give a lesson.
Excuse me.
It was not the custom in New York drawing rooms
for a lady to get up and walk away from one gentleman
in order to seek the company of another,
but the Countess did not observe this rule.
I want you to talk to me about May.
You knew the Duke before?
From Nice. We used to see him every winter.
He's very fond of gambling,
and he used to come to our house a great deal.
He likes to wear the same suit every evening.
He thinks it brings him luck.
I think he's the dullest man I ever met.
But he... He seems to be admired here.
May I tell you what most interests me about New York?
Not all the blind obeying of tradition, somebody else's tradition.
It seems stupid to have discovered America
only to make it a copy of another country.
Do you suppose Christopher Columbus
would have taken all that trouble
just to go to the opera with Larry Lefferts?
Well, I think if he'd suspected that Lefferts were here,
the Santa Maria might never have left port.
And May, does she share these views?
Oh, if she does, she'd never say so.
Are you very much in love with her?
As much as a man can be.
Do you think there's a limit?
If there is, I haven't found it. Oh. C'est bon.
It's really and truly a romance then,
not in the least arranged.
Have you forgotten? In our country we don't allow
our marriages to be arranged.
Yes, I forgot. I'm sorry.
(STAMMERING) I sometimes make these mistakes.
I don't always remember that everything here is good that was...
That was bad where I came from.
I'm so sorry. No.
But you know you are among friends here.
Yes, I know. That's why I came home.
(SOFT MUSIC PLAYING)
Good evening, Louisa.
MAN: May I present May Welland.
You'll want to be with May.
I'm so pleased to meet you.
She's already surrounded. I have so many rivals.
Yes. (SIGHS)
Then stay with me a little longer.
Yes.
Mr Urban Dagonet, may I present the Countess Olenska.
How do you do, my dear?
How do you do?
Tomorrow then, after 5:00 I'll expect you.
Tomorrow.
Excuse me.
It was good of you to devote yourself to Madame Olenska
so unselfishly, dear Newland.
I told Henry he really must rescue you.
I think I've never seen May looking lovelier.
The Duke thinks her the handsomest woman in the room.
(DOOR OPENS)
(CHATTERING)
It was my pleasure. (DOOR CLOSES)
Mr Archer.
So how do you like this odd little house?
To me, it's like heaven.
You've arranged it delightfully.
Yes.
Some of the things I managed to bring with me.
Little pieces of wreckage.
At least it's less gloomy than the van der Luydens',
and not so difficult to be alone.
I am sure it's often thought the van der Luydens' is gloomy,
though I've never heard it said before.
But tell me, do you really like to be alone?
As long as my friends keep me from being lonely.
I see you've already chosen your corner.
Yes.
Please, sit. Thank you.
This is the hour I like best.
Don't you?
I was afraid you'd forgotten the hour.
I am sure Beaufort can be very intriguing.
He took me to see some houses. I'm told I must move.
Even though this street seems perfectly respectable.
Yes, but it's not fashionable.
Fashionable?
Is fashion such a serious consideration?
Among people who have nothing more serious to consider.
Perhaps I've been too independent.
All I really want is to feel cared for and safe.
Thank you. The van der Luydens do nothing by halves.
All New York laid itself out for you last night.
It was so kind. Such a nice party.
Cream or lemon?
Um...
Lemon, please.
The van der Luydens are the most powerful influence in New York society.
They very seldom receive because of Cousin Louisa's health.
Perhaps that's the reason then.
Thank you. "The reason"?
For their influence. They make themselves so rare.
But, of course, you must tell me.
No, it's you telling me.
Thank you. Then we can both help each other.
But I need help so much more.
There are so many people all ready to tell you what to do.
I think they're all a little angry with me for setting up for myself.
Still your family can advise you, show you the way.
Is New York such a labyrinth?
I thought it was all straight up and down, like Fifth Avenue.
All the cross streets numbered,
and big, honest labels on everything.
Everything is labelled, but everybody is not.
Then I must count on you for warnings, too.
All the older women like and admire you. They want to help.
I know. I know, as long as they don't hear anything unpleasant.
Does no one here want to know the truth, Mr Archer?
The real loneliness is living among all these kind people
who only ask you to pretend.
No, no, you mustn't.
Madame Olenska.
Ellen.
Does no one cry here either?
I suppose there's no need to.
MAN: Oh, Mr Archer, good evening.
We didn't see you this morning
and we weren't sure whether to send Miss Welland the usual...
Lilies-of-the-valley. Yes, I think we better make that a standing order.
Very good, sir.
And those yellow roses. I'll give you another address.
Very good.
George!
Mr Archer, two separate orders.
They'll go at once?
At once, sir.
MAY: It's wonderful to wake every morning
with lilies-of-the-valley in my room.
It's like being with you.
They came late yesterday, I know.
Somehow the time got away from me.
But still you always remember.
I sent some roses to your Cousin Ellen, too. Was that right?
Very right. She didn't mention it at lunch today though.
She said she got some wonderful orchids from Mr Beaufort,
and a whole hamper of carnations
from Cousin Henry van der Luyden.
She was so very delighted.
Don't people send flowers in Europe? (SQUAWKING)
I know you do consider it a long time.
Very long.
But the Chiverses were engaged for a year and a half.
Larry Lefferts and Gertrude were engaged for two.
I'm sure Mamma expects something customary.
Ever since you were little, your parents let you have your way.
You're almost 22. Just tell your mother what you want.
I couldn't refuse her the very last thing
she'd ask of me as a little girl.
Can't we just strike out for ourselves, May?
Shall we elope?
Well, if you would, why not?
You do love me, Newland. I'm so happy.
Well, why not be happier?
I couldn't be happier, dearest.
Did I tell you I showed Ellen the ring?
She thought it was the most beautiful setting she ever saw.
She said there was nothing like it in the Rue de la Paix.
I do love you, Newland.
Everything you do is so special.
MR LETTERBLAIR: I want to call on your legaI skills for a rather delicate matter.
Countess Olenska wants to sue her husband for divorce.
It's been suggested she means to marry again, although she denies it.
Because of... I beg your pardon, sir, but because of my engagement,
perhaps one of the other members of the firm could consider this matter.
But precisely because of your prospective alliance,
and considering that several members
of the family have already asked for you,
I'd like you to consider the case.
It's a family matter. Perhaps it's best settled by the family.
Their position is clear.
They're entirely and rightly against a divorce.
But Countess Olenska still insists on a legal opinion.
But really, what's the use of a divorce?
She's here. He's there.
The whole Atlantic's between them.
As things go, Olenski's acted generously.
He's already returned some of the money without being asked.
She'll never get a dollar more than that.
Although I understand she attaches no importance to the money.
Considering all that, the wisest thing really, is to do as the family say.
Just let well enough alone.
I think that's for her to decide.
Have you considered the consequences
if the Countess decides for divorce?
The consequences for the Countess?
For everyone.
I don't think the Count's accusations amount
to anything more than vague charges.
It will make for some talk.
Well, I have heard talk about the Countess and the secretary.
I heard it even before I read the legal papers.
It's certain to be unpleasant.
Unpleasant?
Divorce is always unpleasant. Don't you agree?
Naturally.
Then I can count on you?
The family can count on you.
You will use your influence against a divorce?
I can't promise that, not until I've talked to the Countess.
I don't understand you, Mr Archer.
You want to marry into a family
with a scandalous divorce suit hanging over it?
I don't think that has anything to do with the case.
Can someone take this for me to the Countess, please?
Thank you.
MAN: You refuse such an invitation on threat of death.
ELLEN: Is it so bad?
MAN: Not if you have a taste for slow agony.
ELLEN: That's something I've neglected to cultivate.
MAN: Three days at Skuytercliff with the van der Luydens.
I think you better take your fur and a hot water bottle.
Is the house that cold?
No, but Louisa is.
Mr Archer.
Join me at Delmonico's on Sunday instead.
I'm having a nice oyster supper in your honour.
Private room, congenial company. Artists and so on.
That's very tempting. I haven't met
a single artist since I've been here.
I know one or two painters I could bring to see you if you'd allow me.
Painters? Are there any painters in New York?
Thank you, but I was really thinking of singers,
actors, musicians, dramatic artists.
There were always so many at my husband's house.
May I write tomorrow and let you know?
It's too late to decide this evening.
Is this late? Yes.
Because I still have to talk business with Mr Archer.
Ah.
Of course, Newland, if you can persuade the Countess
to change her mind about Sunday, you can join us, too.
You know painters then? You live in their milieu?
Not exactly.
But you care about such things?
Immensely. When I'm in Paris or London, I never miss an exhibition.
I try to keep up.
I used to care immensely, too.
My life was full of such things,
but now I want to cast off all my old life to become a complete American
and try to be like everybody else.
I don't think you'll ever quite be like everybody else.
Don't say that to me, please.
I just want to put all the old things behind me.
I know.
Mr Letterblair told me.
Mr Letterblair?
Yes, I've... I've come because he asked me to. I'm in the firm.
You mean it'll be you who'll manage everything for me?
I can talk to you. That's so much easier.
Yes, I'm here to talk about it.
I've read all the legal papers.
And the letter from the Count.
It was vile.
But if he chooses to fight the case,
he can say things that might be...
Uh...
That might be disagreeable to you.
And say them publicly, so that they could be damaging even if...
If?
Even if they were unfounded.
What harm could accusations like that do me here?
Perhaps more harm than anywhere else.
Our legislation favours divorce, but our social customs don't.
Never?
Well, not if the woman
has appearances in the least degree against her,
has exposed herself by any unconventional behaviour,
to offensive insinuations and...
Yes, so my family tell me.
Our family. You'll be my cousin soon.
And you agree with them?
What could you possibly gain that would make up for the scandal?
My freedom.
But aren't you free already?
It's my business to help you see these things just the way
the people who are fondest of you see them,
all your friends and relations.
If I didn't show you honestly how they judge such matters,
it wouldn't be fair of me, would it?
No, it wouldn't be fair.
Very well. I'll...
Do as you wish.
I...
I do want to help you.
You do help me.
Good night, cousin.
MAN: For mercy's sake, don't cry so bitterly.
Forget what I've done.
WOMAN: On one condition.
I accept it, whatever it may be.
Never speak a word of love to me again!
Never!
On my honour.
Heaven bless you.
Farewell.
(SOBBING)
It's fascinating. Every season, the same play,
the same scene, the same effect on the audience.
Remarkable, isn't it, Newland?
I'm enjoying it even more than the London production.
You see this play even when you travel?
I travel to get away from it.
So was it a dinner?
It was a reception at Mrs Struthers'
given on the Lord's Day but with champagne
and singing from the table tops.
People say there was dancing.
It was a real French Sunday then?
Well, dissipation can be wonderfully energising in the early stages...
Do you think her lover will send her
a box of yellow roses tomorrow morning?
I...
I was thinking about that, too.
The farewell scene.
Yes, I know.
It touches me as well.
I usually leave the theatre after that scene
to take the picture away with me.
I had a letter from May from St Augustine.
They always spend the winter there,
on account of her mother's bronchitis.
And what do you do while May is away?
I do my work.
I do want you to know what you advised me was right.
Things can be so difficult sometimes, and I'm so grateful.
NARRATOR: The next day Newland Archer searched the city in vain
for yellow roses.
From his office, he sent a note to Madame Olenska
asking to call that afternoon,
and requesting reply by messenger.
There was no reply that day or the next.
And when yellow roses were again available, Archer passed them by.
It was only on the third day that he heard from her by post,
from the van der Luydens' country home.
"Newland, I ran away the day after I saw you at the play,
"and these kind friends have taken me in.
"I wanted to be quiet and think things over.
"I feel so safe here. I wish that you were with us.
"Yours sincerely. "
He had received an invitation from the Lefferts
for a weekend on the Hudson, and he hoped it was not too late to reply.
Their house was not far from the van der Luydens'.
I came to see what you were running away from.
I knew you'd come.
That shows you wanted me to.
Cousin May wrote. She asked you to take care of me.
I didn't need to be asked.
Why?
Does that mean I'm so helpless and defenceless?
Or that women here are so blessed, they never feel need?
What sort of need?
Oh, please don't ask me.
I don't speak your language.
Henry left the old Patroon house open for me. I want you to see it.
When you wrote me, you were unhappy.
Yes, but I can't feel unhappy when you're here.
I shan't be here long.
I know.
Ellen, if you really wanted me to come,
if I'm really to help you,
you must tell me what you're running from.
Is he what you were running from?
Or what you expected? I didn't know he was here.
Hello, Beaufort. This way.
Madame Olenska was expecting you.
Hello.
Well, you've certainly led me on a bit of a chase.
(CHUCKLES)
All this way just to tell you I'd found the perfect little house for you.
Oh.
It's not on the market yet, so you must take it at once.
Well, Archer, rusticating?
NARRATOR: That night he did not take the customary comfort
in his monthly shipment of books from London.
The taste of the usual was like cinders in his mouth.
And there were moments when he felt
as if he were being buried alive under his future.
"Newland, come late tomorrow. I must explain to you.
"Ellen. "
Newland. Has anything happened?
Yes. I found I had to see you.
What is it? Nothing.
So tell me what you do all day.
Well, uh, there are a few very pleasant people
from Philadelphia and Baltimore who are picnicking at the inn,
and the Merrys are setting up a lawn tennis court,
but nobody here's really heard of the game yet.
I have my racket, of course,
and so does Kate Merry, but she's had this terrible case of bronchitis.
She's still not quite got over it yet, so...
But I thought... I came here because I thought
I could persuade you to break away from all that,
to advance our engagement.
Don't you understand how much I want to marry you?
Why should we dream away another year?
I'm not sure I do understand, Newland.
Is it because you're not certain
of feeling the same way about me?
What on earth do you mean?
Is there someone else?
Someone else?
Between you and me?
Let's talk frankly, Newland.
I've felt a difference in you, especially since our engagement.
Since our engagement?
If it's untrue, then it won't hurt to talk about it.
And if it is true, then why shouldn't we talk about it now?
I mean, you might have made a mistake.
If I'd made some sort of a mistake, would I be down here,
asking you to hurry our marriage?
I don't know. You might.
It would be one way to settle the question.
In Newport, two years ago,
before we were promised,
everyone said there was someone else for you.
I even saw you with her once,
sitting together on a veranda at a dance.
When she came into the house, her face looked so sad.
I felt sorry for her, and even after, when we were engaged,
I could still see how she looked and...
Is that... Is that all you've been concerned about?
It's long passed.
Then is there something else?
No. Of course not.
Whatever it may have been, Newland, I can't have my happiness
made out of a wrong to somebody else.
If promises were made, or if you feel
in some way pledged to this person,
even if it means her getting a divorce,
then, Newland, don't give her up because of me.
There are no pledges.
There are no promises that matter.
That's all I've been trying to say.
There is no one between us. There is nothing between us, May.
Which is precisely my argument for getting married.
Quickly.
NARRATOR: He could feeI her dropping back to inexpressive girlishness.
Her conscience had been eased of its burden.
It was wonderfuI, he thought, how such depths of feeling
could coexist with such an absence of imagination.
Mmm-hmm.
And did you succeed? NEWLAND: No.
No, I'd still like to be married in April, with your help.
Now you're seeing the Mingott way.
Is this really so difficult?
The entire family is difficult.
Not one of them wants to be different.
When they are different, they end up like Ellen's parents.
Nomads, continental wanderers.
Dragging Ellen about,
lavishing on her an expensive, but incoherent education.
Out of all of them, I don't believe there's one
that takes after me but my little Ellen.
You've got a quick eye.
Why in the world didn't you marry her?
Well, for one thing, she wasn't there to be married.
(LAUGHS) No, to be sure.
And she's still not. The Count, you know.
He's written to Mr Letterblair.
He wants her back, on her own terms.
The Count doesn't defend himself, I will say that.
And Ellen will be losing a great deal if she stayed here.
There's her old life,
gardens at Nice, jewels, of course, music and conversation.
She says she goes unnoticed in Europe,
but I know her portrait's been painted nine times.
All this, and the remorse of a guilty husband.
I'd rather see her dead.
Would you really?
We should remember marriage is marriage, and Ellen is still a wife.
(DOOR OPENS)
Ellen! See who's here!
Yes, I know. I...
I went to see your mother to ask where you've gone.
Since you never answered my note, I was afraid you might be ill.
Well, he was in such a rush to get married, that's why.
Fresh off the train, and straight here.
He wants me to use all my influence
just to marry his sweetheart sooner.
Well, surely, Granny, between us,
we can persuade the Wellands to do as he wishes.
There, Newland, you see? Right to the quick of the problem, like me.
I told him he should have married you.
And what did he say?
Oh, my darling, I leave you to find that out.
I wish I didn't have to leave.
I shall see you very soon, I hope.
Fine.
I'll see you out.
When can I see you?
(THUDDING)
ELLEN: The Struthers are sending the carriage at 7:00.
(SPEAKING ITALIAN)
Good evening.
Who's ridiculous enough to send me a bouquet?
I'm not going to a ball, and I'm not engaged.
Nastasia!
Some people are always ridiculous.
Take these to that nice family down the street.
(SPEAKING ITALIAN)
(DOOR OPENS AND CLOSES)
Well, I'll tell you, in almost everything she says,
there's something true and something untrue.
Why? What has Granny been telling you?
I think she believes you might go back to your husband.
I think she believes you might at least consider it.
A lot of things have been believed of me.
But if she thinks I would consider it,
that also means she would consider it for me,
as Granny is weighing your idea of advancing the marriage.
May and I had a frank talk in Florida.
It's probably our first.
She wants a long engagement, to give me time.
Time for what?
She thinks I want to marry her at once...
To get away from someone that I care for
more.
Time to give her up for another woman?
If I want to.
That's very noble.
Yes.
But it's ridiculous.
Why?
Because there is no other woman?
No. Because I don't mean to marry anyone else.
This other woman, does she love you too?
There is no other woman! The person May was thinking of was never...
(BELL DINGING)
(CHATTERING)
That must be your carriage.
Yes, I...
I suppose I should be leaving soon.
To Mrs Struthers'?
Yes. I must go where I'm invited, or I should be too lonely.
Why not come with me?
May guessed the truth.
There is another woman.
Only, not the one she thinks.
Don't make love to me, too many people have done that.
I've never made love to you.
But you are the woman I would've married
if it had been possible for either of us.
You can say that when you're the one who's made it impossible?
I've made it? Isn't it you who made me give up divorcing?
Didn't you talk to me here, in this house,
about sacrifice and sparing scandal?
And for May's sake, and for yours, I did what you asked me!
There were things in your husband's letter...
I had nothing to fear from that letter, absolutely nothing.
I was just afraid of scandal for the family and you and May.
Ellen.
Nothing's...
Nothing's done that can't be undone.
I'm still free.
You can be, too.
Please, Ellen.
Lord, can I marry May now? Do you see me marrying May now?
I don't see you putting that question to May, do you?
But I have to. It's too late to do anything else.
You say that because it's the easiest thing to say at this moment,
not because it's true.
I don't understand you.
You don't understand because you don't yet realise
how you've changed things for me.
You don't know all that you've done.
All I've done?
All the good things you've done for me, Newland, that I never knew.
Going to the van der Luydens' because people refused to meet me.
Announcing your engagement at the ball so there would be
two families standing behind me instead of one.
I never understood how dreadful people thought I was.
Granny blurted it out one day.
I was stupid. I never thought...
New York meant freedom to me.
Everyone seemed so kind, and glad to see me.
But they never knew what it meant to be tempted,
but you did, you understood.
I'd never known that before.
And it's better than anything I've known.
Newland, you couldn't be happy if it meant being cruel.
If we act any other way,
I'll be making you act against what I love in you most.
And I can't go back to that way of thinking.
Don't you see? I can't love you, unless I give you up.
"Ellen, Granny's telegram was successful.
"Grandma and Mamma agreed to marriage after Easter, only a month.
"I will telegraph Newland. I'm too happy for words, and love you dearly.
"Your grateful cousin, May. "
NARRATOR: There had been wild rumours right up to the wedding day
that Mrs Mingott would actually attend the ceremony.
It was known that she had sent a carpenter to measure the front pew,
in case it might be altered to accommodate her.
But this idea, like the great lady herself, proved to be unwieldy,
and she settled for giving the wedding-breakfast.
The Countess Olenska sent her regrets.
She was travelling with an aunt.
But gave the bride and groom an exquisite piece of old lace.
Two elderly aunts in Rhinebeck offered a honeymoon cottage.
And, since it was thought very English
to have a country house on loan,
their offer was accepted.
When the house proved suddenly uninhabitable, however,
Henry van der Luyden stepped in to offer an old cottage
on his property nearby.
May accepted the offer as a surprise for her husband.
She'd never seen the house,
but her cousin, Ellen, had mentioned it once.
She had said it was the only house in America
where she could imagine being perfectly happy.
They travelled to the expected places, which May had never seen.
In London, Archer ordered his clothes.
And they went to the National Gallery, and sometimes to the theatre.
I hope I don't look ridiculous.
I've never dined out in London.
English women dress just like everybody else in the evening, don't they?
How can you say that when they're always at the theatre
in old ball dresses and bare heads?
Well, maybe they save their new dresses for home.
Then I shouldn't have worn this.
No, you look very fine.
Really quite beautiful.
NARRATOR: In Paris, she ordered her clothes.
There were trunks of dresses from Worth.
They visited the Tuileries.
May's hands were modelled in marble at Roche's studio.
And occasionally, they dined out.
(CHATTERING)
But tell me. You were saying that you were
actually advised here by Maupassant?
Yes. Unfortunately, I was advised not to write.
(CHUCKLES)
Archer embraced his new marriage,
even as he reverted to his old inherited ideas about matrimony.
It was less trouble to conform with tradition.
There was no use trying to emancipate a wife
who hadn't the dimmest notion that she was not free.
When we were in London,
we could only manage one day at the National.
We were taken up by a Mrs Carfry and Mrs Harle...
We had an awfully good talk. He's an interesting fellow.
We talked about books, and many different things.
I thought I'd invite him to dinner.
The Frenchman? Yes.
I didn't have much chance to talk to him,
but wasn't he a little common?
Common?
I thought he was clever.
I suppose I shouldn't have known if he was clever.
Then, I won't ask him to dine.
With a chill, he knew that in future,
many problems would be solved for him in this same way.
The first six months of marriage
were usually said to be the hardest.
And after that, he thought, they would have
pretty nearly finished polishing down all the rough edges.
But May's pressure was already wearing down
the very roughness he most wanted to keep.
As for the madness with Madame Olenska,
Archer trained himself to remember it
as the last of his discarded experiments.
She remained in his memory simply as the most plaintive,
and poignant of a line of ghosts.
(APPLAUSE)
She's very deft.
Yes, well, that's the only kind of target she'll ever hit.
(APPLAUSE)
No one could ever be jealous of May's triumphs.
She managed to give the feeling that she would have been
just as serene without them.
But what if all her calm, her niceness
were just a negation,
a curtain dropped in front of an emptiness?
Archer felt he had never yet lifted that curtain.
MRS MINGOTT: Quite stunning, isn't it?
It's Julius Beaufort who donates the club's prizes, isn't it?
This looks like him, of course.
It will make quite an heirloom, my dear.
You should leave it to your eldest daughter.
What's the matter? Aren't there going
to be any daughters? Only sons? (LAUGHS)
What, can't I say that either?
Look at her blushing.
Ellen! Ellen, are you upstairs?
She's over from Portsmouth, spending the day with me.
It's such a nuisance. She just won't stay in Newport.
Insists on putting up with those... What's their names? Blenkers.
But I gave up arguing with young people 50 years ago. Ellen!
I'm sorry, ma'am. Miss Ellen's not in the house.
MRS MINGOTT: She's left?
MAID: I saw her going down the shore path.
Run down and fetch her like a good grandson.
May and I will have a gossip about Julius Beaufort.
Go ahead. I know she'll want to see you both.
Is it true Beaufort has given Annie Ring a diamond bracelet?
I hear he even plans to bring her to Newport.
NARRATOR: He had heard her name often enough
during the year and a half since they had last met.
He was even familiar with the main incidents of her life.
But he heard all these accounts with detachment,
as if listening to reminiscences of someone long-dead.
But the past had come again into the present,
as in those newly-discovered caverns in Tuscany,
where children had lit bunches of straw,
and seen old images staring from the wall.
He gave himself a single chance.
She must turn before the sailboat crosses the lime rock light.
Then, he would go to her.
I'm sorry you didn't find her, but I've heard she's so changed.
Changed?
So indifferent to her old friends,
summering in Portsmouth, moving to Washington.
Sometimes, I think we've always bored her.
I wonder if she wouldn't be happier with her husband after all.
I don't think I've ever heard you be cruel before.
Cruel?
Even demons don't think people are happier in Hell.
Then she shouldn't have married abroad.
Here, let me. Go on. Walk on.
The Blenkers? A party for the Blenkers?
Who are they?
The Portsmouth people, I think.
The ones Countess Olenska is staying with.
"Professor and Mrs Emerson Sillerton
"request the pleasure Wednesday afternoon,
"At 3:00 o'clock, punctually to meet Mrs and the Misses Blenker.
"Red gables, Catherine Street. "
I don't think we can decline.
I don't see why, really. He's an archaeologist.
And he's Sillerton Jackson's cousin.
Of course.
Some of us will have to go.
I'll go over. And, Janey, why don't you come with me?
I'm sure Cousin Ellen will be there.
It will give you a chance to see her.
Newland, you can find a way to spend your afternoon, can't you?
Oh, I think for a change, I'll just save it instead of spending it.
Maybe I'll drive to the farm to see about a new horse for the brougham.
Well, at least the Jacksons didn't choose
the day of the Cup Race for their party.
Of course, I shouldn't be surprised if they had.
(RUSTLING)
GIRL: Hello?
I'm sorry. Did you ring? I've been asleep in the hammock.
Well, I didn't mean to disturb you.
Are you Miss Blenker? I'm Newland Archer.
Oh, yes. I've heard so much about you.
I came to the island to look for a new horse.
I thought I'd call, but the house seems to be empty.
It is empty. They're all at the party.
Everyone's there, but me with my fever, and Countess Olenska.
Oh, you found my parasol.
It's my best one. It's from the Cameroons.
Well, it's very pretty.
The Countess was called away?
Yes. A telegram came from Boston.
She said she might be gone for two days.
I do love the way she does her hair, don't you?
It reminds me of Sir Walter Scott.
You don't know... I'm sorry, but I have to be in Boston tomorrow.
You wouldn't happen to know where she was staying?
(READING)
Oh.
Ellen.
I'm here on business. I just got here, actually.
You're doing your hair differently.
Only because my maid's not with me.
She stayed back in Portsmouth.
I'm here only for two days. It didn't seem worthwhile.
You are travelling alone?
Yes.
Why? Do you think it's a little dangerous?
Well, it's unconventional.
Yes, I suppose it is.
I've just done something so much more unconventional.
I refused to take back money that belonged to me.
Someone came with an offer?
What were the conditions?
I refused.
Tell me the conditions. Nothing unbearable, really.
Just to sit at the head of his table now and then.
And he wants you back at any price?
Well, it's a considerable price.
At least, it's considerable for me.
So, you came to see him?
My husband? Here? No, of course not.
No. He sent someone.
His secretary?
Yes.
He's still here, in fact.
He insisted on waiting, in case I changed my mind.
You haven't changed, Newland.
I had changed until I saw you again.
Please don't.
Just give me the day. I'll say anything you like, or nothing.
I won't speak unless you tell me to.
All I want is some time with you.
I want to get you away from that man. Is he coming to hotel?
At 11:00... Well, let's go now.
I'll have to leave a note at the hotel.
Write on this. I have the paper.
You see how everything is predestined?
And these? Have you seen these? The new stylographic pen.
It's just like...
It's like jerking down the mercury in a thermometer. Now.
Try that.
It's not working.
That should do it.
Shall I take it in? I'll be only a moment.
Why didn't you come down to the beach
to get me the day I was at Granny's?
Because you didn't turn around. I swore...
I swore I wouldn't call you unless you turned around.
But I didn't look around on purpose.
You knew?
I recognised the carriage when you drove in.
So, I went to the beach.
To get as far away from me as you could.
As I could, yes.
Well, you see, it's no use. It's better if we face each other.
I only want to be honest with you.
Honest? Isn't that why you always admired Julius Beaufort?
He was more honest than the rest of us, wasn't he?
We've no character. No colour, no variety.
I don't know why you don't just go back to Europe.
I believe that's because of you.
Me? I'm the man who married one woman
because another one told him to.
You promised not to say such things today.
I can't keep that promise.
What about May? What about how May feels?
If you're using my marriage as some victory of ours,
then there's really no reason on earth why you shouldn't go back.
You gave me my first glimpse of a real life.
And then you told me to carry on with a false one.
No one can endure that.
I'm enduring it.
What's the use? I know you'll go back.
I won't. Not yet.
Not as long as we both can stand it.
This is not a life for you.
It is, as long as it's part of yours.
You won't go back?
I won't go back.
NARRATOR: He would see her again.
At the theatre, or a reception.
Perhaps he might be seated next to her.
Perhaps they might have another time alone, somewhere.
But he could not live without seeing her.
* But I also dreamt
* Which charmed me most
* That you loved me still the same
* That you loved me
* You loved me still the same
* That you loved me
* You loved me still the same
* The same *
Mr Archer, I think.
Yes.
My name is Rivière.
I dined with you in Paris last year.
Oh, yes. I'm sorry. I didn't quite recall.
Quite all right. I had the advantage. I saw you in Boston yesterday.
I came here on Count Olenski's behalf.
Because I believed in all good faith that she should return to him.
Forgive me.
Forgive me, monsieur,
but I really don't understand your purpose
in coming to see me.
She's changed, monsieur.
You knew her before?
I used to see her at her husband's house, yes.
Well, the count would not have entrusted my mission to a stranger.
This change that you mentioned.
It may only have been my seeing her for the first time,
as she is, as an American.
She made her marriage in good faith.
It was a faith the Count could not share,
could not understand.
So, her faith was... Detruit?
Broken. Destroyed. Destroyed.
Returning to Europe would mean a life of some comfort,
and considerable sacrifice.
And, I would think, no hope.
I will, of course, fulfil my obligation to the Count,
and meet with the family.
I will tell them everything that he suggests, and wishes for the Countess.
But I would ask you to use your influence with them.
I beg you, monsieur. Do not let her go back.
MRS ARCHER: When old Mrs Baxter Pennilow died,
they found her standing order,
48 Worth dresses, still wrapped in tissue paper.
When her daughters left off their mourning,
they wore the first lot to the symphony
without looking in advance of the fashion.
NARRATOR: He had written to her once in Washington,
just a few lines asking when they would meet again.
And she wrote back, "Not yet. "
And even that had the front panel changed.
No, I think it was Julius Beaufort who started the new fashion.
By making his wife clap her new clothes
on her back as soon as they arrived.
I must say, it takes all Regina's distinction not to look like...
Her rivals?
Like that Annie Ring.
Careful, dear.
Everybody knows.
Indeed.
Beaufort always put his business around.
And now that his business is gone,
there are bound to be disclosures.
Gone? Is it really that bad?
As bad as anything I ever heard of.
Most everybody we know will be hit one way or another.
(SIGHS)
Very difficult for Regina, of course. And it's a pity.
It's certainly a pity that Countess Olenska refused her husband's offer.
Why, for God's sake?
Well, to put it on the lowest ground,
what's she going to live on now? Live on?
I mean, now that Beaufort... (SLAMS GLASS)
What the hell does that mean, sir?
Most of her money's invested with Beaufort.
And the allowance she's been getting
from the family is so cut back.
I'm sure she has something.
Oh, I would think a little.
Whatever remains after sustaining more debt.
I know the family paid close attention to Monsieur Rivière,
and considered the Count's offer very carefully.
If everyone had rather she be Beaufort's mistress
than some decent fellow's wife,
you've all gone about it perfectly.
She won't go back.
That's your opinion, eh?
Well, no doubt you know.
I suppose she might still soften Catherine Mingott,
who could give her any allowance she chooses,
but the rest of the family have no particular interest in keeping her here.
They'll simply let her...
Find her own level.
Evening, sir.
Thank you, Martin.
That lamp is smoking again. The servant should see to it.
I'm sorry.
I may have to go to Washington for a few days.
When?
Tomorrow. I'm sorry. I should have said it before.
On business?
On business, of course. There's a patent case
coming up before the Supreme Court.
I just got the papers from Letterblair.
It seems that he intended...
Never mind. It sounds too complicated.
I have enough trouble managing this lamp.
Let me try that.
But the change will do you good.
And you must be sure to go and see Ellen.
Excuse me, ma'am, but this came for you while you were out.
Do something about this, will you, Alice?
Certainly, sir.
Granny's had a stroke.
A stroke?
Ridiculous.
I told them all, it was just an excessive Thanksgiving.
Dr Bencomb acted most concerned
and insisted on notifying everyone.
As if it were the last reading of my will and testament.
You're very dear to come.
But perhaps you only wanted to see what I'd left you.
Granny, that's shocking!
It was shock that did this to me.
No. It's all due to Regina Beaufort.
She came here last night, and she asked me...
She asked me... She had the effrontery
to ask me to back Julius.
Not to desert him, she said.
To stand behind our common lineage in the Townsend family.
If you back Julius, you can see the family through.
If you don't,
we will all,
every one of us, fall into dishonour.
I said to her...
Honour's always been honour.
And honesty's always been honesty in Manson Mingott's house.
And will be, till I'm carried out feet-first.
And then she said, if you can believe this, "But my name, Auntie. "
But my name, Auntie.
My name's Regina Townsend.
And I said to her...
Your name was Beaufort when he covered you with jewels,
and it's got to stay Beaufort, now that he's covered you with shame.
And then I gave out,
simply gave out.
And now family is arriving from all over,
expecting a funeral, and they'll have to be entertained.
I don't know how many notes Bencomb sent out.
If there's anything we can do to help out...
Well, my Ellen is coming.
I expressly asked for her.
She arrives this afternoon on the train. If you could fetch her...
Of course. If May will send the brougham, I'll take the ferry.
Fine. Fine. Thank you.
There? You see, Granny? Everyone will be settled.
Thank you, dear. Bless you.
I didn't want to worry Granny,
but how can you meet Ellen and bring her back here
if you have to go to Washington yourself this afternoon?
I'm not going. The case is off, postponed.
I heard from Letterblair this morning.
Postponed? How odd.
Mama had a note from him this morning as well.
He was concerned about Granny, but had to be away.
He was arguing a big patent case before the Supreme Court.
You did say it was a patent case, didn't you?
Well, that's it. The whole office can't go.
Letterblair decided to go himself.
So then, it's not postponed?
No, but my going is.
NARRATOR: He knew it was two hours by ferry
and carriage from the Pennsylvania terminus
in Jersey City back to Mrs Mingott's.
All of two hours.
And maybe a little more.
You didn't expect me today. No.
I nearly came to Washington to see you.
We would have missed each other.
It was Granny Mingott who sent me. She's much better.
You know, I hardly remembered you.
Hardly remembered?
I mean... I mean, each time is the same.
You happen to me all over again.
Yes, I know.
For me, too.
Ellen, we can't stay like this. It can't last.
I think we should look at reality, not dreams.
I just want us to be together.
I can't be your wife, Newland.
Is it your idea I should live with you as your mistress?
I want...
Somehow I want to get away with you,
and find a world where words like that don't exist.
Oh, my dear.
Where is that country? Have you ever been there?
Is there anywhere we can be happy
behind the backs of people who trust us?
I'm beyond caring about that.
No, you're not.
You've never been beyond that.
I have.
I know what it looks like. It's no place for us.
(BELL RINGS)
Why are... Why are we stopping? This isn't Granny's.
No. I'll get out here.
You were right. I shouldn't have come today.
(URGES HORSE)
What are you reading?
It's a book about Japan.
Why?
I don't know.
Because it's a different country.
You used to read poetry.
It was so nice when you read it to me.
Newland.
You'll catch your death.
Of course.
NARRATOR: But then he realised, "I am dead.
"I've been dead for months and months. "
Then it occurred to him that she might die.
People did. Young people, healthy people did.
She might die and set him free.
Newland?
Ellen, I have to see you.
I didn't know when you were leaving again.
I'm... I'm not leaving.
Granny's asked me to stay and take care of her.
Then we have to talk now.
I'm due at Regina Beaufort's. Granny lent me her carriage.
I know Granny says Julius Beaufort is a scoundrel,
but so is my husband, and the family still want me to go back to him.
Only Granny understands. She's even seen to my allowance.
I have to see you, somewhere we can be alone.
In New York? Alone. Somewhere we can be alone.
The art museum in the park, 2:30 tomorrow.
I'll be at the door.
NEWLAND: You came to New York because you were afraid.
ELLEN: Afraid? NEWLAND: Ofmy coming to Washington.
ELLEN: I thought I would be safer.
Safer from me?
Ellen?
S...
Safer from loving me?
Shall I come to you once and then go home?
Come to me once then.
When?
Tomorrow.
The day after.
I'm sorry I'm late. You weren't worried, were you?
Is it late?
It's past 7:00.
I stayed at Granny's because Cousin Ellen came in.
We had a wonderful talk. She was so dear, just like the old Ellen.
Granny was so charmed by her.
But you can see, though, how the family's
been annoyed with her at times.
Going to see Regina Beaufort in Granny's carriage and...
Are we dining out tonight?
You haven't kissed me today.
(WOMAN SINGING OPERA)
NARRATOR: It was the custom in old New York
for brides to appear in their wedding dress
during the first year or two of marriage.
But May, since returning from Europe,
had not worn her bridal satin untiI this evening.
May, I'm sorry. My head's bursting.
Please don't tell anyone. Come home with me now.
Shouldn't you rest?
My head's not as bad as that.
And there's something important
I have to say to you right away.
May, there is something that I've got to tell you.
About myself.
Madame Olenska...
Why should we talk about Ellen tonight?
(CLEARS THROAT)
Because I should have spoken before and...
Is it really worthwhile, dear?
I know I've been unfair to her at times.
Perhaps we all have.
You've understood her better than any of us, I suppose,
but does it really matter now that it's all over?
How do you mean, "over"?
Why, since she's going back to Europe so soon.
Granny's approved, and understands.
She's disappointed, of course,
but she's arranged to make Ellen
financially independent of the Count.
I... I thought you would have heard today at your offices.
It's impossible.
Impossible?
Certainly she could have stayed here with Granny's extra money,
but I guess she's given us up, after all.
How do you know that?
From Ellen. I told you, I saw her at Granny's yesterday.
And she told you that, yesterday?
No. She sent me a note this afternoon.
Do you want to see it?
I thought you knew.
NEWLAND: "May, dear, I have at last made Granny understand
"that my visit to her could be no more than a visit,
"and she has been as kind and generous as ever. "
ELLEN: "And she has been as kind and generous as ever.
"She sees now that if I return to Europe, I must live by myself.
"I am hurrying back to Washington to pack up,
"and I sail next week.
"You be must very good to Granny when I'm gone,
"as good as you've always been to me.
"If any of my friends wish to urge me to change my mind,
"please tell them it would be utterly useless. "
NEWLAND: "... tell them it would be utterly useless. "
Why did she write this?
I suppose because we talked things over yesterday.
What things?
I told her that I was afraid I hadn't always been fair to her,
that I hadn't always understood
how hard it must have been for her here.
I knew you'd be the one friend she could
always count on, and I wanted her to know
that you and I were the same in all of our feelings.
She understood why I wanted to tell her this.
I think she understands everything.
My head aches too.
Good night, dear. Good night.
NARRATOR: It was, as Mrs Archer said to Mrs Welland,
a great event for a young couple to give their first dinner,
and it was not to be undertaken lightly.
There was a hired chef,
two borrowed footmen, roses from Henderson's,
Roman punch and menus on gilt-edged cards.
It was considered a particular triumph that the van der Luydens,
at May's request, stayed in the city to be present
at her farewell dinner for the Countess Olenska.
WOMAN: You have to leave New York after the disgrace...
Archer saw all the harmless-looking people
at the table as a band of quiet conspirators,
with himself and Ellen the centre of their conspiracy.
He guessed himself to have been for months the centre
of countless silently observing eyes
and patiently listening ears.
He understood that somehow the separation
between himself and the partner of his guilt had been achieved.
And he knew that now the whole tribe had rallied around his wife.
He was a prisoner in the centre of an armed camp.
I wonder if they'll ever get it back.
Regina's not well at all,
but that doesn't stop Beaufort from devoting as much time
to Annie Ring as he can manage.
The best thing Beaufort could do
would be to go and stay at Regina's little place in North Carolina.
He could breed trotters...
And the key to his release
had been returned the day before.
By maiI. Unopened.
MAN: He may stay here as a deliberate challenge to the outrage he's created.
Perhaps he'll run for public office.
WOMAN: Then will Annie Ring be his first lady?
(LAUGHING)
Was your trip from Washington very tiring?
The heat on the train was dreadful.
But all travel has its hardships.
Well, whatever they may be,
they're worth it just to get away.
I mean to do a lot of travelling myself soon.
Mmm-hmm?
What about you, Philip? What about a little adventure?
Athens and Smyrna, maybe even Constantinople.
Possibly. Possibly.
But not Naples.
Dr Bencomb says there's a fever.
Oh, really? A fever in Naples.
Well, there's always India, of course.
You must have three weeks to do India properly.
Absolutely.
Beaufort may not receive invitations any more,
but it's clear he still maintains a certain position.
Horizontal from all I've heard.
If things go on like this, we'll be seeing our children
fighting for invitations to swindlers' houses
and marrying Beaufort's bastards.
Has he got any?
Be careful there, gentlemen. Draw it mild. Draw it mild.
Society has a history of tolerating vulgar women after all.
Up to a point.
But once it tolerates a man of that kind,
the only prospect is total disinheritance...
Have you ever noticed
it's the people with the worst cooks who are always yelling
about being poisoned when they dine out?
Lefferts used to be a little more adept, I thought.
But then grace is not always required
as long as one knows the steps.
(CONTINUES INDISTINCTLY)
MAN 1: I've never heard Lefferts so abound in the sentiments
that adorn Christian manhood.
MAN 2: Indignation lends a scathing eloquence.
It's almost as effective as fear.
The pressure at home must be unrelenting.
I never expected to hear such a paean to the sanctity...
WOMAN: My mother had a bronze reduction
of the Venus De Milo she wanted to give us...
NARRATOR: The silent organisation
which held this whole small world together
was determined to put itself on record.
It had never for a moment questioned
the propriety of Madame Olenska's conduct.
It had never questioned Archer's fidelity.
And it had never heard of, suspected or even conceived possible
anything at all to the contrary.
Ellen.
From the seamless performance of this rituaI,
Archer knew that New York believed him to be Madame Olenska's lover.
We were discussing the Martha Washington ball.
Yes, we have it during Easter week to benefit the blind society.
They do excellent work.
Lawrence. Lawrence...
And he understood for the first time
that his wife shared the belief.
You must come visit me when you do.
I'll write you as soon as I'm settled and let you know where I am.
Yes, that would be lovely.
Shall I see you to your carriage?
We are driving dear Ellen home.
Goodbye.
Good-bye. And I'll see you very soon in Paris.
Oh, if you and May could come.
Shall we make our way to the carriage, my dear?
Delightful evening, Newland.
Good night, Newland.
Good night, Sillerton. Good night, Larry.
(DRIVER URGES HORSE)
It did go off beautifully, didn't it?
Oh, yes.
May I come in and talk it over?
Of course. But you must be very sleepy.
No, I'm not. I'd like to be with you a little.
Fine.
If you feel up to it, May,
there is something that I've been wanting to talk to you about.
And I tried to talk to you the other evening.
Oh, yes, dear. Something about yourself.
About myself, yes.
It's so difficult to find the right words.
But it's just that I feel so terribly tired at the moment.
And I think...
Each day a little more so.
And I think it would be better for everyone if I were to make a break.
You mean give up the law?
Well, certainly that would be a part of it. And also just to...
Just to get away.
I... I'd like to do some travelling.
To Europe or...
Perhaps even farther.
How far?
I don't know. I thought...
India or Japan. Um...
As far as that?
Well...
I'm afraid you can't, dear.
Not unless you take me with you.
That is, if the doctors will let me go, and I'm afraid they won't.
Newland, I've been sure of something since this morning,
and I've been longing to tell you.
Oh, my dear.
You didn't guess?
No. I mean, of course, I... I hoped, but...
Have you told anyone else?
Only Mamma and your mother...
And Ellen.
I told you we had a long talk one afternoon
and how wonderful she was to me.
Did you mind my telling her, Newland?
Mind? Why should I?
But that was two weeks ago, wasn't it?
I thought you just said you weren't sure till today?
No, I... I wasn't sure then,
but I told her I was.
And you see, I was right.
NARRATOR: It was the room
in which most of the reaI things of his life had happened.
Their eldest boy, Theodore,
too delicate to be taken to church in midwinter,
had been christened there.
I baptise thee in the name of the Father,
and of the son,
and of the holy spirit.
It was here that Ted took his first steps.
And it was here that Archer and his wife always discussed
the future of all their children.
Bill's interest in archaeology,
Mary's passion for sports and philanthropy,
Ted's inclination toward art that led to a job with an architect,
as well as some considerable redecoration.
It was in this room that Mary had announced her engagement...
I'm so happy for you.
To the dullest and most reliable of Larry Lefferts' many sons.
And it was in this room, too, that her father had kissed her
through her wedding veiI before they motored to Grace Church.
He was a dutiful and loving father, and a faithful husband.
When May died of infectious pneumonia
after nursing Bill safely through,
he had honestly mourned her.
The world of her youth had fallen into pieces
and rebuilt itself without her ever noticing.
This hard, bright blindness,
her incapacity to recognise change,
made her children conceal their views
from her, just as Archer concealed his.
She died thinking the world a good place,
full of loving and harmonious households like her own.
Newland Archer, in his 57th year,
mourned his past and honoured it. (PHONE RINGING)
Yes, hello? Hello?
Chicago wants you.
Hello?
Dad? Is that you, Ted?
Dad, I'm just about finished out here,
but my client wants me to look at some gardens before I start designing.
That sounds fine. Where?
Europe. Gracious.
I'll have to saiI next Wednesday on the Mauretania.
(CHUCKLES) What, and miss the wedding?
I think Annie will wait for me.
I'll be back on the 1 st, and our wedding's not till the 5th.
I'm surprised you remember the date.
Well... Dad, I was hoping you'd join me.
What?
I'll need you to remind me of what's important.
What do you say? It will be our last father-and-son trip.
Well, Ted, I do appreciate the invitation... Wonderful!
Can you call the Cunard office first thing tomorrow?
But it would take me till next Wednesday just to cancel my...
I won't hear it, Dad. The Atlantic is calling us.
I'll be in New York on Monday, and I'll contact you then.
You'll be in New... On Monday.
I'll see what I can do.
Settle the tickets, Dad.
I can't promise anything, Ted. I'll see what I can do. All right.
Bye-bye. Bye.
I'm going out to Versailles with Tourneur. Will you join us?
I thought I'd go to the Louvre.
I'll meet you there later then.
Countess Olenska's expecting us at 5:30.
What?
Oh, didn't I tell you?
Annie made me swear to do three things in Paris.
Get her the score of the last Debussy songs,
go to the Grand Guignol, and see Madame Olenska.
You know, she was awfully good to Annie
when Mr Beaufort sent her over to the Sorbonne.
Wasn't the Countess friendly with Mr Beaufort's first wife or something?
I think Mrs Beaufort said that she was.
In any case, I called the Countess first thing this morning,
introduced myself as her cousin.
Did you tell her I was here, Ted?
Of course. Why not?
She sounds lovely. Was she?
Lovely?
I don't know. She was different.
NARRATOR: Whenever he thought of Ellen Olenska,
it had been abstractly, serenely,
like an imaginary loved one in a book or picture.
She had become the complete vision of all that he had missed.
NEWLAND: I'm only 57.
TED: Did Mr Beaufort really have such a bad time of it
when he wanted to remarry?
No one wanted to give him an inch?
Perhaps because he'd already taken so much.
As if anyone remembers any more, or cares.
Well, Annie Ring and he did have a lovely daughter. You're very lucky.
We're very lucky, you mean.
Yes, of course that's what I mean.
TED: So considering how that all turned out,
and all the time that's gone by,
I don't see how you can resist.
I did have some resistance at first to your marriage, as I told you...
No. I mean resist seeing the woman
you almost threw everything over for.
Only you didn't.
I didn't?
No.
But Mother said that she knew
we would be safe with you. Your mother?
Yes. The day before she died she asked to see me alone. Remember?
She said she knew we were safe with you,
and always would be,
because once, when she asked you to,
you gave up the thing that you wanted most.
She never asked.
She never asked me.
NARRATOR: After a little while he did not regret Ted's indiscretion.
It seemed to take an iron band from his heart to know that,
after all, someone had guessed and pitied,
and that it should have been his wife moved him inexpressibly.
The porter says it's the third floor.
Must be the one with the awnings.
It's nearly 6:00.
I think I'll just sit for a while.
Do you mean you won't come?
You really won't come at all? I don't know.
She won't understand.
Go on, Ted. Maybe I'll follow you.
What will I tell her?
Don't you always have something to say?
I'll tell her you're old-fashioned,
and you insist on walking up three flights
instead of taking the elevator.
Just say I'm old-fashioned.
That should be enough. Go on.
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