Original subtitles

Thank you.

Oh, good evening, friends, Romans and countrymen.

I've just unearthed some items which may be of vast archaeological importance.

Two fig leaves and a half -eaten apple.

Tonight's play is not about fig leaves, but it does have a scene in a garden.

It is called The Rose Garden and is concerned with... two elderly sisters

in a magnolia -scented house in Louisiana.

You say you come all the way from New York to see Miss Julia on business?

You sure you ain't got her mixed up?

You didn't come to see Miss Cordelia?

No, who's Miss Cordelia?

She's Miss Julia's sister.

Why, she even tells Miss Julia what to eat for breakfast.

That's why I was kind of surprised that Miss Julia got any business that Miss

Cordelia ain't in charge of.

Well, Miss Julia's written a book, which my firm's going to publish.

As far as I know, it has nothing to do with Miss Cordelia.

Well, I declare.

A book, huh?

Miss Julia never had a chance to say nothing.

I guess she just had to write it down.

How soon do you reckon I can get a hold of a copy? Sure will sell out fast in

this town.

Oh, we hope to bring it out in the spring. It's so good, we'll probably

through. Really good, huh?

Well, I'd be.

So there are two Miss Pickerings, hmm? No, Miss Cordelia was married for 30

years.

Then one day about two years ago, Gordon, well, just walked out and left

Never even took his toothbrush.

I guess he couldn't stand her no longer.

He only stayed as long as he did on account of Miss Julia, I shouldn't

How was that?

Well, he was her beau to start with.

Then Miss Cordelia took him away from her.

I'll bet there's plenty of times that guy wished he stuck with his first

Well, that's interesting.

Well, here we are.

Is this the place?

Could be the house in the book.

Perfect setting.

You know, I ain't surprised that Miss Judy's wrote a book.

I always thought she had plenty of wheels.

She just ain't got what it takes to stand up to Miss Cordelia, that's all.

How much do I owe you? Two bits. Anywhere in town for two bits.

Well, only a quarter. Yeah. I think I'll move down here.

No, I'll thank you. Well, thank you.

Oh, good afternoon. I'd like to see Miss... Good afternoon. You're Mr.

from New York.

How do you do, Miss Pickering? It's awfully good of you to... Well, this is

Wells, mister.

Thank you, Barney. That was very helpful. But we won't keep you any

Judson can carry Mr. Vinton's bag in.

Miss Pickering is my sister.

I'm Mrs. Wells. Oh, I beg your pardon. Won't you come in? Thank you.

It's very kind of you to ask me to stay here, but wouldn't you find it more

convenient if I went to a hotel? No, indeed.

We wouldn't think of not having our guests in our home. Besides, that hotel

disgrace. Why, if they had a fire, the only escape would be to come out of the

window on a knotted rope. Whereas if there were a fire here, there wouldn't

be a rope.

How do you do, Mr. Vinton? How do you do, Miss Pickering? Very kind of you to

come. I'm afraid you'll have to take part luck, Mr. Vinton, if I know sooner

that you will come at all, even that my sister had written the book.

Well, I was afraid my sister wouldn't approve, Mr. Vinton. That's why I didn't

tell her I was writing it.

Well, I don't think it very dignified, Julia, for a woman of your background to

write one of those sensational mistress stories.

Come, Mr. Fenton, I'll show you to your room.

Julia, tell Maisie she can serve dinner in an hour.

And tell her to stop that noise.

Theo?

Something furniture with its carved lion's heads.

I believe this is the room that...

The

room was old. It had been there before they were born and had housed their

travesty of a marriage for 30 years.

The old massive furniture with its carved lion's heads stood as if defying

anyone to move it.

The fireplace, with its white marble facing, black inside with the soot of

years.

And on the mantel, a porcelain dairymaid had stood since her grandmother's day,

together with two brass cherubs which had held candles to light her to bed.

In a fury, Charles turned away. Amelia snatched the heavy brass candlestick

the mantle and brought it down upon his head.

Amelia Cordelia.

I hope you like our Louisiana coffee, Mr. Benton.

Oh, I'm sure I shall.

So, you haven't read your sister's manuscript, Mrs. Wells? I have not. As I

you, I wasn't even informed that she was writing it. You don't like this sort of

story, sister.

I don't consider it literature, if that's what you mean. And you must have

wasted a great deal of time writing it. Well, I'm going to be paid for my time.

Thank you.

Do you take cream and sugar, Mr. Benton? I'll have mine black, thank you. Shall

I make a great deal of money, Mr. Benton?

Oh, I don't know. I think this book's going to sell very well. Certainly, we

shan't hesitate to advance you a thousand dollars.

I thought you would probably make much more than that.

That part, at any rate, will be pleasant.

Thank heaven, dear Mama will never know where it came from. Perhaps she will,

sister.

Maybe Mama's watching over us in everything we do.

What an interesting house you have. So many beautiful things.

Those old pistols, why, they're works of art.

Yes, they belong to my grandfather.

He was forced to use the pistol several times to defend the Pickering name.

Really?

I'm enchanted to find myself right in the setting of your novel, Miss

I don't believe it's ever happened to me before.

In the setting?

Why, yes, this house and all the things in it.

Why, you even put me in the murder room, Mrs. Wells.

And I'll bet there's a stone bench in the garden by the rosebed.

What? Yes, I recognised it at once.

You know, authors should always have their murders committed in old houses.

The shadows of the past surge forward to lend a doomful atmosphere to the matter

in hand.

Murder most foul.

It's most impressive.

It must have impressed you for you to make a special trip down here. I should

have thought these things were done by mail.

Well, I was coming south anyway, and I'd read enough of the book to know we

wanted to publish it. As a matter of fact, I finished it on the plane to New

Orleans. Oh, then you have the manuscript with you. Well, I'm sure he

bother to bring it, sister.

If he finished it on the plane, it seems likely he still has it with him, Julia.

Perhaps I might glance through it whenever you find it convenient to get

But you don't like this kind of writing, sister. You said so.

What beautiful roses. Are you interested in gardening, Mrs. Wells?

I'm president of my garden club.

My roses always take first prize.

How very gratifying. You must feel rewarded for all your work.

Yes.

You've aroused my curiosity, Mr. Vinton.

I think I would like to read Julia's book.

Oh, by all means.

But the only copy we have just now is the handwritten original, I'm afraid,

we'll probably be working on that most of tomorrow.

Miss Pickering, may I suggest the first thing you buy with the advance on your

book is a typewriter.

And spare your long -suffering editors.

Of course, I'd be delighted to send you a copy as soon as we have it typed.

Sylvia, Charles urged, all we have to do is to go away. She doesn't love me, you

know that. She'll be furious, but we won't be here to see it.

You can stay with my Aunt Therese in New Orleans until I get a divorce.

I'll meet you there tonight.

It was very late when Sylvia, almost in a state of shock from anxiety and

disappointment, fell furtively into the house.

She crept up the stairs and into her room without encountering Amelia.

Where was Charles? Why hadn't he met her in New Orleans?

Much later that night, Sylvia found herself at the window, half asleep,

it open.

The room was hot and stuffy, and she leaned out to breathe in the cool night

air.

And there below her in the garden, by the stone bench, was Amelia.

What was she doing?

Ah, there you are.

I thought your sister was the gardener in the family.

Well, sister enjoys the garden, but sister's too busy to work in it.

Well, I hope they give you credit when the blue ribbons are handed out.

I don't care about that sort of thing. Oh, did you want to go in and work on

manuscript? Well, if it's all right with you, we'll work out here. Well, as you

say.

Miss Pickering, have you thought about what your sister's reaction would be to

this book, and possibly local reaction?

Yes, I have.

Do you think I ought to withdraw it, not publish it at all? Mr. Vincent, maybe

you're right.

Now, wait a minute. I didn't mean that. We're very anxious to publish it.

Well, I should never have made a special trip here if we weren't. Oh.

Of course.

It wouldn't be fair to withdraw it now, after you've been to all that trouble.

It's only just that...

Mr. Vinton, to be honest, I never in the world thought anyone had published it.

It was quite a shock.

Yes, but surely, I mean, you must have thought about what the situation would

if it were accepted.

No. No, I'm afraid I didn't. When I actually mailed it, I'd done all I

wasn't up to me anymore. It was out of my hands.

Miss Pickering, I don't quite understand what you mean.

Well, I don't know what there is to understand.

I don't know what you're talking about, Mr. Vinton.

I thought you wanted to talk about alterations in the manuscript.

Yes, I do. Forgive me. I do want to revise a few pages with you, if I may.

Oh, you forgive me, Mr. Vinton.

I'm afraid I'm a little nervous this morning.

But what was it? Now, let's see here.

Oh, yes, here we are.

Now, the night Sylvia came back from New Orleans, when Charles failed to meet

her there, a little later on, you say, she found herself at the window.

Now, was she actually awake or what?

Well, that was it. She was never conscious of waking. She might have been

walking in her sleep. She just found herself there looking out.

And there below was a deep trench which had been dug for compost for sweet peas.

She saw Amelia struggling with some burden in the wheelbarrow which she

into the trench.

But she couldn't tell what it was.

Well, she couldn't be sure. She...

Well, then she fainted, you know.

Yes.

And as Amelia sank down upon the bench, that would be

this one, wouldn't it?

Well, it would be one like it.

Suddenly Sylvia's head was icy and she fell to the floor. When she woke up, it

was dawn.

The trench below was no longer there. Rose bushes had been planted in the

filled -in bed.

Or was it newly filled in?

And why roses?

Could it be so the bed wouldn't be dug up again next year?

But Amelia... Mr. Vinton.

Yes? What... Well, what was it you wanted to ask me?

Oh, well, about this, really.

After seeing Amelia dump what looked like a body into the trench, and when

Charles never appeared again and there was no word from him,

Isn't Sylvia sure it was he?

Well, she couldn't be positive.

Might still be a dream.

Well, everything was so queer.

And then, next day, Amelia said that the rose bushes had been there all the

time. Planted the day that Sylvia went to Norland. Yes, I know, but in her own

mind, in her heart, wasn't Sylvia sure?

Yes, but I don't know.

Yes, I suppose she was.

Then why doesn't she go to the police?

Was it just the prospect of the disgrace, the shame, and notoriety?

Well, partly, I suppose.

Mostly because she was a coward.

You mean she's afraid of Amelia?

Not physically, perhaps, although it could come to that.

She's afraid of her sister's disdain, her contempt.

Well, I tried to make it clear.

Mr. Vinton, if you've never been really afraid of another person, you can't

understand this.

Sylvia cannot take the step. She cannot stand up and say, I accuse.

She's got to go on day after day, pretending that she'll do it tomorrow.

Knowing that she never will.

I see.

And yet, as a reader, I can't help feeling her sister's power over her

only.

In Sylvia's imagination.

Mr. Benton, I... You'll have to excuse me, please.

I have to see about lunch.

Well, there you are, Mr. Benton.

It's all signed.

You have an option on my next three books, but I fear I shall never write

Let's not be too sure, Miss Julia. One never knows.

Get your hat, Julia. We're late for choir practice.

Sister, I just thought I wouldn't go for one.

It's Mr. Vinton's last night.

Nonsense. The choir's down to nothing these last few weeks. Reverend Samuels

counting on you.

I'm sure Mr. Vinton doesn't consider himself more important than God.

No, not at all.

Get your hat, Julia.

And not that silly thing you bought for Easter.

I must thank you, Mrs. Wells, for a very pleasant visit. I hope you two ladies

will visit New York sometime and let me be the host.

Thank you. I doubt that we ever shall. No member of our family has been north

for a hundred years.

It's changed a good deal, I believe.

Will you be gone long?

Oh, not long.

We should be gone a good two and a half hours.

Put your gloves on, Julia.

Well, I'm sorry, Mr. Vinton. I just hope you won't be too bold. Oh, I'll find

plenty to do.

Thank you.

Oh, Mr. Vinton.

Oh, Mrs. Wells.

I was just... Yes?

I must apologize. You see, in fact, I... You were looking for my husband's body,

is that right?

Yes, I'm afraid I was.

Perhaps you'd like to dig a little deeper.

No, thank you.

Mr. Vinton, perhaps it's just as well you've done this.

I left choir practice early so I could talk to you in private.

And since Julia's book has driven you to this extreme, you must see that it's

quite out of the questionnaire to publish it.

Well, it is a very convincing book, Mrs. Wells.

It convinced me, and I feel sure your sister believes every word of it. Very

probably she does.

My sister is a neurotic and disappointed woman with a vivid imagination, and she

deeply wishes it were true.

Why should she wish a thing like that?

Why, so that I might appear as the villain, of course, instead of my

I wasn't the only one he deserted, you know.

Julia thought she was going away with him.

But he left her, too. And she's never been able to accept that.

So she wrote her own sordid ending to the story.

I see, Mrs. Wells.

I feel like a fool. I can only apologize.

And as to Miss Julia's book, if she wants to withdraw it...

You may leave that to me.

Julia will do as I say.

Well, I'm sorry to change my mind again, Mr. Vinton, but... I'm afraid

Cordelia's right.

So, if you're willing to release me from my contract... It's treating you

shamefully, I know. It's quite all right, Miss Julia. Please don't give it

another thought.

I think I'll get along now. There's a late train, I believe.

I don't wish to appear inhospitable, Mr. Vinton, but perhaps it would be best.

Yes. I'll walk to the station.

I've got plenty of time.

Goodbye.

Goodbye.

Goodbye, Mr.

Vinton.

Well, I'm glad you finally come to your senses.

Yes, I have.

Tomorrow... No.

In the morning.

In the morning, I'm going to Sheriff Thiebaud, and I'm going to tell him

everything. And he's going to come here, and he's going to dig in the right

rosebed, where the bench used to be.

Julia! I would have done it tonight.

Only I wanted to spare us the humiliation of Mr. Vinton's presence.

Are you out of your mind?

You certainly are not going to the sheriff with any such insane accusation.

know perfectly well I won't allow it. Nothing you can do to stop me. I'm not

afraid of you anymore.

I guess maybe now I'm more afraid of going on being a coward, lying to myself

and to everyone else. I most certainly can stop you, and I will if you make it

necessary. I killed Gordon to save us from the scandal of his running away

you, and I won't hesitate now.

But now...

Now, you're being ridiculous, sister. Why, you can't kill me and not be found

out. I'll simply say I was cleaning the pistol and it discharged by accident.

Nobody will suspect me now any more than they did with Gordon.

Very well, then.

I guess you've got to kill me.

Because you can't stop me any other way.

No, you mustn't do that, Mrs. Wells. Mr. Benton. All that. You can hardly

explain my body, too.

What are you doing here, spying on us? Yes, as a matter of fact, you see, I

noticed this pistol was missing.

Sneaking back here, prying into our personal affairs of all the disgraceful,

outrageous performances.

Sister, sister.

Don't you call me sister.

Are you all right, Miss Julia?

Yes, yes, sir.

You were grand.

You know, I really believe you'd have let her shoot you.

You know, I made a decision for once.

Mr. Vinton, you do understand about the book, don't you? I just couldn't bear to

have anybody read it now.

Of course. Please don't worry about it. Besides, you'll write me another one,

I'm sure.

Well, perhaps I will.

You know, I've known about all this for two years. They'll probably send me to

prison, too.

Maybe I could write it there.

I'm sure they won't. But if they do...

I shall insist they don't give you time off for good behaviour.

So much for the literary set. And now we must interrupt our programme while we

prepare the next play for production.

I shall see you then. Good night.