All language subtitles for Alfred Hitchcock s05e02 The Crystal Trench

Good evening, ladies and gentlemen.

I thought I would cut this rope since it
seems to be obstructing my path.

I can't seem to find my partner.

He was here a moment ago, then let out a
cry and disappeared.

My, my.

I seem to have made a faux pas.

My friend was on the other end of that
rope.

Rotten luck.

He was also my business partner.

But the show must go on.

Tonight we are presenting a chilly
little tale entitled The Crystal Trench.

follows at a respectful distance.

I'd come from London that Wednesday on
my first visit to the Alps.

Strange, after so many years, I should
remember it was a Wednesday.

A Wednesday in September 1907.

I came up the valley by train.

Dark canopies of clouds obscured the
Schwarzhorn, but I could make out the

broad, icy spread of the nearby glacier.

It had a sort of majesty.

At least I thought so then.

With its solid depths of ice and its
silent, relentless flow as it crept

its inevitable course.

Now, 40 years later, I know the glacier
for something else.

Something I had better never have known.

I was to meet my guide, the Blowers, at
the Waldhaus Hotel.

I had climbed easier peaks in Austria
with the Blowers, preparing myself for

Schwarzhorn. Oh, how odd.

Welcome, welcome, welcome.

I'd scarcely entered the lobby

when I discovered both Frederick and
Hans Blau engaged, as usual, in an

with another man.

Hans! Frederick!

You are just in time to settle an
argument.

It seems to me you were arguing when I
left you last year in Torino.

Never with each other, Mr. Cavendish.
Only with those who insult our

intelligence.

I don't care. I saw what I saw.

Impossible. They were right at the top.

Maybe you can still see them.

What should I look for?

Two men on top of the Schwarzhorn.

Now? At four o 'clock in the afternoon?

I was looking through this, you
understand? And suddenly the clouds

draw apart.

And there it was, the Schwarzhorn. Then
two men climbed into my view.

They were near the very top of the peak.

Which direction did they come from?

The south, you see.

That's not possible.

If they came by the south, they would
have had to have come by the Lerner

Ascent. At least I know which is north
and which is south.

Even a child knows that.

One of the climbers, the one in front,
was moving very slowly.

He seemed weak.

The second man was stronger. I saw him
lift the rope between them.

It was slack.

He shook the snow off it. The rope was
slack?

And then?

And the clouds closed in again and I
could not see them anymore.

If what you say is true, it could be
very serious.

That's what we have been telling him,
Mr. Cavendish. He can't just go around

inventing stories like that.

I saw it, I tell you.

It's just possible, of course. Just, you
understand.

And on a fine day, a party coming by
that route might find themselves on top

the Schwarzhorn at four o 'clock in the
afternoon.

On a day like this, no man in his senses
would be on any ridge of that mountain.

I can only hope you're mistaken.

Come and help me unpack.

Good. I'll show you some boots I bought
in London.

Mr. Cavendish, I have bad news.

There has been an accident.

From the Schwarzhorn?

How could you know?

Franks has just sent word from the
Wernhardt.

Franks? What has he got to do with it?
He was with them. It is terrible.

They were so young boys.

Countrymen of yours.

That's why I have come to you.

Well, if you'll tell me what's happened.
They arrived here last week.

They were not experienced climbers, but
they had no respect for our guides or

for our mountains.

They would not listen to what anybody
said.

Only her ranks had not come from
Austria.

Do you know him?

No, but the Blowers told me about him.
They say he'll climb with anyone.

As soon as he met these two young men,
he suggested the learner assent to them.

Och, du lieber Strozak.

They went up to the Bernhardt, slept the
night there, and started up the

Schwarzhorn with provision for three
days.

That was four days ago.

And Rank's just come back alone?

No. One of the boys is with him.

George Liston.

They're moving him down to the clinic at
break tonight, hoping to save his hands

and feet, which are badly frostbitten.

No. It's the other boy.

Michael Ballester.

He died when he almost reached the top.

Rank says that he and Liston were too
exhausted to bring him down.

So they left him up there.

We'll have to go and fetch him as soon
as the weather clears.

Is that what you wanted to ask me about?

No, there's something else.

His wife.

Beretta's wife is here in the hotel.

Someone must tell her.

You expect me to?

Who else is there?

Why, me.

Thank you, she's English.

And it is better if she hears it from
one of her own countrymen.

They've already been married six months.

All day long she's been trying to hide
that she was anxious about him.

Where is she now?

In the dining room.

We'd better tell her now.

Mrs. Ballester, I do not believe you
have met Mr. Cavendish.

He just came to me from London.

Good evening.

Good evening.

Shall I excuse me?

May I?

Oh, of course, please do.

It's so good to hear English spoken
again. I never quite get used to all

accents.

This is one of my favorite tunes.

Do you dance, Mr. Cavendish?

Well, I... Funny, in London it would
seem quite improper for me to ask you.

But here it seems all right, doesn't it?

I imagine you're a rather courageous
person.

Why do you say that?

I'm hoping, no praying, that you are.
What do you mean?

Mrs. Ballester.

I have been nominated to a committee of
one to tell you something which is

something I'm afraid, no matter how
gently I try, can

only...

Ordinarily,

they tell people to sit down at a time
like this.

I think you're a woman who might prefer
to be standing.

I... Don't know what you're trying to
tell me, but whatever it is, please say

it.

Mrs. Pallister, your husband is dead.

His body is up on the schwarzhorn.

It can't be true.

How did it happen?

Did he fall?

Apparently he died of exhaustion and
exposure.

Isn't there a chance that he's still
alive?

No.

We'd hardly begun.

Michael and I, we'd hardly begun.

I'll take a party up in the morning and
try and bring him down.

But he said he was only going to the
mountain.

He promised me he'd be all right. He
said I wasn't to worry.

Mrs. Ballester, the Schwarzhorn is one
of the most dangerous ascents in the

world. Many experienced climbers have
lost their lives up there.

You will find him, won't you?

You will bring him back to me.

I'll do my best.

Oh, please.

I don't know if I can bear it.

Not to look at him once more.

Not to see him.

To touch him again.

crossed the mountain by the eastern
arete, and descending on the south side,

armed with a baluster.

It was then the grimmest episode of that
terrible day occurred.

With infinite care, we began to untie
the frozen ropes which bound him.

A gust of snow blinded us for a moment,
throwing us back, and in that second,

the body slipped away from us.

We watched hopelessly as it gathered
speed and disappeared into a crevasse.

He's fallen into the glacier.

I could not shake off the feeling that
somehow I had betrayed a trust.

I had discovered that she was an only
child and both her parents were dead.

She seemed so friendless, so alone.

Thank you.

Could I have my bill too, please?

Well, there's no need for you to leave
just because I'm leaving. It's all

I'm quite able to take care of myself.

I really don't want to stay on here.

When must you be in London?

Not for a couple of weeks.

Could you come to Brieg with me?

Brieg? Yes, George Liston's in the
clinic there.

I want to talk to him, and that man here
ranks.

And since you know about mountains and
climbing and things, I thought perhaps

you could come with me.

I want to find out if he's telling the
truth.

The truth?

About the accident?

But why shouldn't he?

Michael was strong.

He'd never have just stopped breathing.

Something else must have happened.

Will you come?

Yes, I'll come.

Thank you, Mr. Cavendish.

In that second, I knew I wanted to hear
her call me Mark.

Not Mr.

Cavendish, but Mark.

Mark, my dear. Mark, my darling.

In that second, I knew I had begun to
love her.

And this is Mrs. Ballester.

I'm a friend of hers.

I'm sorry about your husband.

And I'm sorry that I wasn't there the
day you came to the hotel and persuaded

him to go with you.

Perhaps if I had been, he wouldn't have
gone.

I know how you must feel. You blame me.

And you're right. I am partly
responsible.

What do you mean you are responsible?

Well, we left with too little food, and
that was bad planning on my part.

And I should have considered the youth
of my companions.

You see, young men can never climb so
well.

They don't have the lungs for it or the
legs.

No, I should never have led them up.

And I should have controlled your
husband more, madam.

He was an inexperienced climber.

I tried to warn him not to go so fast,
but he being young believed that...

There was nothing he could not conquer.

Not even the Schwarzhorn.

Finally, he collapsed altogether.

His heart gave out.

I swear to you, we stayed with him until
he died.

Although the wind was quite dangerous
for us and he was evidently dying.

We stayed with him until it was all
over.

Why do you make such a point about
staying with him?

Because it was at a great risk to us,
Liston and myself.

How can I be sure that you did stay with
him?

How can I be sure that you didn't go off
and leave him to die alone on the

ridge? Because I have told you so, and
Liston will tell you the same thing.

We were with him until he died.

Up there in the cold and the darkness,
the utter loneliness, while I waited in

the hotel for the fire and the sound of
music. You left him up there to die.

I know it!

No!

I have said it is my fault. What more
does she expect from me?

Forgive me, Mr. Cavendish.

I'm ashamed of the way I behaved.

It's all right.

You've gone to so much trouble for me.

Thank you.

Well, there's no point in our staying
here.

What about George Liston?

Don't you want to talk to him? What more
can he tell me except... No.

That won't bring Michael back.

Nothing will bring him back.

Only I.

You?

Michael and I, we had what very few
people have.

A perfect marriage.

This may sound fanciful to you, but
somehow it was ordained.

Predestined that we should meet.

That we should love each other.

Six months.

Such a little time.

But we had more than most people have in
all their lifetime.

Far more.

And that's how I'll bring Michael back.

By remembering.

By taking each moment of our time
together and expanding it into a month

year of remembering.

Do you understand?

That way, if I live to be 80, I shall
never live long enough to recapture all

it.

Stella.

It's wrong to live in the past.

No matter how hard we try, we can't make
time stand still any more than we can

preserve the roses of last summer.

Oh, but you can.

Don't you see?

You can.

Particularly if the roses are packed in
ice.

That way, they might last forever.

Mightn't they?

I returned to London with Stella.

In the weeks that followed, I saw her
whenever she'd let me.

Once I took her to a concert, twice to
the theatre.

But it was not until Christmas of that
first year...

I had any encouragement from her.

A note inviting me to have tea with her
in her house in Mayfair.

On the strength of this summons, I
stopped that morning at the jeweller's

picked up the ring I had ordered weeks
before.

A ring I knew I would never place on the
finger of any woman other than Stella.

Mark, it's so good to see you.

It's charming, Stella.

But of course it would be.

Please.

I'm so grateful that you were able to be
free today.

This is a very important day.

I rather thought so, too.

Stella... I... I never thought the time
was right before, but...

now... this is it better than I can.

I could ever wear anyone's ring again,
Mark.

It would be yours.

I'm sorry.

Stella, please, think it over.

I love you. And you need someone. Mark,
I can't.

Where I'm taking you this afternoon and
what we're going to do will explain to

you why I can't.

Oh, Mrs. Ballester, I shan't bore you
with the science of these computations.

imagine you simply... This doesn't bore
me, Professor.

I just want to be sure. That is all.

The question here was, how far and how
fast does the glacier move each year?

Well, the rate of flow differs from year
to year, depending on the balance

between the melting line and the
accumulation area at the upper end of

glacier. The melting line, of course, is
at the lower end.

or wastage area.

The flow of the glacier actually starts
within the ice itself, at least

200 feet beneath the surface.

There we get the basal slip along the
bed of the valley, caused mostly by

gravity.

But the ice also moves by crystals
pushing each other out of shape.

We call this plastic flow.

By measuring the grains and the
direction of the ice crystals...

By reading from a micro -altimeter, by
checking our gravity meter to tell us

what the rock floor is like, we can
calculate the rate of flow rather

On the 21st of July, Mrs. Bellator, in
the year 1947,

more likely in the morning rather than
in the afternoon, I should say, your

husband will come out of the ice at the
foot of the glacier.

You see, Mark,

I shall have Michael back after all.

I realized then that Stella had made her
choice. That for the next 40 years, she

intended to wait for Michael.

Just as I knew, I must wait for Stella.

The years slipped away.

Each one passed other than the one
before.

And now, once more, I came up the
valley.

It was a cloudy day, just as it had been
that Wednesday 40 years ago.

And again I saw the broad, icy spread of
the glacier.

I knew it now for what it was.

A tombstone.

A vast, crystal trench which had
enveloped us, molded and shaped us,

Stella and me, for this day.

The 21st day of July, 1947.

I think you should go back to the hotel.

I'll come and get you when it's time.

But the professor said more likely in
the morning than in the afternoon.

Don't you remember, Mark?

Yes, I remember, but all the same... We
couldn't be wrong.

Of course not, but still, I think you
should wait at the hotel.

No, Mark.

I want to stay.

Mr. Carvendish, look!

The glacier had used Michael Ballister
tenderly.

The years had taken no toll of him.

Seeing Stella with him, I could see what
the years had done to her.

I knew what they had done to me.

Your locket was still around his neck,
Stella.

The girl who stared out at me was not
Stella, but someone strange.

A pretty face, but cheap.

It's a... It's a miniature of you. Not a
very good likeness, but...

Thank you, Mark.

But he had no locket with a portrait of
me.

So much for our version of the Iceman
Cometh. I shall return for a final word

a moment.

First, we have come to one of those
treacherous crevices that riddle the

of television.

I think I should begin my descent before
I become the source of a legend

about an abdominal snowman.

Next week, I shall once again return...

with another story spiced together by
commercials.

Until then, good night.