Original subtitles

(Přepsáno pomocí TurboScribe.ai. Upgradovat na Neomezený pro odstranění této zprávy.) Mind, your unpolluted memory, your clean conscience.

How was your memory when you were 18

sir?

Limpid.

No gush of bilge water had turned it

into a fetid puddle.

I was your equal at 18.

Quite your equal Miss Eyre.

You would say I should have been superior

to my circumstances.

At least I see as much in your

eye.

Beware by the way what you express with

that organ.

I'm quick to interpret its language.

And so I should have been superior to

my circumstances but I was not.

When fate wronged me I had not the

wisdom to remain cool.

I turned desperate then degenerate.

Dread remorse when you attempted to err.

Remorse is the poison of life Miss Eyre.

Repentance is said to be its cure.

A reformation maybe.

Yet what is the use of thinking of

it?

Burdened.

Cursed as I am.

But since happiness is denied me I have

the right to get pleasure out of life.

And I will get it.

Cost what it may.

Then you will degenerate still more sir.

Possibly.

Yet why should I when I can get

fresh sweet pleasure?

As sweet and fresh as the honey the

wild bee gathers on the moor.

It will sting.

It will taste bitter.

How do you know?

You never tried it.

I only remind you of your own words.

You said error brings remorse.

Who talks of error now?

I scarcely think the notion that flitted across

my brain was in error.

No.

It's an inspiration not a temptation.

No devil.

Or if it be it has put on

the robes of an angel of light.

It is not a true angel sir.

...

Distrust it.

...

No I must admit.

So fair a guest to my heart.

Come in Bonnie Wanderer.

To speak truth sir I don't understand you

at all.

I'm sure not.

Yet from this moment Miss Eyre my pursuits

and associates will be other.

Better than they have been.

I know now what my aim is and

what my motives are.

And I pass a law unalterable that both

are right.

They cannot be sir if they require a

new statute to legalize them.

Unheard of circumstances demand unheard of rules.

A dangerous maxim.

One can see at once it is liable

to abuse.

We are human and fallible sir and should

not arrogate a power.

Power?

What power?

That of saying of any strange unsanctioned line

of action.

Let it be right.

Such power belongs only to God.

Let it be right the very words you

have pronounced them.

You shrink Miss Eyre.

Are you afraid of me because I talk

like a sphinx?

You are enigmatical sir.

Your words bewilder me but I'm not afraid.

You are?

You are.

Your self-love dreads a blunder.

In that sense I do feel apprehensive.

I have no wish to talk nonsense.

If you did it would be in such

a quiet grave manner.

I should probably mistake it for sense.

Do you never laugh Miss Eyre?

Believe me you're not naturally austere.

Your schooling clings to you.

But I believe in time you will be

natural with me.

I see in you at intervals a vivid

restless soul.

Now caged about with close set bars.

But were it set free it would soar

cloud high.

Precisely.

And come so la your mother charmed my

English gold out of my British breeches pocket.

Good night ladies.

I took so much care to please him.

...

Good night Gracie.

...

Good night sir.

Though Mr Rochester talked strangely at times I

always felt I understood him.

Not in the mere matter of his words.

There I was frequently at a loss.

But in their innermost beginnings.

His manner to Adele certainly puzzled me.

He appeared to abhor an object he had

succored.

And his talk of his earlier life was

an enigma still.

He did not seem to be a good

man.

And yet...

...

Vous l'aimez?

...

Oui c'est joli.

Mais où est le nez?

Did you

hear that strange laughter Mrs Fairfax?

It seemed to come from above.

Then a door slammed.

Lear and Grace Poole probably.

But Lear's behind you.

So she is.

There's no...

There's no ghost at Thornfield.

None that I've ever heard of.

Nor any traditions of one.

No legends or stories.

I believe not.

Though it is said that the Rochesters have

been rather violent in their time.

...

Grace.

...

Ma.

Too much noise.

Remember your directions.

Yes ma'am.

Mrs Poole sleeps above.

I thought all the servants...

She's not popular with the other servants.

Though she does well enough.

Plain sewing.

Would she laugh in that fashion?

I dare say.

Lear take Mrs Poole's bedding down.

Mademoiselle Jolette.

C'est fini.

Her mother deceived me.

As she deceived others before me.

My rival for her costly charms was...

...

I discovered a young...

...

roué of a vicomte.

Brainless.

Vicious.

I encountered him the following morning in the

Bois de Boulogne.

Where I had the pleasure of leaving a

bullet in one of his poor etiolated arms.

Viens me voir sur la balançoire Sophie.

And then you left Paris?

Yes.

You will now doubtless think differently of your

post and protégé.

Governess to the illegitimate offspring of a French

opera girl.

No.

Adele is not answerable for her mother's thoughts.

Or yours sir?

She's not my fault Miss Eyre.

I disclaim paternity.

No blood of mine runs in that child's

veins.

I'm not her father.

But her mother abandoned her to the slime

and mud of Paris.

I merely for charity's sake implanted her.

To grow up clean here.

So...

Do you now beg me to look out

for a new governess?

Why sir?

Which should I prefer?

Some spoilt pet of a wealthy family who

despise her governess?

Or an orphan such as Adele abandoned by

her mother?

And disowned by you?

Is that how you view it?

It is sir.

Hmm.

I like this day.

That sky of steel.

I like Thornfield.

It's antiquity.

It's grey facade.

And yet how long have I abhorred the

very thought of it?

Shunned it like a great plague house.

Now I do still abhor it.

Loathe it.

He was silent.

Within him pain.

Or was it shame?

And disgust seemed to hold a quivering conflict.

I will like it.

I dare like it.

I will break every obstacle to happiness and

yes to goodness.

Forgive me Miss Eyre.

I was arranging a point with my destiny.

She stood there like a witch.

You like Thornfield she said pointing her finger

and then wrote in air in lurid hieroglyphics

all along the house front like it if

you dare.

Do you dare sir?

I do.

Despite her warning?

Though hell should gape before me Miss Eyre.

Good day.

And was Mr. Rochester now ugly in my

eyes?

No.

The confidence he had thought fit to repose

in me seemed a tribute to my discretion.

His changes of mood his harshnesses were never

directed at me but at his former faults

and associates.

Yet what alienated him from the house?

Would he leave again soon?

Mrs. Fairfax said he rarely stayed longer than

a fortnight.

He had now remained eight weeks.

Mademoiselle Eyre!

Mademoiselle Eyre!

Suppose he were to go.

How joyless Thornfield would become.

Who is it?

Pilot?

But sleep remained far from me that night

even though an unbroken hush safe for the

clock in the hall below now reigned throughout

the house.

Who's there?

Ha ha ha!

Was that Grace Poole?

Is she possessed with a devil?

Mr. Rochester!

Wait!

Wait sir!

Is there a flood?

No sir!

But there is a fire!

Get up!

In the name of all the elves in

Christendom is that Jane Eyre?

Have you plotted to burn or drown me?

I'll fetch a candle sir.

What have you done with me you witch?

You sorceress!

I heard a strange laugh.

Shall I call Mrs. Fairfax?

What use could she do?

But you must discover who did it sir.

Yes.

Can you remain still without a candle?

Yes sir.

Don't move or call anyone.

I shall not be long.

I did not see the use of staying.

I was on the point of risking Mr.

Rochester's displeasure by disobeying.

I've found it all out.

It's as I thought.

How sir?

I forget whether you said you saw anything

when you opened your door.

Only a candle.

But you heard an odd laugh.

You've heard that laugh before I should think

or something like it.

Yes.

There's a woman who sews here.

Grace Poole.

She laughs in that fashion.

She is a singular person.

Just so you guessed it.

Grace Poole.

Now you're no talking fool are you So

say nothing of this.

I will account for it.

Return to your room.

I shall do very well on the sofa

in the library.

Good night then sir.

What?

You're quitting me already?

But you said I might go.

But not without a word or two of

goodwill.

Not in that short brief dry fashion.

Fine.

You saved my life.

Saved me from a horrible and excruciating death.

And now you propose to go as if

we're mutual strangers.

At least shake hands.

I have pleasure in owing you so immense

a debt.

Good night sir.

There is no debt.

I knew.

I saw it in your eyes when I

first beheld you.

What sir?

That you would revive some goodness in me.

Your eyes.

Their expression did not strike delight to my

inmost heart for nothing.

People talk of natural sympathies.

I've heard of good genie and there are

grains of truth in the wildest fable.

My cherished preserver.

Good night.

You're cold.

Go then.

I will sir.

When you release my hand.

Your hand.

Good night sir.

Yes.

Good night.