All language subtitles for Jane Eyre Afl.9.English

Good afternoon.
Is this the parsonage?

Aye.

Is the clergyman in?

Nay.

Will he be home soon?

Nay. His father's died

and he'll most likely be
away a fortnight or even more.

Is there
a lady of the house?

Nay. I keep house here
and I've nowt for charity.

Thank you.

Excuse me for disturbing you
but is a servant wanted here, please?

Please,
give me that food.

Mother, there's a beggar woman here
who wants me to give her my porridge!

Well, lass, give it to her
if pigs don't want it.

What do you want?

Please, can I speak
to your mistresses?

You'd better tell me
what you want to say.

I want
a night's shelter.

In an outhouse.
Anywhere.

And a crust of bread?

I'll give you
some bread,

but we can't
take in vagrants.

But where shall I go
if you turn me away?!

Oh, here's a penny.
Now go!

Please,
I can go no further!

Don't close the door!
Please don't!

Stop pushing!
The rain's coming in!

You are not what
you ought to be!

Now move off!

What is it, Hannah?
Who is she?

Some beggar woman.

I can but die.
God's will be done.

Hannah!
Open quickly!

Oh, Mr. St. John, your sisters
were quite uneasy about you.

That beggar woman tried
to force her way in!

Be off with you!
For shame!

Hannah, I have a word
to say to the woman.

You have done your duty in
excluding, now let me do mine.

This is a strange case,
and one I must look into.

Here, sit down.

Hannah,
perhaps some water.

No, some milk and a
little bread. Fetch some.

Oh, she is worn
almost to nothing.

Not too much at first.
She is too unwell.

What is
your name?

My name?

My name is Jane.

Jane Elliott.

And where do you live?
Where are your friends?

Can we send for
anyone you know?

No.

What account can you
give of yourself?

Sir, I can tell you
nothing tonight.

What then do you wish me
to do for you?

Nothing.

Do you mean you want
nothing more of us

and that we may dismiss you to
the moor and the rainy night?

I trust you.

You would not do that
to a stray dog tonight.

Do with me
as you wish,

but please excuse me
from talking.

My breath is short

and I feel a spasm
when I speak.

Here. Do try to eat.

Yes, try.

Mary, Diana, let us
go to the parlour.

Hannah, attend her.

Come.

Come along.

I am to go?

Yes. Straight upstairs,

out of those wet clothes
and into a good warm bed.

Diana's up there now
lighting a fire.

Here, let me help you.

Hannah,

bring up some
hot water bottles.

There.

It is needless to send
for a doctor.

It is only the effect of
excessive and prolonged fatigue.

I am, however,
certain there is no disease.

Heaven be thanked.

As soon as she can take
sufficient nourishment,

she will regain
her strength.

She has rather
an unusual face,

but I see no sign of
vulgarity or degradation.

The very opposite.

To speak the truth,
St. John,

my heart rather warms to
the poor little soul.

I wish we could help her
permanently.

It is hardly likely.

You'll find probably
she is a young lady

who has had a misunderstanding
with her friends

and injudiciously
left them.

We may, perhaps, restore her to them
if she is not obstinate.

She looks sensible.

It is strange.

The grace and harmony of beauty
are quite wanting in her features.

She is not at all handsome.

She is so ill, St. John.

Let her sleep.

Come.

"Willst du die
andern verstehen,

blick in dein
eigenes Herz."

It means, "wouldst
thou understand others,

look in thine own heart."

So true.

Drink your milk, Miss.

Still on with that German?
What good does it do you?

Well, Mary and I
mean to teach it.

That way we can make
more money than we do now.

Very like. But give
over, you've done enough.

Yes. And I think
Jane can sleep now.

Good night, my dear.

Good night.

Oh, at least you're eating
and drinking better.

Can you sit up?

Ooh. Only just.

how long
have I been here?

You've not been out of
this bed for 3 days,

and tonight
makes 4 nights.

I would get up if
I had the strength.

And I have nothing to wear.
My clothes are ruined.

One thing at a time.

Lie back now and sleep,
like Miss Diana told you.

Good night, then.

I wish I could get
to me bed when I fancied.

Good morning, Hannah.

Oh, you got up, then.

You look a sight better,
I must say.

Sit ye down in my chair.

Did you ever go begging
before you came here?

I'm no beggar,

any more than you or
your young ladies.

I do not understand that.

You've got like no house
nor no brass, I guess.

It does not
make me a beggar.

Are you book-learnt?

Yes. I was at a boarding
school for 8 years.

Whatever cannot ye keep
yourself for, then?

I have done so

and I hope I will
again in the future.

What are you going to do
with those apples?

Make them into pies.

Give them to me and
I'll peel them for you.

Very well.

Here, put this on your lap
or you'll mucky your dress.

Thank you.

You've not been used
to servant's work,

I see by your hands.

Never mind
what I have been.

What is the name
of this house?

They call it
moor house.

And Mr. St. John
lives here?

Nay, he doesn't
live here.

And it's
Mr. St. John rivers.

He's a parson at Morton,
a few miles off

with a home of his own.

Then it is his
father's residence?

It was.

Old Mr. Rivers died 3 weeks
since of a stroke.

That's why Mr. St. John,
Miss Diana,

and Miss Mary are all here.

The young ladies do not
live here, either?

Oh, they work in London
as governesses.

Their mother's been dead
many a year,

and old Mr. Rivers,

he'd lost
a great deal of money

by a man he had trusted
turning bankrupt.

They love this
old house, though.

And the Moors round about.
They come whenever they can.

And you? Have you lived
with the family long?

I've been here 30 year.

I nursed them,
all three.

That proves you must have been
a faithful and honest servant.

I will say so even though you were
uncivil enough to call me a beggar.

There's so many cheats
about, you mon forgive me.

You munnit be
too hard on me.

You look a right down
decent little creature.

That'll do.
Shake hands.

Oh, lass, I know
you will not talk,

but you've got
the look of a lady.

Someone must be
worrying about you.

Yes.

It hurts me so I cannot
bear to think about it.

I dare not communicate. I dare not.

The more you eat,
the better.

I've never eaten
so much.

You are hungry.

I trust I will not eat
long at your expense, sir.

No. When you have told us
where your friends are,

we can write to them, and
you may be restored to home.

I must be plain, sir.

That is beyond my power.

I am without home
or friends.

A most singular
position.

You wear no ring.
You are a spinster?

Why, St. John, she cannot
be above 17 years of age.

I am near 19.

No, I'm not
married.

You are too inquisitive,
St. John.

I cannot help you if
I know nothing about you.

I want only to be put in the
way of some work I can do,

to earn the bare
necessaries of life.

I will aid you in that to
the best of my powers. But…

oh, don't make her
talk any more, St. John.

One can see that she's
not yet fit for excitement.

Come and sit here,
Miss Elliott.

You said your name
was Jane Elliott?

Yes.

It is not
my real name.

It is what I think it best
to be called at present.

Your real name
you will not give?

No. I fear discovery
above all things.

You are quite right,
I am sure.

Oh, let her be
at peace, St. John.

You wish to remain
independent?

My sisters would love
to keep you,

but in a month or so, they will
return to their duties in the south.

I shall return to my parish
and take Hannah with me.

This house will be shut up.

I shall endeavour to enable
you to keep yourself.

I'll do anything,
even the humblest task.

If such is your spirit,

I promise to aid you
in my own time and way.

Even away
from his parish,

St. John will go out visiting
the sick and the poor.

He lives only for
his vocation, Jane.

Here he comes at last!

Excuse me.

Come in.

You have a question
to ask of me?

If I may.

I'm anxious to know
whether you've heard

of any service
I can undertake.

I found something
for you 3 weeks ago,

but you seemed
so useful and happy

and my sisters are
very attached to you.

I thought I would not speak

until the time came for us
to leave Moor House.

But that is in only
3 days' time.

Yes.

Well, what is the engagement
you have in view, Mr. Rivers?

Morton, when I came to it
2 years ago, had no school.

The children of the poor
had no hope of progress.

I have since established
a boys' school

and I now mean
to open one for girls.

The teacher's salary
will be £30 a year.

She will have
a small cottage

and some attendance
from a needy child.

The funds are provided
by Miss Oliver.

Will you be
this teacher?

Thank you, Mr. Rivers.
I accept with all my heart!

But you comprehend me?

It is a village school.

The scholars will
only be poor girls.

Farm children, at most.

What will you do
with your mind,

accomplishments,
sentiments, tastes?

They will keep until
they are needed.

You know what
you undertake, then?

I do. I will open the
school next week if you like.

Very well. So be it.

And I'm to start
in 3 days' time!

Oh, Jane, it is a great
sacrifice you make.

Our uncle John is dead.

And what then?

What then, die?

Why, nothing. Read.

Amen.

We may at least live.

We shall be no worse off
than we were before.

It does force upon the mind
what might have been.

Too vivid a contrast
with what is.

Oh, Jane,

you must wonder at us
and our mysteries.

We may seem hard-hearted
over the death of an uncle,

but we've never seen him.

It was by his advice that my
father lost most of his money.

They quarrelled

and my uncle john later
prospered and became rich.

He never married and my father
always cherished the belief

that he would atone for his error
by leaving his possessions to us.

This letter informs us that every
penny has gone to another relation

with the exception
of 30 guineas

to purchase 3 mourning rings
for St. John, Mary and me.

It would have bought ourselves rich
with £1,000 each.

And St. John would have done such
a lot of good with some money.

But come, my dears,

let us be cheerful
before our parting.

Good day, Miss Elliott.

Good day, Mr. Rivers.
Please, won't you come in?

Have you found your first day's
work harder than you expected?

Oh, no, on the contrary.
May I make you some tea?

No. I have only brought you
a little parcel my sisters left for you.

Some colour-box, pencils,
and paper, I think.

Thank you.
How good of them.

-But perhaps your accommodation is not…
-All I see has made me thankful.

Good.

Miss Elliott,
I counsel you very firmly

to resist every temptation
to look back.

Why do you say that?

I see something
in your eyes.

It is a restlessness.
You will not stay long at Morton.

-Why? I'm not ambitious.
-No? I know I am.

What made you
use the word?

I was speaking
of myself.

You are—forgive the word—
impassioned.

It is hard to control the
workings of inclination.

I know from experience,
but it may be done.

A year ago, I was
intensely miserable.

The dull duties of the ministry
wearied me to death.

I longed for excitement,
for some distinguished career.

But after much darkness
and struggling,

light broke upon me.

I have resolved
to be a missionary.

I have vowed, within a year,
to leave Europe for the east.

Allow me.

Oh! Good evening,
Mr. Rivers.

Good evening.

Papa told me that
the new mistress was come

and I ran up the valley
to see her.

This is she?

Do you think
you will like Morton?

Oh, I hope so.
You are Miss Oliver?

Indeed I am.
Do you like your house?

Greatly. And I thank you
for all you've done to provide for me.

I shall come up
to help you sometimes.

Mr. Rivers,
I have been so gay of late.

I was dancing
till 2 o'clock this morning.

You're quite a stranger
at the hall.

Will you return with me
and visit papa?

It is not a seasonable hour
to intrude on Mr. Oliver.

Oh, I declare it is.

Why are you so very
shy and somber?

Oh, I'm so thoughtless.

You are sad after parting
with your sisters.

Do come. We will be
company for you.

Not tonight.

Well, if you're so obstinate,
I must leave you.

I dare not stay,
for the dew begins to fall.

-Good evening.
-Good evening.

Mr. Briggs, you were kind
enough to concern yourself

in the affairs of myself and
Miss Eyre but a few days since.

-Sir…
-I know!

You were only
doing your duty.

I was, Mr. Rochester.

But why do you summon me
back here so soon

and so imperatively?

Miss Eyre
has disappeared.

-I am hardly surprised.
-Hear me out, man!

I need help.

The kind for which a
local lawyer is not fitted.

I need a London man.

What would you wish me
to do, Mr. Rochester?

You have brother lawyers
in every town.

Write to them.
Advertise.

There are discreet agents to
trace people, are there not?

Engage them.
Spare no expense.

If I do find her,

she may not wish her
whereabouts to be revealed.

I do not mean
to hound her.

I shall leave her
in peace if I can.

But I must know that
she does not want,

that she is well,
that she is cared for,

that she is safe.

I cannot live
fearing for her.

I must know she dwells securely
upon this same earth as myself.

Find her, Mr. Briggs.

Find her.