Original subtitles

Hello, Mum.

We're going to see that wedding.

- But you haven't been home five minutes. - You don't have a wedding every day.

Now, look, Gudrun, your Aunt Jessie is coming to lunch.

You haven't seen her for two years. Now, why don't you stay?

Two more days won't make much difference, will it?

It's a Crich wedding, Mum.

- Ursula? - Mm?

- Do you really not want to get married? - I don't know.

- Depends how you mean. - It usually means one thing.

Wouldn't you be in a better position if you were married?

Might be. I'm not sure, really.

You don't think one needs the experience?

Oh, Gudrun, do you think it need be an experience?

It's bound to be. Possibly undesirable, but it's an experience of some sort.

Not really. More likely to be the end of experience.

- Morning, Miss Brangwen. - Morning.

Yes, of course, there is that to consider.

Hurry, Tibby, for God's sake! Now we are late. Here, got it?

- Laura will never forgive me. - Gerald will blame me for this.

Get up.

- Where's Birkin? - With the groom. He's late.

- Whoa, there, steady. - Hello, Gerald.

- Winifred, what a charming dress. - Mother.

Good morning, Christiana.

It's such bad form for the groom to be late.

Don't worry about that. Something unconventional will do that family good.

Laura is not going to run away. If you're late, you're late.

Whoa, whoa!

Father.

Hello, Laura.

Tibby!

- What a spectacle. - Does it hurt your sense of family pride?

Yes, rather. Do something properly or don't bother.

But it's a masterpiece of good form to act spontaneously on one's impulses.

- It's the only gentlemanly thing to do. - Do you expect me to take you seriously?

Yes, Gerald. You are one of the very few people I do expect that of.

- Hello, Hermione. - What made you late?

The groom talked about the immortality of the soul and he hadn't got a buttonhook.

Immortality of the soul? More appropriate for an execution than a wedding.

Perhaps it would be nice if a man came along.

I mean, I wouldn't go out of my way to look for him.

If there should happen along an attractive individual with sufficient means, well...

Oh, don't you find yourself getting bored with everything?

Everything fails to materialise. Nothing materialises.

Everything withers in the bud.

- Everything. - Frightening.

Do you hope to get anywhere by just marrying?

Well, it seems the inevitable next step. But, you see, it's just impossible.

The man makes it impossible.

Now, sometimes catkins are called lamb's tails.

Don't you think they look rather like them?

So lovely and tiny.

Soft.

Sorry. Did I startle you? I thought you'd heard me come in.

No.

You're doing catkins. Are they as far out as this already? I hadn't noticed this year.

It's the fact you want to emphasise, not the impression. What's the fact?

Red, little, spiky stigmas of the female flower, dangling yellow male catkin,

yellow pollen flying from one to the other.

Make a pictorial record of the fact as when you're drawing a face.

Two eyes, nose, mouth with teeth!

I've been waiting for you for so long.

I thought I'd come and see what a school inspector does when he's on duty.

How do you do, Miss Brangwen? Do you mind my coming in?

- No. - Are you sure?

- What are you doing? - Catkins.

Really?

What do you learn about them?

From these little red bits, the nuts come.

If they receive pollen from these long danglers.

Little red flames.

Little red flames. Aren't they beautiful?

I think they're so beautiful.

- Have you never noticed them before? - No, never before.

- Now you'll always see them. - Now I shall always see them.

Thank you so much for showing me.

I think they're so beautiful.

Little red flames.

Oh, he dropped it.

Fancy her barging into your classroom like that. What a liberty.

Hermione loves to dominate everyone. She'd like to dominate us, I think.

Oh, so that's why she's invited us for the weekend.

- Charming. - Hello.

It's Gerald Crich.

I know. So, Gerald's in charge of the mines now.

Mm. Making all kinds of latest improvements. They hate him for it.

He takes them all by the scruff of the neck and fairly flings them along.

He'll have to die when he's made all the possible improvements

and there's nothing more to improve.

- He's got go, anyhow. - Certainly he's got go.

The unfortunate thing is, where does his go go to?

Dreadful. Dreadful.

All this strife and dissension.

If we could only realise that in the spirit we are all one.

All equal in the spirit.

All brothers there.

The rest wouldn't matter. There'd be no more of this carping, envy.

All this struggle for power, which destroys, only destroys.

It's the opposite, Hermione. It's just the contrary.

The minute you compare, one man is seen to be far better than another.

All the inequality in the world that you can imagine is there by nature.

I want every man to have his share of the world's goods,

so that I can be rid of his importunity, so I can say "You've got what you want."

"You've got a share of the world's gear. Mind yourself and don't obstruct me."

It sounds like megalomania, Rupert.

I must go and dress for lunch.

Don't be late, Rupert.

So this is Hermione's country cottage.

There's one reason Rupert's attracted to her.

Oh, do you think so? I don't think that.

Lovers have sold their souls for far less.

At least here, you will have an opportunity to observe nature.

Gudrun Brangwen.

Gerald Crich.

Tibby and Laura Lupton.

Ursula Brangwen.

Rupert Birkin. Rupert Birkin.

What peculiar names. Do you think we've been singled out?

Chosen for some extraordinary moment in life?

Or are we all cursed with the mark of Cain?

I'm afraid Ursula was a martyred saint. Been rather difficult to live up to.

And who is Gudrun?

In a Norse myth, Gudrun was a sinner who murdered her husband.

- Will you live up to that? - Which would you prefer, Mr Crich?

The sinner or the murderer?

Ah, I see the perpetual struggle has begun.

Oh, we all struggle so, don't we?

The proper way to eat a fig in society

is to split it in four, holding it by the stump, and open it,

so it is a glittering, rosy, moist, honeyed, heavy-petalled, four-petalled flower.

You throw away the skin after you have taken off the blossom with your lips.

The vulgar way is to put your mouth to the crack and take out the flesh in one bite.

The fig is a very secretive fruit.

The Italians vulgarly say it stands for the female part, the fig-fruit,

the fissure, the yoni.

The wonderful moist conductivity towards the centre, involved, in-turned.

One small way of access only, and this close-curtained from the light.

Sap that smells strange on your fingers, that even goats won't taste it.

And when the fig has kept her secret long enough,

so it explodes,

and you see through the fissure the scarlet,

and the fig is finished. The year is over.

That's how the fig dies, showing her crimson through the purple slit.

Like a wound, the exposure of her secret on the open day.

Like a prostitute, the bursten fig makes a show of her secret.

That's how women die, too.

Would you like to come for a walk? Would you like to come for a walk?

- The dahlias are so pretty. - Shall we, Gudrun?

- Will you come for a walk, Rupert? - No, Hermione.

- Are you sure? - Quite sure.

- And why not? - I don't like trooping off in a gang.

- But the dahlias are so pretty. - I've seen them.

Then we'll leave a little boy behind if he's sulky.

Goodbye.

- Goodbye, little boy. - Bye.

Impudent hag.

Have you ever really loved anybody?

Yes and no.

But not finally?

Finally? No.

Nor I.

- Do you want to? - I don't know.

I do.

I want the finality of love.

- Just one woman? - Just one woman.

I don't believe a woman, and nothing but a woman, will ever make my life.

You don't? Then what do you live for, Gerald?

I suppose I live for my work.

And other than that, I live... because I'm living.

I find that one needs one single, pure activity.

I would call love a single, pure activity.

But I don't really love anybody. Not now.

You mean that if there isn't a woman... then there's nothing?

More or less that.

Seeing there's no God.

Rupert, what is it you really want?

I want... to sit with my beloved in a field,

with daisies growing all around us.

We have devised an entertainment for you

in the style of the Russian Ballet.

- Who are those Brangwen girls? - Teachers in the grammar school.

- Gudrun pretends she's an artist as well. - What's their father?

Handicraft instructor in the grammar school.

Really?

The class barriers are breaking down.

That their father teaches handcraft at a school doesn't matter to me.

I shall be Orpah, a vivid, sensational widow.

I'm only just a widow and I slowly dance the death of my husband

before returning to my former life.

Gudrun will be the beautiful Ruth.

Her husband too has just now died.

And she weeps with me and laments.

And Ursula will be the mother-in-law, Naomi.

Our husbands were her sons.

Her own husband died years ago. Thus all her men are dead.

She stands alone, demanding nothing.

And the Contessa will be the wheat fields, rippling in the evening air.

And Birkin will turn the pages for the maestro.

Yes!

Lovely.

A nice dance.

Yes. Yes.

I can't do it.

Little tart!

Madame!

Hey, where are you going?

- Gerald! - Coming.

Bravo!

I'm sorry if I spoilt your dance.

It was an act of pure spontaneity.

My arse!

You can't bear anything to be spontaneous, can you?

Cos then it's no longer in your power.

You must clutch things and have them in your power.

And why? Because you haven't got any real body.

Any dark, sensual body of life.

All you've got is your will and your lust for power.

How can you not think me sensual?

All you want is pornography. Looking at yourself in mirrors.

Watching your naked animal actions in mirrors.

Keeping it all in your consciousness, making it all mental.

If one cracked your skull,

maybe one could get a spontaneous, passionate woman out of you

with real sensuality.

No, you don't, Hermione. I don't let you.

And Jesus Christ our Lord hath said

that greater love hath no man than he who lays down his life for his brother.

And no greater love hath man than the love of man for man,

and brother for brother.

We'll move forward into an uninterrupted age of brotherhood and love.

- For love is the greatest thing... - He might as well say hate is the greatest.

What people want is hate. Hate and nothing but hate.

In the name of righteousness and love, ye shall have hate.

- Out of love, throw nitroglycerine bombs. - Excuse me.

And ye shall kill your brother, though it's the lie that kills.

If people want hate, let them have it. Death, torture, destruction, let's have it.

But not in the name of love. Oh, I abhor humanity. I wish it was swept away.

It could go. It would be no absolute loss if every human being perished tomorrow.

So, you want everybody in the world destroyed?

Yes, absolutely.

You yourself, don't you think it's a wonderful, clear idea?

A world empty of people, just uninterrupted grass and rabbits.

You don't seem to see much love in humanity.

- What about individual love? - I don't believe in it any more than hate.

Love is an emotion you feel or don't feel according to your circumstances.

If you don't believe in love, what do you believe in?

Just in the end of the world and rabbits?

The point about l-o-v-e is that we hate the word because we vulgarised it.

It should be tabooed, forbidden from utterance until we find a new, better idea.

Well, I shall leave it to you to send your new, better idea down from the holy altar.

When you think the world is ready, of course.

Ha! Ha! Come on! Go on, you cow!

Come on, you bitch.

Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha!

Gerald!

- Gerald, what are you doing? - You coward!

Gerald, let her go! Let her go!

- The bully. Oh, Gudrun! - Be quiet!

Please!

She's bleeding! Oh, no!

Oh, Gudrun, do something!

- No! - Forward!

Get in there! Ha! Ha! Ha!

I should think you're proud!

Report to the office.

I'm sorry, Dewhurst.

Can't you keep him on a little longer?

I've already replaced him, Father. Don't you think his pension will be sufficient?

'Tis not the pension, it's the work. I still have a few more years' work left in me.

Not the sort of work I want.

They hate you. I'm glad I won't have to see it much longer.

Their hate is better than your love. You made a fortune exploiting them.

Now you're trying to ease your guilt by slipping them a few coins.

At least I give them a fair salary, if they can do the work.

There'll be few of them left to pay soon. You and your new machines.

- Yes, me and my new machines. - You've stopped the widows' coal.

We've always allowed all the widows of men who worked for the firm

a load of coal every three months.

They'll have to pay cost price from now. The firm is not the charity you think it is.

Home, please.

- How is your wife, Thomas? - Well, sir.

Good.

What price that, eh? She'll do, won't she?

By heck, I'd give a week's wages for five minutes with her. Five minutes!

Your missus would have something to say.

Hey! You're first class, you are.

- Think she's worth a week's wages? - I'd bloody put them down this second.

Yeah.

- Hello, love. - What about this match, then?

Look.

Ee, you won't get much for it down here, dearie.

Come on, love. Give us a drink.

- Bloody men. - Piss off.

You wanting company?

Sure you do. You'll be wanting a little company.

- Who be you, then? - A man.

- What work? - Miner. Good enough for you?

Why do you ask all these questions?

How are your thighs?

- My thighs? - How are they?

Are they strong? Because I want to drown in flesh.

Hot, physical, naked flesh.

Flesh?

Come here. You're dying for it, aren't you?

You are hideous and ridiculous like all the rest.

Come here, you stuck-up bitch. You rotten cow.

Good evening, Miss Brangwen.

Anything wrong, Palmer?

Mr Crich.

No offence, Mr Crich.

Well, I was born here and I'll die here until I fly away.

Well, don't fly away till you come to our picnic.

Did you imagine yourself in the midst of this?

- Hm. Does look rather awful. - Imagine what it'll be like.

- I suppose we could get away from it. - Police, to keep you in?

The Criches are afraid you will run off with the silver. Good afternoon.

Please, Father, may I have just a little bit of beer?

Well, you can just have a little.

- Just one more. - We are going for a dip, Father.

Ah, my dear, be sure not to stay in the water too long, won't you?

Pass it this way. I could do with another.

Come on, you old skinflint. Back up here...

Right, let's have you. One china mug still here. There's only one left.

There's three balls, sir.

This is Mr Birkin, Father.

How do you do? I hope you are keeping well.

Yes, thank you. I'm fit.

Hello, Mrs Brangwen. I know Gudrun and Ursula quite well.

- Yes, I've heard them talk about you. - Mr and Mrs Brangwen.

- I'm glad you could come to our picnic. - You forgot our invitation last year.

I...

- Tea. - Yes.

Would you like tea here or at the house?

- Can we have a rowing boat and get out? - Get out?

Well, you see, we know hardly anyone here. We're almost complete strangers.

Oh...

Oh, I'll see to it that you're set up with a few acquaintances.

Oh, you know what I mean. Can't we go over there and explore?

The light is so perfect. Perhaps we could bathe.

It reminds one of the upper reaches of the Nile. As one imagines the Nile.

Do you think it's far enough off?

Yes, you could go there. Unfortunately, we don't seem to have any more boats.

- Oh, it would be so lovely. - Do you handle a boat pretty well?

- Pretty well. - Yes, we both row like water spiders.

There is a canoe I didn't bring out

for fear somebody would drown themselves.

Do you think you'll be safe in that? You see, I'm responsible for this water.

I had a canoe at Arundel. I can assure you, I'm perfectly safe.

Then I shall see to it that you're given a tea basket.

You can have a picnic all to yourselves.

- That is the idea, isn't it? - How fearfully good.

How frightfully nice of you.

Behind the rock.

Come on.

- Are you happy, Prune? - Ursula, I am utterly, utterly happy.

So am I.

Aren't they charming, Ursula?

Charming? Won't they do anything to us?

Oh, I'm sure they won't.

I'm frightened.

Keep singing.

What the hell do you think you're doing?

- I think we've all gone mad. - Pity we aren't madder.

Why have you come?

Why do you want to drive them mad?

They're nasty when they turn.

- Turn where? - Turn against you.

- Turn against me? - They gored a farmer's cow to death.

- What do I care? - I care, seeing they're my cattle.

How are they yours? You haven't swallowed them.

Give me one of them. Now.

You know where they are.

You think I am frightened of you and your cattle, don't you?

Why should I think that?

That's why.

You struck the first blow.

And I shall strike the last.

Why are you behaving in this impossible and ridiculous fashion?

You... make me behave like this.

Me? How?

- Don't be angry with me. - No.

No, I'm not angry with you.

I am in love with you.

Yes.

Well, that's one way of putting it.

It's all right, then?

Yes.

Yes, it's all right.

It's all right, it's all right, it's all right.

- I must be going home now. - Must you?

How sad.

- Are you really sad? - Yes.

I wish we could go on walking like this forever.

There is a golden light in you which I wish that you would give me.

I always think I'm going to be loved. And then I'm let down.

Tibby! Tibby!

Tibby!

Laura?

Laura?

Laura! Where are you?

Help me, please!

Help! Help! Help me, someone! Please, quick, somebody come!

Lupton! Oh, God, Laura!

- Laura! - No! No!

- Where were they? - I don't know.

- Keep away from me! - Gerald, stop it! Stop it!

- I've got to find them. - You can't.

Why should you interfere?

You can't see.

Laura!

- Oh, God, Laura! - Keep the boat still.

- I can't. - Come out!

- Keep back! You can't help us. - Laura!

Come out, Gerald. Gerald, for God's sake, come out.

- Gerald! - Gudrun!

- Laura! - Keep the boat steady.

- Gerald! - It's too dark.

Gerald! Gerald, are you all right?

Gerald, hang on.

We shan't save them, Father. There's no knowing where they are.

- There's a current as cold as hell. - Go home and look to yourself.

We'll let the water out. Rupert, go to the north sluice.

There's room in that water there for thousands.

- Two is enough. - That's one thing about our family.

Once anything goes wrong,

it can never be put right.

Not with us.

- Do you think they're dead? - Yes.

Oh, how horrible.

- Do you mind very much? - Not about the dead. They're dead.

The worst of it is they cling to the living and won't let go.

- I'm afraid of death. - Death's all right, nothing better.

But you don't want to die?

I would like to die from our kind of life.

Be born again through a love that is like sleep.

With new air around one that no one's ever breathed before.

I thought love wasn't good enough for you.

Oh, I don't want love. I don't want to know you.

I want to be gone out of myself, I want you to be lost to yourself,

so we are found different.

We shouldn't talk when we are tired and wretched.

Say you love me. Say "my love" to me.

I love you right enough. I just want it to be something else.

Why? Why?

Why isn't it enough?

- Because we can go one better. - We can only say we love each other.

Say "my love" to me.

Say it.

Say it.

Yes... my love.

Yes, my love.

Let love be enough, then.

I love you, then.

I'm bored by the rest.

Say you love me.

Please, oh, please.

Say you love me. Say it.

Say it. Say it.

Please. Oh, no.

- Please. - Yes.

I do love you.

Ursula...

Must it be like this?

She killed him.

What did he mean?

Perhaps it's better to die than to live mechanically.

A life that's repetition, repetition.

By God, I'd just reached the conclusion that nothing mattered

except somebody to take the edge off one's being alone.

- The right somebody. - Meaning the right woman, I suppose?

Yes, of course. Failing that, an amusing man.

Well, if you're bored, why not try hitting something?

Possibly. Providing it was something worth hitting.

- You ever done any boxing? - No.

- Oh, you mean you may as well hit me? - You?

You?

Yes, perhaps in a... friendly sort of way, of course.

Well, quite.

I never learnt the gentlemanly art.

You know, I've got the feeling that...

if I don't watch myself, I shall do something silly.

Why not do it?

I used to do Japanese-style wrestling.

I was never very good at it. Those things don't interest me.

Don't they?

They do, me.

How do you start?

Well... you can't do much in a stuffed shirt.

- Let's strip and do it properly. - Very good.

You come at me any way you want and I'll try and get out of it.

Admirable.

That's good.

Yes! Yes!

Was it... too much for you?

No.

No, one ought to strive and wrestle and be physically close. It makes one sane.

- Do you think so? - Yes, I do.

Do you?

Yes.

We are mentally and spiritually close. We should be physically. It's more complete.

You know how the old German knights used to swear blood brotherhood?

Yes. Make wounds in their arms.

And run blood into each other's cuts.

Yes.

And swear to be true to each other, of one blood, all their lives.

That's what we ought to do.

Well, no wounds. That's obsolete.

But we ought to swear to love each other, you and I.

Implicitly. Perfectly.

Finally. Without any possibility of ever going back on it.

Shall we swear to each other one day?

We'll wait till I understand it better.

At any rate, one feels freer and more open now.

That's what we want.

Certainly.

In a way, that's what I want with Ursula.

Single, clear, yet balanced.

But they're all the same, women.

This lust for passion. This greed for self-importance in love.

I should think Gudrun is even worse.

- Have you seen her lately? - She's coming over next week.

Hermione suggested she teach Winifred to draw.

The child hasn't been the same since her sister...

Since the drowning.

- Are you fond of Ursula? - I think I love her.

I suppose the next steps are engagement and marriage.

You know I always believe in love. In true love.

But where do you find it nowadays?

I don't know.

Life has all kinds of things.

There isn't only one road.

I don't care how it is with me as long as I...

As long as I feel... that I've lived.

I don't care how it is as long as I feel that.

- Fulfilled. - Yes, I suppose it could be fulfilled.

I don't use the same words as you.

Well, it's the same.

- Would you like a bath? - Mm.

Come on, Rip. Get them.

Go for them!

Drive them away!

Rip! Ranger, heel! Heel, boy!

Come here, Rip! Come on, boy!

Are you all right? Rip!

Who the hell let these dogs in the drive? Take them back.

Here! Come here, boy, heel!

Take him back to the kennel.

Have you taken leave of your senses?

How many times must I tell you? No one is ever turned away from my door.

Oh, yes, I know, I know. Love thy neighbour.

And you love your neighbour more than your own family.

Why don't you turn me and the children out and keep open house for them?

If it wasn't for them, you wouldn't have this house.

If they're in trouble it's my duty to help them.

You'd think it your duty to invite all the rats in the world to gnaw at your bones.

Let's go inside, Mother.

Mr Crich can't see you.

You think you can come here whenever you like.

Go away. There's nothing for you here.

- Give him to me. - Thank you.

Gerald says, if you like it, we could have it all to ourselves as a studio.

Oh...

He'd mend the windows and have it decorated.

Gerald says it all depends on you. So do you like it?

- It's remarkable. - Oh, good!

Gerald! Gerald!

Come on, let's go and see Gerald.

Come on, Bismarck.

Winifred seems to have taken to you.

- Will you come again? - I feel very drawn to her.

Yes, I can come again.

Oh, Gerald, isn't it wonderful? We're going to draw Bismarck.

Isn't he beautiful? Isn't he strong?

Let its mother stroke its fur then, darling, because it's so mysterious.

Look what I bought.

How lovely.

How perfectly lovely.

- Why did you give them to me? - I wanted to.

Am I called on to find reasons?

Opals are unlucky, aren't they?

I prefer unlucky things. Luck is vulgar. Who wants what luck would bring? I don't.

They can be made a little bigger.

Yes.

I'm glad you bought them.

Won't it be lovely going home in the dark?

I promised to go to Shortlands tonight to have dinner with Gerald.

- It doesn't matter. You can go tomorrow. - Hermione's there.

She's going away in a couple of days. I suppose I ought to say goodbye to her.

- You don't mind, do you? - I don't mind. Why should I mind?

Well, that's what I ask myself. Why should you mind?

- But you seem to. - I assure you, I don't mind in the least.

If that's where you feel you belong, then that's where you must go.

Oh, you are a fool with your "that's where you belong".

It's finished between Hermione and me. She means much more to you than to me.

I'm not taken in by your word-twisting.

If you still feel you belong to Hermione, then you do. But you don't belong to me.

If you weren't a fool, you'd know one can be decent and wrong.

It was wrong of me to go on all that time with her. It was a deathly process.

But, after all, one can have a little human decency.

But you tear my soul out with jealousy at the mention of her name.

I? Jealous? She means nothing to me, not that.

It's what she stands for that I hate. Her lies and her falseness.

It's death but you want it, you can't help yourself.

Well, then, you go and get it, but don't come to me.

I've got nothing to do with it.

- Oh, you are a fool. - Yes, I am a fool.

And thank God for it!

I'm too big a fool to swallow your cleverness.

You go to your women, your spiritual brides,

or aren't they common and fleshy enough?

No, you're not satisfied. You'd marry for me for your everyday use

and keep your spiritual brides for tripping off into the beyond.

Oh, yes, I know your dirty little game.

You think I am not as spiritual as Hermione.

Well, Hermione is a fishwife! A fishwife!

So you go to her, that's what I say. Go to her.

In her soul, she's as common as dirt.

All the rest is just pretence, but you love it.

Do you think I don't know the foulness of your sex life and hers?

Well, I do. It's that foulness that you want, you liar.

Well, have it. Have it. Have it! You're such a liar!

- There's a bicycle coming. - I don't care.

Afternoon.

Good afternoon.

Maybe it's true. Lies, dirt and all.

But Hermione's spiritual intimacy is no rottener than your jealous intimacy.

I am not jealous. What I say, I say because it's true.

You're a false and foul liar.

- That's what I say and you hear it. - Very good.

The only hopeless thing is a fool.

Yes, right. So you take back your rings and buy yourself a female elsewhere.

I'm sure there will be plenty of women willing to share in your spiritual mess.

See what a flower I've found you?

Pretty.

Did I abuse you?

Wait.

I shall have my own back.

So this is where you've been living all the time?

Oh, what a perfectly lovely, noble place.

So warm and cosy.

We must get out of our responsibilities as quick as we can, drop our jobs like a shot.

We must say... we must write...

"Dear sir, I would be very grateful if you would liberate me as soon as possible."

"From my post as schoolmistress of the Beldover Grammar School,

without, of course, waiting for the usual month's notice."

- Oh, I could be so happy here. - No, we'll wander a bit first.

We'll get married straightaway and we'll wander a bit.

- We'll never go apart. - No.

Because we love each other.

"And the third angel poured out his vials on the river and the fountains of water..."

After Laura's death, Father's world collapsed.

We haven't had much illness in the house, either.

Not until Father.

It's something you don't reckon with until it's there.

Then you realise it was there all the time. It was always there.

The possibility of this...

incurable illness.

This creeping death.

There's nothing left.

Do you understand what I mean?

You seem to be reaching at the void,

then you realise... that you're a void yourself.

You can't go on holding up the roof forever -

sooner or later you've got to let go -

so you don't know what to do.

- You must... If I can help you. - I don't want your help.

Because there's nothing to be done.

I just want to talk to somebody.

Sympathetically.

Ah, Mother. How nice of you to come down. How are you?

You know Miss Brangwen, of course, don't you?

Yes.

Winifred tells me the doctor had something to say about your father.

- What is it? - Just that his pulse is very weak.

It misses altogether on occasions and he might not last the night out.

You're not getting into a state, are you?

You're not letting it make you hysterical?

No, I don't think so, Mother. It's just that somebody has got to see it through.

Oh, have they? Have they? And why should you take it on yourself?

What have you got to do with seeing it through?

Lt'll see itself through. You're not needed.

No, I don't suppose there is much I can do.

It's just how... it affects us, you see?

You like to be affected, don't you?

It's quite a treat for you.

Yes.

Yes, you would have to be important.

You've no need to stop at home. Why don't you go away?

You're as weak as a cat, really. Always were.

A strange lady, my mother.

Yes.

With ideas of her own.

Yes.

You want to go home. I'll see that the car is brought round.

No, I want to walk.

You might just as well drive.

But I would much rather walk.

Would you?

Then I shall come with you.

You do help me so much.

And I can't believe it.

Why? Why can't you believe it?

It's true. It's as true as... as true as we stand here.

Oh, you are so beautiful.

And I must go.

No.

Let me go alone.

How much more water leaked into the pit?

Some more.

We'll have to run off the lake.

- Ursula? - No, it's me.

Gerald.

You're very muddy.

I was walking in the dark.

What do you want from me?

I came because I must. Why do you ask?

I must ask.

There is no answer.

You must go, my love.

- It's getting late. - No, not for a minute.

Yes, you must go. I'm afraid if you stay any longer.

- Goodbye. - Goodbye.

Shall Gudrun and I rush into marriage along with you?

If I were you, I wouldn't marry.

But ask Gudrun, not me. You're not marrying me, are you?

I thought you were dead nuts on marriage.

Well... There are all kinds of marriages.

And there are all kinds of noses. Snub and otherwise.

And do you think that, if I marry, it'll be snub?

What's the alternative?

If you don't know, don't do it.

Marriage seems to me to be repulsive.

The whole world in couples, each in its own little house,

watching its own interests, stewing in its own privacies.

It's the most repulsive thing on earth.

Yes, I quite agree. There's something inferior about it.

- But there again, what's the alternative? - We've got to find one.

I do believe in a permanent union between a man and a woman.

Chopping about is merely an exhaustive process.

But a permanent relationship between a man and a woman isn't the last word.

It certainly isn't.

Quite.

We've got to take down this ideal from its pedestal. We want something broader.

I believe in the additional perfect relationship between man and man.

Additional to marriage.

- I don't see how they can be the same. - Not the same but equally important.

Equally creative, equally sacred, if you like.

I know you believe something like that. Only I can't feel it, you see.

Gudrun might rush into marriage like we have.

Rubbish. Gudrun is a born mistress, just as Gerald is a born lover.

If all women are either wives or mistresses, then Gudrun is a mistress.

And all men are either lovers or husbands.

Why not both?

No, the one excludes the other.

Then I want a lover.

- Oh, no, you don't. - Oh, yes, I do.

- How much is it? - Ten shillings.

We don't want that. We can have my furniture from the house.

- It's so beautiful, so pure. - What?

Oh...

- I'm only going to give you five shillings. - Right.

It almost breaks my heart. My beloved country!

It had something to express, even when it made this chair.

Now we fish amongst rubbish heaps for remnants of the old expression.

There's no production in us any more, just sordid and foul mechanicalness.

Well, I hate your past. I'm sick of it.

Not as sick as I am of the accursed present.

I don't want the past to take its place.

I don't want old things.

The truth is, we don't want things at all.

The thought of a house and furniture of my own is hateful. Madam, it's yours.

I hope you will both be very, very happy together.

- We must live somewhere. - Not somewhere, anywhere.

Not have a definite place. Just you and me and a few others.

Where we needn't wear any clothes and can be ourselves without any bother.

Rupert, whatever did you mean? You, me and a few other people? You've got me.

Well, I always imagined our being happy with a few other people.

Why should we be?

I don't know. One has a hankering after a further fellowship.

Why? Why should you hanker after other people? Why should you need them?

Don't you need them? Or does it just end with us two, then?

Yes. What more do you want?

If people care to come along, well, let them.

But it must happen. You can't do anything about it with your will.

You always seem to think you can force the flowers to come out.

People must love us because they love us.

I know.

But must one go on as if one's alone in the world?

You've got me. Why should you need others?

You must just learn to be alone.

Two teas, please.

Did you know Gerald Crich has suggested we all go away together at Christmas?

Yes. He's spoken to Rupert about it.

Well, don't you think it's amazingly cool?

I rather like him for it.

- And what did Rupert say? Do you know? - He said it would be most awfully jolly.

Well, don't you think it would be?

I think it might be awfully jolly, as you say, but...

Don't you think it was an unpardonable liberty to speak to Rupert like that?

You see? They could have been two men

arranging an outing with some little type they'd picked up.

Oh, no.

No. Nothing like that.

Oh, no.

No, I think the friendship between Rupert and Gerald is really rather beautiful.

It's so simple. They just say anything to each other, like brothers.

There's something I love about Gerald.

He is really much more lovable than I thought him.

Well, he's free, Gudrun.

He really is.

Do you know where he proposes to go?

Mm.

Near Zermatt.

I don't know where exactly.

Oh, it would be rather lovely, don't you think?

- High up in the perfect snow. - Very lovely.

I think Gerald spoke to Rupert about it so it shouldn't seem an outing with a... type.

I know he does take up with that sort.

Does he? How do you know?

I know of a model in Chelsea.

Well, let's hope he had a good time with her.

I must go, Prune. Rupert's waiting.

The minute I set foot on foreign soil, I am transported.

- I am a new creature stepping into life. - It's never quite the same in England.

One's afraid to let go, afraid what will happen... if everyone else lets go.

We're out of it, so let's all let go together.

Look out!

There's one for you.

- How romantic it all is. - Wollen Sie tanzen, gn�dige Frau?

Shall we dance?

- Eins, zwei, drei, vier.

What a fine game you're playing. She's in love with you. Oh, she's in love with you.

Right, I'll get you next time.

Missed!

Do you love me?

Far too much.

I couldn't bear this cold, eternal place without you.

- Do you hate it, then? - Mm.

If you weren't here, it would kill the very quick of my life.

It's good that we're warm and together.

- I want to take it. - Well, have it, then.

- I can't believe it. - Wait, wait. My feet are on.

Put your feet up. Right!

I'd better put my goggles on. I'm not on! I am now.

We're going to come off. We're going to come off.

Oh! Oh!

- It wasn't too much for you? - No.

It was the most complete moment of my life.

- See you down there. - We're going to have another go. Bye!

Hey!

Hey, Prune. Isn't it interesting?

Herr Loerke is doing a great frieze for a factory in Cologne.

Was it for the outside? The outside, in the street.

So you are an artist. I knew it.

I think that the machinery. The...

The acts of labour are beautiful, extremely beautiful.

The factory of today must be the Parthenon.

Oh, you believe art should serve industry?

Ah! Art should interpret industry, ich glaube.

- As art once interpreted religion. - Gudrun is an artist as well, you know.

Oh?

- What do you do? - I'm a sculptress.

- And what do you sculpt? - Animals, birds.

- Knick-knacks for the rich. - Oh!

Travailler. Lavorato, che lavoro, che lavoro.

Huh?

You're not an artist. You've never worked as the world works.

Yes, I have, and I do.

Have you known what it was to lie in bed because you had nothing to eat

in a room with three other families and a toilet in the middle,

a big pan with a plank on it?

And your father making love - love! - with a street whore in the corner.

Do you understand?

- How old are you? - 26.

Und lhr Herr Gemahl? Wie alt ist er?

Your husband.

31.

Come along. I will show you something interesting.

Oh... Well...

Allez, allez.

I've come to show you something.

This is... No, this.

My factory. It's colossal!

Oh...

Something special.

Look.

But it's beautiful.

- Why did you make the horse so stiff? - Stiff?

Yes.

Stiff.

Look at that stock, stupid, brutal thing.

A horse is a very sensitive creature.

Quite delicate, really. But sensitive.

Well, it's not a picture of a friendly horse,

to which you give a lump of sugar, gn�dige Frau.

It's part of a work of art.

It has no relation with anything that's outside the work of art.

- But it's still a picture of a horse. - Certainly. It's not a picture of a cow.

Where is she now, the model?

She was a nuisance. Not for a minute would she keep still.

Not until I'd slapped her hard and make her cry. Then she'd sit for five minutes.

- Did you really slap her? - Yes, I did.

Harder than I have ever beat anything in my life.

I had to, for the sake of my art.

Well, love has no place in your world of art.

L'amour, I'amore, die Liebe. I detest it in every language.

What does this matter, if I wear this hat or another?

So, love. It's only for convenience.

I would give everything, everything, all you love,

for a little companionship in intelligence.

Rupert.

I want to go away.

- Do you? - Mm. Don't you?

- I hadn't thought about it. - Hm?

I hadn't thought about it.

Oh, I hate the snow!

The unnatural light it throws on everybody.

Oh, the ghastly glamour of it all.

And the unnatural feelings it makes everybody have.

We can go away if you like. We can go away tomorrow.

We can go to Verona and find Romeo and Juliet and sit in the amphitheatre.

Oh, yes! Yes, I'd love to be Romeo and Juliet.

A fearfully cold wind blows through Verona from out of the Alps.

Are you glad you're going?

No, I don't want to be laughed at. Do you love me?

Yes! Yes!

- Do you love me? - Yes!

- Why is your mouth so hard? - Why is yours frozen solid?

Why do you grip your lips?

Never you mind.

It's my way.

Do you know what it is to suffer when you're with a woman?

It tears you like a silk.

And each bit and stroke burns hot.

Of course, I wouldn't not have had it. It was a complete experience.

She's a wonderful woman but... I hate her somewhere.

- It's curious. - You've had your experience now.

- Why work on an old wound? - Because there's nothing else.

I've loved you as well as Gudrun. Don't forget.

Have you?

Or do you think you have?

- Ursula. - Bye, Gerald.

Be good.

- Goodbye, Gerald. - Rupert.

- Goodbye, Gudrun. - Rupert.

Bye!

See you soon!

Why are you sitting in the dark?

Look at that lovely star up there. Do you know its name?

No.

- It's very fine. - Isn't it beautiful?

Do you see how it darts different coloured fires?

- It's superb. - Mm.

- Do you regret their leaving? - No, not at all.

How much do you love me?

- How much do you think I love you? - I don't know.

- But what's your opinion? - Very little indeed.

- Why don't I love you? - Well, I don't know why you don't.

I've been good to you.

When you first came to me in that fearful state, I had to take pity on you.

It was never love.

Why do you keep repeating it, that there was never any love?

You don't think you love, do you?

No.

You don't think you can love me, do you?

I don't know what you mean by the word "love".

Oh, yes, you do.

You know very well that you have never loved me.

Well, have you, do you think?

No.

And you never will love me, will you?

Why do you torture me?

I don't want to torture you.

Just say you love me. Say you'll love me forever.

Won't you say it? Won't you say you'll love me always?

Even if you don't mean it, but say it, Gerald, do.

I will love you always.

Fancy you're actually having said it.

Try to love me a little more and want me a little less.

- You mean you don't want me? - You're so insistent.

And you have so little grace, so little finesse.

You are crude. You break me and waste me.

And it is horrible to me.

- Horrible to you? - Oh, yes.

Don't you think I might have Ursula's room now to myself?

You do... as you wish.

- You go where you wish. - Oh, I will.

But so can you.

You can go whenever you like.

Without notice, even.

Gerald...

Gerald...

Gerald...

Oh, my God, Gerald! Shall I die?

Sehen Sie Herr Loerke? Da sitzt die englische Frau.

Ja, ich seh schon.

Hm.

Your form is very good, Herr Crich.

A man should have something of massiveness in their stupid form.

You don't do sports, Herr Loerke?

Not sports, no. Only games.

And what sort of games might they be?

- Only ones which I enjoy. - But what sort of games?

Er... secret games.

Initiation games.

Full of esoteric understanding and fearful, sensual secrets.

Rubbish.

Contemptible rubbish.

Why are the English so inept in argument?

You know, there often is another way.

- Sehen Sie, gn�dige Frau... - Sagen Sie nicht immer gn�dige Frau.

- What should I say then? - Sagen Sie nur nicht das.

- Soll ich Fr�ulein sagen? - Well, I'm not married.

Truth is best.

Cleopatra must have been an artist.

She reaped the essential from a man.

She harvested the ultimate sensation and then... she threw away the husk.

Well, I am not going to play your Antony.

Oh.

The point of a lover is to reach a complete understanding of sensual knowledge.

And today I will be Peter Ilyich Tchaikovsky.

Hurray!

A great Russian composer.

And you are my bride of six hours.

- We are on our honeymoon. - Ah!

We are on our honeymoon

on the Trans... Siberian... Express...

We are alone.

In our sleeping compartment.

I'm a homosexual.

I am a homosexual composer!

Catch.

Who is married!

To protect his family name...

from gossip...

and scandal.

And you...

You are a scheming, thieving nymphomaniac...

...who has married for fame and fortune.

Between two particular people, the range of pure sensational experience is limited.

One can only extend, draw out, and electrify.

One must not repeat.

One must find only new ways.

The train is going into a tunnel.

- Why are you fascinated by that rat? - I don't choose to be discussed by you.

My God, what a mercy I'm not married to you.

It doesn't matter whether you choose to discuss it.

It doesn't alter the fact that you fall down and kiss that insect's feet.

You do it. I'm not going to prevent you. You kiss his feet.

What I want to know is what it is about him that fascinates you.

- What is it? - Do you? Do you want to know what it is?

It is that he has some understanding. He is not stupid. That's why.

And would you like to crawl for the understanding of a rat?

The understanding of a rat

is more interesting than the understanding of a fool.

- A fool? - A fool, a conceited fool.

A Dummkopf.

Wouldn't I rather be the fool than explore those sewers with a rat?

What have you to offer as an alternative?

An eternity of domesticity at Shortlands?

When I think of you, your world and your coal mine, it makes my heart sick.

You're so limited, you're a dead end. You cannot love.

And you?

I could never love you.

It may be over between us.

But it's not finished.

- Wait, wait, I have something for you. - Oh, Loerke, what an inspiration.

What a comble de joie indeed. What is it, schnapps?

- Heidelbeere. - No.

It is made from bilberries. It is distilled from snow.

It's exactly like bilberries under the snow.

Listen, you are going away tomorrow?

- Yes. - Wohin?

- I don't know. - One never does.

Where will you take a ticket to?

- Oh, I have to take a ticket? - Ja.

Ah, but one does not have to go where the ticket says.

Then take a ticket to London. One should never go there.

- Right! - You must not go back to teaching.

You must not go back to teaching.

Leave that to the swine who can do nothing else.

You're an extraordinary woman.

Eine... eine seltsame Frau.

Why should you follow the ordinary course? Huh?

You won't tell me where you will go?

Really and truly, I don't know.

It depends which way the wind blows.

- It blows through Germany. - Perhaps.

Come with me to Dresden.

I live alone there. I have a big studio. I can give you work.

I believe in you.

- Work? - Maria...

You came like a ghost.

Heidelbeere?

You!

I didn't want it anyway.

I'm tired. I want to sleep.

- Was it vile being dragged back? - I didn't even think of it.

I felt beastly fetching you here.

I simply couldn't see people.

- That was too much. - Yes.

I think I'll go to Dresden.

For a while.

I did not want it to be like this.

I didn't want it to be like this.

He should have loved me.

I offered him.

Did you need Gerald?

Yes.

Aren't I enough for you?

No.

You are enough for me as far as a woman is concerned.

You are all women to me.

But I wanted a man friend as eternal.

As you and I are eternal.

I don't believe it.

It's an obstinacy, a theory.

A perversity.

You can't have two kinds of love.

Why should you?

It seems as if I can't. Yet I wanted it.

You can't have it because it's impossible.

I don't believe that.