All language subtitles for The.Age.of.Innocence.1993.1080p.BluRay.x264.YIFY en

Well!

I didn't think the Mingotts
would have tried it on.

Parading her at the
opera like that.

Sitting her next to May
Welland. It's all very odd.

Well, she's had such an odd life.

Will they bring her to
the Beauforts' ball?

If they do, the talk
will be of little else.

Good evening, Mrs. Welland.
Good evening, May.

Newland.

You know my niece,
Countess Olenska.

Countess.

I hope you've told Madame Olenska.

What?

That we're engaged.

I want everybody to know.

Let me announce this
evening it at the ball.

If you can persuade Mama.

Why should we change
what is already settled?

But you can tell my cousin
yourself. She remembers you.

I remember we played together.
How this brings it all back to me.

I remember everybody in
knickerbockers and pantalettes.

You were horrid.

You kissed me once behind a door.

But it was Vandy, who never
looked at me, that I loved.

- You have been away a very long time.
- Centuries and centuries.

So long, I'm sure I'm dead and
this dear place is heaven.

It invariably happened, as
everything did in those days...

in the same way.

As usual...

Mrs. Julius Beaufort appeared,
unaccompanied by her husband...

just before "The Jewel Song."

And, again as usual, rose at
the end of the third act...

and disappeared.

New York then knew that
a half-hour later...

the Beauforts' annual
opera ball would begin.

Carriages waited at the curb
for the entire performance.

It was known in New York
but never acknowledged...

that Americans want
to leave amusement...

even more quickly than
they want to get to it.

The Beauforts' house was one of the
few in New York with a ballroom.

Such a room, shuttered in
darkness 364 days of the year...

was felt to compensate for whatever
was regrettable in the Beaufort past.

Regina Beaufort came from an
old South Carolina family.

But her husband, Julius, who
passed for an Englishman...

was known to have dissipated
habits, a bitter tongue...

and mysterious antecedents.

His marriage assured him
a social position...

but not necessarily respect.

Newland Archer hadn't stopped at his
club, as young men usually did...

but came directly to the ball.

He wanted the announcement
of his engagement...

to divert gossip away
from the countess...

and show his most ardent support
for May and her whole family.

The Beaufort house had
been boldly planned.

Instead of squeezing through a
passage to get to the ballroom...

one marched solemnly down a vista
of enfiladed drawing rooms.

But only by passing through
the crimson drawing room...

could one see The
Return of Spring...

the much-discussed
nude by Bouguereau...

which Beaufort had had the
audacity to hang in plain sight.

Archer enjoyed such
challenges to convention.

He questioned conformity
in private...

but in public he upheld
family and tradition.

This was a world balanced
so precariously...

that its harmony could be
shattered by a whisper.

On the whole, Archer was amused by
the smooth hypocrisies of his peers.

He may even have envied them.

Lawrence Lefferts, for instance...

was New York's foremost
authority on form.

His opinion on pumps versus
patent-leather oxfords...

had never been disputed.

On matters of
surreptitious romance...

his skills went unquestioned.

Old Mr. Sillerton Jackson was as
great an authority on family...

as Lawrence Lefferts was on form.

The mean and melancholy history of
Countess Olenska's European marriage...

was a buried treasure he
hastened to excavate.

He carried, like a calling card...

an entire register of the
scandals and mysteries...

that had smoldered under the
unruffled surface of society...

for the last 50 years.

Now, Julius Beaufort's secret was
the way he carried things off.

He could arrive casually at his party
as if he were another guest...

and might leave early...

for a more modest but comforting
address in the East 30s.

He was intrepid in his business...

but in his personal affairs,
absolutely audacious.

Archer's fiancée was innocent of all
these intrigues and of much else.

May Welland represented for Archer
all that was best in their world...

all that he honored. And
she anchored him to it.

I've told my friends,
just as you asked.

I couldn't wait.

- I wish it hadn't been at a ball.
- But even here we're alone.

The worst of it is that I
want to kiss you and I can't.

Did you tell Ellen
as I asked you to?

I didn't have a chance after all.

She's my cousin. If others
know before she does...

She's been away for so long.
She's rather sensitive.

I'll tell her. But I
didn't see her yet.

- She didn't come at the last minute.
- At the last minute?

She thought her dress
wasn't smart enough.

We thought it was lovely, but
she asked to be taken home.

Oh, well.

Very handsome.

Very liberal.

In my time, a cameo set in pearls
was thought to be sufficient.

But it's the hand that sets
off the ring, isn't it?

The setting shows the
stone beautifully.

But it looks bare to
old-fashioned eyes.

I hope you don't mean mine,
my dear. I like all the novelties.

My hands were modeled in Paris by the
great Rochet. He should do May's.

Show me, child.

Her hand is so tempered.

These modern sports
spread the joints.

But the skin is white.

When's the wedding?

Soon, if only you'll back
me up, Mrs. Mingott.

We must give them time to
know each other better.

Know each other?

Everyone in New York has
always known everyone.

Don't wait till the bubble's off
the wine. Marry before Lent.

I may catch pneumonia, and I want
to give the wedding breakfast.

What a kind offer.

Even if she hadn't been
May's grandmother...

Mrs. Manson Mingott would have
been the first to receive...

the required betrothal visit.

She was not only the
matriarch of this world...

she was nearly its dowager empress.

Much of New York was
related to her...

and she knew the remainder by
marriage or by reputation.

Though brownstone was the norm...

she lived magisterially
within a large house...

of controversial pale,
cream-colored stone...

in an inaccessible wilderness
near the Central Park.

The burden of her flesh had long
since made it impossible...

for her to climb stairs.

So with characteristic
independence...

she had established herself on
the ground floor of her house.

From her sitting room, there was an
unexpected vista of her bedroom.

Her visitors were fascinated by the
foreignness of this arrangement...

which recalled scenes
in French fiction.

This was how women with lovers
lived in the wicked old societies.

But if she had wanted a lover...

the intrepid woman would
have had him too.

For now, she was content simply...

for life and passion to flow
northward to her door...

and to anticipate eagerly the
union of Newland Archer...

with her granddaughter, May.

In them, two of New
York's best families...

would finally and
momentously be joined.

- Goodbye, Mama.
- Goodbye.

Ellen.

Beaufort, this is a rare favor.

Unnecessarily rare, I'd say.

I met Countess Ellen, and she
let me walk home with her.

This house will be merrier
now that she's here.

- Thank you.
- Beaufort, pull up that tuffet.

I want a good gossip.

You already know about May and me.

She scolded me for not telling you.

Of course I know, and I'm so glad.

One doesn't tell such
news first in a crowd.

Careful there.

Don't catch your
ring on your sleeve.

Goodbye.

Goodbye.

Come and see me someday.

It's a mistake for Ellen to parade
up 5th Avenue with Julius...

at the crowded hour...

the very day after her arrival.

He's so flagrant. Even his wife
must know about Annie Ring.

Sillerton Jackson enjoyed his
frequent visits to the Archer home...

more than the actual dining.

Newland Archer's mother...

and his sister Janey were both shy
women and shrank from society.

But they liked to be well-informed
and doted on their bachelor friend.

Certain nuances escape Beaufort.

Necessarily. Beaufort
is a vulgar man.

Not in business. Most of New York
trusts him with its affairs.

My Grandfather Newland
always told Mother:

"Don't let that Beaufort be
introduced to the girls."

At least he's had the advantage
of association with gentlemen.

The Archers and the Mingotts
were the sturdiest branches...

of New York's tangled family tree.

Granny Mingott's family could
embrace May's traditionalism...

and tolerate Ellen's
unconventionality.

But Archer's family held
fast to the old ways.

His mother and sister relied
on him for every security.

He would always be, Mrs.
Archer assured May's mother:

"Their strong right hand."

Was our new cousin at the ball?

I appreciate the Mingotts' support
of her, having her at the opera.

I admire their esprit de corps.

But why my son's engagement...

should be mixed up with her
comings and goings, I don't see.

In any case, she was
not at the ball.

At least she had that decency.

Does she wear a round hat or
a bonnet in the afternoon?

The dress she wore to
the opera was so plain.

- It was in better taste not to go.
- It wasn't taste.

May said Ellen decided her
dress wasn't smart enough.

Poor Ellen.

We must always remember the
eccentric bringing-up she had.

What can you expect of a girl who wore
black satin at her coming-out ball?

It's odd she kept such an ugly name
as Ellen when she married the count.

I'd have changed it to Elaine.

Why?

I don't know.

It sounds more...

Polish.

It sounds more conspicuous. That
can hardly be what she wishes.

Why shouldn't she be
conspicuous if she chooses?

She made an awful marriage,
but should she hide her head?

Should she slink around as
if she disgraced herself?

She's had a sad life. That
doesn't make her an outcast.

I'm sure that's the line
the Mingotts mean to take.

I needn't wait for their cue,
if that's what you mean.

I'm told she's looking for a house.
She intends to live here.

I hear she means to get a divorce.

I hope she will.

Understandably, her
marriage was intolerable.

- There are the rumors too.
- I've heard them.

The secretary.

He helped get her away
from the husband.

They say the count kept her
practically a prisoner.

Certainly the count had
his own way of life.

- You knew him?
- I heard of him at Nice.

Handsome, they say...

but eyes with a lot of lashes.

When he wasn't with women...

he was collecting china.

Paying any price for
both, I understand.

Then where's the blame?

Any one of us would have helped the
countess, just as the secretary did.

He was still helping
her a year later.

Somebody met them living
together at Lausanne.

Living together?

Why not? She has the right
to make her life over.

Why bury a woman alive if
her husband prefers whores?

It's hardly a question
of entombment.

The countess is here, after all.

Or do you believe a woman should
share the same freedoms as men?

I suppose I do. Yes, I do.

Apparently Count Olenski takes
a similarly modern view.

I never heard of him lifting a
finger to get his wife back.

Three days later, the
unthinkable happened.

Mrs. Manson Mingott
sent out invitations...

summoning everyone
to a formal dinner.

Such an occasion demanded the
most careful consideration.

It required the appropriate plate.

It called for three
extra footmen...

two dishes for each course and
a Roman punch in the middle.

The dinner, read the invitation...

was "to meet the Countess Olenska."

And New York declined.

"Regret, unable to accept."

And from our own family.

No one cares enough...

to conceal their feelings about
the countess. This is a disgrace.

They all lived in a kind
of hieroglyphic world.

The real thing was never said
or done or even thought...

but only represented by a
set of arbitrary signs.

Archer knew these signs. They were
not subtle and were not meant to be.

They were more than
a simple snubbing.

They were an eradication.

There was a single court of appeal.

He would plead their case
before the van der Luydens.

And all this, you think, is due to
some intentional interference by...

Larry Lefferts. I'm certain of it.

The van der Luydens dwelled
above all the cities' families...

in a kind of
superterrestrial twilight.

Archer appealed to their exquisitely
refined sense of tribal order.

And he spoke plainly.

Whenever poor Gertrude Lefferts begins
to suspect her husband of something...

Larry makes some great diversionary
fuss to show how moral he is.

It's the principle that I dislike.

I mean, if a member of a well-known
family is backed by that family...

it should be considered final.

We felt this slight on the countess
shouldn't pass without consulting you.

We're giving a dinner for our
cousin, the Duke of St. Austrey...

who arrives next
week on the Russia.

I'm sure Louisa will
be as glad as I am...

if Countess Olenska will let us
include her among our guests.

The occasion was a solemn one.

But the countess
arrived rather late...

signaling a carelessness of
which she was entirely unaware.

She entered, without haste
or embarrassment...

the drawing room in which New
York's most chosen company...

was somewhat awfully assembled.

Countess Olenska.

Good evening.

We're delighted you're here.

The Duke of St. Austrey. May
I present Countess Olenska.

The Trevenna George
II plate was out.

So was the van der Luyden Lowestoft
from the East India Company...

and the Dagonet Crown Derby.

Dining with the van der Luydens
was, at best, no light matter.

Dining there with a duke
who was their cousin...

was almost a religious solemnity.

When the van der Luyden's chose,
they knew how to give a lesson.

Excuse me.

It was not the custom
in New York...

for a lady to get up and walk
away from one gentleman...

in order to seek the
company of another.

But the countess did
not observe this rule.

I want you to talk to me about May.

You knew the duke before?

From Nice.

We saw him every winter. He's fond of
gambling and came to our house often.

He wears the same suit every evening.
He thinks it brings him luck.

He's the dullest man I ever met.

But he seems to be admired here.

May I tell you what most
interests me about New York?

Not all the blind obeying of
somebody else's tradition.

It seems stupid to make America
a copy of another country.

Would Columbus have taken such trouble
just to go to the opera with Lefferts?

If he'd known Larry Lefferts were
here, he might never have left port.

And May? Does she
share these views?

If she does, she'd never say so.

Are you very much in love with her?

As much as a man can be.

Do you think there's a limit?

If there is, I haven't found it.

It's really and truly
a romance then.

Not in the least arranged?

In our country, we don't allow
our marriages to be arranged.

Yes, I forgot. I'm sorry.

I sometimes make these mistakes.

I don't always remember that
everything here is good...

that was bad where I came from.

I'm so sorry.

But you know you are
among friends here.

Yes, I know. That's
why I came home.

You'll want to be with May.

She's already surrounded
by so many rivals.

Then stay with me a little longer.

Yes.

Mr. Urban Dagonet,
the Countess Olenska.

- How do you do, my dear?
- How do you do?

Tomorrow then, after
5, I'll expect you.

Tomorrow.

Excuse me.

It was good of you to
devote yourself...

to Madame Olenska so
unselfishly, dear Newland.

I told Henry he really
must rescue you.

I think I've never seen
May looking lovelier.

The duke thinks her the
handsomest woman in the room.

Mr. Archer.

So how do you like
this odd little house?

To me, it's like heaven.

You've arranged it delightfully.

Some of the things I
managed to bring with me.

Little pieces of wreckage.

At least it's less gloomy
than the van der Luydens'...

and not so difficult to be alone.

I'm sure it's often thought the
van der Luydens' is gloomy...

though I've never
heard it said before.

Do you really like to be alone?

As long as my friends keep
me from being lonely.

I see you've already
chosen your corner.

- Please, sit.
- Thank you.

This is the hour I like best.

Don't you?

I was afraid you'd
forgotten the hour.

I'm sure Beaufort can
be very intriguing.

He took me to see some houses.

I'm told I must move, even though this
street seems perfectly respectable.

- Yes, but it's not fashionable.
- Fashionable?

Is fashion such a
serious consideration?

Among people with nothing
more serious to consider.

Perhaps I've been too independent.

All I really want is to
feel cared for and safe.

The van der Luydens
do nothing by halves.

All New York laid itself
out for you last night.

It was so kind. Such a nice party.

Cream or lemon?

Lemon, please.

The van der Luydens are the most
powerful influence in society.

They very seldom receive because
of Cousin Louisa's health.

- Perhaps that's the reason then.
- Thank you. The reason?

For their influence. They
make themselves so rare.

But of course you must tell me.

No, it's you telling me.

Then we can both help each other.

But I need help so much more.

There are so many people already...

to tell you what to do.

I think they're all a little angry
with me for setting up for myself.

Still, your family can advise
you, show you the way.

Is New York such a labyrinth?

I thought it was all straight
up and down, like 5th Avenue.

All the cross streets numbered...

and big honest labels
on everything.

Everything is labeled...

but everybody is not.

I must count on you
for warnings too.

All the older women like you.
They want to help.

I know. As long as they don't
hear anything unpleasant.

Does no one here want to
know the truth, Mr. Archer?

The real loneliness is living
among all these kind people...

who only ask you to pretend.

No, you mustn't.

Madame Olenska.

Ellen...

Does no one cry here, either?

I suppose there's no need to.

Oh, Mr. Archer, good evening.

We didn't see you and weren't sure
whether to send Miss Welland...

Lilies of the valley. Let's
make it a standing order.

Very good, sir.

And those yellow roses.
I'll give you another address.

Very good.

Mr. Archer. Two separate orders.

- They'll go at once?
- At once.

It's wonderful to wake
with lilies of the valley.

It's like being with you.

They came late yesterday, I know.
Time got away from me.

But still, you always remember.

I sent roses to Ellen too.
Was that right?

Very right.

She didn't mention it
at lunch today, though.

She got some wonderful
orchids from Mr. Beaufort...

and a hamper of carnations
from Henry van der Luyden.

She was so very delighted. Don't
people send flowers in Europe?

- I know you consider it a long time.
- Very long.

But the Chivers were engaged for a
year and a half, the Lefferts for two.

Mama expects something customary.

Since you were little, you've had
your way. You're almost 22.

Just tell your mother
what you want.

I can't refuse her the last
thing she'd ask of me.

Can't we just strike
out for ourselves?

Shall we elope?

If you would, why not?

You do love me, Newland.
I'm so happy.

Well, why not be happier?

I couldn't be happier, dearest.

I showed Ellen the ring. She thought
it was the most beautiful setting.

She said there was nothing
like it in the Rue de la Paix.

I do love you, Newland.

Everything you do is so special.

I want to call on your legal skills
for a rather delicate matter.

Countess Olenska wants
to divorce her husband.

It's been suggested she
means to marry again...

although she denies it.

I beg your pardon, but
because of my engagement...

perhaps another member of the
firm could consider this.

Precisely because of your
prospective alliance...

and considering members of
the family asked for you...

I'd like you to consider it.

It's a family matter. Perhaps
it's best settled by the family.

Their position is clear.

They're entirely and
rightly against a divorce.

But Countess Olenska still
insists on a legal opinion.

But, really, what's
the use of a divorce?

She's here.

He's there.

The whole Atlantic's between them.

As things go, Olenski's
acted generously.

He's returned some of the
money without being asked.

She'll never get a
dollar more than that.

Although I understand she attaches
no importance to the money.

Considering all that, the wisest
thing is to do as the family say.

Just let well enough alone.

I think that's for her to decide.

Have you considered the consequences
if the countess decides for divorce?

- Consequences for the countess?
- For everyone.

I don't think the count's accusations
are anything more than vague charges.

It will make for some talk.

I've heard talk about the
countess and the secretary...

even before I read
the legal papers.

It's certain to be unpleasant.

Unpleasant?

Divorce is always unpleasant,
don't you agree?

Naturally.

Then I can count on you?

The family can count on you to use
your influence against a divorce?

I can't promise that. Not until
I've talked to the countess.

I don't understand you.

You want to marry into a family
with a divorce hanging over it?

I don't think that has
anything to do with the case.

Can someone take this
to the countess?

You refuse such an invitation
on threat of death.

Is it so bad?

Not if you have a
taste for slow agony.

- I've neglected to cultivate that.
- Three days with the van der Luydens!

- Take your fur and a hot-water bottle.
- Is the house that cold?

- No, but Louisa is.
- Mr. Archer.

Come to Delmonico's on Sunday. I'm
having an oyster supper in your honor.

Private room, congenial
company, artists and so on.

That's tempting. I haven't met a
single artist since my arrival.

I know some painters I
could bring to see you.

Painters? Are there any
painters in New York?

Thank you, but I was really thinking
of singers, actors, musicians...

dramatic artists.

There were always so many
at my husband's house.

May I let you know tomorrow?
It's too late to decide tonight.

Is this late?

Yes, because I still have to
talk business with Mr. Archer.

Of course, Newland...

if you can persuade the
countess to change her mind...

you can join us too.

You know painters, then?
You live in their milieu?

- Not exactly.
- But you care about such things?

Immensely. When I'm in Europe,
I never miss an exhibition.

I try to keep up.

I used to care immensely too.

My life was full of such things.

But now I want to cast off all
my old life to be an American...

and be like everyone else.

I doubt you'll ever quite
be like everybody else.

Don't say that. I want to put
all the old things behind me.

I know.

Mr. Letterblair told me.

Mr. Letterblair?

Yes, I've come because he
asked me to. I'm in the firm.

You mean it'll be you who'll
manage everything for me?

- I can talk to you. That's easier.
- Yes, I'm here to talk about it.

I've read all the legal papers.

And the letter from the count.

It was vile.

But if he chooses to fight, he can
say things that might be un...

That are disagreeable to you.
Say them publicly...

so that they could be
damaging even if...

If?

Even if they were unfounded.

What harm could accusations
like that do me here?

Perhaps more harm
than anywhere else.

Our legislation favors divorce,
but our social customs don't.

Never?

Well, not if the woman...

has appearances...

in the least degree against
her, has exposed herself...

by any unconventional behavior...

to offensive insinuations and...

Yes. So my family tell me.

Our family. You'll
be my cousin soon.

And you agree with them?

What could you possibly gain that
would make up for the scandal?

My freedom.

But aren't you free already?

It's my business to help
you see these things...

the way people who are
fondest of you see them.

If I didn't show you how they judge
such matters, it wouldn't be fair.

No, it wouldn't be fair.

Very well.

I'll do as you wish.

I do want to help you.

You do help me.

Good night, cousin.

For mercy's sake,
don't cry so bitterly.

- Forget what I've done!
- On one condition.

I accept it, whatever it may be.

Never speak a word
of love to me again.

Never!

On my honor.

Heaven bless you.

Farewell.

It's fascinating.

Every season, same play, same
scene, same effect on the audience.

Remarkable, isn't it?

I'm enjoying this
more than in London.

Do you see this play when you travel?
I'd travel to get away from it.

- Was it a dinner?
- A reception at Mrs. Struthers'...

given on the Lord's day...

but with champagne and
singing from the tabletops.

People say there was dancing.

It was a French Sunday then?

Dissipation can be wonderfully
energizing in the early stages...

Do you think her lover will send her a
box of yellow roses tomorrow morning?

I was thinking about that too.

The farewell scene.

Yes, I know.

It touches me as well.

I usually leave after that scene,
to take the picture away with me.

I had a letter from May
from St. Augustine.

They always spend the winter there,
on account of her mother's bronchitis.

And what do you do
while May is away?

I do my work.

I do want you to know what
you advised me was right.

Things can be so
difficult sometimes...

and I'm so grateful.

The next day, Newland Archer searched
the city in vain for yellow roses.

He sent a note to Madame Olenska...

asking to call that afternoon and
requesting a reply by messenger.

There was no reply
that day or the next.

And when yellow roses
were again available...

Archer passed them by.

It was only on the third day that
he heard from her by post...

from the van der Luydens' home.

"Newland, I ran away the day
after I saw you at the play...

and these kind friends took me in.

I wanted to be quiet
and think things over.

I feel so safe here. I wish
that you were with us.

Yours sincerely."

He had received an invitation from the
Lefferts for a weekend on the Hudson.

He hoped it was not
too late to reply.

Their house was not far
from the van der Luydens'

I came to see what
you ran away from.

- I knew you'd come.
- That shows you wanted me to.

May wrote she asked you
to take care of me.

- I didn't need to be asked.
- Why?

Am I so helpless and defenseless?

Or are women here so blessed
they never feel need?

What sort of need?

Oh, please, don't ask me.
I don't speak your language.

Henry left the patroon house open
for me. I want you to see it.

When you wrote me,
you were unhappy.

Yes, but I can't feel
unhappy when you're here.

I shan't be here long.

I know.

If you really wanted me to come...

if I'm really to help you...

you must tell me what
you're running from.

Is he what you're running from?

Or what you expected?

I didn't know he was here.

Hello, Beaufort.

This way. Madame Olenska
was expecting you.

You've certainly led me
on a bit of a chase.

All this way just to tell you I've
found the perfect house for you.

It's not on the market yet,
so you must take it now.

Well, Archer. Rusticating?

That night he did not take
the customary comfort...

in his monthly shipment
of London books.

The taste of the usual was
like cinders in his mouth.

There were moments when
he felt as if he were...

being buried alive
under his future.

Newland, come late tomorrow.
I must explain to you. Ellen.

- Has anything happened?
- Yes.

I found I had to see you.

What is it?

Nothing.

Tell me what you do all day.

There are a few very
pleasant people...

from Philadelphia and Baltimore
picnicking at the inn.

And the Merrys are setting
up a lawn tennis court...

but nobody here has really
heard of the game yet, so...

I have my racket and
so does Kate Merry...

I came here because I thought I could
persuade you to break away from that.

To advance our engagement.

Don't you understand how
much I want to marry you?

Why should we dream
away another year?

I'm not sure I do understand.

Are you not certain of feeling
the same way about me?

What on earth do you mean?

Is there someone else?

Someone else?

Between you and me?

Let's talk frankly, Newland.

I've felt a difference in you,
especially since our engagement.

- What?
- If it's untrue, it won't hurt to talk.

And if it is true, we should talk.
You might've made a mistake.

If I'd made a mistake, would I
be asking to hurry our marriage?

I don't know. You might.

It'd be one way to
settle the question.

In Newport, two years ago...

before we were promised...

everyone said there was
someone else for you.

I saw you with her, sitting
together on a veranda at a dance.

When she came into the house,
her face looked so sad...

I felt sorry for her. Even
after, when we were engaged...

I could still see how she looked...

Is that all you've
been concerned about?

It's long past.

Then is there something else?

No.

Of course not.

Whatever it may have been...

I can't have my happiness made
out of a wrong to someone else.

If promises were made, or if you
feel pledged to this person...

even if it means her divorce,
don't give her up because of me.

There are no pledges.

There are no promises that matter.

That's all I've been trying to say.
There is no one between us, May.

Which is precisely my argument
for getting married...

quickly.

He could feel her dropping back
to inexpressive girlishness.

Her conscience had been
eased of its burden.

"It was wonderful," he thought...

"how such depths of
feeling could coexist...

with such an absence
of imagination."

- And did you succeed?
- No.

I'd still like to be married
in April, with your help.

- Now you're seeing the Mingott way.
- Is this really so difficult?

The family is difficult. Not one
of them wants to be different.

And when they are, they end
up like Ellen's parents.

Nomads. Continental wanderers.

Dragging Ellen about.

Lavishing on her an expensive
but incoherent education.

Out of them all, there's not one that
takes after me but my little Ellen.

You've got a quick eye. Why in
the world didn't you marry her?

For one thing, she wasn't
there to be married.

No, to be sure.

And she's still not.

The count, you know...

wrote to Mr. Letterblair.

He wants her back.

On her own terms.

The count doesn't defend
himself, I will say that.

And Ellen will be losing a
great deal if she stayed here.

There's her old life:
gardens at Nice...

jewels, of course, music
and conversation.

She says she goes
unnoticed in Europe.

But I know her portrait's
been painted nine times.

All this, and the remorse
of a guilty husband.

I'd rather see her dead.

Would you really?

We should remember marriage is
marriage, and Ellen is still a wife.

Ellen! See who's here!

Yes, I know. I went to see your
mother to ask where you'd gone.

Since you never answered my note,
I was afraid you might be ill.

He was in a rush to get
married, that's why.

Off the train and straight here.
He wants me to use my influence...

to marry his sweetheart sooner.

Well...

Surely between us we can persuade
the Wellands to do as he wishes.

Newland, you see? Right
to the problem, like me.

I told him he should've
married you.

And what did he say?

Oh, my darling, I leave
you to find that out.

I wish I didn't have to leave.
I'll see you soon, I hope.

Fine.

I'll see you out.

When can I see you?

The Struthers are sending
the carriage at 7.

Good evening.

Who's so ridiculous
to send a bouquet?

I'm not going to a ball,
and I'm not engaged.

Nastasia. Some people
are always ridiculous.

Take these to that nice
family down the street.

Well...

in almost everything she says
there's something true...

and something untrue.

Why?

What has Granny been telling you?

She believes you might
go back to your husband.

I think she believes you
might at least consider it.

A lot of things have
been believed of me.

But if she thinks I'd consider it,
it also means she'd consider it for me.

As Granny is weighing your idea
of advancing the marriage.

May and I had a frank
talk in Florida.

It's probably our first.

She wants a long engagement
to give me time.

Time for what?

She thinks I want to
marry her at once...

to get away from someone...

that I care for...

more.

Time to give her up
for another woman?

If I want to.

It's very noble.

Yes.

It's ridiculous.

Why?

Because there is no other woman?

No.

Because I don't mean
to marry anyone else.

This other woman. Does
she love you too?

There is no other woman. The
person May meant was never...

That must be your carriage.

Yes...

I suppose I should be leaving soon.

To Mrs. Struthers?

Yes.

I must go where I'm invited
or I should be too lonely.

Why not come with me?

May guessed the truth.

There is another woman.

Only not the one she thinks.

Don't make love to me.
Too many have done that.

I never have. I'd have married
you had it been possible.

- It's you who made it impossible.
- I've made it?!

You made me give up divorcing.

You talked to me, in this
house, about sacrifice...

and sparing scandal!

For you and May, I
did what you asked!

- The things in your husband's letter...
- I had nothing to fear from that.

I was just afraid of scandal for
the family and you and May.

Nothing's...

Nothing's done that
can't be undone.

I'm still free.

You can be too.

Please.

Can I marry May now? Do you
see me marrying May now?

I don't see you asking
May that, do you?

I have to. It's too late
to do anything else.

You say that because it's the easiest
thing to say, not because it's true.

I don't understand you.

Because you don't realize how
you've changed things for me.

- You don't know all that you've done.
- All I've done?

All the good things you've
done for me that I never knew.

Going to the van der Luydens
because people refused to meet me.

Announcing your
engagement at the ball...

so there would be two families
behind me instead of one.

I never understood how
dreadful people thought I was.

Granny blurted it out one day.
I was stupid. I never thought...

New York meant freedom to me.
Everyone seemed so kind...

and glad to see me.

They never knew what it meant to be
tempted, but you did. You understood.

I'd never known that before...

and it's better than
anything I've known.

Newland, you couldn't be happy
if it meant being cruel.

If we act any other way, you'll act
against what I love in you most.

And I can't go back to
that way of thinking.

Don't you see? I can't love
you unless I give you up.

"Ellen, Granny's telegram succeeded.
Mama agreed to marriage after Easter.

Only a month. I will
telegraph Newland.

I'm too happy for words and love you
dearly. Your grateful cousin, May."

There had been wild rumors...

until the wedding that Mrs. Mingott
would actually attend the ceremony.

She had sent a carpenter to
measure the front pew...

in case it might be altered
to accommodate her.

But this idea, like the
great lady herself...

was unwieldy, and she settled for
giving the wedding breakfast.

The Countess Olenska sent her regrets.
She was traveling with an aunt.

But gave the bride and groom an
exquisite piece of old lace.

Two elderly aunts in Rhinebeck
offered a honeymoon cottage.

Since it was thought "very English"
to have a country house on loan...

their offer was accepted.

When the house proved suddenly
uninhabitable, however...

Henry van der Luyden offered...

an old cottage on his
property nearby.

May accepted the offer as a
surprise for her husband.

She'd never seen the house, but her
cousin Ellen had mentioned it.

She had said it was the
only house in America...

where she could imagine
being perfectly happy.

They traveled to the expected
places, which May had never seen.

In London, Archer ordered his clothes.
They went to the National Gallery...

and to the theater.

I hope I don't look ridiculous.
I've never dined out in London.

English women dress like
everyone else in the evening.

How can you say that when they're
at the theater in old ball dresses?

Maybe they save their
new dresses for home.

- Then I shouldn't have worn this.
- You look very fine.

Really, quite beautiful.

In Paris, she ordered her clothes.

There were trunks of
dresses from Worth.

They visited the Tuileries.

May's hands were modeled in
marble at Rochet's studio.

And occasionally, they dined out.

But tell me, you were saying you
were actually advised by Maupassant?

Unfortunately, I was
advised not to write.

Archer embraced his new marriage...

even as he reverted to his
old ideas about matrimony.

It was less trouble to
conform with tradition.

There was no use trying
to emancipate a wife...

who hadn't the dimmest
notion that she wasn't free.

In London we only managed
one day at the National.

We were taken up by a
Mrs. Carfry and Mrs. Harle.

We had a good talk.

He's interesting. We talked about
books and many different things.

I thought I'd invite him to dinner.

- The Frenchman?
- Yes.

I didn't have much chance to talk to
him, but wasn't he a little common?

Common?

I thought he was clever.

I suppose I shouldn't have
known if he was clever.

Then I won't ask him to dine.

With a chill, he knew
that in future...

many problems would be solved
for him in this same way.

The first six months of marriage
were said to be the hardest...

and after that...

they would have nearly finished
polishing down all the rough edges.

But May's pressure was
already wearing down...

the very roughness he
most wanted to keep.

As for the madness with Madame
Olenska, he trained himself...

to remember it as the last of
his discarded experiments.

She remained in his memory
simply as the most plaintive...

and poignant...

of a line of ghosts.

She's very deft.

That's the only kind of
target she'll ever hit.

No one could ever be
jealous of May's triumphs.

She gave the feeling that she would've
been just as serene without them.

But what if all her
calm, her niceness...

were just a negation...

a curtain dropped in
front of an emptiness?

Archer felt he had never
yet lifted that curtain.

Quite stunning, isn't it?

It's Julius Beaufort who donates
the club's prizes, isn't it?

This looks like him, of course.
It will make quite an heirloom.

You should leave it to
your eldest daughter.

What? Will there be no daughters?

Only sons? Can't I say that either?
Look at her blushing.

Ellen! Ellen! Are you upstairs?

She's over from Portsmouth,
spending the day.

It's such a nuisance. She
won't stay in Newport.

Insists on putting up with those...
What's their name? Blenkers.

But I gave up arguing with
young people 50 years ago.

I'm sorry, ma'am. Miss
Ellen's not in the house.

- She's left?
- I saw her going down the shore path.

Run down and fetch her
like a good grandson.

May and I will have a gossip
about Julius Beaufort.

Go ahead. She'll want
to see you both.

Is it true Beaufort has given
Annie Ring a diamond bracelet?

I hear he even plans to
bring her to Newport.

He'd heard her name often during the
year and a half since they'd last met.

He was even familiar with the
main incidents of her life.

But he heard all these
accounts with detachment...

as if listening to reminiscences
of someone long dead.

But the past had come
again into the present...

as in those newly discovered
caverns in Tuscany...

where children had lit
bunches of straw...

and seen old images
staring from the wall.

He gave himself a single chance.

She must turn before the sailboat
crosses the Lime Rock light.

Then he would go to her.

I'm sorry you didn't find her,
but I've heard she's changed.

Changed?

So indifferent to her old friends.
Summering in Portsmouth.

Moving to Washington. Sometimes,
I think we've always bored her.

Perhaps she'd be happier
with her husband after all.

- I've never heard you be cruel before.
- Cruel?

Even demons don't think
people are happier in hell.

Then she shouldn't
have married abroad.

Let me.

Walk on.

The Blenkers?

A party for the Blenkers?

Who are they?

The Portsmouth people.
The ones Ellen is staying with.

"Professor and Mrs. Sillerton request
the pleasure Wednesday afternoon...

at 3:00 punctually to meet
Mrs. and the Misses Blenker.

Red Gables, Catherine Street."

I don't think we can decline.

I don't see why, really.
He's an archaeologist...

And he's Sillerton
Jackson's cousin.

- Of course.
- Some of us will have to go.

I'll go over. Janey, why
don't you come with me?

I'm sure Ellen will be there.
You'll have a chance to see her.

Newland, you can find a way to
spend your afternoon, can't you?

I think for a change I'll just
save it instead of spending it.

Maybe I'll go see about a
new horse for the brougham.

At least the Jacksons didn't pick the
day of the Cup Race for their party.

Hello?

I'm sorry, did you ring? I've
been asleep in the hammock.

I didn't mean to disturb you.

Are you Miss Blenker?
I'm Newland Archer.

I've heard so much about you.

I came up to look for a new horse.
I thought I'd call, but no one's home.

Yes, they're all at the party.

Everyone's there but me with
my fever and Countess Olenska.

Oh, you found my parasol!

It's my best one. It's
from the Cameroons.

It's very pretty.

The countess was called away?

Yes, a telegram came from Boston. She
said she might be gone two days.

I do love the way she
does her hair, don't you?

It reminds me of Sir Walter Scott.

You don't know... I have
to be in Boston tomorrow.

Do you know where she's staying?

I'm here on business.
I just got here, actually.

- Your hair is different.
- My maid's not with me.

She stayed in Portsmouth. I'm here
only two days. It's not worthwhile.

You are traveling alone?

Yes. Why? Do you think
it's a little dangerous?

- Well, it's unconventional.
- Yes, I suppose it is.

I just did something so
much more unconventional.

I refused to take back
money that belonged to me.

Someone came with an offer?

What were the conditions?

- I refused.
- Tell me the conditions.

Nothing unbearable, really. To sit at
the head of his table now and then.

And he wants you back at any price?

Well, it's a considerable price.

At least, it's considerable for me.

So you came to see him?

My husband? Here?
No, of course not.

He sent someone.

His secretary?

Yes.

He's still here. He insisted on...

waiting in case I changed my mind.

You haven't changed, Newland.

I had changed until
I saw you again.

Please don't.

Just give me the day. I won't
speak unless you tell me to.

All I want is some time with you.

Is that man coming to the hotel?

- At 11:00, just...
- We must go now.

- I must leave a note at the hotel.
- Write on this.

I have the paper. You see how
everything is predestined?

And these, have you seen this?
The new stylographic pen.

It's like jerking down the
mercury in a thermometer.

Try that.

It's not working.

That should do it.

- Shall I take it in?
- I'll be only a moment.

Why didn't you come to the beach
for me the day I was at Granny's?

Because you didn't turn around.

I swore I wouldn't call you
unless you turned around.

But I didn't look
around on purpose.

You knew?

I recognized the carriage
when you drove in.

So I went to the beach.

To get as far away
from me as you could.

- As I could, yes.
- It's better we face each other.

- I only want to be honest with you.
- Isn't that why you admire Beaufort?

He's more honest than the rest
of us. We've no character...

no color, no variety.

Why don't you just
go back to Europe?

- I believe that's because of you.
- Me?

I married one woman because
another told me to.

You promised not to say
such things today.

I can't keep that promise.

What about May? What
about how May feels?

If you're using my marriage
as some victory...

then there's no reason why
you shouldn't go back.

You gave me my first
glimpse of a real life...

and then you told me to
carry on with a false one.

No one can endure that.

I'm enduring it.

- I know you'll go back.
- I won't.

Not yet. Not as long as
we both can stand it.

- This is not a life for you.
- It is.

As long as it's part of yours.

You won't go back?

I won't go back.

He would see her again...

at the theater or a reception.

Perhaps he might be
seated next to her.

Perhaps they might have
another time alone somewhere.

But he could not live
without seeing her.

Mr. Archer, I think?

Yes.

My name is Riviere.

I dined with you in
Paris last year.

Yes, I'm sorry.
I didn't quite recall.

I had the advantage. I saw
you in Boston, yesterday.

I came here on Count
Olenski's behalf because...

I believed in all good faith
that she should return to him.

Forgive me, monsieur...

but I really don't understand
your purpose in coming to see me.

She's changed, monsieur.

You knew her before?

I used to see her at
her husband's house.

The count would not have entrusted
my mission to a stranger.

This change that you mentioned...

It may be my seeing her
for the first time...

as she is, as an American.

She made her marriage
in good faith.

It was a faith the
count could not share.

Could not understand.

So her faith was...

Broken.

Destroyed.

Returning to Europe would mean
a life of some comfort...

and considerable sacrifice...

and I would think, no hope.

I will fulfill my obligation to the
count and meet with the family.

I will tell them what he suggests
and wishes for the countess.

But I ask you to use your
influence with them.

I beg you, do not let her go back.

When old Mrs. Baxter Pennilow died,
they found her standing order...

48 Worth dresses, still
wrapped in tissue paper.

When her daughters left
off their mourning...

they wore the first lot
to the symphony...

without looking in
advance of the fashion.

He had written to her
once in Washington.

Just a few lines, asking when
they were to meet again.

And she wrote back, "Not yet."

I think Julius Beaufort
started the new fashion...

by making his wife wear her new
clothes when they arrived.

I must say, it takes all Regina's
distinction not to look like...

- Her rivals?
- Like that Annie Ring.

- Careful, dear.
- Everybody knows.

Indeed. Beaufort always
put his business around.

Now that his business is gone,
there will be disclosures.

- Gone? Is it really that bad?
- As bad as anything I ever heard of.

Most everybody we know will
be hit one way or another.

Very difficult for
Regina, of course.

And it's a pity that Countess Olenska
refused her husband's offer.

Why, for God's sake?

To put it on the lowest ground,
what will she live on now?

Now that Beaufort...

What the hell does that mean, sir?

Most of her money's
invested with Beaufort...

and the allowance she gets
from the family is cut back...

- I'm sure she has something.
- A little.

Whatever remains, after
sustaining more debt.

I know the family paid close
attention to Riviere...

and considered his offer carefully.

If everyone rather she be
Beaufort's mistress than a wife...

you've gone about it perfectly.

She won't go back.

That's your opinion?

Well, no doubt you know.

She might soften Mrs. Mingott, who
could give her any kind of allowance.

But the rest of the family
don't want to keep her here.

They'll simply let her...

find her own level.

Thank you.

The lamp is smoking again.
The servant should fix it.

I'm sorry.

I may have to go to
Washington for a few days.

When?

Tomorrow. I'm sorry,
I should have said it before.

On business?

There's a patent case coming
up before the Supreme Court.

I just got the papers
from Letterblair.

Never mind. It's too complicated.
I have enough trouble with this lamp.

Let me try that.

The change will do you good.

And you must be sure
to go and see Ellen.

This came for you
while you were out.

- Do something about this, will you?
- Certainly, sir.

Granny's had a stroke.

A stroke?

Ridiculous.

I told them all it was just
an excess of Thanksgiving.

Dr. Bencomb acted most concerned and
insisted on notifying everyone...

as if it were the last reading of
my will. You're dear to come.

But perhaps you only wanted
to see what I'd left you.

Granny, that's shocking!

It was shock that did this
to me. No, thank you.

It's all due to Regina Beaufort.

She came here last night...

and she asked me...

She asked me... She
had the effrontery...

to ask me to back Julius.

"Not to desert him," she said.

"To stand behind our common
lineage in the Townsend family."

If you back Julius, you can
see the family through.

If you don't...

we will all...

everyone of us, fall into dishonor.

I said to her: Honor's
always been honor...

and honesty's always been
honesty in the Mingott house...

and will be till I'm
carried out feet first.

And then she said, if you can believe
this, "But my name, Auntie."

But my name, Auntie!

- My name's Regina Townsend!
- I said to her:

Your name was Beaufort when
he covered you with jewels...

and it's got to stay Beaufort now
that he's covered you with shame.

Then I gave out.

Simply gave out.

And now family is arriving
expecting a funeral...

and they'll have to be entertained.

I don't know how many
notes Bencomb sent out.

- If there's anything we can do.
- Well, Ellen is coming.

I expressly asked for her.

She arrives today on the
train, if you'd fetch her.

If May sends the brougham,
I'll take the ferry.

Fine.

Fine. Thank you.

There, you see, Granny,
everyone will be settled.

Thank you, dear. Bless you.

I didn't want to worry Granny...

but how can you meet Ellen if you
have to go to Washington today?

I'm not going. The case is postponed.
I heard from Letterblair this morning.

Postponed? How odd.

Mama had a note from
him this morning too.

He was concerned about
Granny but had to be away.

He was arguing a patent case
before the Supreme Court.

You did say it was a patent case?

The whole office can't go.
Letterblair decided to go himself.

Then it's not postponed?

No, but my going is.

He knew it was two hours
by ferry and carriage...

from the Pennsylvania terminus in
Jersey City to Mrs. Mingott's.

All of two hours and
maybe a little more.

- You didn't expect me?
- No.

I nearly came to Washington.
We would've missed each other.

Granny Mingott sent me.
She's much better.

- You know, I hardly remembered you.
- Hardly remembered?

I mean, each time is the same.

You happen to me all over again.

Yes, I know.

For me too.

Ellen, we can't stay like
this. It can't last.

- We must look at reality, not dreams.
- I want us to be together.

I can't be your wife. Is it your
idea I should be your mistress?

I want us to find a world where
words like that don't exist.

Oh, my dear.

Where is that country?
Have you ever been there?

Can we be happy behind the
backs of people who trust us?

- I'm beyond caring about that.
- No, you're not.

You've never been beyond that.

I have.

I know what it looks like.
It's no place for us.

Why are we stopping?
This isn't Granny's.

I'll get out here.

You were right, I shouldn't
have come today.

What are you reading?

It's a book about Japan.

Why?

I don't know.

Because it's a different country.

You used to read poetry.

It was so nice when
you read it to me.

You'll catch your death.

Of course.

But then he realized, "I am dead.

I've been dead for
months and months."

Then it occurred to him
that she might die.

People did. Young people,
healthy people did.

She might die and set him free.

Ellen, I have to see you.

- I didn't know when you were leaving.
- I'm not leaving.

Granny's asked me to
take care of her.

- Then we must talk now.
- I'm due at Regina's.

Granny lent me her carriage.

Granny says Beaufort's a
scoundrel, but so is my husband...

and the family wants
me to return to him.

Only Granny understands. She's
even seen to my allowance.

- I must see you somewhere alone.
- In New York?

Where we can be alone.

The art museum in the park.
2:30 tomorrow.

I'll be at the door.

You came to New York
because you were afraid.

- Afraid?
- Of my coming to Washington.

I thought I would be safer.

Safer from me?

Ellen?

Safer from loving me?

Shall I come to you
once and then go home?

Come to me once then.

When?

Tomorrow.

The day after.

I'm sorry I'm late. You
weren't worried, were you?

- Is it late?
- It's past 7.

I stayed at Granny's
because Ellen came in.

We had a wonderful talk.
She was so dear.

Just like the old Ellen.
Granny was so charmed by her.

You can see how the family's
been annoyed with her at times.

Going to see Regina Beaufort
in Granny's carriage.

Are we dining out tonight?

You haven't kissed me today.

It was the custom in old New
York for brides to appear...

in their wedding dress during
the first years of marriage.

But May, since returning
from Europe...

had not worn her bridal
satin until this evening.

May, I'm sorry.

My head's bursting. Please don't
tell anyone. Come home with me.

Shouldn't you rest?

My head's not as bad as that.

And there's something important
I must say to you right away.

There's something that
I've got to tell you...

about myself.

Madame Olenska...

Why should we talk
about Ellen tonight?

Because I should have
spoken before...

Is it really worthwhile?

I know I've been unfair to her
at times. Perhaps we all have.

You understood her better than us, but
does it matter now that it's over?

How do you mean, "over"?

Why, since she's going
back to Europe so soon.

Granny approves and understands.
She's disappointed...

but she's arranged to make Ellen
financially independent of the count.

I thought you would have
heard today at your offices.

- It's impossible.
- Impossible?

She could stay with Granny's money,
but I guess she's given us up.

How do you know that?

From Ellen. I told you, I saw
her at Granny's yesterday.

And she told you yesterday?

No.

She sent me a note this afternoon.

Do you want to see it?

I thought you knew.

"May, dear: I have at last
made Granny understand...

that my visit to her could
be no more than a visit.

And she has been as kind
and generous as ever."

She sees now that if I return to
Europe, I must live by myself.

I am hurrying back to Washington
to pack up, and I sail next week.

Be very good to
Granny when I'm gone.

As good as you've
always been to me.

If friends wish to urge me to stay,
tell them it'd be utterly useless.

"...tell them it'd
be utterly useless."

Why did she write this?

I suppose because we talked
things over yesterday.

What things?

I told her that I was afraid I
hadn't always been fair to her...

and hadn't always understood how
hard it must have been for her.

I knew she could
always count on you...

and I wanted her to know that you and
I were the same in our feelings.

She understood why I
wanted to tell her this.

I think she understands everything.

My head aches too.

- Good night, dear.
- Good night.

It was, as Mrs. Archer said,
a great event for a young couple...

to give their first dinner. It was
not to be undertaken lightly.

There was a hired chef, two borrowed
footmen, roses from Hendersons...

Roman punch, and menus
on gilt-edged cards.

It was a particular triumph
that the van der Luydens...

at May's request...

stayed in the city to be present
at her farewell dinner...

for the Countess Olenska.

Archer saw all the harmless-looking
people at the table...

as a band of quiet conspirators...

with himself and Ellen the
center of their conspiracy.

He guessed he had
been, for months...

the center of countless
silently observing eyes...

and patiently listening ears.

He understood that, somehow...

the separation between himself and the
partner of his guilt was achieved.

And he knew that now the whole
tribe had rallied around his wife.

He was a prisoner in the
center of an armed camp.

Regina's illness doesn't
stop Beaufort...

from devoting as much time
to Annie Ring as he can.

Best thing for Beaufort...

would be to go stay at Regina's
place in North Carolina.

He could breed trotters.

And the key to his release had
been returned the day before...

by mail, unopened.

He may stay here as a challenge
to the outrage he's created.

Perhaps he'll run for office.

Then will Annie Ring
be his first lady?

Was your trip from
Washington tiring?

The heat on the train
was dreadful...

but all travel has its hardships.

They're worth it, just to get away.

I mean to do a lot
of traveling soon.

What about a little adventure, Philip?
Athens and Smyrna, maybe.

- Maybe even Constantinople.
- Possibly.

- Possibly.
- But not Naples.

Dr. Bencomb says there's a fever.

Oh, really? A fever in Naples.

- There's always India.
- You need three weeks for India.

Absolutely.

Beaufort may not receive invitations,
but he maintains a certain position.

Horizontal, I hear.

If this continues, we'll
see our children...

socializing with swindlers and
marrying Beaufort's bastards.

Has he got any?

Careful there, gentlemen.
Draw it mild.

Society has a history of tolerating
vulgar women, after all.

Up to a point.

Have you ever noticed it's the
people with the worst cooks...

who always yell about being
poisoned when they dine out.

Lefferts used to be a little
more adept, I thought.

But then, grace is not
always required...

as long as one knows the steps.

I've never heard
Lefferts so abound...

in the sentiments that
adorn Christian manhood.

Indignation lends a scathing eloquence
almost as effective as fear.

The pressure at home
must be unrelenting.

I never expected to hear such a
paean to the sanctity of the home.

The silent organization...

which held this whole
small world together...

was determined to put
itself on record.

It had never for a
moment questioned...

the propriety of Madame
Olenska's conduct.

It had never questioned
Archer's fidelity.

And it had never heard of, suspected
or even conceived possible...

anything at all to the contrary.

From the seamless performance
of this ritual...

Archer knew that New York believed
him to be Madame Olenska's lover.

We were discussing the ball.

We have it during Easter
week, to benefit the blind.

And he understood for
the first time...

that his wife shared the belief.

You must come visit me when you do.

I'll write to you when I'm settled
and let you know where I am.

That would be lovely.

Shall I see you to your carriage?

We're driving dear Ellen home.

Goodbye.

Goodbye.

I'll see you soon in Paris.

Oh, if you and May could come.

Shall we make our way
to the carriage?

- Delightful evening.
- Good night.

Good night, Sillerton, Larry.

- It did go off beautifully, didn't it?
- Oh, yes.

- May I come in and talk it over?
- Of course.

- But you must be very sleepy.
- No, I'd like to be with you.

Fine.

If you feel up to it, May...

there is something I want
to talk to you about.

I tried to talk to you
the other evening.

- Yes, dear, something about yourself.
- About myself, yes.

It's difficult to
find the right words.

It's just that I feel so
terribly tired at the moment...

and I think...

each day a little more so.

It would be better for everyone
if I were to make a break.

You mean, give up the law?

Certainly that would be a
part of it, and also just...

to get away.

I'd like to do some traveling.

To Europe or...

Perhaps even farther.

How far?

I don't know. I thought...

India or Japan.

As far as that.

Well...

I'm afraid you can't, dear.

Not unless you take me with you.

That is, if the doctors let
me go. I'm afraid they won't.

I've been sure since this morning,
and I've been longing to tell you.

Oh, my dear.

You didn't guess?

No. I mean, of course
I hoped but...

Have you told anyone else?

Only Mama and your mother...

and Ellen.

I told you we had a long talk,
and how wonderful she was.

Did you mind my telling her?

Mind? Why should I?

That was two weeks ago, wasn't it?

I thought you just said you
weren't sure till today.

I wasn't sure then,
but I told her I was.

And you see...

I was right.

It was the room in which
most of the real things...

of his life had happened.

Their eldest boy, Theodore...

too delicate to be taken
to church in midwinter...

was christened there.

I baptize thee in the
name of the Father...

and of the Son...

and of the Holy Spirit.

It was here that Ted
took his first steps.

And here that Archer
and his wife...

always discussed the future
of all their children:

Bill's interest in archeology.

Mary's passion for
sports and philanthropy.

Ted's inclination toward art that
led to a job with an architect...

as well as some
considerable redecoration.

It was in this room that Mary
announced her engagement...

I'm so happy for you.

to the dullest and most reliable
of Larry Lefferts' many sons.

And it was in this room too
that her father kissed her...

through her wedding veil before
they had motored to Grace Church.

He was a dutiful and loving
father and a faithful husband.

When May died of infectious pneumonia
after nursing Bill safely through...

he honestly mourned her.

The world of her youth had
fallen into pieces...

and rebuilt itself without
her ever noticing.

This hard, bright blindness...

her incapacity to
recognize change...

made her children conceal their
views from her, just like Archer.

She died thinking the
world a good place...

full of loving and harmonious
households like her own.

Newland Archer, in his 57th year...

mourned his past and honored it.

Yes, hello?

Chicago wants you.

- Dad?
- Is that you, Ted?

Dad, my client wants me to look at
some gardens before I start designing.

Sounds fine. Where?

- Europe.
- Gracious.

I'll sail next Wednesday
on the Mauretania.

And miss the wedding?

I'll be back on the 1st. Our
wedding's not till the 5th.

I'm surprised you
remembered the date.

- I was hoping you'd join me.
- What?

I'll need you to remind
me of what's important.

- Our last father-son trip.
- I appreciate the invitation...

Wonderful. Can you call the
Cunard office tomorrow?

I'd need to cancel my...

I won't hear it. The
Atlantic is calling us.

I'll be in New York on Monday.

- You'll be in...?
- On Monday.

I'll see what I can do.

I can't promise anything. I'll
see what I can do, all right?

I'm going to Versailles with
Tourneur. Will you come?

I'm going to the Louvre.

I'll meet you there later. Countess
Olenska expects us at 5:30.

- What?!
- Didn't I tell you?

Annie made me swear to do
three things in Paris:

Get her the score of the
last Debussy songs...

go to the Grand Guignol
and see Madame Olenska.

She was good to Annie when
Mr. Beaufort sent her to the Sorbonne.

Wasn't the countess friendly
with his first wife?

Mr. Beaufort said that she was.

In any case, I called the
countess this morning...

- ...introduced myself as her cousin...
- Did you tell her I was here?

Of course. Why not?

She sounds lovely. Was she?

Lovely?

I don't know.

She was different.

Whenever he thought
of Ellen Olenska...

it had been abstractly, serenely...

like an imaginary loved
one in a book or picture.

She had become the complete
vision of all that he had missed.

I'm only 57.

Did Mr. Beaufort really have a
bad time when he remarried?

No one wanted to give him an inch.

Perhaps because he'd
already taken so much.

As if anyone remembers anymore.

Or cares.

Well, Annie Ring and he did
have a lovely daughter.

You're very lucky.

We're very lucky, you mean.

Of course that's what I mean.

Considering how that turned out
and all the time that's passed...

how can you resist?

I had some resistance at
first to your marriage...

I mean resist seeing the woman you
almost threw everything over for.

Only you didn't.

I didn't?

No.

But Mother said she
knew we would be safe.

The day before she died, she
asked to see me alone, remember?

She said she knew we were safe
with you and always would be...

because once when
she asked you to...

you gave up the thing
that you wanted most.

She never asked.

She never asked me.

After a little while he did not
regret Ted's indiscretion.

It seemed to take an iron band
from his heart to know...

that after all, someone
had guessed and pitied.

And that it should have been his
wife, moved him inexpressibly.

The porter says it's
the third floor.

Must be the one with the awnings.

It's nearly 6.

I think I'll just sit for a while.

Do you mean you won't come?

- You really won't come at all?
- I don't know.

She won't understand.

Go on, Ted. Maybe I'll follow you.

What will I tell her?

Don't you always have
something to say?

I'll say you're old-fashioned
and insist on walking up...

instead of taking the elevator.

Just say I'm old-fashioned.

That should be enough. Go on.

Go on.