All language subtitles for The.Age.Of.Innocence.1993.1080p.BluRay.AAC.5.1.x265-RARBG.eng

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 even bring her to the
Beauforts' ball, do you suppose?

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 it this evening
at the ball.

If you can persuade Mama.

But why should we change
what is already settled?

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

Shh!

I remember we played together.

How this brings it all back to me.

I remember everybody here the same way,
in knickerbockers and pantalets.

You were horrid.

You kissed me once behind a door.

But it was your cousin Vandy, the one
who never looked at me, I was in love with.

- Yes, you have been away a very long time.
- Centuries and centuries.

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

It in variably happened,

as everything happened 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.

N'

Carriages waited at the curb
for the entire performance.

lt was widely known in New York,
but never acknowledged

that Americans want to
get away from amusement

even more quickly
than they want to get to it.

The Beauforts' house
was one of the few in New York

that possessed 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 had not stopped
at his club, as young men usually did,

but came directly to the Beauforts'.

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 narrow passage to get to the ballroom,

one marched solemnly down a vista
of enfiladed drawing rooms.

Good evening.

But only by actually 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.

- Good evening, Joseph.
- Good evening, Mr. Archer.

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.

N

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

He may even have envied them.

Lawrence Leffens, for instance,

was New York's
foremost authority on form,

and 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 own party
as if he were another guest

and might also leave early

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

Beaufort 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.

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

Yes, I couldn't wait.
Only I wish it hadn't had to be at a ball.

But even here we're alone together.

The worst of it is that I want to kiss you

and I can't.

Newland.

Did you tell Ellen as I asked you to?

No, I didn't have a chance after all.

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

It's just that she's been away for so long.
She's rather sensitive.

Of course I'll tell her, dearest,
but I didn't see her yet.

She decided not to come
at the last minute.

At the last minute?

She was afraid
her dress wasn't smart enough.

We all thought it was so lovely,
but she asked my aunt to take her 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, my dear Mr. Archer?

It's a new setting.

It shows the stone beautifully, but it
looks a little 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 Roche.

He should do May's.

Show me, child.

Her hand is so tempered.

It's these modern sports
that spread the joints.

But the skin is white.

- And when's the wedding to be?
- Oh -

Oh, as soon as ever it can,
if only you'll back me up, Mrs. Mingott.

We must give them time to get to
know each other a little better, Mama.

Know each other? Everybody in New York
has always known everybody.

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

I may catch pneumonia any winter now
and I want to give the wedding breakfast.

Oh, what a kind offer.

Even if she had not
been grandmother to May,

Mrs. Manson Mingott
would still 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 already 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 go up and down 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 startled and 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 Mrs. Mingott 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.

- Bye, Mama.
- Good-bye, Augusta.

- Ellen!
- Ladies.

- Aunt Augusta! May!
- Archer.

Beaufort, this is a rare favor.

- Unnecessarily rare, I'd say.
- Bonjour, grand-mére.

I met Countess Ellen in Madison Square

and she was good enough
to let me walk home with her.

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

- Beaufort, pull up that tuffet.
- This one?

I want a good gossip.

Of course you already know
about May and me.

She scolded me
for not telling you at the opera.

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

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

Oh, careful there.
Don't let your ring catch on your sleeve.

- Good-bye, Ellen.
- Good-bye. Good-bye.

Good-bye.

Come and see me someday.

It's a mistake for Ellen to be seen parading
up Fifth Avenue with Julius Beaufort

at the crowded hour,

the very day after her arrival.

His behavior is always 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 of its doings

and doted on their bachelor friend.

Certain nuances escape Beaufort.

Oh! Necessarily.
Beaufort is a vulgar man.

Nevertheless, no business
nuances escape him.

Most of New York trusts
him with its affairs.

My grandfather Newland
always used to say to Mother,

“Don't let that fellow Beaufort
be introduced to the girls.”

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

The Archers and the Mingotts

were two of 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.”

And our new cousin,
was she at the ball too?

I appreciate the Mingotts
wanting to support her,

to have her at the opera.

I admire their esprit de corps.

But why my son's engagement

should be mixed up with this woman's
comings and goings, I don't see.

Well, in any case, she was not at the ball.

At least she had that decency.

Sir?

Oh, no.

I wonder if she wears a round hat
or a bonnet in the afternoon.

The dress she wore to the opera
was so plain and flat.

I'm sure it was in better taste
not to go to the ball.

Don't think it was
a question of taste, Mother.

May said the countess 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 was allowed to wear black satin
at her coming-out ball?

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

I should have changed it to Elaine.

Why?

I don't know.

It sounds more... Polish.

Mm-hmm.

Well, it sounds more conspicuous,
and that can hardly be what she wishes.

Why not? Why shouldn't she
be conspicuous if she chooses?

She made an awful marriage, but should
she hide her head as if it's her fault?

Should she go slinking around
as if she disgraced herself?

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

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

I don't have to wait for their cue,
if that's what you mean, sir.

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.

But 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.

Thank you, Robert.

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

Handsome, they say, but, uh...

eyes with a lot of lashes.

When he wasn't with women
he was, um...

collecting china.

Paying any price for both, I understand.

Then where's the blame?

Any one of us under the same circumstances
would have helped the countess

just as the secretary did.

He was still helping her a year later then,

because somebody met them
living together at Lausanne.

Living together?

Well, why not? Who has the right
to make her life over if she hasn't?

Why should we bury a woman alive
if her husband prefers to live with whores?

Oh, 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.

Well, 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.

- Oh, fine.
- 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,
New York read on the invitation,

was “to meet the Countess Olenska.”

And New York declined.

“Regret, unable to accept.”

And from some of our own family!

No one cares enough even 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.
Yes, sir. I'm certain of it.

The Van der Luydens
dwelled above all the city's families

in a kind of super-terrestrial 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 starts making
some great diversionary fuss

to show how moral he is.

Well, it's the principle that I dislike.

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

it should be considered final.

We all felt this slight on the countess
should not pass without our consulting you.

So we are giving a little 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 Olenska
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.

Ah, Countess Olenska.

Good evening.

- We're delighted you're here.
- Good evening.

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

Enchantée.

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 drawing rooms

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 used to see him every winter.

He's very fond of gambling
and used to come to our house a great deal.

He likes to wear the same suit every evening.
He thinks it brings him luck.

I think he's the dullest man I ever met.

But he... he seems to be admired here.

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

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

It seems stupid to have discovered America
only to make it a copy of another country.

Do you suppose Christopher Columbus
would have taken all that trouble

just to go to the opera
with Larry Lefferts?

Well, I think if he'd suspected
that Lefferts were here,

the Santa Marla might never have left port.

And... And May?
Does she share these views?

Oh, 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.

Oh.

C'est bon.
It's really and truly a romance then.

Not in the least arranged?

Have you forgotten, in our country
we don't allow our marriages to be arranged?

Yes, I forgot. I'm sorry. I...

I sometimes make these mistakes.

I don't always remember

that everything here is good that was...
that was bad where I came from.

- I'm so sorry.
- No.

But you know
you are among friends here.

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

- Good evening, Louisa.
- May I present May Welland.

You'll want to be with May.

Oh, I'm so pleased to meet you.

She's already surrounded.
I have so many rivals.

Then stay with me a little longer.

Yes.

Mr. Urban Dagonet,
may I present the Countess Olenska?

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

Tomorrow then, after 5:00, 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.

You don't have to stay.

Thank you.

It was my pleasure.

Mr. Archer.

So...

how do you like this odd little house?

To me, it's like heaven.

- You've arranged it delightfully.
- Yes.

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 am sure it's often thought
the Van der Luydens' is gloomy,

though I've never heard it said before.

Tell me, 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 who have nothing
more serious to consider.

Perhaps I've been too independent.

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

Thank you.

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?

Um... Lemon, please.

The Van der Luydens are the most
powerful influence in New York society.

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

Mmm.
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.

- Thank you.
- 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 Fifth Avenue,

with all the cross streets... numbered

and big, honest labels on everything.

Everything is labeled,
but everybody is not.

Then I must count on you for warnings too.

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

I know, 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, 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 this morning,

and we weren't sure
whether to send Miss Welland the usual -

Lilies of the valley.
Yes, we'd better make that a standing order.

Very good, sir.

And... those yellow roses.

- I'll give you another address.
- Very good.

George!

Mr. Archer. Two separate orders.

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

It's wonderful to wake every morning
with lilies of the valley in my room.

It's like being with you.

They came late yesterday, I know.
Somehow the time got away from me.

But still you always remember.

I sent some roses to your cousin Ellen too.
Was that right?

Very right.

She didn't mention it
at lunch today though.

She said she got some wonderful orchids
from Mr. Beaufort

and a whole hamper of carnations
from Cousin Henry van der Luyden.

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

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

But the Chiverses
were engaged for a year and a half.

Larry Lefferts and Gertrude
were engaged for two.

I'm sure Mama
expects something customary.

Ever since you were little,
your parents let you have your way.

You're almost 22.
Just tell your mother what you want.

I couldn't refuse her the very last thing
she'd ever ask of me as a little girl.

Can't we just strike out
for ourselves, May?

Shall we elope?

Well, 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.

Did I tell you I showed Ellen the ring?

She thought it was the most
beautiful setting she ever saw.

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
sue her husband for divorce.

It's been suggested she means to
marry again, although she denies it.

Because of- I beg your pardon, sir,
but because of my engagement,

perhaps one of the other members
of the firm could consider this matter.

But precisely because of
your prospective alliance,

and considering that several members
of the family have already asked for you,

I'd like you to consider the case.

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

Oh, 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 already 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, really,
is to do as the families 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?

The consequences for the countess?

For everyone.

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

It will make for some talk.

Well, I have heard talk about
the countess and the secretary.

I heard it 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.

You will use your influence
against a divorce.

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

I don't understand you, Mr. Archer.

Do you want to marry into a family with
a scandalous divorce suit hanging over it?

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

Can someone take this for me
to the countess, please?

- Buona sera.
- Thank you.

You refuse
such an invitation on threat of death.

Is it so bad?

Well, I suppose not,
if you have a taste for slow agony.

That's something
I've neglected to cultivate.

Three days at Skuytercliff
with the Van der Luydens.

Think you'd better take your fur
and a hot water bottle.

- Is the house that cold?
- Uh, no, but Louisa is.

Mr. Archer.

Join me at Delmonico's
on Sunday instead.

I'm having a nice oyster supper
in your honor.

Private room, congenial company,
artists and so on.

That's very tempting. I haven't met
a single artist since I've been here.

I know one or two painters I could
bring to see you, if you'd allow me.

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 write tomorrow and let you know?

It's too late to decide this evening.

Is this late?

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

Ah.

Of course, Newland, uh,

if you can persuade the countess
to change her mind about Sunday,

you can join us too.

You... You know painters, then?

You live in their milieu?

Not exactly.

- But you care about such things?
-Immensely.

When I'm in Paris or London
I never miss an exhibition.

I try to keep up.

Oh, 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 become a complete American
and try to be like everybody else.

I don't think you'll ever quite
be like everybody else.

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

I know.

Mr. Letterblair told me.

Mr. Letterblair?

Yes. I've... 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 so much 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 the case,
he can say things that might be un -

uh...

that might be disagreeable to you,
and 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 do 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,

all your friends and relations.

If I didn't show you honestly
how they judge such matters,

it wouldn't be fair of me, would it?

No, it wouldn't be fair.

Very well, I'll...

do as you wish.

I...

- I do want to help you.
- You do help me.

Good night, Cousin.

Miss Mullen,
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, the same play, the same scene,
the same effect on the audience.

Remarkable, isn't it, Newland?

I'm enjoying it
even more than the London production.

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

So, was it a dinner?

It was 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 real French Sunday, then?

Dissipation can be wonderfully
energizing in the early stages, I'm told.

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

I...

I was thinking about that too.

The farewell scene.

Yes, I know.

It touches me as well.

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

Mmm.

I had a letter from May from St. Augustine.

Well, 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.

From his office
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' country home.

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

and these kind friends
have taken 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 Leffens

for a weekend on the Hudson,

and 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 were running away from.

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

Cousin May wrote
she asked you to take care of me.

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

Does that mean
I'm so helpless and defenseless?

Or that women here
are 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 old 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.

Ellen, if you really wanted me to come,

if I'm really to help you...

you must tell me
what you're running from.

Oh.

Is he what you are running from?

Or what you expected?

I didn't know he was here.

Hello, Beaufort. This way.
Madame Olenska was expecting you.

Hello.

Well, you've certainly led me
on a bit of a chase.

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

Oh.

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

Well, Archer. Rusticating?

That night
he did not take the customary comfort

in his monthly shipment
of books from London.

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

and 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.

Newland.

- Has anything happened?
- Yes.

I found I had to see you.

What is it?

Nothing.

So tell me what you do all day.

Well, there are a few very pleasant people
from Philadelphia and Baltimore

who are picnicking at the inn,

and the Merrys are setting up
a lawn tennis court.

But nobody here
has really heard of the game yet.

Um, I have my racket, of course,
and so does Kate Merry.

But she's had
this terrible case of bronchitis.

She's still not quite over it, so...

But I thought -
I came... I came here

because I thought I could persuade you
to break away from all 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, Newland.

Is it because you're 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.

Since our engagement?

If it's untrue, then it won't hurt to talk about it.
And if it is true, why shouldn't we talk about it?

Now, I mean.
You might've made a mistake.

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

I don't know. You might.

It would 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 once,
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, and -

Is that - 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, Newland,

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

If promises were made, or if you feel
in some way pledged to this person,

even if it means her getting a divorce,

then, Newland,
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.

There is nothing 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.

Mm-hmm. And did you succeed?

No, though 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 entire family is difficult.

No one of them wants to be different.

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

Nomads. Continental wanderers.

Dragging Ellen about.

Lavishing on her
an expensive but incoherent education.

Out of all of them, I don't believe there's one
that takes after me but my little Ellen.

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

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

No, to be sure.

And she's still not.

The count, you know.

He's written 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.

Afternoon, ma'am.

Ellen! See who's here!

Yes, I know.

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

Darling.

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

Well, he was in such a rush
to get married, that's why.

Fresh off the train and straight here.

He wants me to use all my influence
just to marry his sweetheart sooner.

Well, surely, Granny, between us

we can persuade the Wellands
to do as he wishes.

There, Newland. You see?
Right to the quick of the problem, like me.

I told him she should have 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 shall see you very soon, I hope.

Fine.

I'll see you out.

When can I see you?

Thank you.

- Nastasia.
- Mmm?

The Struthers are sending
the carriage at 7:00.

Good evening.

Who's ridiculous enough
to send me 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.

Grazie, Nastasia.

Well, I'll tell you,
in almost everything she says

there's something true
and something untrue.

Why?

What has Granny been telling you?

I think 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 would consider it,
that also means she would 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.

That'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
that May was thinking of was never -

That must be your carriage.

Yes, um...

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 people have done that.

I've never made love to you.

But you are the woman I would have married
if it had been possible for either of us.

You can say that when you're the one
who has made it impossible?

- I've made it?
-Isn't it you who made me give up divorcing?

Didn't you talk to me here, in this house,
about sacrifice and sparing scandal?

And for May's sake and for yours,
I did what you asked me!

There were things
in your husband's letter -

I'd nothing to fear from that letter.
Absolutely nothing.

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

Ellen.

Ellen.

Nothing's...

Nothing's done that can't be undone.

I'm still free.

You can be too.

Please.

Oh.

No. Can I marry May now?
Do you see me marrying May now?

I don't see you putting
that question to May. Do you?

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

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

I don't understand you.

You don't understand
because you don't yet 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, Newland, 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
standing 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.

But 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, I'll be making you
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 was successful.

Grandma and 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
right up to the wedding day

that Mrs. Mingott
would actually attend the ceremony.

It was known that 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,

proved to be 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,

and 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 stepped in to offer
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 once.

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.

And they went to the National Gallery
and sometimes to the theater.

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

English women dress just like
everybody else in the evening, don't they?

How can you say that
when they're always at the theater

in old ball dresses and bare heads?

Well, maybe they save
their new dresses for home.

- Then I shouldn't have worn this.
- No. 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 Roche's studio.

And occasionally, they dined out.

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

Ah, yes.

Unfortunately, I was advised not to write.

Archer embraced his new marriage

even as he reverted to his old
inherited 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 was not free.

When we were in London, we could only
manage one day at the National.

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

We had an awfully good talk.
He's an interesting fellow.

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 usually said to be the hardest,

and after that, he thought,
they would have pretty 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,

Archer 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.

Yes, that's the only kind of target
she'll ever hit.

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

She managed to give the feeling

that she would have been
just as serene without them.

Okay. Bye. Bye.

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, my dear.
You should leave it to your eldest daughter.

What's the matter?
Aren't there going to be any daughters?

Only sons?
What, can't I say that either?

Look at her blushing.

Ellen! Ellen, are you upstairs?

She's over from Portsmouth,
spending the day with me.

It's such a nuisance.
She just 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. Ellen.

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

- Oh, 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.
I know 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 had heard her name often enough

during the year and a half
since they had 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 so changed.

- Changed?
- So indifferent to her old friends.

Summering in Portsmouth.

Moving to Washington.

Sometimes I think we've always bored her.

I wonder if she wouldn't be happier
with her husband after all.

I don't think I've ever heard you
be cruel before.

Cruel?

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

Then she shouldn't have married abroad.

Here, let me. Go on. Walk on.

The Blenkers? A party for the Blenkers.

Who are they?

The Portsmouth people, I think.
The ones Countess Olenska's staying with.

“Professor and Mrs. Emerson Sillerton
request the pleasure,

Wednesday Afternoon Club
at three o'clock 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.
And, Janey, why don't you come with me?

I'm sure Cousin Ellen will be there.
It'll give you a chance to see her.

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

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

Maybe I'll drive to the farm
to see about a new horse for the brougham.

Well, at least the Jacksons didn't choose
the day of the Cup Race for their party.

Of course, I shouldn't be surprised
if they had.

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.

Oh, yes, I've heard so much about you.

I came up the island
to look for a new horse,

and I thought I'd call,
but the house seems to be empty.

It is empty. 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-

Uh, the countess was called away?

Yes, a telegram came from Boston.

She said she might be gone for 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'm sorry,
but I have to be in Boston tomorrow.

You wouldn't happen to know
where she was staying?

“...the joy in which I can -”

Oh.

Ellen.

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

You're doing your hair differently.

Only because my maid's not with me.
She stayed back in Portsmouth.

I'm here only for two days.
It didn't seem worthwhile.

You're traveling alone?

Yes. Why?

Do you think it's a little dangerous?

Well, it's unconventional.

Yes, I suppose it is. I've just done 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.

Just 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, in fact.

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'll say anything you like, or nothing.
I won't speak unless you tell me to.

All I want is some time with you.

I want to get you away from that man.
Is he coming to the hotel?

- At 11:00. Just -
- We must go now.

I'll have to 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 just like - It's like jerking -

You have to jerk down the mercury
in a thermometer.

Now, 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 down to the beach
to get me the day I was at Granny's?

Because you didn't turn around.

I swore -

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.

Well, you see, it's no use.
It's better if we face each other.

- I only want to be honest with you.
- Honest?

Isn't that why you always admired
Julius Beaufort?

He was more honest than the rest of us,
wasn't he?

We've no character.

No color, no variety.

I don't know why
you don't just go back to Europe.

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

I'm the man who married one woman
because another one told him 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 of ours,

then there's really no reason on earth
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.

What's the use? 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.

♪ I also dreamt which charmed me most

♪ That you loved me still the same

♪That you loved me

♪ You loved me still the same

♪ That you loved me

♪ You loved me

♪ Still

♪ The same

Mr. Archer, I think.

- Yes.
- My name is Rivière.

I dined with you in Paris last year.

Oh, yes, I'm sorry. I didn't quite recall.

By the way, 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.

Forgive me, monsieur, but, uh,

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, yes.

Well, the count would not have
entrusted my mission to a stranger.

This change that you mentioned...

Oh, it may only have been my seeing her
for the first time... as she is,

as - 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... détruit.

Broken.

- Destroyed.
- Destroyed.

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

and considerable sacrifice...

and, I would think, no hope.

I will, of course, fulfill
my obligation to the count

and meet with the family.

I will tell him everything that he suggests
and wishes for the countess.

But I would ask you
to use your influence with them.

I beg you, monsieur,
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.

At the first...

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.”

But even that had the front panel changed.

I think it was Julius Beaufort
who started the new fashion

by making his wife clap her new clothes
on her back as soon as they arrived.

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

Her rivals?

- Like that Annie Ring.
- Careful, dear.

Well, everybody knows.

Indeed.
Beaufort always put his business around.

And now that his business is gone,
there are bound to 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, it's certainly a pity

that Countess Olenska refused
her husband's offer.

Why, for God's sake?

Well, to put it on the lowest ground,
what's she going to live on now?

- Live on?
- I mean, now that Beaufort -

What the hell does that mean, sir?

Most of her money's invested
with Beaufort,

and the allowance she's been getting
from the family is so cut back.

- I'm sure she has something.
- Oh, I would think a little.

Whatever remains,
after sustaining more debt.

I know the family paid close attention
to Monsieur Rivière

and considered the count's offer
very carefully.

If everyone had rather she be Beaufort's
mistress than some decent fellow's wife,

you've all gone about it perfectly.

She won't go back.

That's your opinion, eh?

Well, no doubt you know.

I suppose she might still soften
Catherine Mingott,

who could give her
any allowance she chooses.

But the rest of the family have no
particular interest in keeping her here.

They'll simply let her...
find her own level.

Good evening, sir.

Thank you, Martin.

That lamp is smoking again.
The servant should see to 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?
- On business, of course.

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

I just got the papers from Letterblair.
It seems that he intended to go himself.

Oh, never mind.
It sounds too complicated.

I have enough trouble managing this lamp.

Let me try that.

But the change will do you good.

And you must be sure to go and see Ellen.

Excuse me, ma'am,
but this came for you while you were out.

Do something about this, will you, Agnes?

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 and testament.

Oh, you're very dear to come.

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

Oh, 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,

every one of us, fall into dishonor.

I said to her -

Honor's always been honor,

and honesty's always been honesty
in Manson Mingott's 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!

- And 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 from all over,
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 to help -

Well, my Ellen is coming.
I expressly asked for her.

She arrives this afternoon on the train.
If you could fetch her -

Of course. If May will send the brougham,
I'll take the ferry.

Oh, 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 and bring her back here

if you have to go to Washington yourself
this afternoon?

I'm not going. The case is off, postponed.

I heard from Letterblair this morning.

Postponed? How odd.

Mama had a note from him
this morning as well.

He was concerned about Granny,
but had to be away.

He was arguing a big patent case
before the Supreme Court.

You did say it was a patent case,
didn't you?

Well, that's it. The whole office can't go,
and Letterblair decided to go himself.

So then it's not postponed?

No, but my going is.

Hyup.

He knew it was two hours
by ferry and carriage

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

All of two hours and maybe a little more.

- You didn't expect me today?
- No.

I nearly came to Washington to see you.
We would have missed each other.

It was Granny Mingott who sent me.
She's much better.

You know, I hardly remembered you.

- Hardly remembered?
- I mean -

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.

I think we should look at reality,
not dreams.

I just want us to be together.

I can't be your wife, Newland. Is it your
idea I should live with you as your mistress?

I want -

Somehow I want to get away with you

and find a world
where words like that don't exist.

Oh, my dear.

Where is that country?
Have you ever been there?

Is there anywhere we can 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 - Why are we stopping?
This - This isn't Granny's.

No. I'll get out here.

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

Hyup.

What are you reading?

Oh, 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.

Newland, 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.

Newland?

Ellen, I have to see you.

I didn't know when you were leaving again.

I'm - I'm not leaving. Granny's asked me
to stay and take care of her.

Well, then we have to talk now.

I'm due at Regina Beaufort's.
Granny lent me her carriage.

I know Granny says Julius Beaufort
is a scoundrel, but so is my husband,

and the family still want me
to go back to him.

Only Granny understands.

She's even seen to my allowance.

But I have to see you somewhere
we can be alone.

- In New York?
- Alone. Somewhere 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?

Sa-

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 7:00.

I stayed at Granny's
because Cousin Ellen came in.

We had a wonderful talk.
She was so dear.

Just like the old Ellen.

Granny was so charmed by her.

But you can see though 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 year or two 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 now.

Shouldn't you rest?

My head's not as bad as that.

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

May, 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 and -

Is it really worthwhile, dear?

I know I've been unfair to her at times.

Perhaps we all have.

You've understood her
better than any of us, I suppose.

But does it matter now that it's all over?

How do you mean, over?

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

Granny's approved and understands.

She's disappointed, of course,
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?

Certainly she could have stayed here
with Granny's extra money,

but I guess she's given us up after all.

How do you know that?

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

And she told you that 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.”

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.

You must be very good to Granny
when I'm gone.

As good as you've always been to me.

If any of my friends wish
to urge me to change my mind,

please tell them
it would be utterly useless.

“Tell them it would 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,

that I hadn't always understood
how hard it must have been for her here.

I knew you'd be the one friend
she could always count on,

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

She understood why
I wanted to tell her this.

I think -
I think she understands everything.

My head aches too.

- Good night, dear.
- Good night.

It was,
as Mrs. Archer said to Mrs. Welland,

a great e vent for a young couple
to give their first dinner,

and 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 considered 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.

...have to leave New York
after the displays.

I- I liked her.

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 himself to have been,
for months,

the center of countless
silently observing eyes

and patiently listening ears.

Scandal, loaning hundreds of...

He understood that somehow

the separation between himself
and the partner of his guilt

had been 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.

Wonder if they'll ever get it back.

Regina's not well at all,
but that doesn't stop Beaufort

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

The best thing Beaufort
could do would be to go and stay

at Regina's little 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 deliberate
challenge to the outrage he's created.

Perhaps he'll run for public office.

Then will Annie Ring be his first lady?

Was your trip from Washington very tiring?

The heat on the train was dreadful,

but all travel has its hardships.

Oh, whatever they may be,
they're worth it just to get away.

I mean to do a lot of traveling myself soon.

Hmm?

What about you, Phillip?
What about a little adventure?

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.

Well, there's always India, of course.

You must have three weeks
to do India properly.

Absolutely.

Beaufort may not
receive invitations anymore,

but it's clear he still maintains
a certain position.

Horizontal, from all I've heard.

If things go on like this,
we'll be seeing our children fighting

for invitations to swindler's houses

and marrying Beaufort's bastards.

- Has he got any?
- Be careful there, gentlemen.

Draw it mild. Draw it mild.

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

Up to a point.

Once it tolerates men of that kind,
the only prospect is -

Have you ever noticed,

it's the people with the worst cooks
who are always yelling

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.

Mark you, I hear
there may be pressing news...

I've never heard Lefferts
so abound in the sentiments

that adorn Christian manhood.

indignation lends a scathing eloquence.

It's 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.

My mother had a bronze reduction
of the Venus de Milo she wanted to give us

for that space, but...

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.

- Excuse me.
- And it had never heard of, suspected

or even conceived possible
anything at all to the contrary.

Ellen.

From the seamless performance
of this ritual,

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

...discussing the Martha Washington ball.

Yes, we have it during Easter week,
to benefit the blind society.

- They do excellent work, I'm told.
- Lawrence. Lawrence.

And he understood for the first time

that his wife shared the belief.

- You must come visit me when you do.
- Yes.

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

- Oh, yes. That would be lovely.
- Shall I see you to your carriage?

We're driving dear Ellen home.

Good-bye.

Good-bye. I'll see you very soon in Paris.

Oh, if you and May could come.

Shall we make our way
to the carriage, my dear?

- Delightful evening, Newland.
- Good night, Newland.

Good night, Sillerton. Good night, Larry.

Hyup.

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'm not.

- I'd like to be with you a little.
- Fine.

If you feel up to it, May...

there is something that I've been wanting
to talk to you about.

And I tried to talk to you
the other evening.

- Oh, yes, dear. Something about yourself?
- About myself, yes.

It's so 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.

And I think it would be better for everyone
if I were to make a break.

You mean, give up the law?

Well, certainly that would be a part of it,
and also just to -

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.

Um-

As far as that.

Well...

I'm afraid you can't, dear.

Not unless you take me with you.

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

And I've been sure of something
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
one afternoon

and how wonderful she was to me.

Did - Did you mind my telling her, Newland?

Mind? Why should I?

That was two weeks ago, wasn't it?

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

Mmm.

No,

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,

had been 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 it was here that Archer and his wife

always discussed the future
of all their children -

Bill's interest in archaeology,

Mary's passion for sport 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
had 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 had kissed her
through her wedding veil

before they 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 had 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 as Archer concealed his.

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. Hello?

- Chicago wants you.
- Hello?

- Dad?
- Is that you, Ted?

Dad, I'm just about finished out here,
but my client wants me

to look at some gardens
before I start designing.

- That sounds fine. Where?
- Europe.

Gracious.

I'll have to sail next Wednesday
on the Mauretania.

- What, and miss the wedding?
- I think Annie will wait for me.

I'll be back on the first.
and our wedding's not till the fifth.

- I'm surprised you remembered the date.
- Well, Dad, I was hoping you'd join me.

What?

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

What do you say?
It'll be our last father-and-son trip.

- Oh, Ted, I do appreciate the invitation -
- Wonderful!

Can you call the Cunard office
first thing tomorrow?

It would take me till next Wednesday
just to cancel -

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

I'll be in New York on Monday,
and I'll contact you then.

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

- I'll see what I can do.
- Settle the tickets, Dad.

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

Bye-bye.
- Bye.

I'm going out to Versailles with Tourneur.
Will you join us?

I thought I'd go to the Louvre.

I'll meet you there later then.

Countess Olenska's expecting us
at half past 5:00.

What?

Oh, 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.

You know, she was awfully
good to Annie when

Mr. Beaufort sent her
over to the Sorbonne.

Wasn't the countess friendly with
Mr. Beaufort's first wife or something?

I think Mrs. Beaufort said that she was.

In any case, I called the countess
first thing this morning,

introduced myself as her cousin -

Did you tell her I was here, Ted?

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 such
a bad time of it when he wanted to remarry?

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.

Yes, of course that's what I mean.

So, considering how that all turned out
and considering all the time that's gone by,

I don't see how you can resist.

Well, I did have some resistance
at first to your marriage, as I told you.

No. I mean, resist seeing the woman
you almost threw everything over for.

Only you didn't.

I didn't?

No.

But Mother said that she knew
we would be safe.

Your mother?

Yes. 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 6:00.

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 tell her you're old-fashioned
and you insist on walking up three flights

instead of taking the elevator.

Just say I'm old-fashioned.

That should be enough.

Go on.

Go on.