Original subtitles

(Theme music playing)

(Rhythmic tapping)

(Baby cooing)

(Tapping continues)

Dombey & son.

Sir?

Well, Mrs. Dombey...

My dear, the firm will once again be

not only in name but in fact:

Dombey & son.

He will be christened Paul, of course.

Of course.

(Cooing continues)

You may come and look at your pretty brother.

Florence.

(Sobs) Mama.

Lord bless me, this is a very ill-advised and feverish proceeding.

Call Miss Florence's nurse. Really, the person should know better.

Wait. I'll go myself.

Perhaps it might be advisable for Dr. Peps

to step upstairs again.

I needn't beg you to take particular care

of that young gentleman, Mrs.--

blockitt, sir.

Of that young gentleman, Mrs. Blockitt.

Oh no, sir, indeed.

You remember how careful I was when Miss Florence was born.

Yes yes yes, Miss Florence was all very well,

but this is another matter.

That young gentleman has to accomplish...

A destiny.

Destiny, sir?

Miss Florence is not to touch him.

- (Door closes) - Destiny.

(Clock chiming)

Well, sir.

It would be a satisfaction to me, Dr. Peps,

if you would step upstairs again for a moment.

Do you find the patient at all roused by your visit?

Stimulated, as it were?

I have little experience in these matters,

but he seems a healthy enough infant.

Have you reason to believe otherwise?

I meant, sir, your dear lady.

I must not disguise from you, sir,

there is a want of power in her grace the duchess.

(Chuckles) I do beg your pardon. I confound the names.

I should say there is a want of power

in your amiable wife.

There is a certain degree of languor

and a general absence of elasticity

which I would rather not see.

It would appear that the system of lady Cankaby--

oh, excuse me. I should say of Mrs. Dombey.

I do tend to confuse cases in my west end practice.

--That the system of our patient

has sustained a shock

from which it can only hope to rally by vigorous effort.

Now, I am of the opinion

that if our interesting friend, the countess of Dombey--

oh, I do beg your pardon,

Mrs. Dombey--

that should she not be able to make that effort successfully,

then a crisis might arise

which we should both sincerely deplore.

- (Knocks) - Woman: Paul! Paul, my dear!

Oh, my dear Paul.

What a dear little nephew I have.

Please, Louisa, don't agitate yourself.

I know it's very weak and silly of me,

but he is such a perfect Dombey,

so completely our family.

- And how is Fanny? - Oh, my dear, it's nothing whatever.

Take my word for it.

There is exhaustion, certainly,

but nothing like I underwent with George and Frederick.

(Sniffs, sighs)

An effort is necessary, that is all.

Oh, if only dear Fanny were a Dombey.

But I daresay she'll make it.

My dear Paul, I feel quite shaky

and trembly from head to foot.

And I must ask you for a glass of that wine

and a morsel of cake.

I know it's very silly of me

to allow my emotions so completely to take hold of me,

but I really can't help it.

(Laughs, squeals)

(Sobs) Do you know, I thought

I should fall out of the staircase window just now

as I came down from seeing dear Fanny

and that tiddy ickle sing.

Oh.

I shall not drink my love to you, Paul.

I shall drink to the little Dombey upstairs.

(Coughs)

- Louisa? - My dear Paul,

it's Miss Tox,

the kindest creature.

Miss Tox, dear, do come in.

This is my brother Mr. Dombey.

Paul, my dear, this is

my very particular friend, Miss Tox.

I'm sure that to have the honor of being presented to Mr. Dombey

is a distinction I have long sought

but very little expected.

Oh, my dear, won't you sit down?

And take some wine.

(Titters)

Miss Tox, Paul,

knowing the excitement I have felt

in the anticipation of today's events,

has been working at a little gift for Fanny.

Miss Tox is very good.

It is only a little pincushion for the toilette table,

one of those trifles which are insignificant

to your sex in general--

as it is very natural that they should be--

but to which we attach some interest.

My dear Paul, what have you been doing?

- What is it, Towlinson? - Might I have a word with you, sir?

I knew you would admire my brother.

Did I not tell you so beforehand?

- And, my dear, his property-- - ah!

Immense, my dear.

But his deportment, Louisa,

his presence, his dignity.

No portrait that I have ever seen of anyone

has been half so replete with these qualities--

something so stately, you know,

so uncompromising,

so very...

Wide across the chest.

Why, my dear Paul, you look quite pale.

Is something the matter?

I am sorry to say, Louisa,

they tell me Fanny is much worse.

Oh, dear!

My dear, don't believe a word of it.

Do not allow yourself to take a turn unnecessarily.

Remember of what importance you are to society,

and do not allow yourself to be worried

by what is so inconsiderately told you

by people who should know better. Really, I'm surprised at them.

I hope I know, Louisa,

how to bear myself before the world.

Nobody better, my dear Paul.

Nobody half so well.

He would be ignorant and base indeed who doubted it.

Oh, ignorant and base indeed.

But if you place any reliance

on my experience, Paul,

you may rest assured that there is nothing wanting

but a little effort on Fanny's part.

And that effort she must be encouraged

and, if necessary, urged to make.

(Baby crying)

Fanny, my dear, here is Mr. Dombey come to see you.

Won't you speak to him?

Restless without the little girl.

Don't you think you ought to rouse yourself a little, Fanny?

Can nothing be done?

We can do no more.

(Softly) I...

What was that, dear?

I can't quite hear you. Fanny?

You know I'm going to get quite cross with you

if you don't try to rouse yourself a little.

It really is necessary for you to make an effort, Fanny.

Oh, my dear Paul.

What's to be done?

What's to be done?

Come along, my dear. Let's leave your mother. Now come on.

Come along. There's a good girl.

- No! No no no. ( Crying) - Come along.

(Humming)

(Groans)

(Humming)

- Afternoon, Towlinson. - Good afternoon, Mr. John.

Ah! Wretched.

Wretched business.

Wretched business.

Indeed, sir. Who would have thought it?

Such a mild-tempered lady.

(Mr. John hums)

Here one day, and gone the next.

Afternoon, dear.

- Still serving tea? - Yes, Mr. John.

(Sighs)

I am sure, Mr. C., that this heartrending occurrence

should be a warning to all of us

to rouse ourselves.

Don't you overexert yourself, loo.

You'll be laid up in spasms again.

There is a moral to everything,

if only we may avail ourselves of it.

- (Humming) - It'll be our faults

if we lose sight of this one.

(Humming)

Just trying to improve the melancholy occasion.

It might be better improved

without your "rump-te-iddity bow-wow-wow."

- Merely habit, my dear. - Nonsense.

If I were to get the habit of walking on the ceiling like the flies,

I should hear enough of it, I daresay.

"Bow-wow-wow"

all day long.

More like an opera singer with hydrophobia

than a man in your station.

(Sighs)

- How's the baby, loo? - What baby?

The poor bereaved little baby. I don't know of any other.

You don't know of any other?

This whole house has been a mass of babies.

It would have occurred to most men,

Mr. C., that poor dear Fanny being no more,

it becomes necessary to provide a wet nurse.

Have you to look after Florence as well?

Florence-- as you would very well know

if you only listened to one word I said, Mr. Chick--

has gone with her nurse to stay with sir barnet and lady skettles.

In time,

that poor bereaved infant upstairs

is likely to die of starvation without my attention.

Paul locks himself in his study all day long

and raises so many objections to anyone who offers for the post

I really don't see the least chance of an arrangement being made.

Couldn't something temporary be done with a teapot?

(Groans)

(Chuckles)

Since I appear to have offered a remark

that's an outrage on human nature,

I shall wait in the library for my tea.

(Thunder rumbles)

Dear Louisa,

is the vacancy for nurse still unsupplied?

My dear good soul, yes.

Then I do hope and believe--

just one moment, my dear.

(Whispers)

Stand in the middle.

(Miss Tox whispering)

Here, catch hold of your brother.

(Whispers)

My dear Louisa, knowing your great anxiety

and wishing to relieve it,

I posted off myself to Queen Charlotte's royal married females

and put the question: Was there anybody there they thought would suit?

They gave me an address in Camden, my dear, and I went there today.

Like the dear good Tox you are.

Arriving at the house-- the cleanest place, my dear,

you might eat your dinner off the floor--

I found the whole family at table.

Feeling that no account of them could be half so comfortable

to you and Mr. Dombey as the sight of them all together,

I brought them all.

This gentleman is the father.

Will you have the goodness to step forward a little, Mr. Toodle?

This is his wife, of course. How do you do, Polly?

I'm pretty well, I thank you, ma'am.

And the other young woman is her unmarried sister

who lives with them and would take care of her children.

- How do you do, jemima? - I'm pretty well, I thank you, ma'am.

Four children. Youngest, six weeks.

The fine-looking boy with the blister on his nose is little Arthur.

The blister, I believe, is not constitutional but accidental.

- Flatiron. - I beg your pardon?

Flatiron.

Oh, yes, of course. I quite forgot.

The little creature, in his mother's absence,

tried to smell a warm flatiron.

Oh.

My dear, I do feel that my brother should be present

if we are to discuss the testimonials and so forth.

Of course, Louisa. How sensible you are.

- Oh, my dear Paul. - Louisa, I thought I made it absolutely...

(Sniffles)

You were going to have the goodness to tell me, sir,

- that you were by trade a... - Stoker.

- A choker? - Stoker, ma'am.

Steam engine.

Oh. Oh, yes yes, of course, to be sure.

- (Boy sniffles) - And how do you like it?

Which, ma'am?

Uh, that, your trade.

Oh. Pretty well, ma'am.

Sometimes the ashes gets in here,

makes a man speak gruff.

But it is ashes, ma'am, not crustiness.

(Sniffles)

(Sighs) The children look healthy enough.

But my god, Louisa,

to think of their someday claiming

a sort of relationship with my Paul.

- But what relationship is there? - "Is there"?

Can there be, I mean.

None at all. The whole world knows that, I presume.

Grief has not made me idiotic, Louisa.

I understand you are poor

and wish to earn money by nursing the little boy, my son,

who has been so prematurely deprived

of what can never be replaced.

I have no objections to your adding

to the comforts of your family by that means.

But I must impose one or two conditions

before you enter my house in that capacity.

While you are here, I stipulate that you are always known as...

Say as brown or Richards,

an ordinary name, and convenient.

Have you any objections to be known as Richards?

You had better consult your husband.

Well?

Perhaps if I'm to be called out of my name, sir,

it might be considered in the wages.

I desire to make it

a question of wages altogether.

If you nurse my bereaved child,

I wish you to remember this:

You will receive a liberal stipend

in return for the discharge of certain duties,

in the performance of which I wish you to see

as little of your own family as possible.

When those duties cease to be required,

there it is an end of all relations between us.

It is not at all part of this bargain

that you need become attached to my child,

or that my child need become attached to you.

I do not expect or desire anything of the kind.

Quite the reverse, in fact.

When you go away from here, you will have concluded

what is merely a matter of bargain and sale,

and you will stay away. Do you understand me?

Do you understand me?

I hope I know my place, sir.

I hope you do too, Richards.

(Boy sniffles)

Louisa, my dear, arrange with Richards about money.

Let her have it how and where she pleases.

Mr. What's-your-name, a word with you, if you please.

Close the door.

You have a son.

Three of them, sir.

Three hims and an her, all alive.

I imagine it's as much as you can afford to keep them.

I couldn't hardly afford but one thing in the world less, sir.

- Oh? - To lose 'em, sir.

Can you read and write?

Not particular, sir, no.

I could makeshift at chalk a bit, I think, if I were put to it.

Did you hear what I said to your wife just now?

Polly heard it.

I asked if you heard it. Did you understand it?

Well, I heard it, but I don't know

as I understood it rightly, sir,

on account of being no scholar,

and the words being-- ask your pardon-- rather high.

But Polly heard it, so it's all right.

(Sighs) Since you appear to leave everything to her,

I suppose it is of no use my saying anything more to you.

Not a bit, sir.

Then I won't detain you.

Where have you worked all your life?

Mostly underground, sir, till I got married.

I come to the level then.

I'm a-going on one of these here railroads when they come into full play.

I means to bring up Biler to that line.

- Who? - Me eldest, sir.

The steam engine was as good as a godfather to him, sir.

We always calls him Biler. It ain't a common name.

Do you mean to say, man,

that you have called your child after a boiler?

Oh no, sir.

No, I should hope not, sir.

No, after a Biler, sir.

I daresay you're glad to leave

your dear good wife in such a comfortable home.

No, ma'am, I ain't.

Your child will thrive charmingly

with your sister, Richards,

and you only need make an effort to be very happy indeed.

(Sobs) Yes, ma'am.

There you are, my pet,

all snug and warm.

What have they done with my mama?

You must be Miss Florence come home again.

Come nearer, miss. Don't be afraid of me.

I'm not afraid of you.

I just want to know what they have done with my mama.

Lord bless you, darling. What a sad question.

You wear that pretty black frock in remembrance of your mama.

People put on black to remember people when they're gone.

Gone where?

Come and sit down by me.

I'll tell you a story.

Once upon a time there was a lady,

a very good lady,

and her little daughter dearly loved her...

- Very good lady? - Mm-hmm.

...who, when god thought it right,

was taken ill and died,

never to be seen again by anyone on earth,

and was buried in the ground where the trees grow.

In the cold earth?

No, my pretty, in the warm earth

where the little seeds turn into beautiful flowers,

and into grass, and corn, and...

And I don't know what all besides,

where good people turn into bright angels

and fly away to heaven.

(Sighs) Well, let me see.

So, when this lady died,

she went to god

and she prayed to him, this lady did,

to tell her little daughter that she were very happy there

and loved her still very much.

It was my mama! (Sobbing)

Oh, don't cry, miss. Please don't cry.

Well, Miss Floy! Won't your pa be angry

when you were 'tickerlerly given out not 10 minutes ago

you wasn't to go and worry at the wet nurse.

She don't worry me.

I'm very fond of children.

Mrs. Richards, innit?

Begging your pardon, Mrs. Richards,

but Miss Floy is under my charge.

Master Paul's under your'n.

Smearing your wet face against Mrs. Richards, and not in the house 10 minutes.

She'll be happy now she's home again.

Won't you be pleased to see your papa tonight?

Lork, Mrs. Richards, see her papa indeed.

- I should like to see her do it. - Won't she then?

Her pa's a deal too wrapped up in somebody else.

Before there was a somebody else to be wrapped up in, she were never a favorite.

Girls are thrown away in this house, Mrs. Richards, I can assure you.

He ain't seen her once since her ma died.

Before that, he ain't hardly set eyes on her for months and months.

- Poor little dear. - He'd not know her as his own child

if he were to meet her in the street tomorrow.

Good evening, Richards.

And... how is Master Paul?

Oh, quite well, thank you, sir.

Yes.

He looks it.

They give you everything you want, I hope?

Oh yes, thank you, sir.

Good.

- Good. - If you please, sir,

the child is very much disposed to take notice of things,

and upstairs is a little dull for him.

Very well. You shall take him out for airing more often.

You were quite right to mention it.

Beg your pardon, sir, but we go out

quite plenty enough as it is, thank you, sir.

- Well, what would you have then? - Well, sir,

I believe nothing's so good for making children lively and cheerful

as seeing other children playing about them.

I think I mentioned, Richards, when you first came here,

that I wished you to see as little of your own family as possible.

I weren't so much thinking of that, sir.

I am glad of it.

I were thinking of Miss Florence, sir.

Nothing could be so good as Miss Florence.

Oh, if you really think

such society would benefit the child--

oh, I do, sir.

Very well. I shall give instructions

that Miss Florence shall be with you whenever you choose.

Beg your pardon for being so bold, sir,

but, well, might she be brought down now

to make friends with Master Paul?

As you wish.

(Faintly) Come here.

(Quiet chatter)

Mr. Dombey: Come in.

Miss Florence, sir.

Come here, Florence.

What is the child afraid of? Come here, Florence.

- Do you know who I am? - Yes, papa.

And have you nothing to say to me?

Say good night, miss.

Good night, papa.

Good night, Florence.

Enough. Go to Richards now.

(Sobbing)

(Theme music playing)