All language subtitles for Dombey And Son 01

(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)