All language subtitles for Animotica 2 12 21 38 18

(Přepsáno pomocí TurboScribe.ai. Upgradovat na Neomezený pro odstranění této zprávy.) What a deuce it's to do now!

You great brute!

How the devil did you...

Oh!

Get away, Pilot!

Oh, dear heaven!

Had he been a handsome, heroic young gentleman,

I should not have dared to address him.

But his frown and the roughness of his

manner set me at once at my ease.

If you're injured, sir, I can fetch help,

either from Thornfield Hall or the village.

No, thank you.

I shall do.

I...

I have no broken bones, only a sprain.

You may go on.

I cannot think of leaving you, sir, until

I see you are fit to mount your

horse.

I should think you ought to be at

home, if you have a home in this

neighbourhood.

Are you a sprite or an elf, to

be out so late?

I'm a governess, sir.

Where?

From just below.

And I'm not at all afraid of being

out late, when it's moonlight.

The devil, you're not.

I'll gladly run over to Haye for you.

Indeed, I was going there to post a

letter.

You live just below, the house with the

battlements?

Yes.

Whose house is it?

Mr. Rochester's.

Do you know him?

No.

I've never seen him.

Hmm.

The governess.

It used to take me if I'd not

forgotten.

The governess.

No, I cannot commission you to fetch help,

but you may help me a little if

you'll be so kind.

Your shoulder.

The only necessity, you understand, compels me to

make you useful.

Hey, hey, hold still!

Thank you.

I'll make haste to post your letter and

return as fast as you can.

All three vanished.

The incident had occurred and was gone for

me.

An incident of no moment, yet it marked

a change.

My help had been needed and claimed.

Trivial, transitory though the deed was, it was

yet an active thing, and I was weary

of an existence all passive.

Pilot?

Yes, miss?

Whose dog is this?

He came with master, Mr. Rochester.

He's just arrived.

Oh, indeed.

And is Mrs. Fairfax in?

And Miss Adella.

They're in drawing room now.

John's gun fit surgeon fit master's had an

accident.

His horse fell and his ankle sprained.

Slipped on some ash, they say.

Did it?

Oh, Leah, fetch me a candle, will you?

Directly, miss.

Leah?

Where's Leah?

Oh, Miss Jane, have you heard?

Mr. Rochester has come home.

So unexpected.

Yes, sir, I believe.

He's had an accident and I'm going to

get him some brandy.

Oh, dear, such a to-do.

Leah!

Leah!

But my friend, Mr. Edward Rochester, he spoke

of you, miss.

Adella, we are speaking English today.

He asked me the name of my governess.

He asked me, not ask.

Asked is the past tense.

Listen to me, Miss Janette.

He asked me if you were a little

person.

I replied, yes.

For it is true, you are little.

Are you not?

Yes.

Now, Adella, I want you to...

He's coming out of library.

I hear him.

Oh, Adella.

Excuse me.

She's so excited today.

She can speak of nothing but Mr. Rochester.

Hush, child.

You'll see Mr. Rochester soon enough.

He's promised her a present, apparently.

Her boite, as she calls it.

Mr. Rochester would be glad if you and

your pupil will take tea with him.

He has been so much engaged today that

he couldn't ask to see you before.

When is his tea time?

Six o'clock.

He keeps early hours in the library.

You'd better change your frock.

So will I.

For Mr. Rochester, I'll be like grand cuckoo.

Adella!

You must not speak so.

Is it necessary to change?

Oh, yes.

I always dress for the evening when Mr.

Rochester is here.

This additional ceremony seems somewhat stately.

However, I replaced my black stuffed dress by

another of black silk.

The best and only additional one I had.

Except one of light grey, which in my

low-wood notions of toilette, I thought too

fine to be worn except on first-rate

occasions.

Here is Miss Eyre, sir.

Let Miss Eyre be seated.

I sat down quite disembarrassed.

A reception of Finnish politeness would probably have

confused me.

But harsh caprice such as this laid me

under no obligation.

The eccentricity of the proceedings was piquant.

I simply studied my traveller of the night

before.

Pray accept my condolences, sir, on the pressure

of business you have had to endure today,

particularly as your ankle must have pained you.

Clearly, Mrs. Fairfax is kindly, but trite observations

pained him more.

Madam, I should like some tea.

Oh, of course, sir.

You've been resident in my house three months.

Miss Eyre.

Yes, sir.

Mrs. Fairfax, have the goodness to amuse this

child.

She thinks of naught but presents.

Come, Adele.

Did you expect a present, Miss Eyre?

No, sir.

I have little experience of them.

Unlike Adele, I have less confidence in my

desserts and no claim being a stranger to

you.

Oh, don't fall back on over-modesty.

I've examined Adele and find you've taken great

pains with her.

She has no talents, but she's made much

improvement.

Sir, you have given me my present.

The Mead teachers covered most praise of their

pupils' progress.

Hmm.

And you come from where?

Lowood School, sir, in the West Riding.

Oh, a charitable concern.

How long were you there?

Eight years.

Eight?

You must be tenacious of life.

I'd have thought half the time in such

a place would have done up any constitution.

No wonder you have the look of another

world.

Bring Miss Eyre her cup, too, if you

please.

Adele?

When you came on me in Hay Lane

last night, I thought unaccountably of fairy tales.

I'd half a mind to demand whether you

had bewitched my horse.

Had you?

No, sir.

I'm promptly spoken.

Do I believe you?

Who are your parents?

I have none.

Nor ever had, I suppose.

Do you remember them?

No, sir.

I thought not.

You were waiting for your people when I

saw you in the lane.

For whom, sir?

For the men in green.

It was a proper moonlight evening for them.

Did I break through one of your rings?

The men in green all forsook England a

hundred years ago.

Not even in Hay Lane would you find

a trace of them.

I don't think summer, harvest or winter moon

will ever shine on their revels more.

So, no kinsfolk of any sort?

No, sir.

No aunts, uncles, cousins?

No.

Who recommended you to come here?

I advertised and Mrs Fairfax answered my advertisement.

Yes, and I am daily thankful for the

choice Providence led me to make.

Miss Eyre has been an invaluable companion to

me and a kind and careful teacher to

Adele.

Oh, don't trouble yourself to give her a

character.

I shall judge for myself.

She began by felling my horse.

Sir?

I have to thank her for this sprain.

Oh, I'm sure not.

Oh, but I am.

Mrs Fairfax, I charged you to amuse Adele.

Oh, yes.

Come, come, child.

I cannot endure her prattle.

Too like a mother.

Miss Eyre, have you ever lived in a

town?

No, sir.

Have you seen much society?

None but the pupils and teachers at Lowood.

And now the inmates at Thornfield.

Hmm.

Have you read much?

Only such books as came my way.

They have not been numerous or very learned.

You've lived the life of a nun.

No doubt you're well drilled in religious forms.

Brocklehurst, who I understand directs Lowood, is a

parson, is he not?

Yes.

You girls probably worshipped him as a common

religieuse would worship their director.

Oh, no.

You're very cool.

No.

What, a novice not worship her priest?

That sounds blasphemous.

He starved us when he had sold superintendents

of the school before the committee was appointed.

And he bored us with long lectures once

a week.

He is a harsh man, at once pompous

and meddling.

I disliked him.

I was not alone in the feeling.

Hold it straight, child.

Hold it straight.

How old are you, Miss Eyre?

18, sir.

A point difficult to fix in your case.

Such freshness of feature allied to so decisive

a spirit.

Now, what did you learn at school?

Can you play the piano?

A little, sir.

And the established answer?

Go into the library.

I mean, if you please.

You must excuse my tone of command.

I'm used to saying, do this and it's

done.

I cannot alter my customary habits for one

new inmate of Thornfield.

Take a candle with you, leave the door

open, sit down at the piano and play

a tune.

You play

like any other English schoolgirl.

Perhaps you play better than some schoolgirls, but

not well.

I said I played a little, sir.

Yes.

Adele showed me some sketches this morning.

She said they were yours.

I don't know whether they were entirely your

doing.

Probably a master aided you.

No, indeed.

Ah, that breaks pride.

Well, fetch your portfolio, if you can vouch

for its contents being original.

I warn you, I can recognise patchwork.

I did not doubt him.

He seemed at some pains to expose his

worldliness to my inexperience.

No crowding.

Mrs Fairfax, take these others to the table.

You may look at them with Adele.

Thank you.

Where did you get your copies?

Out of my head, sir.

And that head I see on your shoulders?

I have no other.

Has it more furniture of the same kind

within?

I should think it may have.

I should hope better.

Hmm.

Did you sit along each day painting these?

Yes.

It was a vacation.

I sat at them from morning till noon

and from noon till night.

The length of the midsummer days favoured my

inclination to apply.

And were you happy?

I was absorbed, sir.

Yes, I was happy.

To paint them was to enjoy one of

the keenest pleasures I've ever known.

That's not saying much.

Your pleasures by your own account have been

few.

I dare say you did exist in a

kind of artist dreamland.

Did you feel self-satisfied with these results

of your long labours?

Far from it.

I was tormented between my idea and my

handiwork.

In each case I'd imagine something...

something I was quite powerless to realise.

Not quite.

You've secured the shadow of your thought.

You've not enough skill to give it full

being.

Yet these are, for a schoolgirl, peculiar.

As to the thoughts, they are elfish.

And who taught you to paint wind?

There's a high gale in that sky.

And that hilltop is Latmos.

Where did you see Latmos?

There.

Put them away.

It's nine o'clock.

What are you about, Miss Eyre?

To let Adele sit up so long.

Take her to bed.

I wish you all good night.

Off with you.

I am so accustomed to his manner I

never think of it.

You find him changeful and abrupt.

No doubt to a stranger he would appear

so.

But allowances should be made.

Why?

He has had family troubles which no doubt

harass him.

But he has no family.

Not now.

He lost both his father and his elder

brother a few years since.

His elder brother?

Yes.

The present Mr Rochester hasn't been long in

possession of the property.

Some nine years.

But nine years is a tolerable time.

Was he so very fond of his brothers

to be inconsolable at his loss?

Well, perhaps not.

I believe there were some misunderstandings between them.

His brother, Mr Rowland Rochester, was not quite

just to our Mr Edward.

And perhaps he prejudiced his father against him.

The old gentleman was fond of money and

anxious to keep the family estate together.

He didn't like to diminish the property by

division.

And yet he was anxious that Mr Edward

should have wealth too.

So soon after he came of age some

steps were taken which weren't quite fair to

Mr Edward and greatly affected his future.

In what way?

I've never clearly known.

He broke with his family.

Led an unsettled life.

I don't think he's been resident here for

a fortnight together since he became master of

the estate.

He shuns the old place.

But why should he shun it?

Perhaps he finds it gloomy.

Good night, Miss Eyre.

Monsieur de Rochester!

Monsieur de Rochester!

Sometimes he acknowledged my presence.

Sometimes not.

His changes of mood did not offend me

because I saw that I had nothing to

do with their alteration.

He did not see me.

Oh he had company.

Adele you mustn't cry.

He is not my friend anymore and next

time I see him I won't see him.

My bride!

Yes your cadeau at last you genuine daughter

of Paris.

Take it into a corner and amuse yourself

disemboweling it and don't bother me with any

of the anatomical details now nor the condition

of the entrails.

Tiens-toi tranquille enfant.

Come forward Miss Eyre.

Why hang back?

Be seated.

Old bachelor that I am I do not

care for the sole company of children.

Don't draw that chair further off.

Sit down exactly where I placed it.

If you please that is.

Confound these civilities.

I'm continually forgetting them.

Nor do I affect simple-minded old ladies

but it won't do to neglect Mrs. Fairfax.

I dare say you believe in propriety Miss

Eyre.

You've not spoken once.

No sir.

Why not?

You did not appear to require an answer.

Till now.

Madam I sent to you for a charitable

purpose.

I've forbidden Adele to talk to me about

her presence and she's bursting with repletion.

Have the goodness to entertain and absorb her

enthusiasms.

It will be one of the most benevolent

acts you've ever performed.

With pleasure sir.

Mrs. Fairfax please you must help me.

Oh yes child yes.

Now having performed the part of host I

ought to be at liberty to attend to

my own pleasures.

Miss Eyre you're yet too far back.

I cannot see you without disturbing my position

in this comfortable chair which I have no

mind to do.

Yes.

There.

You've been examining me all this while have

you not?

Do not demur.

You have.

Well?

Do you find me handsome?

Oh no sir.

Oh.

By my word there's something singular about you.

You have the air of a little nonette.

Quaint, quiet, grave.

You sit there your hands before you and

your eyes generally bent upon the carpet.

Except just now when they were directed piercingly

to my face.

And when one asks a question or makes

a remark to which you're bound to reply

you rap out a rejoinder which if not

blunt is at least brusque.

What do you mean by it?

Sir I was too plain.

I beg your pardon.

Do you?

I ought to have replied that it is

not easy to give an impromptu answer about

appearances but tastes mostly differ and that beauty

is of little consequence.

Something of that sort.

You ought to have replied no such thing.

Beauty of little consequence.

So instead of softening the previous outrage of

stroking and soothing me into placidity you stick

a sly penknife under my ear.

Oh go on.

What fault do you find with me pray?

I suppose I've all my limbs and features

like any other man.

Mr. Rochester allow me to disown my first

answer.

I intended no pointed repartee.

It was only a blunder.

Just so and you shall be answerable for

it.

Decidedly he's had too much wine I thought.

He's more expansive and genial than in his

frigid and rigid temper of the mornings.

He still looked preciously grim however.

Criticize me?

Does my forehead please you or not?

Is it low enough to prove me a

fool?

Far from it sir.

You would perhaps think me rude if I

inquired in return whether those...

bumps indicate that you're a philanthropist.

There again.

Another stick of the penknife.

She pretended to pat my head and that

because...

Lobey had spoken.

I said I did not like the society

of children and old women.

No young lady I'm not a general philanthropist.

Though I do bear a conscience.

And I once had a kind of rude

tenderness of heart when I was as old

as you.

But fortune has since needed me with her

knuckles.

And now I flatter myself I'm as tough

as an India rubber ball.

But with one point of feeling left in

the middle of the lump.

Yes.

Does that leave hope for me?

Hope of what sir?

A puzzled air becomes you.

Though you are no more pretty than I

am handsome.

Miss Eyre you puzzled me the first evening

I invited you down.

I'd almost forgotten you since.

Other ideas have driven yours from my head.

But tonight I'm resolved to be at ease.

Gregarious, communicative.

To dismiss what importunes and to recall what

pleases.

It would please me now to draw you

out.

To learn more of you.

Therefore speak.

Instead of speaking I smiled.

Not a very submissive smile either.

Speak.

What about sir?

Whatever you like.

I leave the choice of subject and the

manner of treating it entirely to yourself.

Accordingly I sat and said nothing.

If he expects me to talk for the

mere sake of talking and showing off...

you will find he has addressed the wrong

person.

You are dumb Miss Eyre.

Quelle belle!

Hmm.

Stubborn and annoyed.

It is consistent.

Miss Eyre I beg your pardon.

The fact is I don't wish to treat

you as an inferior.

At least I only claim such superiority as

must result from 20 years difference in age...

and a century's advance in experience.

That is legitimate surely.

He had designed an explanation.

Almost an apology.

To such I would reply.

Sir I am willing to amuse you if

I can.

But I cannot introduce a topic since I

do not know what will interest you.

Ask me questions and I will do my

best to answer them.

Yes I shall.

In the first place do you agree that

my superiority in age and experience...

grants me the right to be a little

masterful?

Abrupt sometimes.

Do as you please sir.

That's no answer.

At least if it is it is irritating

and evasive.

Reply clearly.

I do not think you have the right

to command me merely because you are older

than I.

Do you not?

No.

Nor because you've seen more of the world

than I have.

Your claim to superiority must depend on the

use you have made of that time and

experience.

Hmm.

Pointedly spoken.

But it would never suit my case to

allow it...

since I've made an indifferent...

not to say bad use of both advantages.

Or leaving superiority to one side.

Do you agree to receive my orders without

being piqued by the tone of command?

Mr Rochester was certainly peculiar.

He seemed to forget he paid me 30

pounds per annum for receiving his orders.

The smile is all very well but speak

to.

I was thinking that few masters would trouble

to inquire whether their...

paid subordinates were hurt or piqued by their

orders.

Sir?

Paid subordinates?

I'd forgotten your salary.

Well on that mercenary ground will you agree

to let me hector you a little?

No not on that ground.

But on the other.

That you did forget the salary and that...

you do care whether or not a dependent

is comfortable in his dependency.

I agree heartily.

Then you consent to dispense with the great

many conventional forms and phrases without thinking the

omission arises from insolence.

I'm sure I should never mistake informality for

insolence.

One I rather like.

The other...

nothing freeborn would submit to even for a

salary.

Humbug!

Most things freeborn will submit to anything for

a salary.

That may be your experience sir.

It will not be mine.

You venture on generalities of which are intensely

ignorant.

Keep them to yourself.

But I mentally shake hands with you for

your answer despite its inaccuracy.

Not three in three thousand raw schoolgirl governesses

would have answered me as you've just done.

Stupid coarse-minded misunderstanding is the usual reward

of candor or affectation.

Your manner was frank and sincere.

But I don't want to flatter you.

If you were cast in a different mold

from the majority it's no merit of yours.

Nature did it.

Oh of course sir.

Naturally.

Ah the penknife again.

Perhaps I go too fast in my conclusions

about you.

For all I yet know you may have

intolerable defects to counterbalance your good points.

And so may you I thought.

Sir it is Pastor Dale's bedtime.

But she's gone.

She would not go.

And I can tell you where and what

to do.

Her toilette as she calls it.

She pulled out of the box a few

moments ago.

A pink frock.

Rapture lit her face.

Cocketry runs in her blood.

Blends with her brains and seasons the marrow

of her bones.

She's now with Sophie undergoing a roving process.

Soon she will re-enter a miniature of

her mother.

Celine Varon.

As she used to appear on the boards

at the rising of...

Never mind that.

However my tenderest feelings are about to receive

a shock.

I require you if you will to help

me support it.

Is that an order sir?

Yes but put as considerably as I'm able.

Then I will stay.

Thank you.

You were thinking that I too might have

defects were you not?

Ah yes.

I begin to read you Miss Eyre.

You're right.

I have plenty.

Like other defaulters I like to lay the

blame on ill fortune.

Adverse circumstances.

I was thrust on the wrong tack at

one and twenty and I've never recovered the

right course since.

I envy you your peace of mind.

Your unpolluted memory.

Your clean conscience.

How was your memory when you were 18

sir?

Limpid.

No gush of bilge water had turned it

into a fetid puddle.

I was your equal at 18.

Quite your equal Miss Eyre.

You would say I should have been superior

to my circumstances.

At least I see as much in your

eye.

Beware by the way what you express with

that organ.

I'm quick to interpret its language.

And so I should have been superior to

my circumstances.

But I was not.

When fate wronged me I had not the

wisdom to remain cool.

I turned desperate.

Then degenerate.

Dread remorse when you attempted to err.

Remorse is the poison of life Miss Eyre.

Repentance is said to be its cure.

A reformation maybe.

Yet what is the use of thinking of

it?

Burdened.

Cursed as I am.

But since happiness is denied me I have

the right to get pleasure out of life.

And I will get it.

Cost what it may.

Then you will degenerate still more sir.

Possibly.

Yet why should I when I can get

fresh sweet pleasure?

As sweet and fresh as the honey the

wild bee gathers on the moor.

It will sting.

It will taste bitter.

How do you know?

You never tried it.

I only remind you.