Original subtitles

I'm coming!

All right, I'm hurrying!

Oh, what a night. What a night.

Isn't it wonderful?

You wouldn't think so had you traveled 80 miles through it.

Yes, I would.

Welcome home, Cousin Jaffrey. Thank you.

Where's my father?

He's been in the village since early afternoon.

I've kept supper warm for you.

In the three years you've been here from the country,

haven't you yet learnt to call it dinner?

No. Will you have some?

Oh, no, thank you. I'll have some tea.

And, Hepzibah? Yes, Jaffrey?

What's all this confounded mystery?

What mystery?

My dear cousin, your innocence is far too elaborate.

Why was I suddenly called home,

summoned like a schoolboy?

I'm sure your father will be here very soon, Jaffrey.

Yes, I'm sure he will. But answer my question. Why?

I was in the midst of my first important case.

Young lawyers don't find clients growing on trees in Boston nowadays.

Even if they have made excellent reputations for themselves.

So Clifford is still baying and bellowing, eh?

You'll be proud of your brother now.

I'll forgo the pride, if only I'm spared the noise.

Bring the tea up here, Hepzibah.

Yes, Cousin Jaffrey.

Well, if isn't the pride of the Pyncheons. Welcome home.

Good evening.

Same old Jaff. Been away two years,

and all you can manage is "Good evening."

Well, it is evening, I believe.

Uh, you know, Jaff, you're no longer the only success in the family.

I've sold a composition.

Quite a remarkable piece of music.

Shall I, uh, play it for you?

Oh, no, I'd much rather know why father sent...

Oh, he'll tell you all about that.

Just think, Jaff,

Pond & Company, the greatest music house in the world, publishing me.

Splendid. Splendid.

My legal colleagues will be most impressed.

My brother, a musician. A gypsy.

Shocking, isn't it?

Boston might think so.

Boston. That provincial outpost.

They won't see me for years.

No, it's New York for me, old fellow.

And then Europe.

Come in.

Your father has returned.

Now perhaps I might be honored with some information.

You weren't very kind to him, were you, Clifford?

There's so little kindness in my small heart,

I must keep it all for you.

You know, I don't think it's a very good idea

to leave those two gentlemen alone any longer than is necessary.

Clifford.

Do be respectful.

I am.

To all that's beautiful.

To you.

Come in.

Ah.

Good evening, Father. Good evening, my son.

You will forgive, I hope, this abrupt summons. Sit down.

Abominable weather for travel.

It would've been far less trying, sir, had you acquainted me

with the necessity for my return.

Perhaps. I feared a letter might not explain that.

Jaffrey, I must make a decision.

I need your advice.

What for?

The decision has already been made.

Would somebody please tell me what all this is about?

Gladly. We're selling this house tomorrow.

Selling Seven Gables?

Yes.

But that's impossible.

It's fantastic.

It can't be done without my consent.

Why not?

For the past two years, you and father

have been investing the family fortune without my consent.

You've succeeded in bankrupting us.

That money was mine as well as yours.

But nobody bothered to get my consent.

Jaffrey, this has been a most trying year.

Practically everything is gone, except the house.

I've maneuvered desperately to keep that from falling

into the hands of the creditors.

We shall lose it anyway if it isn't sold.

The Pyncheon tradition will not be sold.

As a student of law, Jaffrey, you must know the bankruptcy court

does not accept family tradition as legal tender.

We can find a way out of this momentary difficulty.

Man alive. Have you no respect for the name you bear?

Your belated reverence is very touching.

Respect? Pride? For whom?

Perhaps for the honor of our great-great-grandfather,

the respectable Colonel Jaffrey Pyncheon.

Two hundred years ago, he privately boasted

of successfully murdering one Matthew Maule

in order to steal this land from him.

Hail to thee, guiding spirit.

Perhaps we should bow our heads in memory

to Ethan Pyncheon, noble soul.

He held high rank in Washington's army,

and proved his patriotism by secretly selling supplies

and military information to the British.

I fairly burst with pride

when I recall Jonathan's contribution to Pyncheon tradition.

He made quite a fortune for himself

after soldiers were discharged from the Revolutionary army,

by cheating them in shady land deals.

And here, our late lamented grandfather,

who schemed with John Henry before the war of 1812

for the secession of Massachusetts

from the United States to join her with Canada,

because this country disapproved of his illegal investments.

By all means, let us sacrifice ourselves to such traditions.

Stop! You forget yourself.

It's you who forget. Too conveniently.

You go too far, sir. Yes, I'm going farther than that.

I'm going as far as the sale price

of this mausoleum will carry me.

Away from its rotting walls and decaying memories.

This house will never be sacrificed.

I'll take the matter to court. The world will know of this.

The world already knows too much.

Clifford's antagonism, his insistence on selling the house

have become a scandal.

Jaffrey, do not add to it.

When my solicitor comes tomorrow, the house will be sold.

What a pity men must inherit their ancestors' ignorance

instead of their wisdom.

Jaffrey, your tea.

Will you have some, Cousin Gerald?

Good night.

Good night, my son.

Hepzibah.

My child.

I hesitate to mention it,

but could you not persuade Clifford

to see how grievously he wrongs his family?

He seems so sure of himself, Cousin Gerald.

True, but he's also sure of your love and devotion.

Perhaps less certainty on that score

might bring about less certainty on this?

Hepzibah, you can help us.

If I may but follow the dictates of my conscience?

Yes, yes. Thank you, Hepzibah.

* I can't remember how I met you

* But stars were shining on your hair

* And though you smiled at me so sweetly

* I can't remember when or where

* The scene, my love

* I can't recall to view

* For through it all

* I just remember you

* And when I dream

* Beneath the starlit skies

* I recall

* The color of your eyes *

Hepzibah.

I... I hope I didn't upset you with what happened downstairs.

Well, you see, I... I had to tell the truth.

Why allow such hatred to remain beneath the surface, festering?

A clean wound heals much more quickly.

You were right, Clifford.

But... Well?

Your father asked me to speak to you.

What? Darling, please.

He shan't use petticoats as weapons.

Clifford.

I'd rather you conserve your impetuous energies

for emotions more deserving.

Oh, forgive me, dearest.

May I speak now? Yes.

I listened to him most attentively,

and I only asked one favor.

That he leave to the dictates of my conscience.

And did that satisfy him? Yes.

I've searched my conscience...

And?

I found...

I could never love you blindly, Clifford,

so that your every act and thought would seem just and courageous.

It's because of your courage and sense of justice

that I love you.

I can only hope to prove worthy of such a love, Hepzibah.

You have, my darling.

And now I know, the house must be sold.

It shall be sold.

We'll live in New York, Hepzibah.

People there have vitality.

They look ahead, not backwards.

You know, I've read that

they're constructing buildings

four and five stories tall, scraping the sky.

Man reaching towards the heavens

instead of digging into dusty archives.

We'll leave the dirges behind us.

There's music in those people, Hepzibah.

Laughing, struggling, working people. That's living music.

Go write it, Clifford.

It's already inside you.

Treasure hunt?

Yes, yes, you can call it that if you like.

So, this is the reason for your pious defense of your ancestors.

Not the legend of their nobility,

but the fable of their hidden wealth.

This is no fable, you fool.

One million acres in the state of Maine, ours.

I've dug into ancient archives in Boston.

Aside from this map, I've actually seen documents that refer to the land grant.

Somewhere hidden in these rotting walls, as you call them,

along with his other papers, is a deed to Colonel Jaffrey Pyncheon,

signed by King Charles II.

And supposing you found them, what value would they be?

That was 180 years ago, Jaffrey.

The city's there now, thousands of people.

Will you issue orders of eviction?

But, Clifford, don't you see?

With the original deed in our possession,

the government is obliged to compensate us.

It'll be millions for us, Clifford. Millions.

Help me. Work with me.

We'll tear the house down board by board until we find it.

There's nothing to find, you fool.

There're no hidden staircases, no secret rooms.

Those were fables Grandmother invented

on rainy afternoons for our amusement.

Why, you might as well believe that there's a half a million in gold

hidden with the deed.

She used to speak about that, too.

It is yet to be proven otherwise.

And Maule's curse.

Perhaps you believe that old Matthew Maule's ghost

still hovers over the Pyncheons, wreaking vengeance.

It is yet to be proven otherwise.

Well, good night.

And don't let the witches get you.

Whoa, boy, whoa. Whoa, easy there.

Good morning, Mr. Fuller.

Morning, Miss Hepzibah.

A new horse, Mr. Fuller.

Beauty, isn't he?

Two year old, he is, and full of the Old Ned. Faster than lightning.

Mr. Fuller, starting tomorrow, will you hold our mail at the post office

till we send on a forwarding address?

So you're finally gonna sell?

Yes, Mr. Fuller, today. It's all settled.

Well, well, heard a heap of conversation, but...

And it's all settled?

Mmm-hmm.

Well, get on, Ginger.

So they're finally selling Seven Gables.

Yes, all settled.

Settled, is it? Well, well, well, well.

They're moving out tomorrow.

Don't believe it. They've been talking that way for a year.

If Mr. Fuller says it's all settled, Abigail, I guess it's all settled.

Well, wonder who's fool enough to buy it.

I say that Gerald Pyncheon has no right

to sell that cursed house to an unsuspecting stranger.

Can't help himself. It's that young Clifford's doings.

He's a wild one, I'll tell you.

The old man is afraid of the boy.

I remember Clifford saying to him right in the square,

"I'll see you dead before you're chained to the poverty of your tradition."

Nothing but bad blood, dressed up in fancy words.

Mr. Fuller, Mr. Fuller, have you heard the news?

I hear lots of news, Mrs. Reynolds.

It's settled, finally settled!

The Pyncheons are selling Seven Gables.

Well...

Time was when the United States Mail

was the fastest thing around these parts. Get on, Ginger.

Clifford, I've been looking all over for you.

You packed everything you need, darling?

Hours ago. We can't leave today, Clifford.

Why not? It's impossible.

Furniture has to be disposed of,

arrangements of all kinds are still to be made.

Where's that lawyer?

Dearest Clifford, you know he isn't expected until late this afternoon.

Now, will you please come in and eat something?

Your father and brother have almost finished.

No, thank you.

Aren't you hungry? I'm starved.

But I prize my appetite too highly

to have it ruined by Jaffrey's face across the table.

Darling, don't talk like that.

Why not? Hepzibah.

Do you know why Jaffrey is so anxious to keep the house?

Fondness of memories. No.

Fondness of gold.

He actually believes in all witches' tales about hidden treasure

and Maule's curse.

Even about the old well.

But still, the water is brackish, undrinkable.

Oh, that's undoubtedly the ancient sewage system seeping into it.

And yet... Yet what, darling?

I recall my great-uncle.

He died... From sudden paralysis, a throat hemorrhage.

That isn't Maule's curse, that's the Pyncheon curse.

Greed, willful inhuman selfishness.

The combination of high blood pressure

and thin-veined aristocracy.

They're haunted by conscience,

not by the calcified bones of old Matthew Maule.

Oh, darling.

Now, you're not going to allow black memories of the past

to ruin a future so bright and shining as ours.

Isn't that a new dress?

Yes.

Is it pleasing to you?

As pleasing to me as it is becoming to you.

We'll keep it for special occasions.

Our 25th, our 50th anniversary.

It'll fade long before then. Moths will get in and it'll fall to pieces.

No, it won't.

No more than that beautiful, warm smile of yours will ever fade.

To that proposition, mademoiselle, I dedicate myself.

Clifford, darling, don't ever grow up.

Oh, pray forgive this interruption.

Father would be honored by a visit from you.

He's in the library.

Beautiful day, isn't it?

I had thought so, till a moment ago.

Now, isn't that amusing? I hadn't until a moment ago.

We really make the weather ourselves, don't we, Hepzibah?

Yes, Father?

Clifford, as you know, there still remain,

besides the house, a few government securities.

Very few. Yes, yes.

However, Jaffrey is confident that we can convert these bonds immediately.

Invest them in something less secure perhaps, but far more profitable,

and within the year...

Yes, within the year, even that last shred

of security will have vanished.

What about your promise to me?

As the eldest son, I have always recognized your rights.

As your father, I must insist

that you refrain from questioning my authority.

I do not refer to your authority, sir, but to your promise.

Which you wrung from me in a moment of weak indecision.

I realize that now.

Sir, it is unthinkable

that the Pyncheon birthright should be put upon the auction block.

Even Hepzibah knows that.

Of course, she conceals her sympathy

for fear of your displeasure.

That is untrue.

You dare to call me a liar!

As long as I remain alive,

I am the head of this house,

and it shall not be sold!

For the last year, your conduct has brought us nothing but shame!

Disgraceful scenes in public!

You have humiliated me beyond all endurance!

Now I command you to leave this house at once!

You're no longer my son!

I want never again to see your face!

That's the easiest way to get out of a promise.

Out!

Father!

Father.

Father.

Hepzibah, Jaffrey!

Clifford.

I don't know what happened.

Suddenly, he fell, and...

We better send for Doctor Willard.

It's too late.

Murderer.

Jaffrey.

You don't know what you're saying.

You can't mean that, Jaff.

Don't let grief becloud your reason.

Don't stand like one carved in granite, Jaffrey.

Say you are mistaken.

I see.

The house is ours now.

Yours and mine.

With me out of the way...

Oh, you fool.

You can't press such charges.

No jury on Earth would convict me.

Murderer.

If killing a money-mad fool is murder, then yes!

Clifford, don't! Don't!

Stop! Murder!

He tried to kill him, I tell you!

Who? Clifford Pyncheon.

Gentlemen of the jury,

the State has charged Clifford Pyncheon with the murder of his father.

Both the prosecution and the defense

are satisfied that they have fully presented their cases.

Before retiring in an attempt to reach your verdict,

I wish you remind you that your duty is to consider only matters of fact.

My instructions will be few.

You are to decide, solely upon the evidence presented,

whether the defendant committed the crime.

The defense has sought to prove that Gerald Pyncheon

died as the result of a sudden illness.

A constriction of the throat, a paralysis.

The defense alleges that this stroke occurred

as the result of a violent, verbal quarrel.

That is was brought about by anger.

The prosecution has offered as evidence

testimony by which it hopes to prove beyond any reasonable doubt

the guilt of the defendant.

They called upon Dr. Willard,

for years, physician to the deceased.

Dr. Willard has testified that the deceased exhibited not symptoms of the ailment

the defense alleges to have existed.

The State further offers in evidence

the testimony of the coroner, who confirms their allegation

that the deceased suffered a severe blow on the head

prior to death.

The defendant has admitted being in the room with his father at the time,

swearing that no blow was delivered

with a paperweight that has been offered in evidence,

on which bloodstains were found.

It has been sworn before you as truth

that upon one occasion, the defendant

cried aloud in a public square,

"I would rather see you dead than chained to the poverty of your traditions."

Six witnesses have testified under oath

that, attracted by the angered voice of the defendant,

they saw the defendant attempt to take the life of his brother.

They have sworn that they heard him cry,

"If killing a money-mad fool is murder, then yes!"

He's not charging the jury, he's convicting you.

Look at their faces.

In closing, let me repeat

that it is for you to decide which of the evidence

is in accordance with the facts as you see them.

The jury will now retire to reach a verdict.

Your Honor, there's no need for us to retire.

Clifford.

Silence, or the court will be cleared!

Silence!

Have you reached a verdict?

We have, Your Honor.

The defendant will rise and face the jury.

We, the jury, find the defendant Clifford Pyncheon

guilty as charged.

No, no, he's innocent! You all know he's innocent!

Please.

Silence! Your Honor.

Please! Your Honor,

it is to our everlasting disgrace

that in these modern times,

such barbaric demonstration should occur.

Their petition of them during this trial

has turned it into a travesty of justice.

Ignorance and prejudice

reminiscent of 17th century witch-hunting,

have condemned an innocent man.

We remind counsel for the defense

that his remarks insolently question the integrity of this court.

Order.

Clifford Pyncheon, step forward.

This court has found you guilty of fratricide.

And it therefore becomes my duty

to pronounce sentence upon you.

Because of the failure of the State

to offer proof beyond the circumstantial evidence

which has convicted you,

I withhold the death penalty,

and sentence you to life imprisonment

in the state penitentiary.

Clifford.

Look at her. Coming into court in a dress like that.

She ought to be ashamed of herself.

Hold your wicked tongue, you gossiping old

witch.

I'll see the governor of the state.

I'll not rest until you're free, Clifford.

You look so beautiful in this dress, Hepzibah.

I'm glad you wore it today.

I'll always remember you just as you are now.

The court wishes at this time

to publicly commend Jaffrey Pyncheon.

His love for justice

was even greater than the natural human impulse

to shield one of his own blood.

Mr. Pyncheon, I predict that such virtues

will not remain unrewarded.

You will go far in the service of justice and your country.

One minute, all of you.

Your Honor, I am innocent.

More than any living soul, he knows that I am innocent.

It is because your lie is so great, so infamous,

that decent human beings cannot believe it to be a lie.

You've sacrificed everything that's decent,

everything that's honorable.

You've used the most degenerate means to gain your ends.

You have the house.

With it,

you have inherited the Pyncheon tradition.

All the tradition of your ancestors.

You believe in those traditions, don't you?

You believe in your heritage.

Then may you also inherit Maule's curse!

God has given him blood to drink!

Clifford! Clifford!

Now, I intend to start with this mapping in the attic.

First of all, all the flooring must be torn up.

Then the plaster broken out of the walls,

and the boards removed carefully.

Board by board?

That'll be expensive, Mr. Pyncheon.

It'll take time.

I shall be on hand to see that time is not wasted.

Of course, if the job is not to your liking...

Oh, no. I'll start the first thing in the morning.

Thank you, Mr. Pyncheon.

My dear cousin, this manner of departure is not befitting a Pyncheon.

I forbid you to leave this house in this way.

What will people say if I permit you to wander the streets?

Even if such scarlet tendencies have been fostered in you.

Good morning, Mr. Barton.

Good morning.

Oh, hello, my dear child.

My father's will? Yes.

Goodbye. No, no, don't go, Hepzibah.

You're quite concerned in this little matter.

Well, shall we adjourn to the library?

Come.

I trust you can dissuade my cousin

from any thoughtless action.

To leave now would be in the worst possible taste.

I, uh... I might even make her a small allowance.

Temporarily.

I won't let a little thing like that stand between us.

I seek only one thing between us. Distance.

It will not be necessary to concern yourself about Hepzibah, Mr. Pyncheon.

Your late father made certain modest provision.

I won't trouble you with the legal details, my dear.

You may examine the will and documents at your leisure.

The estate is quite uncomplicated.

Fortunately, the deceased was heavily insured,

and the benefits therefrom will more than cover all outstanding debts.

You'll have about $400 a year, Hepzibah.

That's splendid. Then the house is free of debt.

I was afraid I might have to borrow to save it.

That would not have been your concern

under any circumstances, Mr. Pyncheon.

About six months ago, long after the filing of this will,

the deceased sought to prevent creditors from seizing the property

in the only way left open to him.

He signed the deed of ownership over to someone else.

Thus this house, its furnishings,

the ground upon which it stands,

became, and still remains,

the legal property of Hepzibah Pyncheon.

Goodbye, madam.

There is infamous trickery behind this.

I'll fight with every legal weapon.

To the Supreme Court if necessary.

My dear sir, surely you can apply your energy

to something more productive.

If my years of legal experience can serve you,

be advised that you have no more chance

than a zephyr in a windstorm.

Of all the crimes this evil house has bred in the past,

none have been so cruel,

so nakedly shameless as yours.

You destroyed your brother for it.

A joyous, living human being.

You exchanged him for rotting timbers,

and depraved dreams of gold.

With all that's beautiful in life,

you cling to one craven desire,

this cursed, hateful house.

You'll never have it.

I'll live on here. I'll pray for more life.

You'll never again set foot in it!

Oh, what's that?

What does it mean?

I don't know.

Something strange has happened in that house.

Thank you, Ginger.

Get in there.

Get off. Get him in there.

Let go of me, you slaves of ignorance and corruption!

Shut up!

You may shut me up, but there are other voices, thousands of them.

Get in there.

Tell the judge I'm not through with him yet.

I stand on my constitutional rights of free speech and free assembly.

Maybe you'll sit down and shut up before we're through with you.

You'll never be through with me.

The prison hasn't yet been built that can stifle mankind's cry for freedom.

Do you know why I've been thrown in here?

For the crime of advocating freedom.

For defending the abolition of Negro slavery.

And, mind you, in a land whose very foundation

but 70 years ago were cemented with the blood of freedom-loving people.

Today, those same fighters are in prison, persecuted, shot.

Can Americans have forgotten so soon?

We abolitionists will remind them of their heritage.

Thanks.

Perhaps you, sir, can unravel this enigma.

How is it possible to arrest a man for speaking freely of freedom

in a country whose constitution guarantees freedom?

And justice. Precisely.

There I was, peacefully addressing a meeting

which was disrupted by the paid band of ruffians.

The result, I became the insider to riot.

And for that, mind you,

I stood before a jury whose verdict was decided upon

before they heard the case.

A judge, whose mind was made up before I could offer my testimony.

And for that I have been confined to this foul cell

for 10 long days.

Thanks.

"Ten long days."

Are you interested in the cause, sir?

The cause of freedom, yes.

Well, then come in with us. When you get out of here, join the fight.

I'd be glad to,

but I'm not sure if I'll ever get out.

Allow me to introduce myself.

My name is Clifford Pyncheon.

I fail to see the humor.

Oh, sorry, sir, but you see, it is funny.

For almost two centuries, the Pyncheons have lived in fear

of my ancestor's curse.

My name, sir, is Matthew Maule.

You don't believe in that nonsense?

No. No, of course not.

Good evening, Hepzibah.

You're late, Mr. Barton.

I expected you yesterday.

My apologies, Hepzibah, I was out of town on business.

But now I'm at your service.

Yesterday's mail bought unwelcome news.

Mark Pinton, a distant relative, died a fortnight ago.

Oh, my sympathies.

His daughter, homeless and without a penny,

has written that she's arriving here to live with me.

Oh, well, Hepzibah, the young girl may brighten your days.

We need affectionate companionship.

I can't afford that luxury.

She may lighten your burden.

Death leaves only an added burden for the living.

Do you know I've barely been able to support myself?

Mmm. Letting rooms not a success, huh?

No. there's just the young Mr. Holgrave.

Oh, yes, that's the young man that makes the newfangled pictures upstairs.

About this child.

With her to care for, I will need more money.

When does she arrive?

I don't know, perhaps immediately.

There's but one solution, trade.

Trade?

I shall convert the front room into a cent shop.

But... But you can't, Hepzibah.

It's just impossible.

Selling cookies inside here.

A gentlewoman trading in pickles.

The outlay will be negligible, the rent free.

This child will help me run the shop and thus maintain herself.

Have you discussed this idea with Mr. Holgrave?

Mr. Holgrave? Why?

Well, a gentleman mightn't like his lodgings over a cent shop.

I shall inform him at once.

Thank you for coming over.

Let me advance you enough money to

prevent this rush into trade.

No, thank you, Mr. Barton.

I've accepted too many kindnesses from you already.

You are a very obstinate girl, Hepzibah.

Come in.

Forgive this intrusion, Mr. Holgrave.

Intrusion?

Why, a visit from you is a rare and honored occasion.

I came to give you sufficient notice,

should you care to give up your lodgings.

You're not giving up the house.

Plan to convert the front parlor into a cent shop.

Place will no longer be suitable for a gentleman.

Well, then the matter's easily settled, Miss Pyncheon.

For I am no gentleman, neither by birth, nor by instinct.

Your conduct has always led me to believe you were.

I speak frankly, Miss Hepzibah, for surely we are friends.

This decision marks a new epic in your life.

Hitherto, the life blood has been chilling in your veins as you set aloof

while the rest of the world was fighting out its battle.

But the moment you start to work,

and become engaged with people,

you'll have the sense of contributing, however little,

to the struggle of mankind.

And that, not money, is the only success there is in life.

Such ideas

have not been voiced in this house for many years.

You'll hear them again, Miss Hepzibah.

Well, a visitor. Seven Gables is coming to life tonight.

Perhaps I should say life is coming into Seven Gables.

The honorable Jaffrey Pyncheon, preserved for posterity.

Good evening.

Come in.

I...

I'm Phoebe Pyncheon.

You're Cousin Hepzibah.

Yes.

I'm sorry about your father.

Welcome to Seven Gables.

This room connects with mine.

To have so invited myself into your home, miss,

is an unforgivable intrusion.

Had you another place to go?

No, Cousin Hepzibah.

Well, then, didn't I say you were welcome?

Oh, yes, Cousin Hepzibah, thank you.

I shall prove no burden to you.

My fingers are nimble with the needle,

and I shall happily relieve you of all kitchen chores,

and be as helpful as I can.

I plan to open a cent shop.

A cent shop?

Oh, I can help. I can run it for you, Cousin Hepzibah.

I know all about such things.

Once, at a fancy fair, I had a table.

Everybody said my wares were wondrously displayed.

My receipts were highest of all.

Oh, you will let me help, won't you?

Won't you?

Yes. Oh, Cousin Hepzibah.

You'll find an extra comforter in the wardrobe,

should the night turn chilly.

Good night, Cousin Hepzibah.

Good night.

Very good.

Splendid.

The leaflets will be ready for distribution tomorrow, Mr. Wainwright?

Yes, and I have 40 lads ready to scatter them over the county.

Reverend Smith,

in his letter, Garrison stated that

30 more Negros have arrived through the Underground within a fortnight.

All arrangements have been made for the safe conduct to Canada

with the exception of one.

Our financial help is sorely needed.

And we're ready to give it away, aren't we, Deacon?

Oh, yes, yes, certainly.

Our people have responded nobly to the cause.

How much have we now, Deacon?

Oh, well over $5,000.

You have it carefully hidden away, Deacon?

Oh, indeed, Mr. Wainwright, most carefully.

So, Deacon, we'll turn the money over to you

as soon as you are ready to deliver it, Mr. Holgrave.

And Garrison will communicate with me, it'll be any day.

Well, good night, gentlemen.

Good night.

Good night, Reverend.

I'll let you know the moment I hear anything.

Very well. Good night, Deacon. Pleasant dreams.

Same to you, sir. Same to you.

Well, can you imagine?

Who would ever think that old maid Pyncheon would go into trade?

A cent shop.

Miss Pyncheon, her sour face

will chase away more people than her sweets can attract.

Sweets. You're right.

Sweets. I don't see how she expects to do any business.

Goodbye, and thank you very much.

Oh, our first sale. Oh, we will be successful, I know we will.

Won't we, Mr. Holgrave?

Why, it's a foregone conclusion.

People will be drawn from great distances.

Really? Why?

Your smile, it's magnetic.

Cousin Hepzibah and I really have much to thank you for, Mr. Holgrave.

Why, without your help, this shop would not have been possible.

Oh, I didn't do anything.

Cut through that door and window, and built a few shelves.

Oh, but you're a photographer.

How is it you're also such an expert at carpentry?

Miss Phoebe,

were I to question the source of my innumerable talents,

it would prove my main occupation?

Why, already in my short career I've achieved great success

as a schoolmaster, salesman of perfume and steam locomotives,

political editor of a newspaper.

Why go on? The list is without end.

Oh, you take nothing seriously.

May I prove to you otherwise, Miss Phoebe?

Oh, a customer.

It's a charming customer. It's Jaffrey Pyncheon.

I wish to see Miss Pyncheon immediately.

Good morning, Judge.

Ah, Holgrave. I fear you've betrayed my friendship.

You might have warned me of the coming birth of this disgraceful enterprise.

Hurry, girl, Miss Pyncheon.

Permit me to introduce the young lady, Judge.

I wish a moment alone with you.

Your wishes are not served here.

Very well. If you prefer the airing of your shameless conduct before strangers.

First of all, you allow this house to deteriorate into a village slum.

Then you turn it into a lodging house,

and now, finally this, a huckster's enterprise.

I'll not permit such a blot on our name.

If your name needs protection from anything,

it's from the scandalous enterprises

to which you yourself have lent it these many years.

This shop will be closed.

I will request the courts to issue a restraining order.

I will... You will leave here at once.

News, excellent news.

The very best of news.

I hope you will share our joy, sir.

Your years of waiting have not been in vain, Hepzibah.

Clifford is to be released.

The new governor's commuted your brother's sentence.

The papers are already signed, my dear.

This nation is headed for destruction.

When the vote of the people places such incompetence into office,

it is time to withdraw the vote.

Or restrict it to those who vote your way.

Exactly.

Will you go to meet him, Hepzibah?

No.

His homecoming should be regarded

as if he were merely returning from a brief journey.

I suppose you'll want to get his old room ready, hmm?

It has always been ready.

I think someone's in the house.

Yes. I must have left the front door open.

I did.

He's come home.

But why didn't you want to see him last night, Cousin Hepzibah?

Uh... Look to the biscuits, Phoebe.

They're to be brown to the point of burning, but not burned, mind you.

Did you bring the pot of honey from the cellar?

Yes, Cousin Hepzibah.

The clover, I hope.

He always insisted on wild honey.

Shall I start the eggs now?

Heavens no, child.

Not until he's at the table.

He will see you first, Phoebe.

Just as you stand there in the sunlight.

And smile when he comes in.

Your beauty will please him.

The golden sunlight of your hair

will warm his heart.

Oh, no, Cousin Hepzibah.

He'll find you as lovely as ever.

Good morning, Clifford.

This is Cousin Phoebe, of whom I wrote.

Good morning, child.

The shop, I...

Excuse me, sir.

Your breakfast is ready, Clifford.

I'll start the eggs.

Please, Hepzibah.

I want to look at you.

There's little left to see, Clifford.

Let my eyes be your mirror.

In them, your beauty will never fade.

Time only makes more beautiful a heart such as yours.

How can I ever make known to you

my gratitude?

My humility before such a loyalty and courage.

Smile, Hepzibah.

Now that we're together again, smile.

Is it not too late for us, Clifford?

No.

In a short while,

the past will be but a shadow in memory.

236. 237.

238. 239.

Got it. Relax.

Relax? I can't.

I'll have you free in a moment.

Why, that wasn't long.

Until a year ago, it would have taken a half hour.

Today, science has advanced so rapidly

that we can take a picture in less than four minutes.

And I thought it would never end.

Why did you want this portrait of me, Mr. Holgrave?

So the people won't accuse me of being such an unconscionable liar.

How can I continue to proclaim you

the most beautiful maiden in the universe and have no proof?

The daguerreotype doesn't lie.

Oh, Mr. Holgrave.

Phoebe, when are you gonna stop calling me "Mr. Holgrave"?

Do I have to wait until people call you "Mrs. Holgrave"?

Oh, Mr. Holgrave.

I'm sorry.

Phoebe, what I'm trying to say is that

I love you more than life itself.

Oh, but that can't be.

Your life is so full. Your interests so many.

Why, I haven't scope enough to make you happy.

There can be no happiness without you.

Phoebe, you do love me?

You look into my heart, Mr. Holgrave.

Mr. Holgrave, permit me to introduce

Mr. Clifford Pyncheon.

I'm honored, sir.

How do you do?

Mr. Pyncheon has just returned from a distant land.

He will stay on with us.

You'll enjoy Seven Gables, sir.

Yes, Mr. Holgrave, I think I will.

The very first thing I'm going to do

is make this garden beautiful again.

Then we aren't leaving this house at once, Clifford?

Not yet.

Not right away.

Clifford, you're thinking of Jaffrey again.

Please don't.

He's a man of great wealth and power.

All these years you've been waiting alone

in this cold, empty tomb.

I didn't mind, darling.

I knew all the time that we'd be together again.

And we are.

Now the past can become a distant dream.

It will, dearest Hepzibah.

Then don't seek vengeance, Clifford.

Providence, fate will best reward him for his crime.

He's crazy, I tell you.

Twenty years in prison have made him lose his mind.

Maybe. It happens, I know.

I was in once for 30 days and I almost went crazy myself.

Maybe. But this Tribun doesn't lie.

It says right here that when he was in prison,

he studied a lot of old documents.

Hey, what's all the mystery made about

Clifford Pyncheon looking for gold?

Gold, gentlemen, is not unlike happiness. It's where you find it.

But this paper claims...

Jeremiah, you're old enough to know that newspapers say all sorts of things.

Aye, but he's crazy, I tell you.

Didn't he kill his father?

Did he now?

Well, the court says so.

Courts say lots of things, and sometimes they're right, too.

Sometimes...

Sometimes... Your health.

Mr. Holgrave.

Why, if it ain't Mr. Weed.

Oh, Annie, glass of buttermilk for the gentleman.

Good evening. And how is the honorable Judge Pyncheon this evening?

Honorable, is he?

Merely a figure of speech, gentlemen. A figure of speech.

If a man's got a million, he's automatically honorable.

He's in excellent health, sir.

Of course he is.

As he dines on the meats of those he cheats...

And the widows and orphans he turns to the streets.

Judge Pyncheon, he's most anxious to see you, Mr. Holgrave.

It's a matter of great urgency.

Can it be that the good judge is displeased at the portraits I made of him?

Heavens, no.

Well, can he possibly be wanting to pay me for my work?

Heavens, no.

He never pays.

That's why he's so rich.

And that's why he stays so rich.

Gentlemen, gentlemen, we're living in an age of miracles.

Annie.

Come, Mr. Weed.

Don't worry, my dear Deacon.

You can leave everything to me.

Oh, thank you. Thank you so much.

Good night. Good night.

Yes?

Mr. Holgrave.

Oh, have him come in.

Good evening. Good evening, Holgrave. You know Deacon Foster.

Oh, yes, we meet quite frequently, don't we, Deacon?

Yes, yes, quite frequently. Yes.

Well, good evening, gentlemen.

Good evening. Good evening.

Sit down.

To be frank with you, I seek advice.

I find myself deeply concerned over my brother since his release.

Yes, he has suffered a great deal.

True, true, but then, crime profits no one.

Uh... However, I refer to these disquieting rumors in the newspapers.

Poor Clifford's search for treasure? I saw that, too.

It's true, isn't it?

I'm afraid it is.

His incarceration has left his mind unbalanced.

But it's perfectly harmless, Judge Pyncheon. A childish fancy.

No, of course, of course.

But tell me,

how does he come to such hallucinations?

Oh, from what I can gather, he spent his long prison days

studying some ancient documents.

Where did he get them?

Oh, I don't know but he's got them.

Old maps and the original architect's plans of Seven Gables.

The man's mad, I tell you. He should be committed to an institution.

But why? He's absolutely harmless, Judge Pyncheon.

All he does is go around tapping walls and removing a board or two.

Do you know,

he's absolutely convinced that there's a half a million in gold

hidden away in that house someplace.

A half a million!

Yes, yes, yes, yes. Very amusing.

But be fair, Holgrave.

Don't you think that he and everyone else

would be happier if he were committed to an institution?

He's happy there. Can you imagine?

He has plans of secret staircases.

He claims his ancestors had them built

so that they could hide from witch hunters and Maule's ghost.

Secret staircases, Maule's ghost.

The documents show that?

So he claims. A half a million!

Good morning, ladies.

I wish to see my brother.

He doesn't share your wishes.

You can scarcely hope to conceal from me matters that are

already common knowledge throughout the village.

I don't know what you mean.

Clifford's insanity.

Such evil gossip can only have been started by one person. Yourself.

Would you swear this is untrue,

that Clifford is not tearing down the house?

Seeking the money?

Such ideas are farthest from his mind.

I knew I could rely on Mr. Holgrave's word.

Mr. Holgrave?

My dear cousin, I feel that your loyalty to Clifford

has overshadowed your adherence to truth.

You can't endanger the community by harboring a mad man.

Oh, well, no matter.

I've already written to the state asylum for the mentally incompetent.

They can handle Clifford far more efficiently than I.

Judge Pyncheon!

I must see you. I must talk to you.

Well, get in.

Mr. Holgrave.

What cruel jest is this, Mr. Holgrave?

Well, it was not my intention to alarm you, Miss Hepzibah.

Just what was your intention?

Well, it was just an impulse.

A momentary lapse of reason.

I merely sought to add realism to...

Realism? For what?

Are you responsible for that slanderous story in the papers?

Matthew, please tell us what's happened.

Perhaps you have found it amusing

to rekindle the fires of Jaffrey's greed.

Since Clifford's return, you've been together constantly.

It's a strange way to repay friendship, Mr. Holgrave.

He can explain, Cousin Hepzibah. Can't you, Matthew?

Well, unfortunately, the explanation is not mine to give.

Please leave here as soon as you find new lodgings.

Mr. Pyncheon, sir, I beg you to be more explicit.

In a short time, I shall be called upon to account for this money.

My dear Deacon, I have already told you

that no news can be expected this week.

But it's an investment of such a large sum.

You have entrusted it to a Pyncheon, sir.

Good morning, Mr. Fuller. Anything for me?

Must be, or Ginger never would have stopped.

And there you are. Yes, sir.

Thank you.

Giddy up, Ginger.

Oh, Cousin Hepzibah.

Forgive me, Cousin Hepzibah.

I'll try not to act silly again.

He knows his presence is intolerable to us.

But a week has passed since I asked him to seek other lodgings.

But why does Cousin Clifford wish him to stay?

Clifford doesn't know anything about what has happened.

I didn't want to upset him.

Once he's gone,

it'll be easier for you, Phoebe, won't it?

Matthew Holgrave has spent his last night in this house.

When he returns, he will find his possessions on the doorstep.

Cousin Hepzibah, please don't send him away.

If Matthew leaves, I must leave with him.

Cousin Hepzibah, I love him.

Clifford.

We must leave Seven Gables at once, Clifford, before it's too late.

Hepzibah, you're trembling.

With fear for you.

But why?

Don't ask me to tell you, Clifford. Trust me, please.

Oh, take me away, anywhere as far away from this house as we can go.

I beseech you.

We can't go just yet, Hepzibah.

But why?

I should have told you right away.

But I'm not free.

My sentence was merely commuted.

Till I can prove I'm innocent, we can't marry.

I have no civil rights.

I had hoped by now...

Oh, it doesn't matter. We'll go anyway.

But we must leave this house today, darling.

Before he ever comes again. Jaffrey. Who?

I'm waiting for him to come here again.

No, he's planning to harm you.

I also have plans.

Oh, vengeance is not a weapon for human hands.

Clifford, you don't understand.

This Mr. Holgrave who lives here.

His name is really... Matthew Maule. I know.

He's a friend of mine, dearest Hepzibah.

Now let me explain this to you.

Excuse me, sir, but the mail has arrived. Oh.

Deacon Foster called earlier this morning, sir,

before you had awakened.

He seemed quite disturbed.

Everyone's disturbed. We live in disturbing times.

Yes, sir.

Yes.

You may go, Weed.

I must have that money.

Now, now. Calm yourself.

No, no, no, I can't.

It's your continued evasions,

if I may be permitted to use so blunt a word,

that cause my agitation.

When I brought you this money, you said it was a safe investment.

That I could have it back the moment I needed it.

You knew it wasn't mine, that I had to return it.

Well, now the time has come.

My dear man, there is always an element of risk in these transactions.

A storm may delay the ship for weeks.

It may even be captured.

Ship? Captured.

Perhaps you'll finally tell me what this money is invested in.

We're not engaged in something illegal?

Are you suddenly concerned over moral values, Deacon?

You didn't ask me that question when I told you there was a profit to be made.

Yes, it is illegal.

Your money went to help finance a slave runner from Africa.

Slave runner?

Abolitionist money financing a slave runner?

Oh, what curse has befallen me?

Oh, help me.

Help me put it back before they find out. Lend it to me.

Idiot, you think I would come to you

for the money had I any of my own?

But you're so wealthy.

I have been, but now I'm penniless.

You could mortgage this house.

I already did so six months ago.

Oh, what am I to do?

Well, now brace yourself, man. Brace yourself.

Much can happen. Look at me, I've weathered worst storms than this,

and here I am, still unbattered.

I'm ruined. How can I face those good people?

I just want to kill myself.

You have my word, sir. The word of a Pyncheon.

And there is every reason to hope.

You're a resourceful man, Jaffrey.

If you want to, you can help me.

And I will, Arnold.

Go home and keep your mouth shut until you hear from me.

Weed.

Yes, sir?

I'm going over to the house at Seven Gables. I'll be back shortly.

Yes, sir.

Good morning, Mrs. Foster. Is the deacon at home?

No.

We've been looking for him all over town.

Where is he?

You'll find him over to Judge Pyncheon's.

There's a smell of a mackerel about this.

I wish to see Mr. Pyncheon.

But Cousin Clifford is... I mean he's...

Never mind what you mean. If you don't announce me, I shall announce myself.

You look well, Jaffrey.

Overfed, but well.

I haven't come here to discuss my health.

I know.

You want the house, don't you, Jaffrey?

Well, you can have it.

And everything that goes with it.

If you will just sign this paper.

Now, why should I do that?

You'll have the house. I'll gain my freedom.

Full pardon.

Sign a confession that I accused you falsely at the trial?

It doesn't read in that way.

It merely states that perhaps you were in error then.

That's all, Jaffrey. You made a mistake.

Now, you wish to rectify it.

You are mad, aren't you?

Now, I advise you to turn the house over to me immediately

before I'm forced to have you committed to an institution.

The state authorities are deeply concerned

over your strange behavior since your release.

I must see Judge Pyncheon. Where is he?

He's in the library.

Just a moment.

The money, Jaffrey. I must have it at once.

If we have any business to discuss, we'll do it in my office.

No, I can't wait. They've been out to my house looking for me.

They followed me to yours. They suspect something.

I don't know what you're talking about, Arnold.

Will you please wait outside for me?

No, you got me into this.

You never told me what you wanted to do with the money.

You promised to let me have it back in time.

Here they are, Jaffrey! Here they are!

They're coming here, Jaffrey.

They're coming here. Oh, how can I face them?

Think of my family, my children.

Think of their disgrace when they hear of my betrayal, Jaffrey, please.

I made up my mind before I came here.

You got me into this.

You're gonna take the blame.

Murderer.

You don't know what you're saying, Hepzibah.

Oh, don't stand there staring at me that way.

Murderer.

Oh, it isn't true. You know I didn't do anything.

I heard a shot, I tell you.

Let us in!

See who it is, Phoebe.

You know who it is! Don't let them in!

Clifford, they'll kill me if they find out what I did with their money.

Hide me. The secret staircase.

There is no secret staircase.

Oh, but you lie. The plans, Holgrave told me of the plans.

There are no plans, no Holgrave.

His name is Matthew Maule.

Matthew Maule.

It's Mr. Wainwright, Mr. Hawkins, Reverend Smith and Matthew.

Ask them in.

No. No.

No, don't let them in.

No, they're fanatics. They'll murder me.

Here, I'll do anything you want. Anything you say.

There, you're free now.

You can have the house, all the money in it.

No. No, don't let them in.

Phoebe? Oh, Matthew, hurry.

No, no, no, no. Don't let them in.

Get away from me! Keep away from me!

I now pronounce you man and wife.

Congratulations.

Thank you, sir.

Congratulations. Thank you, sir.

Don't doddle, don't doddle. You'll miss the train.

Come on, all your things are at the station.

Matthew, Matthew, we must go.

Where's that red carpet bag?

It's over here.

Clifford, Hepzibah.

You know, I've always thought of you two just this way.

Time will never leave its mark upon you.

I will always see you two as you were

in the very beginning.

Don't worry, everything will be all right.

Goodbye, Mr. Barton. Goodbye.

Don't forget to write sometime.