All language subtitles for The House of the Seven Gables 1940 (Thriller) 1080p x264-Classics

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.