All language subtitles for jane.eyre.1983.episode.09.beggarwoman.to.teacher.dvdrip.xvid-aaf

Good afternoon.

Is this the parton? Aye.

Is the clergyman in?

Nay.

Will he be home soon?

Nay. His father's dead, and he'll most
likely be away a fortnight, or even

Is there a lady of the house?

Yeah, I keep house here, and I've note
for charity.

Thank you.

Excuse me for disturbing you.

It is a servant wanted here, please.

Give me that food.

Mother, there's a beggar woman here who
wants me to give her my porridge.

Well, lass, give it to her if pigs don't
want it.

The woman tried to force her way in. Be
off with you, for shame. Hannah, I have

a word to say to the woman. You have
done your duty in excluding. Now let me

mine. This is a strange case and one I
must look into.

Here, sit down.

Hannah, perhaps some water?

No, some milk and a little red. Fetch
some.

Oh, she's worn almost to nothing. Not
too much at first. She is too unwell.

My name is Jane.

Jane Elliot.

And where do you live?

Where are your friends?

Can we send for anyone you know?

No.

What account can you give of yourself?

So I can tell you nothing tonight?

What then do you wish me to do for you?

Amy, you want nothing more of us than
that we may dismiss you to the moor in

rainy night.

I tried to.

You would not do that to a stray dog
tonight.

Do as you wish.

But please excuse me from talking.

My breath is short and I feel a spasm
when I speak.

Do try to eat. Yes, try.

Mary, Diana, let us go to the parlour.

Anna, attend her.

Come.

Come along.

I'm going to go.

Right up there, out of those wet clothes
and into a good, warm bed.

Dan is up there now, lighting a fire.

Here, let me help you.

Hannah, bring up some hot water bottles.

It is needless to send for a doctor. It
is only the effect of excessive and

prolonged fatigue.

I am, however, certain there is no
disease.

Heaven be thanked.

As soon as she can take sufficient
nourishment, she will regain her

She has rather an unusual face, but I
see no sign of vulgarity or degradation.

The very opposite.

To speak the truth, St. John, my heart
rather warms to the poor little soul.

I wish we could help her permanently.

It is hardly likely.

You'll find probably she is a young lady
who has had a misunderstanding with her

friends and injudiciously left them.

We may perhaps restore her to them, if
she is not obstinate.

She looks sensible.

It is strange.

The grace and harmony of beauty are
quite wanting in her features.

She is not at all handsome.

Let her sleep.

Come.

It means, would thou understand

others, look in mine own heart.

So true.

Drink your milk, miss.

Still on with that German.

What good does it do you?

Mary and I mean to teach it.

That way we can make more money than we
do now.

Very like.

But give over. You've done enough.

Yes.

And I think Jane can sleep now.

Good night, my dear. Good night.

Oh, at least you're eating and drinking
better.

Can you sit up?

Oh, only just.

How long have I been here?

You've not been out of this bed for
three days. And tonight makes four

I would get up if I had the strength.

And I have nothing to wear. My clothes
are ruined.

One thing at a time.

Lie back now and sleep like Miss Diana
told you.

Good night, then.

Wish I could get to my bed when I
panted.

Good morning, Hannah.

Oh, you got up then.

You look a sight better, I must say.

Sit you down in my chair.

Did you ever go begging before you came
here?

I'm no beggar any more than you or your
young ladies.

I do not understand that.

You got, like, no house and no breath, I
guess.

It does not make me a beggar.

Have you both learned?

Yes.

I was at a boarding school for eight
years.

Whatever kind of you keep yourself for,
then?

I have done so, and I hope I will again
in the future.

What are you going to do with those
apples?

Make them into pies.

Give them to me and I'll peel them for
you.

Very well.

Here, put this on your lap or you'll
muck your dress.

Thank you.

You have not been used to servant's
work, I see, by your hands.

Never mind what I have been.

What is the name of this house?

They call it Moor House.

Mr Stringer lives here?

Nay, he doesn't live here.

And it's Mr. St. John Rivers.

He's a parson at Morton a few miles off,
with a home of his own.

And it is his father's residence?

It was.

Old Mr. Rivers died three weeks in of a
stroke.

That's why Mr. St. John and Miss Diana
and Miss Mary are all here.

The young ladies do not live here
either?

Oh, they work in London as governesses.

Their mother's been dead money a year.

And old Mr Rivers, he's lost a great
deal of money by a man he had trusted

turning bankrupt.

They love this old house, though.

And the Moors round about.

They come whenever they can.

And you, have you lived with the family
long?

I've been here 30 years.

I nursed them all three.

That proves you must have been a
faithful and honest servant.

I will say so, even though you were
uncivil enough to call me a beggar.

There's so many cheats about, you won't
forgive me.

You won't be too hard on me.

You look a right damn decent little
traitor.

That'll do, she can.

Oh, you lass.

I know you want to talk.

But you've got the look of a lady.

Someone must be worrying about you.

Yes.

It hurts me so I cannot bear to think
about it.

I dare not communicate. I dare not.

The more you eat, the better.

I've never eaten so much.

You are hungry.

Trust I will not eat long at your
expense, sir.

No.

When you have told us where your friends
are, we can write to them and you may

be restored to home.

I must be plain, sir.

That is beyond my power.

I am without home or friends.

A most singular position.

You wear no ring.

You are a spinster.

I think...

She cannot be above 17 years of age. I'm
near 19.

No, I'm not married.

You're too inquisitive, St. John. I
cannot help you if I know nothing about

I want only to be put in the way of some
work I can do to earn the bare

necessaries of life.

I will aid you in that to the best of my
powers, but I still... Oh, don't make

her talk any more, St. John.

One can see that she's not yet fit for
excitement.

Come and sit here, Miss Elliot.

You said your name was Jane Elliot.

Yes.

It is not my real name.

It is what I think it best to be called
at present.

Your real name you will not give?

No.

I fear discovery above all things.

You are quite right, I am sure.

Oh, let her be at peace, St. John.

Do you wish to remain independent?

My sisters would love to keep you, but
in a month or so they will return to

their duties in the south.

I shall return to my parish and take
Hannah with me.

This house will be shut up.

I shall endeavour to enable you to keep
yourself.

I'll do anything, even the humbling
task. If such is your spirit, I promise

aid you in my own time and way.

Even away from his parish, St John will
go out visiting the sick and the poor.

He lives only for his vacation, Jane.

Ah, here he comes at last.

You have a question to ask of me?

If I may.

I'm anxious to know whether you've heard
of any service I can undertake.

I found something for you three weeks
ago.

But you seem so useful and happy, and my
sisters are very attached to you.

I thought I would not speak until the
time came for us to leave Moorhouse.

But that is in only three days' time.

Yes.

So what is the engagement you have in
view, Mr. Rivers?

Morton, when I came to it two years ago,
had no school.

The children of the poor had no hope of
progress.

I have since established a boys' school,
and I now mean to open one for girls.

The teacher's salary will be £30 a year.
She will have a small cottage and some

attendance from a needy child.

The funds are provided by Miss Oliver.

Will you be this teacher?

Thank you, Mr Rivers. I accept with all
my heart. But you comprehend me.

It is a village school. The scholars
will only be poor girls, farm children

most.

What will you do with your mind,
accomplishments, sentiments, tastes?

They will keep until they're needed.

You know what you undertake, then? I do.

I will open the school next week, if you
like.

Very well.

So be it.

Start in three days' time.

Jane, it is a great sacrifice you make.

Our Uncle John is dead.

And what then?

What then, Di?

Why, nothing.

We may at least live.

We shall be no worse off than we were
before.

It does force upon the mind what might
have been.

Too vivid a contrast with what is.

Oh, Jane.

You must wonder at us and our mysteries.

We may seem hard -hearted over the death
of an uncle, but we've never seen him.

It was by his advice that my father lost
most of his money.

They quarrelled, and my uncle John later
prospered and became rich.

He never married, and my father always
cherished the belief that he would atone

for his error by leaving his possessions
to us.

This letter informs us that every penny
has gone to another relation, with the

exception of 30 guineas to purchase
three morning rings for St. John, Mary

me.

We would have thought ourselves rich
with 1 ,000 pounds each.

St. John would have done such a lot of
good with some money.

Come, my dears.

Let us be cheerful before our parting.

Good day, Miss Elliot.

Good day, Miss Rivers.

Please, won't you come in?

Have you found your first day's work
harder than you expected?

Oh, no, on the contrary.

Can I make you some tea? No, I have only
brought you a little parcel my sister's

left for you.

Some colour box, pencils and paper, I
think.

Thank you. How good of them.

But perhaps your accommodation is not
all... All I see has made me thankful.

Good.

Miss Elliot.

I counsel you very firmly to resist
every temptation to look back.

Why do you say that?

I see something in your eyes. It is a
restlessness.

You will not stay long at Morton.

Why? I'm not ambitious.

No.

I know I am. What made you use the word?

I was speaking of myself.

You are, forgive the word, impassioned.

It is hard to control the workings of
inclination. I know from experience, but

it may be dull.

A year ago, I was intensely miserable.

The dull duties of the ministry wearied
me to death.

I longed for excitement, for some
distinguished career.

But after much darkness and struggling,
light broke upon me.

I have resolved to be a missionary.

I have vowed within a year to leave
Europe for the East.

I love you.

Oh, good evening, Mr. Rivers.

Good evening.

Papa told me that the new mistress was
come, and I ran up the valley to see

This is she.

Do you think you will like Mawson? Oh, I
hope so.

You're Miss Oliver? Indeed I am.

Do you like your house?

Greatly. And I thank you for all you've
done to provide for me. I shall come up

to help you sometimes.

Mr. Rivers, I have been so gay of late.

I was dancing till two o 'clock this
morning.

You're quite a stranger at the hall.

Will you return with me and visit Papa?

It is not a seasonable hour to intrude
on Mr. Oliver.

I declare it is.

Why are you so very shy and somber?

Oh, I'm so thoughtless.

You are sad after parting with your
sisters.

Do come.

We will be company for you.

Not tonight.

Well, if you're so obstinate, I must
leave you.

I dare not stay till the dew begins to
fall. Good evening. Good evening. Good

evening.

Mr.

Briggs. You were kind enough to concern
yourself in the affairs of myself and

Miss Eyre the few days since.

Sir. I know you were only doing your
duty.

I was, Mr. Rochester.

But why do you summon me back here so
soon and so imperatively?

Miss Eyre has disappeared.

I'm hardly surprised. Hear me out, man.

I need help.

The kind for which a local lawyer is not
fitted. I need a London man.

What would you wish me to do, Mr.
Rochester?

You have brother lawyers in every town.

Write to them.

Advertise.

There are discreet agents to trace
people, are there not?

Engage them.

Spend no expense.

If I do find her, she may not wish her
whereabouts to be revealed.

I do not mean to hound her.

I shall leave her in peace if I can.

But I must know that she does not want.

That she is well. That she is cared for.

That she is safe.

I cannot live fearing for her.

I must know she dwells securely upon
this same earth as myself.

Find her, Mr. Briggs.

Find her.