A Man for All Seasons Page #3

WOLSEY:
(grim) Then good-night, Master More.

MORE rises, watched by WOLSEY. Neither man wants this.

WOLSEY:
Let the dynasty die with Henry the Eighth and we’ll have dynastic wars again! Blood-witted barons like your mindless friend the Duke of Norfolk ramping the country from end to end—is that what you want? (He controls himself.) Very well, then England needs an heir. Certain measures, perhaps regrettable, perhaps not—there is much in the Church which needs Reformation, Thomas—

MORE smiles at the transparently “responsible” tone.

WOLSEY:
All right, regrettable! But necessary, to get us an heir. Now ... explain how you, as a Councillor of England, can obstruct these measures for the sake of your own, private, conscience.

MORE:
Well... I believe,. when statesmen forsake their own private conscience for the sake of their public duties... they lead their country by a short route to chaos. (to take the curse of priggishness from what he’s said) And we shall have my prayers to fall back on.

WOLSEY:
(curious: passion spent) You’d like that, wouldn’t you? To govern the country by prayers?

MORE:
Yes I should.

WOLSEY:
I’d like to be there when you try. (he sits heavily) Who will wear this—

CLOSE SHOT, the Chancellor’s chain.

WOLSEY:
—after me? Mm? Who’s our next Chancellor? You? Fisher? Suffolk?

MORE:
Fisher for me.

WOLSEY:
(dry) Aye, but for the King? What about my Secretary, Master Cromwell?

MORE:
Cromwell!

He looks Involuntarily towards the curtained doorway. Recovers. 15

MORE:
He’s a very able man. But—

WOLSEY:
But?

30 INT. CROMWELL’S ANTE-ROOM

CROMWELL, still listening, does not change his expression.

MORE:
Me rather than Cromwell.

31 INT. WOLSEY’S STUDY

WOLSEY:
Then come down to earth... Until you do... (returns his attention to the papers) You and I are enemies.

MORE:
(absorbs this dangerous news) As Your—Grace wishes. (goes)

WOLSEY:
As God wills.

MORE:
Perhaps, Your Grace.

He has reached the door when:

WOLSEY:
More!

MORE turns at the curtain.

WOLSEY:
You should have been... a cleric!

MORE:
Like yourself, Your Grace?

WOLSEY’s pen falters, he turns; but MORE has gone, into:

32 INT. CROMWELL’S ANTE-ROOM

CROMWELL is innocently absorbed in papers at his table. He rises, respectfully and smiles as MORE goes through into:

33 INT. LONG GALLERY

WOLSEY’s waiting-chamber. A long gallery with recessed windows. As he comes out there is a stir among the SUITORS there. Mostly they are poor, some—women with infants—are asleep, on the windowsills or crouched against the walls. There is a sprinkling of distressed gentlefΣlkand one or two flashy looking courtiers. When they see that it is notWOLSEY they sink back, disppointed and resigned. The men-at-arms on duty are stolidly indifferent throughout. Three or four SUITORS converge on MORE. All keep their voices respectfully low. MORE is tired. He walks down the gallery fast. But a little group follows him, silent but desperate. He senses their distress and stops. A handsome, hard-faced WOMAN of the middle class pushes forward. This is AVERIL MACHIN. She proffers a fine silver goblet.

MACHIN:
Sir Thomas.

MORE:
What’s this?

MACHIN:
From some grateful poor folk in Leicester.

MORE:
(rather puzzled, takes it) Leicester?

MACHIN:
You do more good than you know, Sir Thomas.

MORE would enquire further but she has backed and curtseyed and a pathetic little OLD MAN claims his attention. Thrusts at him a paper and a basket with a cloth.

OLD MAN:
My daugher has a case sir. In the Court of Poor Men’s causes.

MORE looks at him, with sympathy, but steadily. He lifts the cloth.

OLD MAN:
Baked apples sir.

MORE:
(smiling slightly) To sweeten my judgement.

OLD MAN’s wit doesn’t travel this fast. He simply stares, anxiously.

MORE:
I’ll give your daughter the same judgement I would want for mine, A fair one, quickly.

OTHER POOR SUITORS hustle round him, whispering and susurrating. MORE takes their petitions. “Thank you, I will read it”. “Thank you.” “I understand.” Then a raffish looking COURTIER with a neatly ribboned scroll steps forward with an elegant smile, the hoipoloi dealt with, expecting preferential treatment, but before he can open his mouth MORE gently takes the petition from him, says gently.

MORE:
I’ll read it.

And goes, but COURTIER follows, drawling

COURTIER:
It’s an awkward case, Sir Thomas, I—

MORE:
(wearily, but hard) I’ll read it.

COURTIER drops back. MORE relaxes, walks on, going home.

CUT:

34 EXT. HAMPTON RIVER-STEPS NIGHT

The river steps of Hampton as before. Torches glittering. From the darkness.

MORE (on SOUND) Boat!

BOATMAN at foot of steps looking up.

BOATMAN:
Sir? Chelsea sir?

MORE descending. the cup glinting in his hand.

MORE:
(with deep satisfaction, embarking) Chelsea.

MORE sits the, cup prominent. BOATMAN, settling to his oars, sighs.

BOATMAN:
Well, I ’spect you’ll make it worth my while, sir.

MORE looks at him, with speculative and affectionate interest.

MORE:
Have you a licence?

BOATMAN:
Bless you yes, sir, I’ve got a licence.

He shows the metal plaque attached to his sleeve.

MORE:
Well then, the fares are fixed.

BOATMAN:
They are, sir—

He heaves at the oars.

BOATMAN:
Hampton to Chelsea, downstream, a penny halfpenny. Chelsea to Hampton, upstream, a penny halfpenny—

He heaves at the oars.

BOATMAN:
Whoever makes the regulations doesn’t row a boat.

MORE:
No. Threepence, if you get me home for breakfast.

BOATMAN:
Thank you, sir!

35 EXT. MORE’S HOUSE RIVER-STEPS AS FOR SCENE 11 DAWN

RICH is asleep at the head of the Chelsea river stgps, his fair head cradled against the damp stones, wild flowers growing in the mortar there.

36 EXT. RIVER DAWN

BOATMAN in the boat glances over his shoulder.

37 EXT. LONG SHOT MORE’S HOUSE RIVER-STEPS His PCV the distant steps, RICH crouched there.

38 EXT. RIVER DAWN

MORE is asleep, the cup in his lap.

BOATMAN turns back again. Coughs.

MORE starts awake, drops goblet, retrieves it.

BOATMAN:
Nice cup, sir.

MORE is reminded of a puzzle.

MORE:
Ye-es ...

He examines it curiously. Finds something engraved on the base. Examines it. Looks up, his face changed, cold, disgusted. Puts cup carefully aside on the thwart’ as something unclean. Suddenly changes his mind. Quick and dexterous flips it into the river. BOATMAN, horrified, with a movement of instinctive swiftness retrieves it, dripping. Shocked.

BOATMAN:
That’s worth money, sir ...

MORE, ashamed of the hystrionic gesture, takes it, but holds it as something unclean again.

39 EXT. MORE’S HOUSE RIVER-STEPS DAWN

RICH starts awake, runs down steps to receive boat, but:

BOATMAN, expertly guiding boat to steps, standing, balanced, curtly:

BOATMAN:
Mind away, sir.

RICH, rejected again, scuttles up steps, turns as MORE alights. He is tired, incipiently impatient.

MORE:
Have you been here all night?

RICH:
(half proud, half sheepish) Yes.

MORE:
What .. ?

RICH:
You said there was a post ...

MORE:
Oh yes.

He rubs the fatigue from his face, addressing himself to this untimely problem. Looking towards the sleeping facade 6f his house beyond the dew-bright garden.

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