The Barretts of Wimpole Street Page #6

I should be driven to wish

that you were once more lying helpless on this sofa.

There's nothing more to be said.

But there is more to be said.

And I must beg you to listen, papa.

How many years have I lain here ?

Five, six ? It's hard to remember,

each year seemed like ten to me.

And all that time I've had nothing

to look forward to or hope for but death.

Death ?

Yes, death !

I was born with a large capacity for happiness.

You remember me as a little girl.

And then when life brought me a little happiness

and much pain I was often impatient for the end.

Elizabeth !

Then this miracle happened.

Day by day I'm better able to take and enjoy

such good things that everyone has a right to.

Able to meet my friends, to breathe the open air,

to feel the sun and see the grass and flowers beneath the sky.

When Dr. Chambers first spoke to me about Italy...

I put the idea from me.

It seemed too impossibly wonderful

But as I grew stronger, it came over me as a revelation

that Italy wasn't an impossibility at all.

That nothing stood in my way of going.

That I really had a right to go.

Right ?

Yes, every right !

In my eagerness, I may have acted mistakenly, stupidly, tactlessly...

... but to call my conduct underhanded, deceitful is more than unkind.

It's unjust.

Cruel.

Self, self, self.

No thought, no consideration for anyone but yourself.

For anything but your pleasure.

Didn't it ever once occur to you

that all through the long dark months...

that you propose to enjoy yourself in Italy

your father would be left here utterly alone ?

No.

Utterly alone.

Your brothers and sisters

might as well be shadows for all the companionship they afford me.

And you, oh my child, don't think that I haven't noticed

that you too are slowly drawing away from your father.

That's not true.

It is true. New life, new interests, new pleasures, new friends...

... and little by little I'm being pushed into the background.

I who used to be your whole world, I who loved you...

... who love you.

But papa...

No, there's nothing more to be said.

You want my consent for this Italian trot.

I shall neither give it nor uphold it.

If you go I hope you will sometimes

spare a thought for your father.

Think of him at night, stealing alone

in this empty room which once held all he loved.

Think of him kneeling alone

by the empty sofa imploring the good Shepherd to have...

Who's that ?

I shall come to you again

when you've had time to consider the wisdom of my words.

Well, Flush...

It seems we aren't going to Italy.

Cousin Elizabeth.

Hello, dear.

I brought Harry to see you.

This is my fianc, my dear, dear Harry.

Mr. Bevan, Miss Elizabeth Barrett.

Delighted, Miss Barrett. Charmed.

No, no, Harry. You must take her hand.

Such a little hand, so frail, so spiritual.

Yes. And a hand that pens so much that is noble and eloquent.

Oh, thank you.

I am honored, Miss Barrett.

So nice of you to come.

Thank you.

We'll only stay a minute.

I trust you're not too weary

of being congratulated upon the prize you've won.

Thank you, Miss Barrett. A prize indeed.

Dear Ba. And doesn't Henrietta look lovely ?

She'll be quite the prettiest of my bridesmaids.

Indeed I'm afraid she'll draw all eyes from the little bride.

At any rate, all the gentlemen's.

Oh, Bella, dear...

If I hadn't spoken to Uncle Edward myself

I should never have had her for a bridesmaid.

Yes, my dear, you certainly have a way with you.

Spoken to papa ? I like that.

While you sat on his knees and stroked his whiskers.

And why not ?

Isn't he my uncle ?

And besides that, I think he's most frightfully thrilling.

I adore that stern and gloomy type of gentlemen.

Oh, come, come, my pet.

And I must tell you, Ba, how much I adore your poems.

It's best when dear Harry reads them.

He reads so beautifully.

And he too adores your poems.

Which ought to please you, as he's dreadfully critical.

Not at all, not at all.

Dear Harry is so frightfully earnest.

Yes ?

Excuse me, Miss Elizabeth. Mr. Browning is downstairs.

Oh...

Ask him to wait, please.

Oh, no, dear cousin. Ask him to come right up.

We have to go downstairs and have tea with Uncle Edward.

And besides, we wouldn't dream of interrupting your tte--tte.

Isn't it thrilling, Harry ? Mr. Browning, a poet.

And Elizabeth a poet. Isn't that a coincidence ?

So quaint, my pet, quaint.

Ask Mr. Browning to come up now, Wilson.

Yes, and I'm quite sure that the tea is ready.

Arivederci, dearest Ba.

May I come soon again ?

Yes. Come whenever you like, Bella dear.

Next time I shall want you all to myself.

Without Harry.

But why must I be excluded ?

Because I keep the lids to tell dear Ba

about a certain big, big man who might easily

grow convinced if he heard me.

Oh, come, come, my pet.

It has been a pleasure, Miss Barrett.

Nice of you to come and see me.

Not at all. I have long been looking forward

to the honor of meeting you.

Good day.

Au revoir, darling.

Auf wiedersehen.

Good day.

Oh, Mr. Browning. I'm so thrilled to see you.

It is Mr. Browning, isn't it ?

It must be because I've often heard

him called the handsomest poet in England.

Of course you don't know poor little me.

Nevertheless, madam, I thank you.

Isn't he wonderful ?

Isn't he divine ?

The loveliest little shivers are running right down my back.

Come, come, my pet.

I've been unable to think of anything else.

What about Italy ? Have you asked him yet ?

I'm not to go to Italy.

In spite of the fact that both doctors...

The doctors may have proposed, but the decision lies elsewhere.

But didn't they make it clear to him

that this may mean all the difference between life and death ?

I believe Dr. Ford-Waterlow spoke very forcibly and...

In heaven's name...

It's rather hard to explain to seomeone

who doesn't know all the circumstances.

Papa is very devoted to me...

Devoted ?

Very devoted to me.

He depends a great deal on my companionship.

My brothers and sisters, they don't...

Devoted !

Miss Barrett, may I speak plainly ?

Oh, do you think you'd better ?

I know more or less how you feel but...

Very well.

I shall say nothing.

You tell me he's devoted to you.

I don't understand.

I don't understand a devotion

that demands favors as if they were rights.

I don't understand a devotion

that spends itself in petty tyrannies and gross bullying.

I don't understand a devotion

that grudges you any ray of light and glimpse of happiness.

Doesn't even stop at risking

your life to gratify its collossal selfishness.

Devotion !

Give me good, sound,

honest hatred other than devotion like that.

Mr. Browning, I must ask you...

Forgive me but I won't be silent any longer.

Even before I met you I knew

that sickness wasn't the only shadow on your life.

And all these months I felt

that other shadow deepen and I have stood by and looked on.

But I'm done with pretense from today on.

It's not just your comfort and happiness which are at stake now.

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