The French Lieutenant's Woman Page #3

- How dare you, in front of Miss Freeman?

- I had no one else to turn to.

It must be obvious it would be improper

for me to interest myself further in you.

Yes, it is obvious.

Why don't you go to London,

make a new life?

If I went to London,

I know what I should become.

I should become what some

already call me in Lyme.

- My dear Miss Woodruff...

- I am weak. How should I not know it?

I have sinned.

You cannot imagine my suffering.

My only happiness is when I sleep.

When I wake, the nightmare begins.

(door closes)

This is...

Why am I born what I am?

- Why am I not born Miss Freeman?

- That question were better not asked.

- I did not mean...

- Envy is...

Not envy!

Incomprehension.

- You must help me.

- It is not in my power to help you!

I do not... I will not believe that.

What do you want of me?

I must tell you what really

happened to me 18 months ago.

I beg of you. You are my only hope.

I shall be on the Undercliff tomorrow

afternoon, and the next afternoon.

I shall wait for you.

I must go.

I shall wait!

Davide?

No, it's not Davide. It's Mike.

What are you doing?

- Looking at you.

- Come back.

Come back. Come on.

- Do you approve of my telescope?

- It is most elegant.

I use it to keep an eye out for mermaids.

(laughs) Here.

I'm delighted you dropped in.

It was time we met.

The best brandy in Dorset.

I keep it for visitors from London

who share a taste for the good life.

- Your good health, Doctor.

- Yours.

- Care for a cheroot?

- Thank you.

I understand you're, er... a scientist.

A seeker after fossils.

Palaeontology is my interest.

I gather it is not yours.

When we know more of the living,

it will be time to pursue the dead.

Yes, I was introduced the other day

to a specimen of the local flora...

...that rather inclines me

to agree with you.

A very strange case, as I understand it.

- Her name is Woodruff.

- Ah, yes. Poor "Tragedy".

We know more about your fossils on the

beach than we do about that girl's mind.

A German doctor called Hartmann has

divided melancholia into various types.

One he calls "natural", by which

he means that one is born with a...

...a sad temperament.

Another he calls "occasional"...

...by which he means

springing from an occasion.

And the third class he calls

"obscure melancholia"...

...by which he really means, poor man,

he doesn't know what the devil caused it.

- But she had an occasion, did she not?

- Oh, come now.

Is she the first young woman

to be jilted? No, no.

She belongs to the third class:

Obscure melancholia.

Listen to me.

I'll tell you, in the strictest confidence.

I was called in to see her,

oh, ten months ago.

She was working as a seamstress,

living by herself...

Well, hardly living. Weeping without

reason, unable to sleep, unable to talk.

Melancholia as plain as the pox.

I could see there was only one cure.

To get her away from this place.

But no, she wouldn't have it.

She goes to a house that

she knows is a living misery...

...to a mistress that sees no difference

between a servant and a slave.

- And she will not be moved.

- But it's... incomprehensible.

Not at all. Hartmann has something

very interesting to say...

...about one of his patients.

"It was as if her torture

had become her delight."

And she has confided the true

state of her mind to no one?

- She has not.

- But if she did?

I mean, if she could

bring herself... to speak?

She would be cured.

But she does not want to be cured.

I was working... as a governess.

At the Talbots'.

His name was Varguennes.

He was brought to the house

after the wreck of his ship.

He had a dreadful wound. His flesh

was torn from his hip to his knee.

He was in great pain...

...yet he never cried out.

Not the smallest groan.

I admired his courage.

I looked after him.

I did not know then that men can be

both very brave and very false.

He was handsome.

No man had ever paid me the kind

of attentions he did as he was...

...recovering.

He told me I was beautiful...

...and that he could not understand

why I was not married.

Such things.

He would mock me...

...lightly.

I took pleasure in it.

When I would not let him kiss my hand...

...he called me cruel.

A day came when I thought

myself cruel as well.

And you were no longer... cruel?

(sighs)

Varguennes recovered.

He left for Weymouth.

He said that he would wait there

one week and then... sail for France.

I told him that I would never follow him...

...that I could not.

But, after he had gone...

...my loneliness was so deep...

...I felt I would drown in it.

I followed him.

I went to the inn

where he had taken a room.

It was not a respectable place -

I knew that at once.

They told me to go up to his room.

They looked at me.

They smiled.

I insisted he be sent for.

He seemed... overjoyed to see me.

He... he was all that a lover should be.

I had not eaten that day. He took me

to a private sitting room, ordered food.

But...

...he had changed.

He was full of smiles and caresses, but...

...I knew at once that he was insincere.

I saw that I had been...

...an amusement for him.

Nothing more.

I saw all this within...

...five minutes of our meeting.

Yet I stayed.

I ate the supper that was served.

I drank the wine. It did not intoxicate me.

I think it made me see more clearly.

Is... is that possible?

No doubt.

Soon he no longer bothered to hide the

real nature of his intentions towards me...

...nor could I pretend surprise.

My innocence was false

from the moment I chose to stay.

I could tell you that he overpowered me...

...or that he drugged me, but...

...it is not so.

I gave myself to him.

I did it so that I should

never be the same again...

...so that I should be seen

for the outcast I am!

I knew it was ordained that

I should never marry an equal, so...

...I married shame.

It is my shame that has kept me alive...

...my knowing that I am

truly not like other women.

I... I shall never, like them,

have children and a husband...

...and the pleasures of a home.

Sometimes I pity them. I have

a freedom they cannot understand.

No insult, no blame, can touch me.

I have set myself beyond the pale.

I am nothing.

I am... hardly human any more.

I am the French lieutenant's...

...whore!

You must leave Lyme.

(laughter)

We must never meet alone again. Go.

I will wait.

What's the matter?

- What's the matter? You look sad.

- No.

No.

Why are you sad?

I'm not.

- Out of my way, little girl.

- Good morning, Mrs Fairley.

My usual.

- Gonna be a nice day, then?

- Yes.

(woman knocking) Miss Woodruff?

Miss Woodruff!

Miss Woodruff,

Mrs Poulteney wants to see you!

(knocking)

Mrs Poulteney wants to see you at once!

(clock strikes six)

(thunder)

- Yes?

- Forgive me. I must speak to Dr Grogan.

- Dr Grogan is not here.

- Not here?

He has been called to the asylum.

He's at the asylum.

Thank you.

(knocking)

Charles Smithson. I must see Dr Grogan

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