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                           THE SESSIONS                     (formerly The Surrogate)                            Written by                            BenLewin                                             Based On A True Story    EXT.   BERKELEY, CALIFORNIA.   DAY1                                                                 1    SUBTITLE Berkeley, California-1981-    DISSOLVE TO ACTUAL TV NEWS FOOTAGE FROM 1981    A busy intersection near the UC Berkeley campus. A strange,    self-propelled motorized gurney whirrs into view and makes    its way over apedestrian crosswalk. The passenger, MARK    O'BRIEN, in his early 30s, is visible only from the neck up.    The rest of him is covered by a blanket. He operates the    gurney with a mouth control and a set of mirrorspositioned    around his head.                          NEWS REPORTER (V.O.)               Mark O'Brien has been going to UC               Berkeley since 1978. That's O'Brien               in the motorized gurney headingfor               class last week.    The gurney continues along a leafy promenade on the campus.    Passers-by just go about their normal business.                         NEWS REPORTER (V.O.)               He hadpolio when he was 6 years               old. The disease left his body               crippled but his mind remained               sharp and alert, and since he               wanted to be a writer, Mark O'Brien               entered Cal tomajor in English and               learn his trade.    We hear a voice reciting a verse of poetry as we follow Mark    in his contraption.                          MARK (V.O.)               Graduation               Today I hearthe crowd's applause               Receive congratulations from my               friends               Today I ask if I've found a place               among the rest               I hope you see a man uponthis               stage               Who studied...read..wrote, and               passed the test               In cap and gown, diploma on my               chair    THE SCENE CHANGES to the interior of a large auditorium.A    graduation ceremony is in progress.  Suddenly, everyone in    the hall, GRADUATES, their FAMILIES, ACADEMICS and OTHERS,    rise to their feet as Mark, in his gurney, buzzes across the    stage, a mortar boardhung on one of the handles.                 1A.          NEWS REPORTER (V.O.)And so, Mark O'Brien graduates fromCal, one of 250 English majors toreceive degreestoday.                                            2.     The DEAN steps forward, congratulates Mark and places a     diploma on his blanket. The gurney makes its way across the     rest of the stage to thunderousapplause.     THE SCENE CHANGES BACK to the campus exterior. The news     reporter talks to camera.                           NEWS REPORTER                If this report tells us anything,                it is that adisability is not                necessarily a handicap.     In the background, Mark's family and friends are gathered     round him in a jubilant mood.                           NEWS REPORTER (CONT'D)                MarkO'Brien teaches us that                courage and perseverance overcome                obstacles.                With Mark O'Brien at UC Berkeley,                Bill Hillman, Channel Five                Eyewitness News.     END OFNEWS FOOTAGE1A   EXT. SAN FRANCISCO. NIGHT                                    1A     Classic shot of the illuminated Golden Gate Bridge.     SUPER CAPTION: "A FEW YEARSLATER"     EXT.   STREET OUTSIDE MARK'S.    NIGHT2                                                                     2     It is about 4.00 a.m. All is quiet. We follow a mean-looking     alley cat to the front ofa modest, ground-floor apartment.     It pauses, then slinks round the side, onto a ledge and in     through a partially-opened window.     INT.    MARK'SPLACE.    NIGHT3                                                                     3     The cat comes through the window, hops onto the floor and     quickly finds a nice little plate of food scraps that has     been set outspecially. As it settles down to its meal, we     become aware of a heavy and regular sound, like a ship's     pump, coming from somewhere close-by.     In the center of the room is an object that looks like aprop     from a `50s sci-fi movie. A human head protrudes from one     end. The object is an iron lung, and its purpose is to keep     its occupant, Mark O'Brien, breathing. Every 4.5 seconds, the     pump mechanismcreates a vacuum inside, forcing Mark's chest     to expand and suck in air. He is fast asleep.                                   2A.                     MARK (V.O.)          Breathing          Look you          This mostexcellent canopy, the          air,          Presses down upon me          At 15 pounds per square inch          A dense, heavy, blue-glowing ocean.          Teasing me with its nearness and          immensity.          And all Iget is a thin stream of          it.          A finger's width of the rope that          ties me to life.Having now eaten its fill, the cat has a good scratch, thenwanders over to the ironlung.                                        3.    It hops up onto the small platform that supports Mark's head    and slides itself along his face, once this way, once the    other way, then jumps on top of the iron lung andwalks its    length. Through the portholes, we just make out the shape of    Mark's bent, undersize body.  Suddenly, Mark's nose twitches.    He opens his eyes andgrimaces.                           MARK              Shit!    His face continues to contort as he tries to cope with the    terrible itching.  He shakes his head violently, then stops    suddenly and closes his eyes. We hearhis thoughts.                        MARK (V.O.) (CONT'D)              Okay, just focus. Now, scratch              with your mind, okay, your mind,              scratch with your mind...    After a couple more nose twitches,he settles down. It seems    to have worked. In his peripheral vision, Mark can see the    cat making itself comfortable in a corner chair, one of the    only other pieces of furniture in the room. The first hints    of dawnstart to appear through the curtains. They    illuminate a large framed portrait of the Virgin Mary hanging    on the wall.   Mark acknowledges it.                        MARK (CONT'D)              Goodmorning.    Sunlight streams in, making the picture look truly sacred.    EXT.   MARK'S PLACE.    DAY4                                                                 4    JOAN, a solid but slovenly woman in her late30s, walks up to    Mark's front door, takes a key from her purse and lets    herself in.    INT.   MARK'S PLACE.    DAY5                                                                 5    She comesin.                        JOAN              Good morning.    Mark does not immediately acknowledge her.                        MARK              You're late.    A LITTLE LATER    The center of the ironlung, basically a thin mattress, has    been slid out, and Joan is in the process of giving Mark a    bed bath. He is frail and helpless.                                        4.    There is a look of resentment in his eyes asthis apparently    unfeeling woman exercises total control over him, at least    temporarily.                        MARK (V.O.)              Joan              I swear this was one crazy bitch              Who'd swing me aboutenough to              scare me,              But careful enough so she could              say:              "Now what was all the yelling              about? You polios are screamers.              Always were."              I didn't say aword, but typed my              skinny novel in my head,              And thought about revenge.    In the course of washing his private parts, Mark has an    involuntary erection. Joan gives him a shriveling look. He    feelsbelittled and humiliated.    A LITTLE LATER    Mark is on his side, his trousers are on and she is buttoning    up a bright red shirt. It is an awkward business. They do it    in silence, avoiding eye contact asmuch as possible.    EXT. STREET OUTSIDE MARK'S PLACE.     DAY6                                                                 6    Joan pushes Mark along in a gurney, similar, but slightly    different from the onein the news clip. There are no mirrors    and no motor, just an oxygen tank, a tube and a mouthpiece    just next to Mark's mouth. Most of him is covered with a    colorful blanket. The whole thing is a sports-coupeversion    of his iron lung.                        JOAN              Would you mind if I asked you a              favor?                        MARK              You need help moving furniture?    She has no apparentsense of humor.                        JOAN              I need an advance on my pay, like              two weeks. That's not a big ask, is              it?    Mark looks rightfullyshocked.                        MARK              What if you don't last another two              weeks?                                      4A.He gives her a look, and means it. We hear histhoughts.                     MARK (V.O.) (CONT'D)          Joan never failed to put me in a          crappy mood. It was also a drag          that I was no longer allowed to use          my other gurney, theself-propelled          one. It had caused a couple of          spectacular accidents.They turn a corner and approach a church.                                        5.                           MARK (V.O.)(CONT'D)                Basically, in spite of all the                mirrors, I couldn't see where I was                going.6A   EXT. CATHOLIC CHURCH.     DAY                            6A     Joan pushes Mark's gurneyinto the sanctuary.     INT.   CATHOLIC CHURCH.    DAY7                                                                 7     FATHER BRENDAN is giving a sermon. Mark listens with     satisfaction. There are not manyothers there.                           FATHER BRENDAN                The Apostle Luke tells us that when                Elizabeth spoke to Mary, the baby                in her womb leapt - "For lo, as                soon as thevoice of thy salutation                sounded in mine ears, the babe                leaped in my womb for joy". So                Mary's fear and apprehension slowly                gave way to pride and purpose.                Elizabethsaw the greatness in                Mary. "Blessed art thou among                women". Elizabeth, pregnant herself                with St. John, felt the power of                this wondrous woman. It was                Elizabeth, andher absolute faith,                that gave Mary the courage she was                lacking, and she gave thanks                saying: "My soul doth magnify the                Lord, and my spirit hath rejoiced                in God mySaviour".                May the spirit of the Lord be                amongst you and remain with you                always.     Mass is over. PEOPLE come up to Mark and place a hand on his     head or chest and say, "God blessyou." In the background we     can also hear Father Brendan.                          FATHER BRENDAN (V.O.) (CONT'D)                May the peace of the Lord bewith                you.                          PARISHIONERS                And also with you.     A LITTLE LATER                                        5A.7A   INT. SIDE CHAPEL.


ï»¿Project Gutenberg's Tarzan and the Jewels of Opar, by Edgar Rice BurroughsThis eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and withalmost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away orre-useit under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License includedwith this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.netTitle: Tarzan and the Jewels of OparAuthor: Edgar Rice BurroughsPosting Date: June 23, 2008 [EBook#92]Release Date: December, 1995First Posted: November 1, 2001Last updated: May 26, 2012Language: English*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TARZAN AND THE JEWELS OF OPAR ***Produced byJudith Boss.  HTML version by Al Haines.Tarzan and the Jewels of OparByEdgar Rice BurroughsContentsCHAPTER   1  Belgian and Arab   2  On the Road to Opar   3  The Call of the Jungle   4  Prophecy andFulfillment   5  The Altar of the Flaming God   6  The Arab Raid   7  The Jewel-Room of Opar   8  The Escape from Opar   9  The Theft of the Jewels  10  Achmet Zek Sees the Jewels  11  Tarzan Becomes a BeastAgain  12  La Seeks Vengeance  13  Condemned to Torture and Death  14  A Priestess But Yet a Woman  15  The Flight of Werper  16  Tarzan Again Leads the Mangani  17  The Deadly Peril of Jane Clayton  18  TheFight For the Treasure  19  Jane Clayton and The Beasts of the Jungle  20  Jane Clayton Again a Prisoner  21  The Flight to the Jungle  22  Tarzan Recovers His Reason  23  A Night of Terror  24  Home1Belgian andArabLieutenant Albert Werper had only the prestige of the name he haddishonored to thank for his narrow escape from being cashiered.  Atfirst he had been humbly thankful, too, that they had sent him tothisGodforsaken Congo post instead of court-martialing him, as he had sojustly deserved; but now six months of the monotony, the frightfulisolation and the loneliness had wrought a change.  The young manbroodedcontinually over his fate.  His days were filled with morbidself-pity, which eventually engendered in his weak and vacillating minda hatred for those who had sent him here--for the very men he had atfirst inwardlythanked for saving him from the ignominy of degradation.He regretted the gay life of Brussels as he never had regretted thesins which had snatched him from that gayest of capitals, and as thedays passed he came tocenter his resentment upon the representative inCongo land of the authority which had exiled him--his captain andimmediate superior.This officer was a cold, taciturn man, inspiring little love in thosedirectly beneathhim, yet respected and feared by the black soldiers ofhis little command.Werper was accustomed to sit for hours glaring at his superior as thetwo sat upon the veranda of their common quarters, smoking theireveningcigarets in a silence which neither seemed desirous ofbreaking.  The senseless hatred of the lieutenant grew at last into aform of mania.  The captain's natural taciturnity he distorted into astudied attempt to insult himbecause of his past shortcomings.  Heimagined that his superior held him in contempt, and so he chafed andfumed inwardly until one evening his madness became suddenly homicidal.He fingered the butt of therevolver at his hip, his eyes narrowed andhis brows contracted.  At last he spoke."You have insulted me for the last time!" he cried, springing to hisfeet.  "I am an officer and a gentleman, and I shall put up with itnolonger without an accounting from you, you pig."The captain, an expression of surprise upon his features, turned towardhis junior.  He had seen men before with the jungle madness uponthem--the madness ofsolitude and unrestrained brooding, and perhaps atouch of fever.He rose and extended his hand to lay it upon the other's shoulder.Quiet words of counsel were upon his lips; but they were never spoken.Werperconstrued his superior's action into an attempt to close withhim.  His revolver was on a level with the captain's heart, and thelatter had taken but a step when Werper pulled the trigger.  Without amoan the man sank tothe rough planking of the veranda, and as he fellthe mists that had clouded Werper's brain lifted, so that he sawhimself and the deed that he had done in the same light that those whomust judge him would seethem.He heard excited exclamations from the quarters of the soldiers and heheard men running in his direction.  They would seize him, and if theydidn't kill him they would take him down the Congo to a point whereaproperly ordered military tribunal would do so just as effectively,though in a more regular manner.Werper had no desire to die.  Never before had he so yearned for lifeas in this moment that he had so effectivelyforfeited his right tolive.  The men were nearing him.  What was he to do?  He glanced aboutas though searching for the tangible form of a legitimate excuse forhis crime; but he could find only the body of the man hehad socauselessly shot down.In despair, he turned and fled from the oncoming soldiery.  Across thecompound he ran, his revolver still clutched tightly in his hand.  Atthe gates a sentry halted him.  Werper did notpause to parley or toexert the influence of his commission--he merely raised his weapon andshot down the innocent black.  A moment later the fugitive had tornopen the gates and vanished into the blackness of thejungle, but notbefore he had transferred the rifle and ammunition belts of the deadsentry to his own person.All that night Werper fled farther and farther into the heart of thewilderness.  Now and again the voice of alion brought him to alistening halt; but with cocked and ready rifle he pushed ahead again,more fearful of the human huntsmen in his rear than of the wildcarnivora ahead.Dawn came at last, but still the man ploddedon.  All sense of hungerand fatigue were lost in the terrors of contemplated capture.  He couldthink only of escape.  He dared not pause to rest or eat until therewas no further danger from pursuit, and so he staggeredon until atlast he fell and could rise no more.  How long he had fled he did notknow, or try to know.  When he could flee no longer the knowledge thathe had reached his limit was hidden from him in the unconsciousnessofutter exhaustion.And thus it was that Achmet Zek, the Arab, found him.  Achmet'sfollowers were for running a spear through the body of their hereditaryenemy; but Achmet would have it otherwise.  First he wouldquestion theBelgian.  It were easier to question a man first and kill himafterward, than kill him first and then question him.So he had Lieutenant Albert Werper carried to his own tent, and thereslaves administered wineand food in small quantities until at last theprisoner regained consciousness.  As he opened his eyes he saw thefaces of strange black men about him, and just outside the tent thefigure of an Arab.  Nowhere was theuniform of his soldiers to be seen.The Arab turned and seeing the open eyes of the prisoner upon him,entered the tent."I am Achmet Zek," he announced.  "Who are you, and what were you doingin my country?  Whereare your soldiers?"Achmet Zek!  Werper's eyes went wide, and his heart sank.  He was inthe clutches of the most notorious of cut-throats--a hater of allEuropeans, especially those who wore the uniform of Belgium.  Foryearsthe military forces of Belgian Congo had waged a fruitless war uponthis man and his followers--a war in which quarter had never been askednor expected by either side.But presently in the very hatred of the manfor Belgians, Werper saw afaint ray of hope for himself.  He, too, was an outcast and an outlaw.So far, at least, they possessed a common interest, and Werper decidedto play upon it for all that it might yield."I haveheard of you," he replied, "and was searching for you.  Mypeople have turned against me.  I hate them.  Even now their soldiersare searching for me, to kill me.  I knew that you would protect mefrom them, for you,too, hate them.  In return I will take service withyou.  I am a trained soldier.  I can fight, and your enemies are myenemies."Achmet Zek eyed the European in silence.  In his mind he revolved manythoughts, chiefamong which was that the unbeliever lied.  Of coursethere was the chance that he did not lie, and if he told the truth thenhis proposition was one well worthy of consideration, since fightingmen were never overplentiful--especially white men with the trainingand knowledge of military matters that a European officer must possess.Achmet Zek scowled and Werper's heart sank; but Werper did not knowAchmet Zek, who wasquite apt to scowl where another would smile, andsmile where another would scowl."And if you have lied to me," said Achmet Zek, "I will kill you at anytime.  What return, other than your life, do you expect foryourservices?""My keep only, at first," replied Werper.  "Later, if I am worth more,we can easily reach an understanding." Werper's only desire at themoment was to preserve his life.  And so the agreement was reachedandLieutenant Albert Werper became a member of the ivory and slave raidingband of the notorious Achmet Zek.For months the renegade Belgian rode with the savage raider.  He foughtwith a savage abandon, and avicious cruelty fully equal to that of hisfellow desperadoes.  Achmet Zek watched his recruit with eagle eye, andwith a growing satisfaction which finally found expression in a greaterconfidence in the man, and resultedin an increased independence ofaction for Werper.Achmet Zek took the Belgian into his confidence to a great extent, andat last unfolded to him a pet scheme which the Arab had long fostered,but which he never hadfound an opportunity to effect.  With the aid ofa European, however, the thing might be easily accomplished.  Hesounded Werper."You have heard of the man men call Tarzan?" he asked.Werper nodded.  "I have heardof him; but I do not know him.""But for him we might carry on our 'trading' in safety and with greatprofit," continued the Arab.  "For years he has fought us, driving usfrom the richest part of the country, harassing us,and arming thenatives that they may repel us when we come to 'trade.' He is veryrich.  If we could find some way to make him pay us many pieces of goldwe should not only be avenged upon him; but repaid for muchthat he hasprevented us from winning from the natives under his protection."Werper withdrew a cigaret from a jeweled case and lighted it."And you have a plan to make him pay?" he asked."He has a wife," repliedAchmet Zek, "whom men say is very beautiful.She would bring a great price farther north, if we found it toodifficult to collect ransom money from this Tarzan."Werper bent his head in thought.  Achmet Zek stoodawaiting his reply.What good remained in Albert Werper revolted at the thought of sellinga white woman into the slavery and degradation of a Moslem harem.  Helooked up at Achmet Zek.  He saw the Arab's eyesnarrow, and he guessedthat the other had sensed his antagonism to the plan.  What would itmean to Werper to refuse?  His life lay in the hands of thissemi-barbarian,  who esteemed the life of an unbeliever lesshighlythan that of a dog.  Werper loved life.  What was this woman to him,anyway?  She was a European, doubtless, a member of organized society.He was an outcast.  The hand of every white man was againsthim.  Shewas his natural enemy, and if he refused to lend himself to herundoing, Achmet Zek would have him killed."You hesitate," murmured the Arab."I was but weighing the chances of success," lied Werper, "andmyreward.  As a European I can gain admittance to their home and table.You have no other with you who could do so much.  The risk will begreat.  I should be well paid, Achmet Zek."A smile of relief passed over theraider's face."Well said, Werper," and Achmet Zek slapped his lieutenant upon theshoulder.  "You should be well paid and you shall.  Now let us sittogether and plan how best the thing may be done," and the twomensquatted upon a soft rug beneath the faded silks of Achmet's oncegorgeous tent, and talked together in low voices well into the night.Both were tall and bearded, and the exposure to sun and wind had givenanalmost Arab hue to the European's complexion.  In every detail ofdress, too, he copied the fashions of his chief, so that outwardly hewas as much an Arab as the other.  It was late when he arose andretired to his owntent.The following day Werper spent in overhauling his Belgian uniform,removing from it every vestige of evidence that might indicate itsmilitary purposes.  From a heterogeneous collection of loot, Achmet Zekprocureda pith helmet and a European saddle, and from his black slavesand followers a party of porters, askaris and tent boys to make up amodest safari for a big game hunter.  At the head of this party Werperset out fromcamp.2On the Road To OparIt was two weeks later that John Clayton, Lord Greystoke, riding infrom a tour of inspection of his vast African estate, glimpsed the headof a column of men crossing the plain that laybetween his bungalow andthe forest to the north and west.He reined in his horse and watched the little party as it emerged froma concealing swale.  His keen eyes caught the reflection of the sunupon the white helmetof a mounted man, and with the conviction that awandering European hunter was seeking his hospitality, he wheeled hismount and rode slowly forward to meet the newcomer.A half hour later he was mounting thesteps leading to the veranda ofhis bungalow, and introducing M. Jules Frecoult to Lady Greystoke."I was completely lost," M. Frecoult was explaining.  "My head man hadnever before been in this part of the country andthe guides who wereto have accompanied me from the last village we passed knew even lessof the country than we.  They finally deserted us two days since.  I amvery fortunate indeed to have stumbled soprovidentially upon succor.I do not know what I should have done, had I not found you."It was decided that Frecoult and his party should remain several days,or until they were thoroughly rested, when Lord Greystokewould furnishguides to lead them safely back into country with which Frecoult's headman was supposedly familiar.In his guise of a French gentleman of leisure, Werper found littledifficulty in deceiving his host and iningratiating himself with bothTarzan and Jane Clayton; but the longer he remained the less hopeful hebecame of an easy accomplishment of his designs.Lady Greystoke never rode alone at any great distance fromthebungalow, and the savage loyalty of the ferocious Waziri warriors whoformed a great part of Tarzan's followers seemed to preclude thepossibility of a successful attempt at forcible abduction, or of thebribery of theWaziri themselves.A week passed, and Werper was no nearer the fulfillment of his plan, inso far as he could judge, than upon the day of his arrival, but at thatvery moment something occurred which gave him renewedhope and set hismind upon an even greater reward than a woman's ransom.A runner had arrived at the bungalow with the weekly mail, and LordGreystoke had spent the afternoon in his study reading andansweringletters.  At dinner he seemed distraught, and early in the evening heexcused himself and retired, Lady Greystoke following him very soonafter.  Werper, sitting upon the veranda, could hear their voicesinearnest discussion, and having realized that something of unusualmoment was afoot, he quietly rose from his chair, and keeping well inthe shadow of the shrubbery growing profusely about the bungalow, madehissilent way to a point beneath the window of the room in which hishost and hostess slept.Here he listened, and not without result, for almost the first words heoverheard filled him with excitement.  Lady Greystoke wasspeaking asWerper came within hearing."I always feared for the stability of the company," she was saying;"but it seems incredible that they should have failed for so enormous asum--unless there has been somedishonest manipulation.""That is what I suspect," replied Tarzan; "but whatever the cause, thefact remains that I have lost everything, and there is nothing for itbut to return to Opar and get more.""Oh, John," criedLady Greystoke, and Werper could feel the shudderthrough her voice, "is there no other way?  I cannot bear to think ofyou returning to that frightful city.  I would rather live in povertyalways than to have you risk thehideous dangers of Opar.""You need have no fear," replied Tarzan, laughing.  "I am pretty wellable to take care of myself, and were I not, the Waziri who willaccompany me will see that no harm befalls me.""They ranaway from Opar once, and left you to your fate," she remindedhim."They will not do it again," he answered.  "They were very much ashamedof themselves, and were coming back when I met them.""But there must besome other way," insisted the woman."There is no other way half so easy to obtain another fortune, as to goto the treasure vaults of Opar and bring it away," he replied.  "Ishall be very careful, Jane, and the chancesare that the inhabitantsof Opar will never know that I have been there again and despoiled themof another portion of the treasure, the very existence of which theyare as ignorant of as they would be of its value."Thefinality in his tone seemed to assure Lady Greystoke that furtherargument was futile, and so she abandoned the subject.Werper remained, listening, for a short time, and then, confident thathe had overheard all thatwas necessary and fearing discovery, returnedto the veranda, where he smoked numerous cigarets in rapid successionbefore retiring.The following morning at breakfast, Werper announced his intention ofmaking anearly departure, and asked Tarzan's permission to hunt biggame in the Waziri country on his way out--permission which LordGreystoke readily granted.The Belgian consumed two days in completing his preparations,butfinally got away with his safari, accompanied by a single Waziri guidewhom Lord Greystoke had loaned him.  The party made but a single shortmarch when Werper simulated illness, and announced his intentionofremaining where he was until he had fully recovered.  As they had gonebut a short distance from the Greystoke bungalow, Werper dismissed theWaziri guide, telling the warrior that he would send for him when hewasable to proceed.  The Waziri gone, the Belgian summoned one ofAchmet Zek's trusted blacks to his tent, and dispatched him to watchfor the departure of Tarzan, returning immediately to advise Werper ofthe event andthe direction taken by the Englishman.The Belgian did not have long to wait, for the following day hisemissary returned with word that Tarzan and a party of fifty Waziriwarriors had set out toward the southeast early inthe morning.Werper called his head man to him, after writing a long letter toAchmet Zek.  This letter he handed to the head man."Send a runner at once to Achmet Zek with this," he instructed the headman.  "Remainhere in camp awaiting further instructions from him orfrom me.  If any come from the bungalow of the Englishman, tell themthat I am very ill within my tent and can see no one.  Now, give me sixporters and sixaskaris--the strongest and bravest of the safari--and Iwill march after the Englishman and discover where his gold is hidden."And so it was that as Tarzan, stripped to the loin cloth and armedafter the primitive fashionhe best loved, led his loyal Waziri towardthe dead city of Opar, Werper, the renegade, haunted his trail throughthe long, hot days, and camped close behind him by night.And as they marched, Achmet Zek rode with hisentire followingsouthward toward the Greystoke farm.To Tarzan of the Apes the expedition was in the nature of a holidayouting.  His civilization was at best but an outward veneer which hegladly peeled off with hisuncomfortable European clothes whenever anyreasonable pretext presented itself.  It was a woman's love which keptTarzan even to the semblance of civilization--a condition for whichfamiliarity had bred contempt.  Hehated the shams and the hypocrisiesof it and with the clear vision of an unspoiled mind he had penetratedto the rotten core of the heart of the thing--the cowardly greed forpeace and ease and the safe-guarding ofproperty rights.  That the finethings of life--art, music and literature--had thriven upon suchenervating ideals he strenuously denied, insisting, rather, that theyhad endured in spite of civilization."Show me the fat,opulent coward," he was wont to say, "who everoriginated a beautiful ideal.  In the clash of arms, in the battle forsurvival, amid hunger and death and danger, in the face of God asmanifested in the display of Nature'smost terrific forces, is born allthat is finest and best in the human heart and mind."And so Tarzan always came back to Nature in the spirit of a loverkeeping a long deferred tryst after a period behind prisonwalls.  HisWaziri, at marrow, were more civilized than he.  They cooked their meatbefore they ate it and they shunned many articles of food as uncleanthat Tarzan had eaten with gusto all his life and so insidious is


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<title>Blade Runner - ByHampton Fancher</title>
                                                                BLADE RUNNER                               Screenplay by                              HAMPTON FANCHER        July24, 1980                    Brighton Productions Inc.                                         1420 No. Beachwood Drive                                         Hollywood, Calif.90028                                ****************        INT. TYRELL CORPORATION LOCKER ROOM - DAY               1        THE EYE                                                 2        It's magnified anddeeply revealed.  Flecks of green        and yellow in a field of milky blue.  Icy filaments        surround the undulating center.        The eye is brown in a tiny screen.  On the metallic        surface below, the wordsVOIGHT-KAMPFF are finely        etched.  There's a touch-light panel across the top        and on the side of the screen, a dial that registers        fluctuations of the iris.        The instrument is no bigger than a music boxand sits        on a table between two men.  The man talking is big,        looks like an over-stuffed kid.  "LEON" it says on        his breast pocket.  He's dressed in a warehouseman's        uniform and his pudgy hands arefolded expectantly in        his lap.  Despite the obvious heat, he looks very cool.        The man facing him is lean, hollow cheeked and dressed        in gray.  Detached and efficient, he looks like a cop        or anaccountant.  His name is HOLDEN and he's all        business, except for the sweat on his face.        The room is large and humid.  Rows of salvaged junk        are stacked neatly against the walls.  Two largefans        whir above their heads.                                LEON                  Okay if I talk?        Holden doesn't answer.  He's centering Leon's eye on        themachine.                                LEON                  I kinda get nervous when I                  take tests.                                HOLDEN                  Don'tmove.                                LEON                  Sorry.        He tries not to move but finally his lips can't help        a sheepish smile.                                LEON                  Already had I.Q. test thisyear --                  but I don't think I never had a...                                HOLDEN                         (cutting in)                  Reaction time is a factor in this,                  so please payattention.  Answer                  quickly as you can.        Leon compresses his lips and nods his big head eagerly.        Holden's voice is cold, geared to intimidate andevoke        response.                                HOLDEN                  You're in a desert, walking along                  in the sand when all of a sudden                  you look down and seea...                                LEON                  What one?        It was a timid interruption, hardlyaudible.                                HOLDEN                  What?                                LEON                  What desert?                                HOLDEN                  Doesn't make any differencewhat                  desert -- it's completely                  hypothetical.                                LEON                  But how come I'd be there?                                HOLDEN                  Maybe you're fed up,maybe you                  want to be by yourself -- who                  knows.  So you look down and                  see a tortoise.  It's crawling                  towards you...                                LEON                  Atortoise.  What's that?                                HOLDEN                  Know what a turtle is?                                LEON                  Of course.                                HOLDEN                  Samething.                                LEON                  I never seen a turtle.        He sees Holden's patience is wearing thin.                                LEON                  But I understand what youmean.                                HOLDEN                  You reach down and flip the                  tortoise over on its back, Leon.        Keeping an eye on his subject, Holden notes the dials        in theVoight-Kampff.  One of the needles quivers        slightly.                                LEON                  You make these questions, Mr.                  Holden, or they write 'em down                  foryou?        Disregarding the question, Holden continues, picking        up the pace.                                HOLDEN                  The tortoise lays on its back,                  its belly baking in the hotsun,                  beating its legs trying to turn                  itself over.  But it can't.  Not                  without your help.  But you're                  not helping.        Leon's upper lip isquivering.                                LEON                  Whatcha mean, I'm not helping?                                HOLDEN                  I mean you're not helping!                  Why is that, Leon?        Leonlooks shocked, surprised.  But the needles in        the computer barely move.  Holden goes for the inside        of his coat.  But big Leon is faster.  His LASER BURNS        a hole the size of a nickel through Holden'sstomach.        Unlike a bullet, a laser causes no impact.  It goes        through Holden's spine and comes out his back, clean        as a whistle.  Like a rag doll he falls back off the        bench from the waist up.  By thetime he hits the        floor, big slow Leon is already walking away.  But he        stops, turns and with a little smile of satisfaction,        FIRES at the machine on the table.        There's a flash and a puff of smoke.  TheVoight-Kampff        is hit dead center, crippled but not destroyed; as        Leon walks out of the room, one of its lights begins        to blink, faint but steady.        EXT. DESERT -NIGHT                                     3        The horizon marked by a thin copper line that maybe        the end, of the beginning of a day.        The train that follows, cuts through the night at 400        miles anhour.        INT. TRAIN - NIGHT                                      4        No clickitty-clack of track-bound noise, it's a long,        insulated Pullman of contoured seats and low-keyed        lighting, coloured to soothe,andempty, except for        the passenger half way down.        His eyes closed, head rested against the glass.  Ten        years ago, DECKARD might have been an athlete, a        track man or a welter-weight.  The bodylooks it, but        the face has seen some time -- not all of it good.        INT. TRAIN - REFRESHMENT DISPENSER - NIGHT              5        Deckard comes down the aisle, slips a coin into the        mechanism,receives a beer and returns to his seat.        INT. TRAIN - NIGHT                                      6        Tired of the program, he takes off the headset and        drops it next to three empty beer bottles anda        sandwich wrapper, adjusts his position and winds up        staring at his reflection in the window.  Runs a        hand over his face, it could use a shave.  He leans        closer and peers through the glass.        Outthere in the black a sign flashes past:  SAN        ANGELES, THREE MINUTES.        EXT. PLATFORM - NIGHT                                   7        The train slides in, smooth as an eel, and stopswith-        out a sound.  Carrying a bag and umbrella, Deckard        disembarks ahead of the other passengers and into the        sweltering night.        INT. CORRIDOR -NIGHT                                   8        Deckard has got his coat swung over his shoulder, his        shirt already damp, as he walks down the long, hollow        passage under orbs of yellow light.        EXT.TERMINAL - NIGHT                                   9        Deckard unlocks his car and gets in.  Turns the ig-        nition and hits a sensor.  The dash console glows        and Deckard sits back waiting for the air unit tocool        things off.                                DECKARD (V.O.)                  It was 97 degrees in the city and                  no hope of improvement.  Not bad                  if you're a lizard.  But twohours                  earlier I was drinking Acquavit                  with an Eskimo lady in North East                  Alaska.  That's a tough change to                  make.  It was so good, I didn't                  want to leave, so I lefta day                  early.        A little detached, Deckard taps another sensor on the        panel, lights up a cigarette and watches as his mes-        sages flash across the viewer stating date, time and        caller.  The lastone is repeated five times.  Deckard        sighs, switches off the viewer and gets on the radio.                                DECKARD                  Contact.  This is Blade Runner One                  calling Com-fast27.        The SOUND OF A CHIME precedes the mechanical female        voice that answers.                                VOICE                  Blade Runner One, stand by please.        A pause.  Followed by a huskymale voice.                                VOICE                  Deckard.                                DECKARD                  Yah, Gaff.                                GAFF (VOICE)                  Where the hell youbeen?                                DECKARD                  You know where I been.  I been on                  vacation.                                GAFF                  Next time you go on vacation,                  do me afavor, let us know where                  it is.                                DECKARD                  What's up?                                GAFF                  Holden got hit.        There is a pause.  That was badnews.                                DECKARD                  Bad?                                GAFF                  Severed spine.  You'd better get                  in here.  Bryant's waiting foryou.                                DECKARD                  I'll see you in a minute.        The ENGINE REVS, the wipers rake two weeks of dust off        the windshield and Deckard jams out of the lot.        INT. THEHALL OF JUSTICE - NIGHT                        10        An enormous grey vault of a building.  A businesslike        Deckard strides down a long corridor with his brief-        case and police ID pinned to hiscoat.                                DECKARD (V.O.)                  I-X-4-P-D referred to as a Nexus-6,                  The Tyrell Corporation's new pride                  and joy.  Holden was administering                  theVoight-Kampff test when one                  nailed him.        The door in front of Deckard slides open and he walks        through.                                DECKARD (V.O.)                  The Nexus-6 must be fastbecause                  Holden was as quick as they come.                  The report said there were six of                  them.  Three males and three female.                  Led by a combat model calledRoy                  Batty.        INT. INSPECTOR BRYANT'S OFFICE - NIGHT                  11        The INSPECTOR is in his fifties.  The deep creases in        his face, the broken capillaries in his nose


ï»¿The Project Gutenberg eBook, Catriona, by Robert Louis StevensonThis eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and withalmost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away orre-use it underthe terms of the Project Gutenberg License includedwith this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.orgTitle: CatrionaAuthor: Robert Louis StevensonRelease Date: November 11, 2012  [eBook #589][This file was firstposted on May 15, 1996]Language: EnglishCharacter set encoding: UTF-8***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CATRIONA***Transcribed from the 1904 Cassell and Company edition by David Price,emailccx074@pglaf.org                                 CATRIONADEDICATION.                                    To                 CHARLES BAXTER, _Writer to the Signet_.MY DEAR CHARLES,It is the fate of sequels to disappoint those whohave waited for them;and my David, having been left to kick his heels for more than a lustrein the British Linen Companyâs office, must expect his late re-appearanceto be greeted with hoots, if not withmissiles.  Yet, when I remember thedays of our explorations, I am not without hope.  There should be left inour native city some seed of the elect; some long-legged, hot-headedyouth must repeat to-day our dreamsand wanderings of so many years ago;he will relish the pleasure, which should have been ours, to follow amongnamed streets and numbered houses the country walks of David Balfour, toidentify Dean, and Silvermills,and Broughton, and Hope Park, and Pilrig,and poor old Lochendâif it still be standing, and the Figgate Whinsâifthere be any of them left; or to push (on a long holiday) so far afieldas Gillane or the Bass.  So,perhaps, his eye shall be opened to beholdthe series of the generations, and he shall weigh with surprise hismomentous and nugatory gift of life.You are stillâas when first I saw, as when I last addressed youâinthevenerable city which I must always think of as my home.  And I have comeso far; and the sights and thoughts of my youth pursue me; and I see likea vision the youth of my father, and of his father, and the wholestreamof lives flowing down there far in the north, with the sound of laughterand tears, to cast me out in the end, as by a sudden freshet, on theseultimate islands.  And I admire and bow my head before the romanceofdestiny.                                                                  R. L. S._Vailima_, _Upolu_,_Samoa_, 1892.CATRIONAâPart IâTHE LORD ADVOCATECHAPTER IâA BEGGAR ON HORSEBACKThe 25th day of August,1751, about two in the afternoon, I, DavidBalfour, came forth of the British Linen Company, a porter attending mewith a bag of money, and some of the chief of these merchants bowing mefrom their doors.  Two daysbefore, and even so late as yestermorning, Iwas like a beggar-man by the wayside, clad in rags, brought down to mylast shillings, my companion a condemned traitor, a price set on my ownhead for a crime with thenews of which the country rang.  To-day I wasserved heir to my position in life, a landed laird, a bank porter by mecarrying my gold, recommendations in my pocket, and (in the words of thesaying) the ball directly atmy foot.There were two circumstances that served me as ballast to so much sail.The first was the very difficult and deadly business I had still tohandle; the second, the place that I was in.  The tall, black city, andthenumbers and movement and noise of so many folk, made a new world forme, after the moorland braes, the sea-sands and the still country-sidesthat I had frequented up to then.  The throng of the citizens inparticularabashed me.  Rankeillorâs son was short and small in thegirth; his clothes scarce held on me; and it was plain I was illqualified to strut in the front of a bank-porter.  It was plain, if I didso, I should but set folklaughing, and (what was worse in my case) setthem asking questions.  So that I behooved to come by some clothes of myown, and in the meanwhile to walk by the porterâs side, and put my handon his arm asthough we were a pair of friends.At a merchantâs in the Luckenbooths I had myself fitted out: none toofine, for I had no idea to appear like a beggar on horseback; but comelyand responsible, so that servantsshould respect me.  Thence to anarmourerâs, where I got a plain sword, to suit with my degree in life.  Ifelt safer with the weapon, though (for one so ignorant of defence) itmight be called an added danger.  Theporter, who was naturally a man ofsome experience, judged my accoutrement to be well chosen.âNaething kenspeckle,â {1} said he; âplain, dacent claes.  As for therapier, nae doubt it sits wiâ yourdegree; but an I had been you, I wouldhas waired my siller better-gates than that.â  And he proposed I shouldbuy winter-hosen from a wife in the Cowgate-back, that was a cousin ofhis own, and made themâextraordinar endurable.âBut I had other matters on my hand more pressing.  Here I was in thisold, black city, which was for all the world like a rabbit-warren, notonly by the number of its indwellers, but thecomplication of itspassages and holes.  It was, indeed, a place where no stranger had achance to find a friend, let be another stranger.  Suppose him even tohit on the right close, people dwelt so thronged in these tallhouses, hemight very well seek a day before he chanced on the right door.  Theordinary course was to hire a lad they called a _caddie_, who was like aguide or pilot, led you where you had occasion, and (your errandsbeingdone) brought you again where you were lodging.  But these caddies, beingalways employed in the same sort of services, and having it forobligation to be well informed of every house and person in the city,hadgrown to form a brotherhood of spies; and I knew from tales of Mr.Campbellâs how they communicated one with another, what a rage ofcuriosity they conceived as to their employerâs business, and howtheywere like eyes and fingers to the police.  It would be a piece of littlewisdom, the way I was now placed, to take such a ferret to my tails.  Ihad three visits to make, all immediately needful: to my kinsman Mr.Balfourof Pilrig, to Stewart the Writer that was Appinâs agent, and toWilliam Grant Esquire of Prestongrange, Lord Advocate of Scotland.  Mr.Balfourâs was a non-committal visit; and besides (Pilrig being in thecountry)I made bold to find the way to it myself, with the help of mytwo legs and a Scots tongue.  But the rest were in a different case.  Notonly was the visit to Appinâs agent, in the midst of the cry about theAppin murder,dangerous in itself, but it was highly inconsistent withthe other.  I was like to have a bad enough time of it with my LordAdvocate Grant, the best of ways; but to go to him hot-foot from Appinâsagent, was littlelikely to mend my own affairs, and might prove the mereruin of friend Alanâs.  The whole thing, besides, gave me a look ofrunning with the hare and hunting with the hounds that was little to myfancy.  Idetermined, therefore, to be done at once with Mr. Stewart andthe whole Jacobitical side of my business, and to profit for that purposeby the guidance of the porter at my side.  But it chanced I had scarcegiven him theaddress, when there came a sprinkle of rainânothing tohurt, only for my new clothesâand we took shelter under a pend at thehead of a close or alley.Being strange to what I saw, I stepped a little farther in.  Thenarrowpaved way descended swiftly.  Prodigious tall houses sprang upon eachside and bulged out, one storey beyond another, as they rose.  At the toponly a ribbon of sky showed in.  By what I could spy in thewindows, andby the respectable persons that passed out and in, I saw the houses to bevery well occupied; and the whole appearance of the place interested melike a tale.I was still gazing, when there came a suddenbrisk tramp of feet in timeand clash of steel behind me.  Turning quickly, I was aware of a party ofarmed soldiers, and, in their midst, a tall man in a great coat.  Hewalked with a stoop that was like a piece of courtesy,genteel andinsinuating: he waved his hands plausibly as he went, and his face wassly and handsome.  I thought his eye took me in, but could not meet it.This procession went by to a door in the close, which aserving-man in afine livery set open; and two of the soldier-lads carried the prisonerwithin, the rest lingering with their firelocks by the door.There can nothing pass in the streets of a city without some following ofidlefolk and children.  It was so now; but the more part melted awayincontinent until but three were left.  One was a girl; she was dressedlike a lady, and had a screen of the Drummond colours on her head; buthercomrades or (I should say) followers were ragged gillies, such as Ihad seen the matches of by the dozen in my Highland journey.  They allspoke together earnestly in Gaelic, the sound of which was pleasant in myearsfor the sake of Alan; and, though the rain was by again, and myporter plucked at me to be going, I even drew nearer where they were, tolisten.  The lady scolded sharply, the others making apologies andcringeingbefore her, so that I made sure she was come of a chiefâshouse.  All the while the three of them sought in their pockets, and bywhat I could make out, they had the matter of half a farthing among theparty; whichmade me smile a little to see all Highland folk alike forfine obeisances and empty sporrans.It chanced the girl turned suddenly about, so that I saw her face for thefirst time.  There is no greater wonder than the way theface of a youngwoman fits in a manâs mind, and stays there, and he could never tell youwhy; it just seems it was the thing he wanted.  She had wonderful brighteyes like stars, and I daresay the eyes had a part init; but what Iremember the most clearly was the way her lips were a trifle open as sheturned.  And, whatever was the cause, I stood there staring like a fool.On her side, as she had not known there was anyone sonear, she looked atme a little longer, and perhaps with more surprise, than was entirelycivil.It went through my country head she might be wondering at my new clothes;with that, I blushed to my hair, and at the sightof my colouring it isto be supposed she drew her own conclusions, for she moved her gilliesfarther down the close, and they fell again to this dispute, where Icould hear no more of it.I had often admired a lassie beforethen, if scarce so sudden and strong;and it was rather my disposition to withdraw than to come forward, for Iwas much in fear of mockery from the womenkind.  You would have thought Ihad now all the more reason topursue my common practice, since I had metthis young lady in the city street, seemingly following a prisoner, andaccompanied with two very ragged indecent-like Highlandmen.  But therewas here a differentingredient; it was plain the girl thought I had beenprying in her secrets; and with my new clothes and sword, and at the topof my new fortunes, this was more than I could swallow.  The beggar onhorseback could notbear to be thrust down so low, or, at least of it,not by this young lady.I followed, accordingly, and took off my new hat to her the best that Iwas able.âMadam,â said I, âI think it only fair to myself to let youunderstand Ihave no Gaelic.  It is true I was listening, for I have friends of my ownacross the Highland line, and the sound of that tongue comes friendly;but for your private affairs, if you had spoken Greek, I mighthave hadmore guess at them.âShe made me a little, distant curtsey.  âThere is no harm done,â saidshe, with a pretty accent, most like the English (but more agreeable).âA cat may look at aking.ââI do not mean to offend,â said I.  âI have no skill of city manners; Inever before this day set foot inside the doors of Edinburgh.  Take mefor a country ladâitâs what I am; and I wouldrather I told you than youfound it out.ââIndeed, it will be a very unusual thing for strangers to be speaking toeach other on the causeway,â she replied.  âBut if you are landward {2}bred it will bedifferent.  I am as landward as yourself; I am Highland,as you see, and think myself the farther from my home.ââIt is not yet a week since I passed the line,â said I.  âLess than aweek ago I was on thebraes of Balwhidder.ââBalwhither?â she cries.  âCome ye from Balwhither!  The name of it makesall there is of me rejoice.  You will not have been long there, and notknown some of our friends orfamily?ââI lived with a very honest, kind man called Duncan Dhu Maclaren,â Ireplied.âWell, I know Duncan, and you give him the true name!â she said; âand ifhe is an honest man, his wife ishonest indeed.ââAy,â said I, âthey are fine people, and the place is a bonny place.ââWhere in the great world is such another!â she cries; âI am loving thesmell of that place and theroots that grow there.âI was infinitely taken with the spirit of the maid.  âI could be wishingI had brought you a spray of that heather,â says I.  âAnd, though I didill to speak with you at the first, now itseems we have commonacquaintance, I make it my petition you will not forget me.  DavidBalfour is the name I am known by.  This is my lucky day, when I havejust come into a landed estate, and am not very long outof a deadlyperil.  I wish you would keep my name in mind for the sake ofBalwhidder,â said I, âand I will yours for the sake of my lucky day.ââMy name is not spoken,â she replied, with a great dealof haughtiness.âMore than a hundred years it has not gone upon menâs tongues, save for ablink.  I am nameless, like the Folk of Peace. {3}  Catriona Drummond isthe one I use.âNow indeed I knew whereI was standing.  In all broad Scotland there wasbut the one name proscribed, and that was the name of the Macgregors.Yet so far from fleeing this undesirable acquaintancy, I plunged thedeeper in.âI have beensitting with one who was in the same case with yourself,âsaid I, âand I think he will be one of your friends.  They called himRobin Oig.ââDid ye so?â cries she.  âYe met Rob?ââI passedthe night with him,â said I.âHe is a fowl of the night,â said she.âThere was a set of pipes there,â I went on, âso you may judge if thetime passed.ââYou should be no enemy, at allevents,â said she.  âThat was his brotherthere a moment since, with the red soldiers round him.  It is him that Icall father.ââIs it so?â cried I.  âAre you a daughter of JamesMoreâs?ââAll the daughter that he has,â says she: âthe daughter of a prisoner;that I should forget it so, even for one hour, to talk with strangers!âHere one of the gillies addressed her in whathe had of English, to knowwhat âsheâ (meaning by that himself) was to do about âta sneeshin.â  Itook some note of him for a short, bandy-legged, red-haired, big-headedman, that I was to know moreof to my cost.âThere can be none the day, Neil,â she replied.  âHow will you getâsneeshin,â wanting siller!  It will teach you another time to be morecareful; and I think James More will not be verywell pleased with Neilof the Tom.ââMiss Drummond,â I said, âI told you I was in my lucky day.  Here I am,and a bank-porter at my tail.  And remember I have had the hospitality ofyour own country ofBalwhidder.ââIt was not one of my people gave it,â said she.âAh, well,â said I, âbut I am owing your uncle at least for some springsupon the pipes.  Besides which, I have offered myself to beyour friend,and you have been so forgetful that you did not refuse me in the propertime.ââIf it had been a great sum, it might have done you honour,â said she;âbut I will tell you what this is.  JamesMore lies shackled in prison;but this time past they will be bringing him down here daily to theAdvocateâs. . . .ââThe Advocateâs!â I cried.  âIs that . . . ?ââIt is the house of the LordAdvocate Grant of Prestongrange,â said she.âThere they bring my father one time and another, for what purpose I haveno thought in my mind; but it seems there is some hope dawned for him.All this sametime they will not let me be seeing him, nor yet him write;and we wait upon the Kingâs street to catch him; and now we give him hissnuff as he goes by, and now something else.  And here is this son oftrouble, Neil,son of Duncan, has lost my four-penny piece that was tobuy that snuff, and James More must go wanting, and will think hisdaughter has forgotten him.âI took sixpence from my pocket, gave it to Neil, and bade himgo abouthis errand.  Then to her, âThat sixpence came with me by Balwhidder,âsaid I.âAh!â she said, âyou are a friend to the Gregara!ââI would not like to deceive you, either,â saidI.  âI know very littleof the Gregara and less of James More and his doings, but since the whileI have been standing in this close, I seem to know something of yourself;and if you will just say âa friend to MissCatrionaâ I will see you arethe less cheated.ââThe one cannot be without the other,â said she.âI will even try,â said I.âAnd what will you be thinking of myself!â she cried, âto beholding myhand to the first stranger!ââI am thinking nothing but that you are a good daughter,â said I.âI must not be without repaying it,â she said; âwhere is it you stop!ââTo tell thetruth, I am stopping nowhere yet,â said I, âbeing not fullthree hours in the city; but if you will give me your direction, I willbe so bold as come seeking my sixpence for myself.ââWill I can trust you forthat?â she asked.âYou need have little fear,â said I.âJames More could not bear it else,â said she.  âI stop beyond thevillage of Dean, on the north side of the water, with Mrs.Drummond-Ogilvyof Allardyce, who is my near friend and will be glad tothank you.ââYou are to see me, then, so soon as what I have to do permits,â said I;and, the remembrance of Alan rolling in again upon my mind, Imade hasteto say farewell.I could not but think, even as I did so, that we had made extraordinaryfree upon short acquaintance, and that a really wise young lady wouldhave shown herself more backward.  I think it wasthe bank-porter thatput me from this ungallant train of thought.âI thoucht ye had been a lad of some kind oâ sense,â he began, shootingout his lips.  âYeâre no likely to gang far this gate.  A fuleand hissillerâs shune parted.  Eh, but yeâre a green callant!â he cried, âanâ aveecious, tae!  Cleikinâ up wiâ baubeejoes!ââIf you dare to speak of the young lady. . . â Ibegan.âLeddy!â he cried.  âHaud us and safe us, whatten leddy?  Caâ _thon_ aleddy?  The tounâs fuâ oâ them.  Leddies!  Man, its weel seen yeâre novery acquant in Embro!âA clapof anger took me.âHere,â said I, âlead me where I told you, and keep your foul mouthshut!âHe did not wholly obey me, for, though he no more addressed me directly,he very impudent sang at me as hewent in a manner of innuendo, and withan exceedingly ill voice and earâ    âAs Mally Lee cam doun the street, her capuchin did flee,    She cuist a look ahint her to see her negligee.    And weâre aâ gauneast and wast, weâre aâ gann ajee,    Weâre aâ gaun east and wast courtinâ Mally Lee.âCHAPTER IIâTHE HIGHLAND WRITERMr. Charles Stewart the Writer dwelt at the top of the longeststair evermason set a hand to; fifteen flights of it, no less; and when I had cometo his door, and a clerk had opened it, and told me his master waswithin, I had scarce breath enough to send my porterpacking.âAwaâ east and west wiâ ye!â said I, took the money bag out of his hands,and followed the clerk in.The outer room was an office with the clerkâs chair at a table spreadwith law papers.  Inthe inner chamber, which opened from it, a littlebrisk man sat poring on a deed, from which he scarce raised his eyes onmy entrance; indeed, he still kept his finger in the place, as thoughprepared to show me out andfall again to his studies.  This pleased melittle enough; and what pleased me less, I thought the clerk was in agood posture to overhear what should pass between us.I asked if he was Mr. Charles Stewart theWriter.âThe same,â says he; âand, if the question is equally fair, who may yoube yourself?ââYou never heard tell of my name nor of me either,â said I, âbut I bringyou a token from a friendthat you know well.  That you know well,â Irepeated, lowering my voice, âbut maybe are not just so keen to hear fromat this present being.  And the bits of business that I have to proponeto you are rather in


ï»¿The Project Gutenberg EBook of Pillars of Society, by Henrik IbsenThis eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and withalmost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away orre-use it underthe terms of the Project Gutenberg License includedwith this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.netTitle: Pillars of SocietyAuthor: Henrik IbsenTranslator: R. Farquharson SharpPosting Date: February 27, 2010 [EBook#2296]Release Date: August, 2000Language: English*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PILLARS OF SOCIETY ***Produced by Martin Adamson.  HTML version by Al Haines.Pillars of SocietyA play in fouracts.byHenrik IbsenTranslated by R. Farquharson SharpDRAMATIS PERSONAE  Karsten Bernick, a shipbuilder.  Mrs. Bernick, his wife.  Olaf, their son, thirteen years old.  Martha Bernick, Karsten Bernick's sister.  JohanTonnesen, Mrs. Bernick's younger brother.  Lona Hessel, Mrs. Bernick's elder half-sister.  Hilmar Tonnesen, Mrs. Bernick's cousin.  Dina Dorf, a young girl living with the Bernicks.  Rorlund, a schoolmaster.  Rummel, amerchant.  Vigeland and Sandstad, tradesman  Krap, Bernick's confidential clerk.  Aune, foreman of Bernick's shipbuilding yard.  Mrs. Rummel.  Hilda Rummel, her daughter.  Mrs. Holt.  Netta Holt, her daughter.  Mrs.Lynge.Townsfolk and visitors, foreign sailors, steamboat passengers, etc.,etc.(The action takes place at the Bernicks' house in one of the smallercoast towns in Norway)ACT I.(SCENE.--A spacious garden-room in theBERNICKS' house. In theforeground on the left is a door leading to BERNICK'S business room;farther back in the same wall, a similar door. In the middle of theopposite wall is a large entrance-door, which leads to thestreet. Thewall in the background is almost wholly composed of plate-glass; a doorin it opens upon a broad flight of steps which lead down to the garden;a sun-awning is stretched over the steps. Below the steps a partof thegarden is visible, bordered by a fence with a small gate in it. On theother side of the fence runs a street, the opposite side of which isoccupied by small wooden houses painted in bright colours. It issummer, andthe sun is shining warmly. People are seen, every now andthen, passing along the street and stopping to talk to one another;others going in and out of a shop at the corner, etc.In the room a gathering of ladies isseated round a table. MRS. BERNICKis presiding; on her left side are MRS. HOLT and her daughter NETTA,and next to them MRS. RUMMEL and HILDA RUMMEL. On MRS. BERNICK'S rightare MRS. LYNGE, MARTHABERNICK and DINA DORF. All the ladies are busyworking. On the table lie great piles of linen garments and otherarticles of clothing, some half finished, and some merely cut out.Farther back, at a small table on whichtwo pots of flowers and a glassof sugared water are standing, RORLUND is sitting, reading aloud from abook with gilt edges, but only loud enough for the spectators to catcha word now and then. Out in the garden OLAFBERNICK is running aboutand shooting at a target with a toy crossbow.After a moment AUNE comes in quietly through the door on the right.There is a slight interruption in the reading. MRS. BERNICK nods to himandpoints to the door on the left. AUNE goes quietly across, knockssoftly at the door of BERNICK'S room, and after a moment's pause,knocks again. KRAP comes out of the room, with his hat in his hand andsome papersunder his arm.)Krap: Oh, it was you knocking?Aune: Mr. Bernick sent for me.Krap: He did--but he cannot see you. He has deputed me to tell you--Aune: Deputed you? All the same, I would much rather--Krap:--deputed me to tell you what he wanted to say to you. You mustgive up these Saturday lectures of yours to the men.Aune: Indeed? I supposed I might use my own time--Krap: You must not use your own time inmaking the men useless inworking hours. Last Saturday you were talking to them of the harm thatwould be done to the workmen by our new machines and the new workingmethods at the yard. What makes you dothat?Aune: I do it for the good of the community.Krap: That's curious, because Mr. Bernick says it is disorganising thecommunity.Aune: My community is not Mr. Bernick's, Mr. Krap! As President of theIndustrialAssociation, I must--Krap: You are, first and foremost, President of Mr. Bernick'sshipbuilding yard; and, before everything else, you have to do yourduty to the community known as the firm of Bernick & Co.; that iswhatevery one of us lives for. Well, now you know what Mr. Bernick had tosay to you.Aune: Mr. Bernick would not have put it that way, Mr. Krap! But I knowwell enough whom I have to thank for this. It is that damnedAmericanboat. Those fellows expect to get work done here the way they areaccustomed to it over there, and that--Krap: Yes, yes, but I can't go into all these details. You know nowwhat Mr. Bernick means, and that issufficient. Be so good as to goback to the yard; probably you are needed there. I shall be down myselfin a little while. --Excuse me, ladies! (Bows to the ladies and goesout through the garden and down the street.AUNE goes quietly out tothe right. RORLUND, who has continued his reading during the foregoingconversation, which has been carried on in low tones, has now come tothe end of the book, and shuts it with abang.)Rorlund: There, my dear ladies, that is the end of it.Mrs. Rummel: What an instructive tale!Mrs. Holt: And such a good moral!Mrs. Bernick: A book like that really gives one something to thinkabout.Rorlund: Quiteso; it presents a salutary contrast to what,unfortunately, meets our eyes every day in the newspapers andmagazines. Look at the gilded and painted exterior displayed by anylarge community, and think what it reallyconceals!--emptiness androttenness, if I may say so; no foundation of morality beneath it. In aword, these large communities of ours now-a-days are whited sepulchres.Mrs. Holt: How true! How true!Mrs. Rummel: Andfor an example of it, we need look no farther than atthe crew of the American ship that is lying here just now.Rorlund: Oh, I would rather not speak of such offscourings of humanityas that. But even in highercircles--what is the case there? A spiritof doubt and unrest on all sides; minds never at peace, and instabilitycharacterising all their behaviour. Look how completely family life isundermined over there! Look at theirshameless love of casting doubt oneven the most serious truths!Dina (without looking up from her work): But are there not many bigthings done there too?Rorlund: Big things done--? I do not understand--.Mrs. Holt (inamazement): Good gracious, Dina--!Mrs. Rummel (in the same breath): Dina, how can you--?Rorlund: I think it would scarcely be a good thing for us if such "bigthings" became the rule here. No, indeed, we ought tobe only toothankful that things are as they are in this country. It is true enoughthat tares grow up amongst our wheat here too, alas; but we do our bestconscientiously to weed them out as well as we are able. Theimportantthing is to keep society pure, ladies--to ward off all the hazardousexperiments that a restless age seeks to force upon us.Mrs. Holt: And there are more than enough of them in the wind,unhappily.Mrs.Rummel: Yes, you know last year we only by a hair's breadthescaped the project of having a railway here.Mrs. Bernick: Ah, my husband prevented that.Rorlund: Providence, Mrs. Bernick. You may be certain that yourhusbandwas the instrument of a higher Power when he refused to have anythingto do with the scheme.Mrs. Bernick: And yet they said such horrible things about him in thenewspapers! But we have quite forgotten tothank you, Mr. Rorlund. Itis really more than friendly of you to sacrifice so much of your timeto us.Rorlund: Not at all. This is holiday time, and--Mrs. Bernick: Yes, but it is a sacrifice all the same, Mr. Rorlund.Rorlund(drawing his chair nearer): Don't speak of it, my dear lady.Are you not all of you making some sacrifice in a good cause?--and thatwillingly and gladly? These poor fallen creatures for whose rescue weare working maybe compared to soldiers wounded on the field of battle;you, ladies, are the kind-hearted sisters of mercy who prepare the lintfor these stricken ones, lay the bandages softly on their wounds, healthem and curethem.Mrs. Bernick: It must be a wonderful gift to be able to see everythingin such a beautiful light.Rorlund: A good deal of it is inborn in one--but it can be to a greatextent acquired, too. All that is needful is to seethings in the lightof a serious mission in life. (To MARTHA:) What do you say, MissBernick? Have you not felt as if you were standing on firmer groundsince you gave yourself up to your school work?Martha: I really donot know what to say. There are times, when I am inthe schoolroom down there, that I wish I were far away out on thestormy seas.Rorlund: That is merely temptation, dear Miss Bernick. You ought toshut the doors ofyour mind upon such disturbing guests as that. By the"stormy seas"--for of course you do not intend me to take your wordsliterally--you mean the restless tide of the great outer world, whereso many are shipwrecked.Do you really set such store on the life youhear rushing by outside? Only look out into the street. There they go,walking about in the heat of the sun, perspiring and tumbling aboutover their little affairs. No, weundoubtedly have the best of it, whoare able to sit here in the cool and turn our backs on the quarter fromwhich disturbance comes.Martha: Yes, I have no doubt you are perfectly right.Rorlund: And in a house like this,in a good and pure home, wherefamily life shows in its fairest colours--where peace and harmonyrule-- (To MRS. BERNICK:) What are you listening to, Mrs. Bernick?Mrs. Bernick (who has turned towards the door ofBERNICK'S room): Theyare talking very loud in there.Rorlund: Is there anything particular going on?Mrs. Bernick: I don't know. I can hear that there is somebody with myhusband.(HILMAR TONNESEN, smoking a cigar,appears in the doorway on the right,but stops short at the sight of the company of ladies.)Hilmar: Oh, excuse me-- (Turns to go back.)Mrs. Bernick: No, Hilmar, come along in; you are not disturbing us. Doyou wantsomething?Hilmar: No, I only wanted to look in here--Good morning, ladies. (ToMRS. BERNICK:) Well, what is the result?Mrs. Bernick: Of what?Hilmar: Karsten has summoned a meeting, you know.Mrs. Bernick: Hashe? What about?Hilmar:  Oh, it is this railway nonsense over again.Mrs. Rummel: Is it possible?Mrs. Bernick: Poor Karsten, is he to have more annoyance over that?Rorlund:  But how do you explain that, Mr. Tonnesen?You know that lastyear Mr. Bernick made it perfectly clear that he would not have arailway here.Hilmar: Yes, that is what I thought, too; but I met Krap, hisconfidential clerk, and he told me that the railway project hadbeentaken up again, and that Mr. Bernick was in consultation with three ofour local capitalists.Mrs. Rummel: Ah, I was right in thinking I heard my husband's voice.Hilmar:  Of course Mr. Rummel is in it, and so areSandstad and MichaelVigeland, "Saint Michael", as they call him.Rorlund:  Ahem!Hilmar: I beg your pardon, Mr. Rorlund?Mrs. Bernick: Just when everything was so nice and peaceful.Hilmar: Well, as far as I amconcerned, I have not the slightestobjection to their beginning their squabbling again. It will be alittle diversion, any way.Rorlund: I think we can dispense with that sort of diversion.Hilmar: It depends how you areconstituted. Certain natures feel thelust of battle now and then. But unfortunately life in a country towndoes not offer much in that way, and it isn't given to every one to(turns the leaves of the book RORLUND has beenreading). "Woman as theHandmaid of Society." What sort of drivel is this?Mrs. Bernick: My dear Hilmar, you must not say that. You certainly havenot read the book.Hilmar: No, and I have no intention of reading it,either.Mrs. Bernick: Surely you are not feeling quite well today.Hilmar: No, I am not.Mrs. Bernick:  Perhaps you did not sleep well last night?Hilmar: No, I slept very badly. I went for a walk yesterday evening formyhealth's sake; and I finished up at the club and read a book about aPolar expedition. There is something bracing in following theadventures of men who are battling with the elements.Mrs. Rummel:  But it does notappear to have done you much good, Mr.Tonnesen.Hilmar:  No, it certainly did not. I lay all night tossing about, onlyhalf asleep, and dreamt that I was being chased by a hideous walrus.Olaf (who meanwhile has comeup the steps from the garden): Have youbeen chased by a walrus, uncle?Hilmar: I dreamt it, you duffer! Do you mean to say you are stillplaying about with that ridiculous bow? Why don't you get hold of areal gun?Olaf:I should like to, but--Hilmar:  There is some sense in a thing like that; it is always anexcitement every time you fire it off.Olaf: And then I could shoot bears, uncle. But daddy won't let me.Mrs. Bernick:  You reallymustn't put such ideas into his head, Hilmar.Hilmar:  Hm! It's a nice breed we are educating up now-a-days, isn'tit! We talk a great deal about manly sports, goodness knows--but weonly play with the question, all thesame; there is never any seriousinclination for the bracing discipline that lies in facing dangermanfully. Don't stand pointing your crossbow at me, blockhead--it mightgo off!Olaf:  No, uncle, there is no arrow init.Hilmar:  You don't know that there isn't--there may be, all the same.Take it away, I tell you!--Why on earth have you never gone over toAmerica on one of your father's ships? You might have seen a buffalohunt then,or a fight with Red Indians.Mrs. Bernick:  Oh, Hilmar--!Olaf: I should like that awfully, uncle; and then perhaps I might meetUncle Johan and Aunt Lona.Hilmar: Hm!--Rubbish.Mrs. Bernick: You can go down into thegarden again now, Olaf.Olaf: Mother, may I go out into the street too?Mrs. Bernick: Yes, but not too far, mind.(OLAF runs down into the garden and out through the gate in the fence.)Rorlund: You ought not to put suchfancies into the child's head, Mr.Tonnesen.Hilmar:  No, of course he is destined to be a miserable stay-at-home,like so many others.Rorlund:  But why do you not take a trip over there yourself?Hilmar: I? With mywretched health? Of course I get no consideration onthat account. But putting that out of the question, you forget that onehas certain obligations to perform towards the community of which oneforms a part. Theremust be some one here to hold aloft the banner ofthe Ideal.--Ugh, there he is shouting again!The Ladies: Who is shouting?Hilmar: I am sure I don't know. They are raising their voices so loudin there that it gets on mynerves.Mrs. Bernick: I expect it is my husband, Mr. Tonnesen. But you mustremember he is so accustomed to addressing large audiences.Rorlund: I should not call the others low-voiced, either.Hilmar:  Good Lord,no!--not on any question that touches theirpockets. Everything here ends in these petty material considerations.Ugh!Mrs. Bernick: Anyway, that is a better state of things than it used tobe when everything ended inmere frivolity.Mrs. Lynge: Things really used to be as bad as that here?Mrs. Rummel: Indeed they were, Mrs. Lynge. You may think yourself luckythat you did not live here then.Mrs. Holt:  Yes, times have changed, andno mistake, when I look backto the days when I was a girl.Mrs. Rummel: Oh, you need not look back more than fourteen or fifteenyears. God forgive us, what a life we led! There used to be a DancingSociety and aMusical Society--Mrs. Bernick:  And the Dramatic Club. I remember it very well.Mrs. Rummel: Yes, that was where your play was performed, Mr. Tonnesen.Hilmar (from the back of the room): What, what?Rorlund: Aplay by Mr. Tonnesen?Mrs. Rummel: Yes, it was long before you came here, Mr. Rorlund. And itwas only performed once.Mrs. Lynge: Was that not the play in which you told me you took thepart of a young man'ssweetheart, Mrs. Rummel?Mrs. Rummel (glancing towards RORLUND): I? I really cannot remember,Mrs. Lynge. But I remember well all the riotous gaiety that used to goon.Mrs. Holt: Yes, there were houses I couldname in which two largedinner-parties were given in one week.Mrs. Lynge: And surely I have heard that a touring theatrical companycame here, too?Mrs. Rummel: Yes, that was the worst thing of the lot.Mrs. Holt(uneasily):  Ahem!Mrs. Rummel: Did you say a theatrical company? No, I don't rememberthat at all.Mrs. Lynge: Oh yes, and I have been told they played all sorts of madpranks. What is really the truth of thosestories?Mrs. Rummel: There is practically no truth in them, Mrs. Lynge.Mrs. Holt: Dina, my love, will you give me that linen?Mrs. Bernick (at the same time): Dina, dear, will you go and askKatrine to bring us ourcoffee?Martha: I will go with you, Dina. (DINA and MARTHA go out by thefarther door on, the left.)Mrs. Bernick (getting up): Will you excuse me for a few minutes? Ithink we will have our coffee outside. (She goes outto the verandahand sets to work to lay a table. RORLUND stands in the doorway talkingto her. HILMAR sits outside, smoking.)Mrs. Rummel (in a low voice): My goodness, Mrs. Lynge, how youfrightened me!Mrs. Lynge:I?Mrs. Holt: Yes, but you know it was you that began it, Mrs. Rummel.Mrs. Rummel: I? How can you say such a thing, Mrs. Holt? Not a syllablepassed my lips!Mrs. Lynge: But what does it all mean?Mrs. Rummel:  Whatmade you begin to talk about--? Think--did you notsee that Dina was in the room?Mrs. Lynge:  Dina? Good gracious, is there anything wrong with--?Mrs. Holt: And in this house, too! Did you not know it wasMrs.Bernick's brother--?Mrs. Lynge: What about him? I know nothing about it at all; I am quitenew to the place, you know.Mrs. Rummel: Have you not heard that--? Ahem! (To her daughter) Hilda,dear, you can go fora little stroll in the garden?Mrs. Holt: You go too, Netta. And be very kind to poor Dina when shecomes back. (HILDA and NETTA go out into the garden.)Mrs. Lynge: Well, what about Mrs. Bernick's brother?Mrs.Rummel: Don't you know the dreadful scandal about him?Mrs. Lynge: A dreadful scandal about Mr. Tonnesen?Mrs. Rummel: Good Heavens, no. Mr. Tonnesen is her cousin, of course,Mrs. Lynge. I am speaking of herbrother--Mrs. Holt: The wicked Mr. Tonnesen--Mrs. Rummel: His name was Johan. He ran away to America.Mrs. Holt: Had to run away, you must understand.Mrs. Lynge: Then it is he the scandal is about?Mrs. Rummel:Yes; there was something--how shall I put it?--there wassomething of some kind between him and Dina's mother. I remember it allas if it were yesterday. Johan Tonnesen was in old Mrs. Bernick'soffice then; KarstenBernick had just come back from Paris--he had notyet become engaged--Mrs. Lynge:  Yes, but what was the scandal?Mrs. Rummel: Well, you must know that Moller's company were acting inthe town that winter--Mrs.Holt: And Dorf, the actor, and his wife were in the company. Allthe young men in the town were infatuated with her.Mrs. Rummel: Yes, goodness knows how they could think her pretty. Well,Dorf came home late oneevening--Mrs. Holt: Quite unexpectedly.Mrs. Rummel: And found his-- No, really it isn't a thing one can talkabout.Mrs. Holt: After all, Mrs. Rummel, he didn't find anything, because thedoor was locked on the inside.Mrs.Rummel: Yes, that is just what I was going to say--he found thedoor locked. And--just think of it--the man that was in the house hadto jump out of the window.Mrs. Holt: Right down from an attic window.Mrs. Lynge:And that was Mrs. Bernick's brother?Mrs. Rummel: Yes, it was he.Mrs. Lynge: And that was why he ran away to America?Mrs. Holt: Yes, he had to run away, you may be sure.Mrs. Rummel: Because something wasdiscovered afterwards that wasnearly as bad; just think--he had been making free with the cash-box...Mrs. Holt:  But, you know, no one was certain of that, Mrs. Rummel;perhaps there was no truth in the rumour.Mrs.Rummel: Well, I must say--! Wasn't it known all over the town? Didnot old Mrs. Bernick nearly go bankrupt as the result of it?  However,God forbid I should be the one to spread such reports.Mrs. Holt:  Well, anyway,Mrs. Dorf didn't get the money, because she--Mrs. Lynge:  Yes, what happened to Dina's parents afterwards?Mrs. Rummel:  Well, Dorf deserted both his wife and his child. Butmadam was impudent enough to stay herea whole year. Of course she hadnot the face to appear at the theatre any more, but she kept herself bytaking in washing and sewing--Mrs. Holt: And then she tried to set up a dancing school.Mrs. Rummel: Naturallythat was no good. What parents would trust theirchildren to such a woman? But it did not last very long. The fine madamwas not accustomed to work; she got something wrong with her lungs anddied of it.Mrs. Lynge:What a horrible scandal!Mrs. Rummel:  Yes, you can imagine how hard it was upon the Bernicks.It is the dark spot among the sunshine of their good fortune, as Rummelonce put it. So never speak about it in this