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                                                  UP                                             Writtenby                             Pete Docter, Bob Peterson & Thomas McCarthy                                                                                1.                    A 1930'sNEWSREEL.                                        NEWSREEL ANNOUNCER (V.O.)                    "Movietown News" presents...                    Spotlight on Adventure!          The mysterious SOUTH AMERICANJUNGLE. A massive waterfall          cascades down a gigantic, flat-topped mountain.                                        NEWSREEL ANNOUNCER (V.O.)                    What you are now witnessingis                    footage never before seen by                    civilized humanity: a lost world in                    South America! Lurking in the                    shadow of majestic Paradise Falls,                    it sports plants andanimals                    undiscovered by science. Who would                    dare set foot on this inhospitable                    summit?                    A painted portrait of a dashing youngadventurer.                                        NEWSREEL ANNOUNCER (V.O.)                    Why, our subject today: Charles                    Muntz!          A massive DIRIGIBLE descends on anairfield.                                        NEWSREEL ANNOUNCER (V.O.)                    The beloved explorer lands his                    dirigible, the "Spirit of                    Adventure," in New Hampshirethis                    week, completing a year long                    expedition to the lost world!                              INT. MOVIE THEATRE - CONTINUOUS          Of everyone watching in themodest, small town theater, no          one is more enthralled than 8 year old CARL FREDRICKSEN.                                        NEWSREEL ANNOUNCER (O.S.)                    This lighter-than-air craftwas                    designed by Muntz himself, and is                    longer than 22 Prohibition paddy-                    wagons placed end to end.          Young Carl stares, mouth agape, wearing leather flighthelmet          and goggles -- just like his idol on the silver screen.                                        NEWSREEL ANNOUNCER (V.O.)                    And here comes the adventurernow!                                                                               2.                              NEWSREEL FOOTAGE: the dashing Muntz descends down the          gangplank to the delight ofthe crowd. His dogs trail him.                                        NEWSREEL ANNOUNCER (V.O.)                    Never apart from his faithful dogs,                    Muntz conceived the craftfor                    canine comfort! It's a veritable                    floating palace in the sky...                    An opulent dining room.                              NEWSREEL ANNOUNCER(V.O.)                    ...complete with doggie bath and                    mechanical canine walker.                    One dog runs suffers through mechanized bath time, while a          second wears an electrodehelmet and runs on a treadmill.                              NEWSREEL ANNOUNCER (V.O.)                    And Jiminy Cricket, do the locals                    consider Muntz the bee's knees!                    Andhow!                    Cameras flash as Muntz stands heroic, striking his signature          "thumbs up" stance.                              MUNTZ                    "Adventure is out there!"          In the theater,Young Carl returns the thumbs up.                               NEWSREEL ANNOUNCER (V.O.)                    But what has Muntz brought back                    this time?                    Muntz speaks to acrowded auditorium, on stage beside a          curtained object.                              MUNTZ                    Gentlemen, I give you: the Monster                    of Paradise Falls!          He pulls away the drape toreveal a GIANT BIRD SKELETON.                                        CROWD                    Ooh!          Young Carl leans forward, eyes bulging.                                        NEWSREELANNOUNCER (V.O.)                    And golly, what a swell monster                    this is. But what's this?          Skeptical scientists analyze thebones.                                                                                3.                                                  NEWSREEL ANNOUNCER (V.O.)                    Scientists cry foul! TheNational                    Explorers Society accuses Muntz of                    fabricating the skeleton!                                           YOUNG CARL                    No!                    Muntz's portrait isremoved from a wall of paintings of other          famous explorers.                              NEWSREEL ANNOUNCER (V.O.)                    The organization strips Muntz of                    hismembership.                    Muntz's "Explorer's Society" badge is ceremoniously RIPPED          from his jacket.          Carl GASPS.                    Muntz stands next to his dirigible at an airfield.       Hegrimly          addresses the crowd.                                        NEWSREEL ANNOUNCER (V.O.)                    Humiliated, Muntz vows a return to                    Paradise Falls and promisesto                    capture the beast... alive!                                        MUNTZ                    I promise to capture the beast...                    alive!                    In the theater, young Carlsmiles.                              MUNTZ                    And I will not come back until I do!          The crowd CHEERS.                    Muntz gives his thumbs up from the cockpit as the dirigible          liftsoff.                                 NEWSREEL ANNOUNCER (V.O.)                    And so the    explorer is off to clear                    his name.     Bon voyage Charles                    Muntz, and    good luck capturingthe                    Monster of    Paradise Falls!          Carl looks like he just witnessed a miracle.                                                                       DISSOLVETO:                                                                              4.                                        EXT. SMALL TOWN NEIGHBORHOOD, 1930'S - DAY -CONTINUOUS                    Young Carl "flies" his blue balloon ("The Spirit of          Adventure" hand-written on it) as he runs along the sidewalk.          He still wears helmet and goggles.          TITLECARD: WALT DISNEY PICTURES PRESENTS                                        NEWSREEL ANNOUNCER (V.O.)                    Here's Charles Muntz piloting his                    famousdirigible!!                    TITLE CARD: A PIXAR ANIMATION STUDIOS FILM                              NEWSREEL ANNOUNCER (V.O.)                    He hurdles Pike'sPeak!                    Carl jumps over a small rock.                              NEWSREEL ANNOUNCER (V.O.)                    He hurdles the Grand Canyon!                    Carl jumps over a crack inthe sidewalk.                              NEWSREEL ANNOUNCER (V.O.)                    He hurdles Mount Everest!                    Carl jumps over a tree stump... and smacks into itinstead.                              NEWSREEL ANNOUNCER (V.O.)                    He... goes around Mount Everest!                    Is there nothing he cannot do?                    TITLECARD:   UP                                        NEWSREEL ANNOUNCER (V.O.)                    Yes, as Muntz himself says:                    "Adventure is--"                                        GIRL'SVOICE (O.S.)                    "Adventure is out there!"          Carl stops.   Who said that?                    The voice comes from a dilapidated HOUSE, windows boarded up          and lawn overgrown withweeds.          The weather vane atop the house turns, pulled by ropes.                                        GIRL'S VOICE (O.S.)                    Look out! Mount Rushmore! Hard to                    starboard. Mustget the Spirit of                    Adventure over Mount Rushmore...                                                                                5.                              Carl walks toward thevoice.                                        GIRL'S VOICE (O.S.)                    Hold together old girl. How're my                    dogs doing? Ruff ruff!                    INT. DILAPIDATED HOUSE,HALLWAY - CONTINUOUS                    Carl squeezes through the broken door into the foyer.   He          follows the voice toward the living room.                                        GIRL'S VOICE(O.S.)                    All engines ahead full! Let's take                    her up to 26,000 feet! Rudders                    eighteen degrees towards the south.                    INT. DILAPIDATED HOUSE, LIVINGROOM - CONTINUOUS                    Carl rounds the corner to see...                    ELLIE, an eight year old girl, her mussy red hair barely          visible beneath her flight helmet and goggles.Bare footed,          her overalls are patched and dirty.          The old house has been transformed into a make-believe          dirigible cockpit. Ellie steers, the wheel made from a rusty          oldbicycle.                                        YOUNG ELLIE                    It's a beautiful day, winds out of                    the east at ten knots.                    Visibility... unlimited.                        (yells acommand)                    Enter the weather in the logbook!          The navigator (her hamster) skitters in its cage.                    Ellie uses two tied-together Coke bottles asbinoculars.                                        YOUNG ELLIE                    Oh! There's something down there!                    I will bring it back for science.                    Awwww, it's apuppy!                    Carl is distracted by the Muntz newspaper clippings taped to          the wall.                                         YOUNG ELLIE (O.S.)                    No time!   A storm!Lightning! Hail!          Ellie pops up in front of Carl.                                                                              6.                                                  YOUNGELLIE                    What are you doing!?!                    Carl screams. He lets go of his balloon. It floats through          a broken part of the ceiling and disappears.          Ellie circles Carlaccusingly.                                        YOUNG ELLIE                    Don't you know this is an exclusive                    club? Only explorers get in here.                    Not just any kid off thestreet                    with a helmet and a pair of                    goggles. Do you think you got what                    it takes? Well, do you?!?                    Carl FUMPHERS.                              YOUNG


ï»¿The Project Gutenberg EBook of Quality Street, by J. M. BarrieThis 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 under theterms of the Project Gutenberg License includedwith this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.netTitle: Quality Street       A ComedyAuthor: J. M. BarrieRelease Date: February 12, 2010 [EBook #31266]Language:English*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK QUALITY STREET ***Produced by Al HainesTHE PLAYS OF J. M. BARRIEQUALITY STREETA COMEDYCHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONSNEW YORK :::::::::1923COPYRIGHT, 1918, BYJ. M. BARRIEPrinted in the United States of America_All rights reserved under the International Copyright Act.Performance forbidden and right of representation reserved.Application for theright of performing this play must be made toCharles Frohman, Inc., Empire Theatre, New York.__THE WORKS OF J. M. BARRIE.__NOVELS, STORIES, AND SKETCHES.__Uniform Edition._  AULD LIGHT IDYLLS, BETTERDEAD.  WHEN A MAN'S SINGLE.  A WINDOW IN THRUMS, AN EDINBURGH ELEVEN.  THE LITTLE MINISTER.  SENTIMENTAL TOMMY.  MY LADY NICOTINE, MARGARET OGILVY.  TOMMY AND GRIZEL.  THE LITTLE WHITEBIRD.  PETER AND WENDY.  _Also_  HALF HOURS, DER TAG.  ECHOES OF THE WAR._PLAYS.__Uniform Edition._  DEAR BRUTUS  A KISS FOR CINDERELLA  ALICE SIT-BY-THE-FIRE.  WHAT EVERY WOMANKNOWS.  QUALITY STREET.  THE ADMIRABLE CRICHTON.  ECHOES OF THE WAR.  _Containing_: The Old Lady Shows Her Medals--The New  Word--Barbara's Wedding--A Well-Remembered Voice.  HALFHOURS.  _Containing_: Pantaloon--The Twelve-Pound  Look--Rosalind--The Will._Others in Preparation.__INDIVIDUAL EDITIONS._PETER PAN IN KENSINGTON GARDENS.  Illustrated by ARTHUR RACKHAM.PETER ANDWENDY.  Illustrated by F. D. BEDFORD.PETER PAN AND WENDY.  Illustrated by MISS ATTWELL.TOMMY AND GRIZEL.  Illustrated by BERNARD PARTRIDGE.MARGARET OGILVY.*** For particulars concerning _The ThistleEdition_ of the Works of J.M. BARRIE, sold only by subscription, send for circular.NEW YORK: CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONSACT ITHE BLUE AND WHITE ROOM_The scene is the blue and white room in the house of theMisses Susanand Phoebe Throssel in Quality Street; and in this little country townthere is a satisfaction about living in Quality Street which evenreligion cannot give.  Through the bowed window at the back we haveaglimpse of the street.  It is pleasantly broad and grass-grown, and islinked to the outer world by one demure shop, whose door rings a bellevery time it opens and shuts.  Thus by merely peeping, every one inQualityStreet can know at once who has been buying a Whimsy cake, andusually why.  This bell is the most familiar sound of Quality Street.Now and again ladies pass in their pattens, a maid perhaps protectingthem with anumbrella, for flakes of snow are falling discreetly.Gentlemen in the street are an event; but, see, just as we raise thecurtain, there goes the recruiting sergeant to remind us that we are inthe period of the Napoleonicwars.  If he were to look in at the windowof the blue and white room all the ladies there assembled would drawthemselves up; they know him for a rude fellow who smiles at theapproach of maiden ladies and continuesto smile after they havepassed.  However, he lowers his head to-day so that they shall not seehim, his present design being converse with the Misses Throssel's maid.__The room is one seldom profaned by the foot ofman, and everything init is white or blue.  Miss Phoebe is not present, but here are MissSusan, Miss Willoughby and her sister Miss Fanny, and Miss HenriettaTurnbull.  Miss Susan and Miss Willoughby, alas, alreadywear caps; butall the four are dear ladies, so refined that we ought not to bediscussing them without a more formal introduction.  There seems nosufficient reason why we should choose Miss Phoebe as ourheroinerather than any one of the others, except, perhaps, that we like hername best.  But we gave her the name, so we must support our choice andsay that she is slightly the nicest, unless, indeed, Miss Susanisnicer.__Miss Fanny is reading aloud from a library book while the others sewor knit.  They are making garments for our brave soldiers now far awayfighting the Corsican Ogre._MISS FANNY.  '... And so the day passedand evening came, black,mysterious, and ghost-like.  The wind moaned unceasingly like ashivering spirit, and the vegetation rustled uneasily as if somethingweird and terrifying were about to happen.  Suddenly out ofthedarkness there emerged a _Man_.(_She says the last word tremulously but without looking up.  Thelisteners knit more quickly._)The unhappy Camilla was standing lost in reverie when, without pausingto advertiseher of his intentions, he took both her hands in his.(_By this time the knitting has stopped, and all are listening as ifmesmerised._)Slowly he gathered her in his arms----(MISS SUSAN _gives an excited little cry._)MISSFANNY.  And rained hot, burning----'MISS WILLOUGHBY.  Sister!MISS FANNY (_greedily_).  'On eyes, mouth----'MISS WILLOUGHBY (_sternly_).  Stop.  Miss Susan, I am indeed surprisedyou should bring such anamazing, indelicate tale from the library.MISS SUSAN (_with a slight shudder_).  I deeply regret, MissWilloughby----  (_Sees_ MISS FANNY _reading quickly to herself._)  Oh,Fanny!  If you please, my dear.(_Takes thebook gently from her._)MISS WILLOUGHBY.  I thank you.(_She knits severely._)MISS FANNY (_a little rebel_).  Miss Susan is looking at the end.(MISS SUSAN _closes the book guiltily._)MISS SUSAN(_apologetically_).  Forgive my partiality for romance,Mary.  I fear 'tis the mark of an old maid.MISS WILLOUGHBY.  Susan, that word!MISS SUSAN (_sweetly_).  'Tis what I am.  And you also, Mary, my dear.MISSFANNY (_defending her sister_).  Miss Susan, I protest.MISS WILLOUGHBY (_sternly truthful_).  Nay, sister, 'tis true.  We areknown everywhere now, Susan, you and I, as the old maids of QualityStreet.  (_Generaldiscomfort._)MISS SUSAN.  I am happy Phoebe will not be an old maid.MISS HENRIETTA (_wistfully_).  Do you refer, Miss Susan, to V. B.?(MISS SUSAN _smiles happily to herself._)MISS SUSAN.  Miss Phoebe of theringlets as he has called her.MISS FANNY.  Other females besides Miss Phoebe have ringlets.MISS SUSAN.  But you and Miss Henrietta have to employ papers, my dear.(_Proudly_) Phoebe, never.MISS WILLOUGHBY(_in defence of_ FANNY).  I do not approve of MissPhoebe at all.MISS SUSAN (_flushing_).  Mary, had Phoebe been dying you would havecalled her an angel, but that is ever the way.  'Tis all jealousy tothe bride andgood wishes to the corpse.  (_Her guests rise, hurt._)My love, I beg your pardon.MISS WILLOUGHBY.  With your permission, Miss Susan, I shall put on mypattens.(MISS SUSAN _gives permission almost haughtily, andthe ladies retireto the bedroom,_ MISS FANNY _remaining behind a moment to ask aquestion._)MISS FANNY.  A bride?  Miss Susan, do you mean that V. B. has declared?MISS SUSAN.  Fanny, I expect it hourly.(MISSSUSAN, _left alone, is agitated by the terrible scene with_ MISSWILLOUGHBY.)(_Enter_ PHOEBE _in her bonnet, and we see at once that she really isthe nicest.  She is so flushed with delightful news that shealmostforgets to take off her pattens before crossing the blue and whiteroom._)MISS SUSAN.  You seem strangely excited, Phoebe.PHOEBE.  Susan, I have met a certain individual.MISS SUSAN.  V. B.?  (PHOEBE _nodsseveral times, and her gleaming eyestell_ MISS SUSAN _as much as if they were a romance from the library._)My dear, you are trembling.PHOEBE (_bravely_).  No--oh no.MISS SUSAN.  You put your hand to yourheart.PHOEBE.  Did I?MISS SUSAN (_in a whisper_).  My love, has he offered?PHOEBE (_appalled_).  Oh, Susan.(_Enter_ MISS WILLOUGHBY, _partly cloaked._)MISS WILLOUGHBY.  How do you do, MissPhoebe.  (_Portentously_)  Susan,I have no wish to alarm you, but I am of opinion that there is a man inthe house.  I suddenly felt it while putting on my pattens.MISS SUSAN.  You mean--a follower--in thekitchen?  (_She courageouslyrings the bell, but her voice falters._)  I am just a little afraid ofPatty.(_Enter_ PATTY, _a buxom young woman, who loves her mistresses andsmiles at them, and knows how to terrorisethem._)Patty, I hope we may not hurt your feelings, but--PATTY (_sternly_).  Are you implicating, ma'am, that I have a follower?MISS SUSAN.  Oh no, Patty.PATTY.  So be it.MISS SUSAN (_ashamed_).  Patty, comeback, (_Humbly_)  I told afalsehood just now; I am ashamed of myself.PATTY (_severely_).  As well you might be, ma'am.PHOEBE (_so roused that she would look heroic if she did not spoil theeffect by wagging herfinger at_ PATTY).  How dare you.  There is a manin the kitchen.  To the door with him.PATTY.  A glorious soldier to be so treated!PHOEBE.  The door.PATTY.  And if he refuses?(_They looked perplexed._)MISSSUSAN.  Oh dear!PHOEBE.  If he refuses send him here to me.(_Exit PATTY._)MISS SUSAN.  Lion-hearted Phoebe.MISS WILLOUGHBY.  A soldier?  (_Nervously_) I wish it may not be thatimpertinent recruitingsergeant.  I passed him in the street to-day.He closed one of his eyes at me and then quickly opened it.  I knewwhat he meant.PHOEBE.  He does not come.MISS SUSAN.  I think I hear their voices in dispute.(_She islistening through the floor.  They all stoop or go on theirknees to listen, and when they are in this position the_ RECRUITINGSERGEANT _enters unobserved.  He chuckles aloud.  In a moment_ PHOEBE_is alone withhim._)SERGEANT (_with an Irish accent_).  Your servant, ma'am.PHOEBE (_advancing sternly on him_).  Sir-- (_She is perplexed, as heseems undismayed._) Sergeant--  (_She sees mud from his boots onthecarpet._)  Oh! oh!  (_Brushes carpet._) Sergeant, I am wishful to scoldyou, but would you be so obliging as to stand on this paper while I doit?SERGEANT.  With all the pleasure in life, ma'am.PHOEBE (_forgetting tobe angry_).  Sergeant, have you killed people?SERGEANT.  Dozens, ma'am, dozens.PHOEBE.  How terrible.  Oh, sir, I pray every night that the Lord inHis loving-kindness will root the enemy up.  Is it true thattheCorsican Ogre eats babies?SERGEANT.  I have spoken with them as have seen him do it, ma'am.PHOEBE.  The Man of Sin.  Have you ever seen a vivandiere, sir?(_Wistfully_)  I have sometimes wished there werevivandieres in theBritish Army.  (_For a moment she sees herself as one._)  Oh, Sergeant,a shudder goes through me when I see you in the streets enticing thosepoor young men.SERGEANT.  If you were one of them,ma'am, and death or glory was thecall, you would take the shilling, ma'am.PHOEBE.  Oh, not for that.SERGEANT.  For King and Country, ma'am?PHOEBE (_grandly_).  Yes, yes, for that.SERGEANT (_candidly_).  Notthat it is all fighting.  The sack ofcaptured towns--the loot.PHOEBE (_proudly_).  An English soldier never sacks nor loots.SERGEANT.  No, ma'am.  And then--the girls.PHOEBE.  What girls?SERGEANT.  In the townsthat--that we don't sack.PHOEBE.  How they must hate the haughty conqueror.SERGEANT.  We are not so haughty as all that.PHOEBE (_sadly_).  I think I understand.  I am afraid, Sergeant, you donot tell those pooryoung men the noble things I thought you told them.SERGEANT.  Ma'am, I must e'en tell them what they are wishful to hear.There ha' been five, ma'am, all this week, listening to me and thenshowing me their heels,but by a grand stroke of luck I have them atlast.PHOEBE.  Luck?(MISS SUSAN _opens door slightly and listens._)SERGEANT.  The luck, ma'am, is that a gentleman of the town hasenlisted.  That gave them the pushforward.(MISS SUSAN _is excited._)PHOEBE.  A gentleman of this town enlisted?  (_Eagerly_)  Sergeant, who?SERGEANT.  Nay, ma'am, I think it be a secret as yet.PHOEBE.  But a gentleman!  'Tis the most amazing,exciting thing.Sergeant, be so obliging.SERGEANT.  Nay, ma'am, I can't.MISS SUSAN (_at door, carried away by excitement_).  But you must, youmust!SERGEANT (_turning to the door_).  You see, ma'am--(_The dooris hurriedly closed._)PHOEBE (_ashamed_).  Sergeant, I have not been saying the things Imeant to say to you.  Will you please excuse my turning you out of thehouse somewhat violently.SERGEANT.  I am used to it,ma'am.PHOEBE.  I won't really hurt you.SERGEANT.  Thank you kindly, ma'am.PHOEBE (_observing the bedroom door opening a little, and speaking in aloud voice_).  I protest, sir; we shall permit no followers inthishouse.  Should I discover you in my kitchen again I shall pitch youout--neck and crop.  Begone, sir.(_The_ SERGEANT _retires affably.  All the ladies except_ MISSHENRIETTA _come out, admiring_ PHOEBE.  _The_WILLOUGHBYS _are attiredfor their journey across the street._)MISS WILLOUGHBY.  Miss Phoebe, we could not but admire you.(PHOEBE, _alas, knows that she is not admirable._)PHOEBE.  But the gentlemanrecruit?MISS SUSAN.  Perhaps they will know who he is at the woollen-drapers.MISS FANNY.  Let us inquire.(_But before they go_ MISS WILLOUGHBY _has a duty to perform._)MISS WILLOUGHBY.  I wish toapologise.  Miss Phoebe, you are a dear,good girl.  If I have made remarks about her ringlets, Susan, it wasjealousy.  (PHOEBE _and_ MISS SUSAN _wish to embrace her, but she isnot in the mood for it._) Come,sister.MISS FANNY (_the dear woman that she is_).  Phoebe, dear, I wish youvery happy.(_PHOEBE presses her hand._)MISS HENRIETTA (_entering, and not to be outdone_).  Miss Phoebe, Igive you joy.(_The threeladies go, the two younger ones a little tearfully, and wesee them pass the window._)PHOEBE (_pained_).  Susan, you have been talking to them about V. B.MISS SUSAN.  I could not help it.  (_Eagerly_) Now, Phoebe,what is ityou have to tell me?PHOEBE (_in a low voice_).  Dear, I think it is too holy to speak of.MISS SUSAN.  To your sister?PHOEBE.  Susan, as you know, I was sitting with an unhappy woman whosehusband hasfallen in the war.  When I came out of the cottage he waspassing.MISS SUSAN.  Yes?PHOEBE.  He offered me his escort.  At first he was very silent--as hehas often been of late.MISS SUSAN.  _We_ knowwhy.PHOEBE.  Please not to say that I know why.  Suddenly he stopped andswung his cane.  You know how gallantly he swings his cane.MISS SUSAN.  Yes, indeed.PHOEBE.  He said: 'I have something I am wishful totell you, MissPhoebe; perhaps you can guess what it is.'MISS SUSAN.  Go on!PHOEBE.  To say I could guess, sister, would have been unladylike.  Isaid: 'Please not to tell me in the public thoroughfare'; to whichheinstantly replied: 'Then I shall call and tell you this afternoon.'MISS SUSAN.  Phoebe!(_They are interrupted by the entrance of_ PATTY _with tea.  They seethat she has brought three cups, and know that this is herimpertinentway of implying that mistresses, as well as maids, may have a'follower.'  When she has gone they smile at the daring of the woman,and sit down to tea._)PHOEBE.  Susan, to think that it has all happened ina single year.MISS SUSAN.  Such a genteel competency as he can offer; such adesirable establishment.PHOEBE.  I had no thought of that, dear.  I was recalling our firstmeeting at Mrs. Fotheringay's quadrilleparty.MISS SUSAN.  We had quite forgotten that our respected local physicianwas growing elderly.PHOEBE.  Until he said: 'Allow me to present my new partner, Mr.Valentine Brown.'MISS SUSAN.  Phoebe, do youremember how at the tea-table hefacetiously passed the cake-basket with nothing in it!PHOEBE.  He was so amusing from the first.  I am thankful, Susan, thatI too have a sense of humour.  I am exceedingly funny attimes; am Inot, Susan?MISS SUSAN.  Yes, indeed.  But he sees humour in the most unexpectedthings.  I say something so ordinary about loving, for instance, tohave everything either blue or white in this room, and Iknow not whyhe laughs, but it makes me feel quite witty.PHOEBE (_a little anxiously_).  I hope he sees nothing odd or quaintabout us.MISS SUSAN.  My dear, I am sure he cannot.PHOEBE.  Susan, the picnics.MISSSUSAN.  Phoebe, the day when he first drank tea in this house.PHOEBE.  He invited himself.MISS SUSAN.  He merely laughed when I said it would cause such talk.PHOEBE.  He is absolutely fearless.  Susan, he hassmoked his pipe inthis room.(_They are both a little scared._)MISS SUSAN.  Smoking is indeed a dreadful habit.PHOEBE.  But there is something so dashing about it.MISS SUSAN (_with melancholy_).  And now I am tobe left alone.PHOEBE.  No.MISS SUSAN.  My dear, I could not leave this room.  My lovely blue andwhite room.  It is my husband.PHOEBE (_who has become agitated_).  Susan, you must make my house yourhome.  Ihave something distressing to tell you.MISS SUSAN.  You alarm me.PHOEBE.  You know Mr. Brown advised us how to invest half of our money.MISS SUSAN.  I know it gives us eight per cent., though why it shoulddo soI cannot understand, but very obliging, I am sure.PHOEBE.  Susan, all that money is lost; I had the letter several daysago.MISS SUSAN.  Lost?PHOEBE.  Something burst, dear, and then they absconded.MISSSUSAN.  But Mr. Brown--PHOEBE.  I have not advertised him of it yet, for he will think it washis fault.  But I shall tell him to-day.MISS SUSAN.  Phoebe, how much have we left?PHOEBE.  Only sixty pounds a year, soyou see you must live with us,dearest.MISS SUSAN.  But Mr. Brown--he----PHOEBE (_grandly_).  He is a man of means, and if he is not proud tohave my Susan I shall say at once: 'Mr. Brown--the door.'(_She pressesher cheek to_ MISS SUSAN'S.)MISS SUSAN (_softly_).  Phoebe, I have a wedding gift for you.PHOEBE.  Not yet?MISS SUSAN.  It has been ready for a long time.  I began it when youwere not ten years old and I was ayoung woman.  I meant it for myself,Phoebe.  I had hoped that he--his name was William--but I think I musthave been too unattractive, my love.PHOEBE.  Sweetest--dearest----MISS SUSAN.  I always associate it witha sprigged poplin I was wearingthat summer, with a breadth of coloured silk in it, being a navalofficer; but something happened, a Miss Cicely Pemberton, and they arequite big boys now.  So long ago, Phoebe--he wasvery tall, with brownhair--it was most foolish of me, but I was always so fond ofsewing--with long straight legs and such a pleasant expression.PHOEBE.  Susan, what was it?MISS SUSAN.  It was a wedding-gown, mydear.  Even plain women, Phoebe,we can't help it; when we are young we have romantic ideas just as ifwe were pretty.  And so the wedding-gown was never used.  Long beforeit was finished I knew he would not offer,but I finished it, and thenI put it away.  I have always hidden it from you, Phoebe, but of late Ihave brought it out again, and altered it.(_She goes to ottoman and unlocks it._)PHOEBE.  Susan, I could not wearit.  (MISS SUSAN _brings thewedding-gown._)  Oh! how sweet, how beautiful!MISS SUSAN.  You will wear it, my love, won't you?  And the tears itwas sewn with long ago will all turn into smiles on myPhoebe'swedding-day.(_They are tearfully happy when a knock is heard on the street door._)PHOEBE.  That knock.MISS SUSAN.  So dashing.PHOEBE.  So imperious.  (_She is suddenly panic-stricken._)  Susan, Ithinkhe kissed me once.MISS SUSAN (_startled_).  You _think_?PHOEBE.  I know he did.  That evening--a week ago, when he was squiringme home from the concert.  It was raining, and my face was wet; he saidthat waswhy he did it.MISS SUSAN.  Because your face was wet?PHOEBE.  It does not seem a sufficient excuse now.MISS SUSAN (_appalled_).  O Phoebe, before he had offered.PHOEBE (_in distress_).  I fear me it was mostunladylike.(VALENTINE BROWN _is shown in.  He is a frank, genial young man oftwenty-five who honestly admires the ladies, though he is amused bytheir quaintness.  He is modestly aware that it is in the blueandwhite room alone that he is esteemed a wit._)BROWN.  Miss Susan, how do you do, ma'am?  Nay, Miss Phoebe, though wehave met to-day already I insist on shaking hands with you again.MISS SUSAN.  Always sodashing.(VALENTINE _laughs and the ladies exchange delighted smiles._)VALENTINE (_to_ MISS SUSAN).  And my other friends, I hope I find themin health?  The spinet, ma'am, seems quite herself to-day; I trusttheottoman passed a good night?MISS SUSAN (_beaming_).  We are all quite well, sir.VALENTINE.  May I sit on this chair, Miss Phoebe?  I know Miss Susanlikes me to break her chairs.MISS SUSAN.  Indeed, sir, I donot.  Phoebe, how strange that he shouldthink so.PHOEBE (_instantly_).  The remark was humorous, was it not?VALENTINE.  How you see through me, Miss Phoebe.(_The sisters again exchange delighted


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   <title>"Gods and Monsters", shooting draft, by Bill Condon</title><bodybgcolor="#FFFFFF">
                         "GODS AND MONSTERS"                              Screenplay                                  by                             Bill Condon                          Based on thenovel                       "Father of Frankenstein"                                  by                           Christopher Bram                             May 30, 1997                            SHOOTING DRAFT     NOTE: THE HARDCOPY OF THIS SCRIPT CONTAINED SCENE NUMBERS     AND SOME "SCENE OMITTED" SLUGS. THEY HAVE BEEN REMOVED FOR     THIS SOFT COPY.     FADE IN:     MAIN TITLESBEGIN     Writhing pools of light and dark, out of which emerge images     from "The Bride of Frankenstein," directed by James Whale.     Elsa Lanchester, as the Monster's Bride, looks up, down,     left, right,startled to be alive.  The Monster stares at     her.  "Friend?" he asks, tenderly, desperately.     EXT. COUNTRYSIDE - NIGHT (B & W)     Lightning splits the black-and-white sky, revealing a single     shatteredoak in a desolate landscape.  Below, a HUMAN     SILHOUETTE stumbles through the darkness, the top of his     head flat, his arms long and heavy, his boots weighted with     mud.     Suddenly the storm fades.  Lightcreeps into the scene, and     color, as we DISSOLVE TO:     THE PACIFIC OCEAN     melting into a hazy morning sky.  In a box canyon off the     coast highway, we see row after neat row of trailer homes,a     makeshift village for beach bums.     INT. TRAILER - DAY     CLAYTON BOONE opens his eyes.  He is 26, handsome in a     rough-hewn, Chet Baker-like way, with broad shoulders and a     flattophaircut.  He grabs a crumpled pack of Lucky Strikes,     lights a bent cigarette.     Clay stands and walks bare-assed across the single tin room,     his head almost touching the ceiling.     EXT. TRAILER PARK -DAY     Clay goes a few rounds with a weatherstained speed bag     that's set up behind his trailer.     INT. TRAILER - DAY     Clay towels off, glances at the morning paper.  He moves     aside a pile ofpaperbacks on a card table until he finds a     calendar.  His finger targets today's first appointment.     "10 A.M. - 788 Amalfi Drive."     EXT. TRAILER PARK - DAY     Clay steps out of the trailer, clean-shavenand dressed in     dungarees, a T-shirt with a fresh pack of cigarettes flipped     into one sleeve.  He weight-lifts a secondhand mower onto     the bed of his rusty pick-up.     Clay climbs into the truck, slides the key intothe     ignition.  It takes a few tries but the engine finally turns     over.     EXT. PACIFIC COAST HIGHWAY - DAY     Clay's truck sails down the road, "Hound Dog" blaring on the     radio.  MAIN TITLESEND.     EXT. COLONIAL-STYLE HOUSE - DAY     Sprinklers twirl on a grassy slope outside a rambling     clapboard house.  Below, a swimming pool forms a perfect     rectangle of still water.  A title reads:SANTA MONICA     CANYON.  1957.     The pick-up drives past.  Clay parks in the back, hops out.     ANGLE - HOUSE     A SHADOWY FIGURE stands at a window, watching Clay unload     his redpower mower.     INT. HOUSE - LIVING ROOM - DAY     The shadow is a man with dove white hair, wearing a dress     shirt and seersucker jacket.  This is JAMES WHALE, age67.                                     DAVID                    I'd have more peace of mind if the                    live-in nurse were still here.                                     HANNA                    She was nothing butbother.  I not                    like her, Mr. Jimmy not like her.                    We do better if you live-in again,                    Mr. David.     In the dining room, visible through open double doors, DAVID     LEWIS, 55, speakssoftly with the housekeeper, HANNA.  She     is a squat, muffin-faced Hungarian woman in her late 50s,     dressed in black, her hair cinched in a tight bun.  She     speaks with a thickaccent.                                     DAVID                    You'll contact me if there's an                    emergency?                                     HANNA                    Yes, I call you at thisnumber.                         (calls out)                    Mr. Jimmy?  More coffee?                                     WHALE                    What?  Oh yes.  Why not?     He moves into the dining room, sits oppositeDavid.                                     WHALE                    Isn't Hanna a peach?     Hanna ignores him, returns to the kitchen.                                     DAVID                    She tells me you haven'tbeen                    sleeping well.                                     WHALE                    It's the ridiculous pills they                    prescribe.  If I take them, I spend                    the next day stupid as astone.                    If I don't, my mind seems to go off                    in a hundred directions at once --                                     DAVID                    Then take thepills.                                     WHALE                    I wanted to be alert for your visit                    today.  Especially since I saw so                    little of you in the hospital.     The remark hits itstarget.                                     DAVID                    I'm sorry, Jimmy.  But with this                    movie and two difficult stars --                                     WHALE                    "The fault, dear David,is not in                    ourselves but in our stars."                                     DAVID                         (too anxious to laugh)                    You remember how a production eats                    up one'slife.                                     WHALE                    Oh, David.  There's no pleasure in                    making you feel guilty.                         (stands)                    You better go, my boy.  You'llbe                    late for that aeroplane.     David extends his hand, but Whale draws him into a hug.  As     he starts out, David points to a framed painting.                                     DAVID                    By theway, I like the Renoir.                                     WHALE                    Thank you.                                     DAVID                         (calls out)                    Goodbye, Hanna.     Hanna runs out of thekitchen to escort David to the door.     Whale drifts back to the window, watches as Clay revs up the     lawnmower, creating a cloud of white smoke.  We CUT TO:     EXT. STREETS OF DUDLEY - DAY(1900)     A bean-pole child with flaming red hair (WHALE at age 12)     stares up at the coal smoke pouring from a seemingly endless     row of chimneys.  We're in Dudley, a factory town in the     EnglishMidlands region known as the Black Country.                                     SARAH WHALE (O.S.)                    Stop lagging behind, Jimmy.  We'll                    be late forchurch.                                     YOUNG WHALE                    Yes, Mum.     Whale runs to catch up to his six brothers and sisters.  His     father, WILLIAM WHALE, frowns at the boy's prissytrot.                                     WILLIAM WHALE                    Straighten up, son.     Young Whale's movements thicken into a dim imitation of     manly reserve.  The Whale family marches up asteeply     mounting street to Dixon's Green Methodist Church.     INT. WHALE'S HOUSE - LIVING ROOM - DAY     Whale's eyes tighten.  He focuses on Clay Boone as he peels     off his T-shirt, revealing atattoo on his upper right     forearm.                                     WHALE                    Hanna?  Who's the new yardman?                                     HANNA                    Bone?  Boom?  SomethingBee.  I                    hire him while you were in the                    hospital.  He came cheap.     Whale nods, chooses a walking stick.  He emerges into the     sunlight.     EXT. WHALE'S HOUSE - DAY     Whalemoves jauntily onto the front lawn, singing to     himself:                                     WHALE                    The bells of hell go ting-a-ling                    For you but not for me.                    Oh death where is thysting-a-ling?                    Grave where thy victory?     Whale steps up next to Clay.                                     WHALE                    Good morning.                                     CLAY                         (notlooking up)                    Mornin'.                                     WHALE                    My name is Whale.  This is my                    house.                                     CLAY                    Niceplace.                                     WHALE                    And your name is --?                                     CLAY                    Boone.  ClaytonBoone.                                     WHALE                    I couldn't help but notice your                    tattoo.  That phrase?  Death Before                    Dishonor.  What does itmean?                                     CLAY                    Just that I was in the Marines.                                     WHALE                    The Marines.  Good for you.  You                    must have served inKorea.     Clay shrugs nonchalantly.                                     WHALE                    Getting to be a warm day.  A                    scorcher, as you Yanks callit.                                     CLAY                    Yeah.  I better get on with my                    work.     Whale clears his throat behind the back of hishand.                                     WHALE                    When you're through, Mr. Boone,                    feel free to make use of the pool.                    We're quite informal here.  You                    don't have toworry about a suit.     Clay glances warily at Whale.                                     CLAY                    No thanks.  I got another job to                    get to this afternoon.     Whale holds Clay'slook.                                     WHALE                    Some other time, perhaps?  Keep up                    the fine work.     Whale heads off, smiling to himself.  Pleased to be naughty     again.     INT.WHALE'S HOUSE - STUDIO - DAY     The room is filled with unframed canvasses, many of them     copies of paintings by the Old Masters.     Whale rolls out the easel, lifts a half-painted canvas into     position.  Hestares at the blotches of color, trying to     remember what he intended to paint.     Whale pulls out a heavy volume on Rembrandt, opens to a     black-and-white plate of "The Polish Rider."  We CUT TO:     INT.WHALE HOUSE - DUDLEY - NIGHT (1908)     A rough pencil outline of the same painting.  Whale, age 16,     sits on his bed, ignoring the roughhousing of the three     younger BROTHERS who share the room.  Thedoor opens and     Whale's mother SARAH enters.                                     SARAH WHALE                    Jimmy.  The privy needs cleaning.                                     WHALE                    I have myclass tonight.     Both have Midlands accents, like head colds that flatten     their speech.  Whale holds up the sketch to show his mother.                                     SARAH WHALE                    Don't get above


ï»¿The Project Gutenberg eBook, A Sentimental Journey through France andItaly, by Laurence Sterne, Edited by Henry MorleyThis eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and mostother parts ofthe world at no cost and with almost no restrictionswhatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms ofthe Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online atwww.gutenberg.org.  Ifyou are not located in the United States, you'll haveto check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook.Title: A Sentimental Journey through France and ItalyAuthor: Laurence SterneEditor:Henry MorleyRelease Date: April 7, 2015  [eBook #804][This file was first posted on February 12, 1997]Language: EnglishCharacter set encoding: UTF-8***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ASENTIMENTAL JOURNEY THROUGHFRANCE AND ITALY***Transcribed from the 1892 George Bell and Son edition by David Price,email ccx074@pglaf.org                                    A                           SENTIMENTALJOURNEY                                 THROUGH                            FRANCE AND ITALY;                              BY MR. YORICK.                     [THE REV. LAURENCE STERNE, M.A.]                        [FIRST PUBLISHED IN1768.]THEY order, said I, this matter better in France.âYou have been inFrance? said my gentleman, turning quick upon me, with the most civiltriumph in the world.âStrange! quoth I, debating the matter withmyself,That one and twenty miles sailing, for âtis absolutely no further fromDover to Calais, should give a man these rights:âIâll look into them: so,giving up the argument,âI went straight to mylodgings, put up half adozen shirts and a black pair of silk breeches,ââthe coat I have on,âsaid I, looking at the sleeve, âwill do;ââtook a place in the Doverstage; and the packet sailing at ninethe next morning,âby three I hadgot sat down to my dinner upon a fricaseed chicken, so incontestably inFrance, that had I died that night of an indigestion, the whole worldcould not have suspended the effects ofthe _droits dâaubaine_; {557}âmyshirts, and black pair of silk breeches,âportmanteau and all, must havegone to the King of France;âeven the little picture which I have so longworn, and so often havetold thee, Eliza, I would carry with me into mygrave, would have been torn from my neck!âUngenerous! to seize upon thewreck of an unwary passenger, whom your subjects had beckoned to theircoast!âByheaven! Sire, it is not well done; and much does it grieve me,âtis the monarch of a people so civilized and courteous, and so renownedfor sentiment and fine feelings, that I have to reason with!âBut I havescarce set a foot in your dominions.âCALAIS.When I had fished my dinner, and drank the King of Franceâs health, tosatisfy my mind that I bore him no spleen, but, on the contrary, highhonour for the humanityof his temper,âI rose up an inch taller for theaccommodation.âNoâsaid Iâthe Bourbon is by no means a cruel race: they may be misled,like other people; but there is a mildness in their blood.  AsIacknowledged this, I felt a suffusion of a finer kind upon my cheekâmorewarm and friendly to man, than what Burgundy (at least of two livres abottle, which was such as I had been drinking) could haveproduced.âJust God! said I, kicking my portmanteau aside, what is there in thisworldâs goods which should sharpen our spirits, and make so manykind-hearted brethren of us fall out so cruelly as we do by theway?When man is at peace with man, how much lighter than a feather is theheaviest of metals in his hand! he pulls out his purse, and holding itairily and uncompressed, looks round him, as if he sought for an objecttoshare it with.âIn doing this, I felt every vessel in my framedilate,âthe arteries beat all cheerily together, and every power whichsustained life, performed it with so little friction, that âtwould haveconfoundedthe most _physical prÃ©cieuse_ in France; with all hermaterialism, she could scarce have called me a machine.âIâm confident, said I to myself, I should have overset her creed.The accession of that idea carriednature, at that time, as high as shecould go;âI was at peace with the world before, and this finishâd thetreaty with myself.ââNow, was I King of France, cried Iâwhat a moment for an orphan tohavebeggâd his fatherâs portmanteau of me!THE MONK.CALAIS.I HAD scarce uttered the words, when a poor monk of the order of St.Francis came into the room to beg something for his convent.  No mancaresto have his virtues the sport of contingenciesâor one man may begenerous, as another is puissant;â_sed non quoad hanc_âor be it as itmay,âfor there is no regular reasoning upon the ebbs and flows ofourhumours; they may depend upon the same causes, for aught I know, whichinfluence the tides themselves: âtwould oft be no discredit to us, tosuppose it was so: Iâm sure at least for myself, that in many acase Ishould be more highly satisfied, to have it said by the world, âI had hadan affair with the moon, in which there was neither sin nor shame,â thanhave it pass altogether as my own act and deed, whereinthere was so muchof both.âBut, be this as it may,âthe moment I cast my eyes upon him, I waspredetermined not to give him a single sous; and, accordingly, I put mypurse into my pocketâbuttoneditâset myself a little more upon my centre,and advanced up gravely to him; there was something, I fear, forbiddingin my look: I have his figure this moment before my eyes, and think therewas that in it whichdeserved better.The monk, as I judged by the break in his tonsure, a few scattered whitehairs upon his temples, being all that remained of it, might be aboutseventy;âbut from his eyes, and that sort of fire whichwas in them,which seemed more temperâd by courtesy than years, could be no more thansixty:âTruth might lie betweenâHe was certainly sixty-five; and thegeneral air of his countenance, notwithstandingsomething seemâd to havebeen planting-wrinkles in it before their time, agreed to the account.It was one of those heads which Guido has often painted,âmild,paleâpenetrating, free from all commonplaceideas of fat contentedignorance looking downwards upon the earth;âit lookâd forwards; butlookâd as if it lookâd at something beyond this world.âHow one of hisorder came by it, heaven above, wholet it fall upon a monkâs shouldersbest knows: but it would have suited a Bramin, and had I met it upon theplains of Indostan, I had reverenced it.The rest of his outline may be given in a few strokes; one might putitinto the hands of any one to design, for âtwas neither elegant norotherwise, but as character and expression made it so: it was a thin,spare form, something above the common size, if it lost not thedistinction by abend forward in the figure,âbut it was the attitude ofIntreaty; and, as it now stands presented to my imagination, it gainedmore than it lost by it.When he had entered the room three paces, he stood still; and layinghisleft hand upon his breast (a slender white staff with which he journeyâdbeing in his right)âwhen I had got close up to him, he introduced himselfwith the little story of the wants of his convent, and thepoverty of hisorder;âand did it with so simple a grace,âand such an air of deprecationwas there in the whole cast of his look and figure,âI was bewitchâd notto have been struck with it.âA betterreason was, I had predetermined not to give him a single sous.THE MONK.CALAIS.ââTIS very true, said I, replying to a cast upwards with his eyes, withwhich he had concluded his address;ââtis verytrue,âand heaven be theirresource who have no other but the charity of the world, the stock ofwhich, I fear, is no way sufficient for the many _great claims_ which arehourly made upon it.As I pronounced the words_great claims_, he gave a slight glance withhis eye downwards upon the sleeve of his tunic:âI felt the full force ofthe appealâI acknowledge it, said I:âa coarse habit, and that but once inthree years withmeagre diet,âare no great matters; and the true point ofpity is, as they can be earnâd in the world with so little industry, thatyour order should wish to procure them by pressing upon a fund which isthe propertyof the lame, the blind, the aged and the infirm;âthe captivewho lies down counting over and over again the days of his afflictions,languishes also for his share of it; and had you been of the _order ofmercy_, insteadof the order of St. Francis, poor as I am, continued I,pointing at my portmanteau, full cheerfully should it have been openâd toyou, for the ransom of the unfortunate.âThe monk made me a bow.âBut ofallothers, resumed I, the unfortunate of our own country, surely, havethe first rights; and I have left thousands in distress upon our ownshore.âThe monk gave a cordial wave with his head,âas much as to say,Nodoubt there is misery enough in every corner of the world, as well aswithin our conventâBut we distinguish, said I, laying my hand upon thesleeve of his tunic, in return for his appealâwe distinguish, mygoodfather! betwixt those who wish only to eat the bread of their ownlabourâand those who eat the bread of other peopleâs, and have no otherplan in life, but to get through it in sloth and ignorance, _for theloveof God_.The poor Franciscan made no reply: a hectic of a moment passâd across hischeek, but could not tarryâNature seemed to have done with herresentments in him;âhe showed none:âbutletting his staff fall within hisarms, he pressed both his hands with resignation upon his breast, andretired.THE MONK.CALAIS.MY heart smote me the moment he shut the doorâPsha! said I, with an airofcarelessness, three several timesâbut it would not do: everyungracious syllable I had utterâd crowded back into my imagination: Ireflected, I had no right over the poor Franciscan, but to deny him; andthat thepunishment of that was enough to the disappointed, without theaddition of unkind language.âI considerâd his gray hairsâhis courteousfigure seemâd to re-enter and gently ask me what injury he haddoneme?âand why I could use him thus?âI would have given twenty livres for anadvocate.âI have behaved very ill, said I within myself; but I have onlyjust set out upon my travels; and shall learn bettermanners as I getalong.THE DESOBLIGEANT.CALAIS.WHEN a man is discontented with himself, it has one advantage however,that it puts him into an excellent frame of mind for making a bargain.Now there being notravelling through France and Italy without achaise,âand nature generally prompting us to the thing we are fittestfor, I walkâd out into the coach-yard to buy or hire something of thatkind to my purpose: an old_dÃ©sobligeant_ {562} in the furthest corner ofthe court, hit my fancy at first sight, so I instantly got into it, andfinding it in tolerable harmony with my feelings, I ordered the waiter tocall Monsieur Dessein, the masterof the hotel:âbut Monsieur Desseinbeing gone to vespers, and not caring to face the Franciscan, whom I sawon the opposite side of the court, in conference with a lady just arrivedat the inn,âI drew the taffetacurtain betwixt us, and being determinedto write my journey, I took out my pen and ink and wrote the preface toit in the _dÃ©sobligeant_.PREFACE.IN THE DESOBLIGEANT.IT must have been observed by many aperipatetic philosopher, That naturehas set up by her own unquestionable authority certain boundaries andfences to circumscribe the discontent of man; she has effected herpurpose in the quietest and easiest mannerby laying him under almostinsuperable obligations to work out his ease, and to sustain hissufferings at home.  It is there only that she has provided him with themost suitable objects to partake of his happiness, andbear a part ofthat burden which in all countries and ages has ever been too heavy forone pair of shoulders.  âTis true, we are endued with an imperfect powerof spreading our happiness sometimes beyond _her_limits, but âtis soordered, that, from the want of languages, connections, and dependencies,and from the difference in education, customs, and habits, we lie underso many impediments in communicating oursensations out of our ownsphere, as often amount to a total impossibility.It will always follow from hence, that the balance of sentimentalcommerce is always against the expatriated adventurer: he must buy whathehas little occasion for, at their own price;âhis conversation willseldom be taken in exchange for theirs without a large discount,âandthis, by the by, eternally driving him into the hands of more equitablebrokers,for such conversation as he can find, it requires no greatspirit of divination to guess at his partyâThis brings me to my point; and naturally leads me (if the see-saw ofthis _dÃ©sobligeant_ will but let me get on) intothe efficient as well asfinal causes of travellingâYour idle people that leave their native country, and go abroad for somereason or reasons which may be derived from one of these general causes:â  Infirmity ofbody,  Imbecility of mind, or  Inevitable necessity.The first two include all those who travel by land or by water, labouringwith pride, curiosity, vanity, or spleen, subdivided and combined _adinfinitum_.The third classincludes the whole army of peregrine martyrs; moreespecially those travellers who set out upon their travels with thebenefit of the clergy, either as delinquents travelling under thedirection of governors recommendedby the magistrate;âor young gentlementransported by the cruelty of parents and guardians, and travelling underthe direction of governors recommended by Oxford, Aberdeen, and Glasgow.There is a fourth class,but their number is so small that they would notdeserve a distinction, were it not necessary in a work of this nature toobserve the greatest precision and nicety, to avoid a confusion ofcharacter.  And these men I speakof, are such as cross the seas andsojourn in a land of strangers, with a view of saving money for variousreasons and upon various pretences: but as they might also savethemselves and others a great deal ofunnecessary trouble by saving theirmoney at home,âand as their reasons for travelling are the least complexof any other species of emigrants, I shall distinguish these gentlemen bythe nameof                            Simple Travellers.Thus the whole circle of travellers may be reduced to the following_heads_:â  Idle Travellers,  Inquisitive Travellers,  Lying Travellers,  Proud Travellers,  VainTravellers,  Splenetic Travellers.Then follow:  The Travellers of Necessity,  The Delinquent and Felonious Traveller,  The Unfortunate and Innocent Traveller,  The Simple Traveller,And last of all (if you please) TheSentimental Traveller, (meaningthereby myself) who have travellâd, and of which I am now sitting down togive an account,âas much out of _Necessity_, and the _besoin de Voyager_,as any one in the class.Iam well aware, at the same time, as both my travels and observationswill be altogether of a different cast from any of my forerunners, that Imight have insisted upon a whole nitch entirely to myself;âbut Ishouldbreak in upon the confines of the _Vain_ Traveller, in wishing to drawattention towards me, till I have some better grounds for it than themere _Novelty of my Vehicle_.It is sufficient for my reader, if he has beena traveller himself, thatwith study and reflection hereupon he may be able to determine his ownplace and rank in the catalogue;âit will be one step towards knowinghimself; as it is great odds but he retains sometincture andresemblance, of what he imbibed or carried out, to the present hour.The man who first transplanted the grape of Burgundy to the Cape of GoodHope (observe he was a Dutchman) never dreamt of drinkingthe same wineat the Cape, that the same grape produced upon the French mountains,âhewas too phlegmatic for thatâbut undoubtedly he expected to drink somesort of vinous liquor; but whether good or bad,or indifferent,âhe knewenough of this world to know, that it did not depend upon his choice, butthat what is generally called _choice_, was to decide his success:however, he hoped for the best; and in these hopes,by an intemperateconfidence in the fortitude of his head, and the depth of his discretion,_Mynheer_ might possibly oversee both in his new vineyard; and bydiscovering his nakedness, become a laughing stock to hispeople.Even so it fares with the Poor Traveller, sailing and posting through thepoliter kingdoms of the globe, in pursuit of knowledge and improvements.Knowledge and improvements are to be got by sailing and postingfor thatpurpose; but whether useful knowledge and real improvements is all alottery;âand even where the adventurer is successful, the acquired stockmust be used with caution and sobriety, to turn to anyprofit:âbut, asthe chances run prodigiously the other way, both as to the acquisitionand application, I am of opinion, That a man would act as wisely, if hecould prevail upon himself to live contented without foreignknowledge orforeign improvements, especially if he lives in a country that has noabsolute want of either;âand indeed, much grief of heart has it oft andmany a time cost me, when I have observed how many a foulstep theInquisitive Traveller has measured to see sights and look intodiscoveries; all which, as Sancho Panza said to Don Quixote, they mighthave seen dry-shod at home.  It is an age so full of light, that there isscarcea country or corner in Europe whose beams are not crossed andinterchanged with others.âKnowledge in most of its branches, and in mostaffairs, is like music in an Italian street, whereof those may partakewho paynothing.âBut there is no nation under heavenâand God is my record(before whose tribunal I must one day come and give an account of thiswork)âthat I do not speak it vauntingly,âbut there is no nationunderheaven abounding with more variety of learning,âwhere the sciences may bemore fitly wooâd, or more surely won, than here,âwhere art is encouraged,and will so soon rise high,âwhere Nature(take her altogether) has solittle to answer for,âand, to close all, where there is more wit andvariety of character to feed the mind with:âWhere then, my dearcountrymen, are you going?âWe are onlylooking at this chaise, said they.âYour most obedientservant, said I, skipping out of it, and pulling off my hat.âWe werewondering, said one of them, who, I found was an _InquisitiveTraveller_,âwhat couldoccasion its motion.ââTwas the agitation, said I,coolly, of writing a preface.âI never heard, said the other, who was a_Simple Traveller_, of a preface wrote in a _dÃ©sobligeant_.âIt would havebeenbetter, said I, in a _vis-a-vis_.â_As an Englishman does not travel to see Englishmen_, I retired to myroom.CALAIS.I PERCEIVED that something darkenâd the passage more than myself, as Isteppâd along itto my room; it was effectually Mons. Dessein, the masterof the hÃ´tel, who had just returned from vespers, and with his hat underhis arm, was most complaisantly following me, to put me in mind of mywants.  I hadwrote myself pretty well out of conceit with the_dÃ©sobligeant_, and Mons. Dessein speaking of it, with a shrug, as if itwould no way suit me, it immediately struck my fancy that it belongâd tosome _InnocentTraveller_, who, on his return home, had left it to Mons.Desseinâs honour to make the most of.  Four months had elapsed since ithad finished its career of Europe in the corner of Mons. Desseinâscoach-yard;and having sallied out from thence but a vampt-up business atthe first, though it had been twice taken to pieces on Mount Sennis, ithad not profited much by its adventures,âbut by none so little as thestanding somany months unpitied in the corner of Mons. Desseinâscoach-yard.  Much indeed was not to be said for it,âbut somethingmight;âand when a few words will rescue misery out of her distress, Ihate the manwho can be a churl of them.âNow was I the master of this hÃ´tel, said I, laying the point of myfore-finger on Mons. Desseinâs breast, I would inevitably make a point ofgetting rid of this unfortunate_dÃ©sobligeant_;âit stands swingingreproaches at you every time you pass by it._Mon Dieu_! said Mons. Dessein,âI have no interestâExcept the interest,said I, which men of a certain turn of mind take,Mons. Dessein, in theirown sensations,âIâm persuaded, to a man who feels for others as well asfor himself, every rainy night, disguise it as you will, must cast a dampupon your spirits:âYou suffer, Mons.


ï»¿The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Cask of Amontillado, by Edgar Allan PoeThis eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and withalmost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it awayorre-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License includedwith this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.netTitle: The Cask of AmontilladoAuthor: Edgar Allan PoeRelease Date: June 6, 2010 [EBook#1063]Language: English*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CASK OF AMONTILLADO ***Produced by Levent Kurnaz.  HTML version by Al Haines.The Cask of AmontilladobyEdgar Allan PoeThethousand injuries of Fortunato I had borne as I best could, butwhen he ventured upon insult, I vowed revenge.  You, who so well knowthe nature of my soul, will not suppose, however, that I gave utteranceto athreat.  _At length_ I would be avenged; this was a point definitelysettled--but the very definitiveness with which it was resolved,precluded the idea of risk.  I must not only punish, but punish withimpunity.  A wrong isunredressed when retribution overtakes itsredresser.  It is equally unredressed when the avenger fails to makehimself felt as such to him who has done the wrong.It must be understood that neither by word nor deedhad I givenFortunato cause to doubt my good will.  I continued, as was my wont, tosmile in his face, and he did not perceive that my smile _now_ was atthe thought of his immolation.He had a weak point--thisFortunato--although in other regards he was aman to be respected and even feared.  He prided himself on hisconnoisseurship in wine.  Few Italians have the true virtuoso spirit.For the most part their enthusiasm isadopted to suit the time andopportunity--to practise imposture upon the British and Austrian_millionaires_.  In painting and gemmary, Fortunato, like his countrymen,was a quack--but in the matter of old wines he wassincere.  In thisrespect I did not differ from him materially: I was skillful in theItalian vintages myself, and bought largely whenever I could.It was about dusk, one evening during the supreme madness of thecarnivalseason, that I encountered my friend.  He accosted me withexcessive warmth, for he had been drinking much.  The man wore motley.He had on a tight-fitting parti-striped dress, and his head wassurmounted by theconical cap and bells.  I was so pleased to see him,that I thought I should never have done wringing his hand.I said to him--"My dear Fortunato, you are luckily met.  How remarkablywell you are looking to-day!  But Ihave received a pipe of what passesfor Amontillado, and I have my doubts.""How?" said he.  "Amontillado?  A pipe?  Impossible!  And in the middleof the carnival!""I have my doubts," I replied; "and I was silly enoughto pay the fullAmontillado price without consulting you in the matter. You were not tobe found, and I was fearful of losing a bargain.""Amontillado!""I have my doubts.""Amontillado!""And I must satisfythem.""Amontillado!""As you are engaged, I am on my way to Luchesi.  If any one has acritical turn, it is he.  He will tell me--""Luchesi cannot tell Amontillado from Sherry.""And yet some fools will have it that his tasteis a match for yourown.""Come, let us go.""Whither?""To your vaults.""My friend, no; I will not impose upon your good nature.  I perceiveyou have an engagement.  Luchesi--""I have no engagement;--come.""Myfriend, no.  It is not the engagement, but the severe cold withwhich I perceive you are afflicted.  The vaults are insufferably damp.They are encrusted with nitre.""Let us go, nevertheless.  The cold is merely nothing.Amontillado!You have been imposed upon.  And as for Luchesi, he cannot distinguishSherry from Amontillado."Thus speaking, Fortunato possessed himself of my arm. Putting on a maskof black silk, and drawing a_roquelaire_ closely about my person, Isuffered him to hurry me to my palazzo.There were no attendants at home; they had absconded to make merry inhonour of the time.  I had told them that I should not returnuntil themorning, and had given them explicit orders not to stir from the house.These orders were sufficient, I well knew, to insure their immediatedisappearance, one and all, as soon as my back was turned.I took fromtheir sconces two flambeaux, and giving one to Fortunato,bowed him through several suites of rooms to the archway that led intothe vaults.  I passed down a long and winding staircase, requesting himto be cautious ashe followed. We came at length to the foot of thedescent, and stood together on the damp ground of the catacombs of theMontresors.The gait of my friend was unsteady, and the bells upon his cap jingledas hestrode."The pipe," said he."It is farther on," said I; "but observe the white web-work whichgleams from these cavern walls."He turned towards me, and looked into my eyes with two filmy orbs thatdistilled the rheum ofintoxication."Nitre?" he asked, at length."Nitre," I replied.  "How long have you had that cough?""Ugh! ugh! ugh!--ugh! ugh! ugh!--ugh! ugh! ugh!--ugh! ugh! ugh!--ugh!ugh! ugh!"My poor friend found it impossible toreply for many minutes."It is nothing," he said, at last."Come," I said, with decision, "we will go back; your health isprecious.  You are rich, respected, admired, beloved; you are happy, asonce I was.  You are a man tobe missed.  For me it is no matter.  Wewill go back; you will be ill, and I cannot be responsible.  Besides,there is Luchesi--""Enough," he said; "the cough is a mere nothing; it will not kill me.I shall not die of acough.""True--true," I replied; "and, indeed, I had no intention of alarmingyou unnecessarily--but you should use all proper caution. A draught ofthis Medoc will defend us from the damps."Here I knocked off the neck ofa bottle which I drew from a long row ofits fellows that lay upon the mould."Drink," I said, presenting him the wine.He raised it to his lips with a leer.  He paused and nodded to mefamiliarly, while his bells jingled."Idrink," he said, "to the buried that repose around us.""And I to your long life."He again took my arm, and we proceeded."These vaults," he said, "are extensive.""The Montresors," I replied, "were a great and numerousfamily.""I forget your arms.""A huge human foot d'or, in a field azure; the foot crushes a serpentrampant whose fangs are imbedded in the heel.""And the motto?""_Nemo me impune lacessit_.""Good!" he said.The winesparkled in his eyes and the bells jingled.  My own fancy grewwarm with the Medoc.  We had passed through walls of piled bones, withcasks and puncheons intermingling, into the inmost recesses ofcatacombs.  Ipaused again, and this time I made bold to seizeFortunato by an arm above the elbow."The nitre!" I said; "see, it increases.  It hangs like moss upon thevaults.  We are below the river's bed.  The drops of moisturetrickleamong the bones.  Come, we will go back ere it is too late.  Yourcough--""It is nothing," he said; "let us go on.  But first, another draught ofthe Medoc."I broke and reached him a flagon of De Grave.  He emptiedit at abreath.  His eyes flashed with a fierce light.  He laughed and threwthe bottle upwards with a gesticulation I did not understand.I looked at him in surprise.  He repeated the movement--a grotesque one."You donot comprehend?" he said."Not I," I replied."Then you are not of the brotherhood.""How?""You are not of the masons.""Yes, yes," I said; "yes, yes.""You?  Impossible!  A mason?""A mason," I replied."A sign," he said,"a sign.""It is this," I answered, producing a trowel from beneath the folds ofmy _roquelaire_."You jest," he exclaimed, recoiling a few paces.  "But let us proceedto the Amontillado.""Be it so," I said, replacing the toolbeneath the cloak and againoffering him my arm.  He leaned upon it heavily.  We continued ourroute in search of the Amontillado.  We passed through a range of lowarches, descended, passed on, and descendingagain, arrived at a deepcrypt, in which the foulness of the air caused our flambeaux rather toglow than flame.At the most remote end of the crypt there appeared another lessspacious.  Its walls had been lined withhuman remains, piled to thevault overhead, in the fashion of the great catacombs of Paris.  Threesides of this interior crypt were still ornamented in this manner.From the fourth side the bones had been thrown down,and laypromiscuously upon the earth, forming at one point a mound of somesize.  Within the wall thus exposed by the displacing of the bones, weperceived a still interior recess, in depth about four feet in widththree, inheight six or seven.  It seemed to have been constructed forno especial use within itself, but formed merely the interval betweentwo of the colossal supports of the roof of the catacombs, and wasbacked by one of theircircumscribing walls of solid granite.It was in vain that Fortunato, uplifting his dull torch, endeavoured topry into the depth of the recess.  Its termination the feeble light didnot enable us to see."Proceed," I said; "hereinis the Amontillado.  As for Luchesi--""He is an ignoramus," interrupted my friend, as he stepped unsteadilyforward, while I followed immediately at his heels.  In an instant hehad reached the extremity of the niche, andfinding his progressarrested by the rock, stood stupidly bewildered.  A moment more and Ihad fettered him to the granite.  In its surface were two iron staples,distant from each other about two feet, horizontally.  Fromone ofthese depended a short chain, from the other a padlock.  Throwing thelinks about his waist, it was but the work of a few seconds to secureit.  He was too much astounded to resist.  Withdrawing the key Isteppedback from the recess."Pass your hand," I said, "over the wall; you cannot help feeling thenitre.  Indeed, it is _very_ damp.  Once more let me _implore_ you toreturn.  No?  Then I must positively leave you.  But I mustfirstrender you all the little attentions in my power.""The Amontillado!" ejaculated my friend, not yet recovered from hisastonishment."True," I replied; "the Amontillado."As I said these words I busied myself among thepile of bones of whichI have before spoken.  Throwing them aside, I soon uncovered a quantityof building stone and mortar.  With these materials and with the aid ofmy trowel, I began vigorously to wall up theentrance of the niche.I had scarcely laid the first tier of the masonry when I discoveredthat the intoxication of Fortunato had in a great measure worn off. Theearliest indication I had of this was a low moaning cry fromthe depthof the recess.  It was _not_ the cry of a drunken man. There was then along and obstinate silence.  I laid the second tier, and the third, andthe fourth; and then I heard the furious vibrations of thechain.  Thenoise lasted for several minutes, during which, that I might hearken toit with the more satisfaction, I ceased my labours and sat down uponthe bones. When at last the clanking subsided, I resumed thetrowel,and finished without interruption the fifth, the sixth, and the seventhtier.  The wall was now nearly upon a level with my breast.  I againpaused, and holding the flambeaux over the mason-work, threw afewfeeble rays upon the figure within.A succession of loud and shrill screams, bursting suddenly from thethroat of the chained form, seemed to thrust me violently back.  For abrief moment I hesitated--Itrembled.  Unsheathing my rapier, I beganto grope with it about the recess; but the thought of an instantreassured me.  I placed my hand upon the solid fabric of the catacombs,and felt satisfied.  I reapproached thewall; I replied to the yells ofhim who clamoured.  I re-echoed--I aided--I surpassed them in volumeand in strength.  I did this, and the clamourer grew still.It was now midnight, and my task was drawing to a close.  Ihadcompleted the eighth, the ninth, and the tenth tier.  I had finished aportion of the last and the eleventh; there remained but a single stoneto be fitted and plastered in.  I struggled with its weight; I placedit partiallyin its destined position.  But now there came from out theniche a low laugh that erected the hairs upon my head.  It wassucceeded by a sad voice, which I had difficulty in recognizing as thatof the noble Fortunato.  Thevoice said--"Ha! ha! ha!--he! he! he!--a very good joke indeed--an excellent jest.We shall have many a rich laugh about it at the palazzo--he! he!he!--over our wine--he! he! he!""The Amontillado!" I said."He! he!he!--he! he! he!--yes, the Amontillado.  But is it not gettinglate?  Will not they be awaiting us at the palazzo, the Lady Fortunatoand the rest?  Let us be gone.""Yes," I said, "let us be gone.""_For the love of God,Montresor!_""Yes," I said, "for the love of God!"But to these words I hearkened in vain for a reply.  I grew impatient.I called aloud--"Fortunato!"No answer.  I called again--"Fortunato--"No answer still.  I thrust a torchthrough the remaining aperture andlet it fall within.  There came forth in reply only a jingling of thebells.  My heart grew sick on account of the dampness of the catacombs.I hastened to make an end of my labour.  Iforced the last stone intoits position; I plastered it up.  Against the new masonry I re-erectedthe old rampart of bones.  For the half of a century no mortal hasdisturbed them.  _In pace requiescat!_End of ProjectGutenberg's The Cask of Amontillado, by Edgar Allan Poe*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CASK OF AMONTILLADO ******** This file should be named 1063.txt or 1063.zip *****This and allassociated files of various formats will be found in:        http://www.gutenberg.org/1/0/6/1063/Produced by Levent Kurnaz.  HTML version by Al Haines.Updated editions will replace the previous one--the oldeditionswill be renamed.Creating the works from public domain print editions means that noone owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United Stateswithoutpermission and without paying copyright royalties.  Special rules,set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply tocopying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works toprotect thePROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark.  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