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                                   FRIGHT NIGHT                                   Written by                                   TomHolland                                                                                FINAL DRAFT                                                        Sep 6th,1984                                   1.                         FADE IN:          EXT. FULL MOON - NIGHT (AND CREDITS. ROLL)          Clouds obscure the starless heavens for a moment, heavyand          ominous in the black firmament. Then suddenly they clear,          exposing a full moon streaked with red like a killer's          face, a stalking moon staring down at man's evil on the          earth below.          AHOWL breaks the night, a wolf pursuing its prey perhaps,          or perhaps something much, much worse. VOICES break the          perfect stillness.          JONATHAN (V.0.)          What wasthat?          MISS NINA (V.0.)          Just a child of night, Jonathan.          Come, sit here beside me on the          veranda.          JONATHAN (V.0.)          It's chilly out here.          MISS NINA(V.0.)          Oh, no, it isn't. It's beautiful. I          love the night so.          2 EXT. RANCHO CORVALLIS - NIGHT          A middling size town lost somewhere in the Southwest, the          lights of its sixtysome thousand residents twinkling like          so many Christmas lights in the night.          JONATHAN (V.0.)          I've never seen you so beautiful          before, Nina. So pale, so          luminescent,so          He suddenly stops. There is a moment. Then:          MISS NINA (V.0. )          Yes?          JONATHAN (V.0.)          Your lips are so red.          MISS NINA (V.O.)          Are they?Would you like to kiss          them?          The CAMERA STARTS TO PUSH IN CLOSER AND CLOSER on the town          as though searching for the source of thevoices.                                                                                2.          3 EXT. CHARLEY'S STREET - NIGHT          It's a typical middle class suburban street, full of pre-          1World War II houses, the substantial places they built          then, two and three story homes with attics and basements.,          porches and detached garages.          There is the SOUND OF A LONG DRAWN OUT KISSas Jonathan and          Miss Nina's lips meet. The CAMERA. MOVES DOWN the street,          still looking for the voices.          4 EXT. DANDRIGE AND BREWSTER HOUSE -NIGHT                         V          The CAMERA PAUSES TO STARE AT the Dandrige house, so dif-          ferent in look and feel from all the other houses on the          street. It's huge, almost forboding, itswindows dark and          vacant, its lawn overgrown and weed-infested, a home that          has obviously been untended for a long time, unlived in and          uncared for. However the "For Sale" on the lawn hasa          "Sold" sign just beneath it.          The CAMERA PANS to the Brewster house next door, still          SEARCHING for those voices. It's in sharp contrast to the          Dandrige house, newly painted, its lawn neatlyshorn, a          house almost dwarfed in comparison to the Dandrige house,          but a happy home, its windows lit and smiling out warmly at          the night.          The voices seem to be coming from the Brewsterhouse, spe-          cifically from a dark second-story window that is open to          the night breeze.          JONATHAN (V.0.)          Why are you looking at me so          strangely, Nina?          MISS NINA(V.0.)          Not you, Jonathan. Your neck. Has          anyone ever told you it was          beautiful?           JONATHAN (V.O. )                          (UNCERTAINLY)           No.           MISS NINA(V.0.)           Come, lay your head on my breast.           The CAMERA SLOWLY STARTS TO PUSH IN on the second-.story           window.                         5 OMITTED          6 INT. BREWSTER HOUSE- CHARLEY'S BEDROOM - NIGHT          The CAMERA MOVES THROUGH the window, past the billowing          drapes to find itself staring at a TV, the flickering          screen the only light in theroom.                         (CONTINUED)                                                                                3.                         6 CONTINUED:          One of those terribleAIP/Hammer horror films is on the          tube, a woman, obviously a vampire, talking to one of those          vapid juveniles used so much in these types of films, the          two of them standing on a veranda to somehuge, old house.          The young man rests his head against her breast, incredibly          enough, unaware that she is bending toward his neck with          these huge fangs.          Just as. she is about to sink them intohis jugular, a tall,          saturnine man steps out of the darkness., wearing a rather          daffy Victorian suit and carrying a stake and mallet in his          hand. His name is PETER VINCENT.          PETER(V.0.)          Stop, you creature of the Night!          The vampiress leaps to her feet, her hapless, intended          victim forgotten. She faces Peter with a, hiss, her fangs          sparkling in themoonlight.          MISS NINA (V.O.)          Who are you who interrupts my nightly          feeding?          PETER (V.O.)          (drawing himself up to          his full height)          Peter Vincent, vampirekiller!          He rushes her, the stake held high to plunge into her          breast and the CAMERA TURNS AWAY from the TV as the sounds          of the movie CROSS FADE with the SOUNDS OF HEAVYBREATHING,          LIPS MEETING, TONGUES INTERTWINING in the room itself.          Only the room, a typical teenager's lair, seems devoid of          life, the bed empty, schoolbooks untouched sitting onthe          desk. The CAMERA BEGINS TO SEARCH the room, looking for          the source of this new sound, much more interesting than          the old flick on the tube.          And then it finds them, CHARLEYBREWSTER and AMY PETERSEN,          two sixteen-year olds, on the floor to the far side of the          bed, wedged between the bed and the window. They are both          as American as their jeans and making out likecrazy. They          twis.t and turn on the floor, Amy alternating between enjoy-          ing it and fighting Charley off, both of them white hot          with their mutual need. As he tries to slip his hand under          herblouse, she catches-a glimpse of the TV.          The horror movie has faded out to be replaced by the          interior of a local TV studio, a tacky graveyard set the          centerpiece, the visage of Peter Vincent, mucholder now,          rising out of a papier mache coffin and filling the screen          as CREDITSEND.                         (CONTINUED)                                                                                Rev. 11/16/84 4.                         6 CONTINUED: (2)           PETER(V.0.)          This is Peter Vincent, bringing you'          Fright Night Theatre. Tonight's          journey into horror is "Blood Castle,"          one of my favorites. And for a very          good season. I star -in it.          Hedoes this booming laugh that goes through about ten echo          chambers as Charley, totally oblivious to the TV, works on          Amy's bra, trying to get it undone, obviously something she          doesn't want. Shetries to distract him.                         AMY          Charley, Peter Vincent's on.                         CHARLEY          (fumbling with the bra)          Forget PeterVincent.                         AMY          But you love him.                         CHARLEY          I love you more --          Behind them, the station break segues into a commercial, a          bunch of kidssinging and dancing joyfully to a Coca-Cola          commercial. On the floor, Charley finally gets Amy's bra          undone. That's it for her; she twists away.                         AMY          Charley, stopit.          Be doesn't listen, going for her again, their finger fight-          ing behind her back, hers trying to get the bra resnapped,          his trying to keep it undone and get her blouse off at the          same time. Shesuddenly pushes him away, really hard this          time.                         AMY          Charley, I said stop it.          Charley rolls over, leaping to his feet, frustratedas          hell.                         CHARLEY          Jesus, give me a break, Amy. We've          been going together almost a year and          all I hear is "Charley, stop it!"'          They stare at each other angrily,both of them breathing          hard, their young hormones roiling inside them. Then they          look away, not wanting to see the other's anger, staring at          the TV for lack of any better place tolook.                         (CONTINUED)                                                                                5.                         CONTINUED: (3)          The horror movie is on again,Peter Vincent and Jonathan          now carrying a coffin across a fog swept cemetery.          Charley looks back at Amy, his features softening.                         CHARLEY          I'm sorry, Amy.          She rises,both of them standing by the open window,          staring at each other.                         AMY          Me, too.          (she puts a hand out,          touching his arm)          I'm just scared, that's all.          Henods understandingly, touched by her honesty and inno-          cence, his basic decency winning out over his lust. Sud-          denly she steps into his arms, kissing him as she never has          before. She breaks,staring up into his face nervously.                         AMY                         (SOFTLY)          Let's get into bed.:.                         CHARLEY          (staring at her, stunned)          You meanit?          She nods, stepping into his arms again, kissing him like          he's never been kissed before, the two of them slowly turn-          ing, Charley seeing the TV first with its grave digger          scene, then the wall,and finally out the window over Amy's          shoulder.          And he freezes. There, below in the side yard, he sees two          shadowy figures carrying what looks very much like a coffin          toward the storm doorsto the Dandrige house next door.          His mouth drops open as Amyâ¢slips out of his arms and onto          the bed, completely unaware of what he's seeing. She          starts to take off her blouse, Charley no longerlooking at          her, his gaze glued to the weird scene he's seeing out his          window.          As her blouse comes off, she lays back in the bed, looking          up at him, waiting for him to joinher.                         AMY          Charley, I'm ready.          He ignores her, grabbing his binoculars from his desk,          whipping.them to his eyes and focusing in-on-the


ï»¿The Project Gutenberg EBook of Bussy D'Ambois and The Revenge of BussyD'Ambois, by George ChapmanThis eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and withalmost no restrictions whatsoever.  Youmay copy it, give it away orre-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License includedwith this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.orgTitle: Bussy D'Ambois and The Revenge of Bussy D'AmboisAuthor: GeorgeChapmanEditor: Frederick S. BoasRelease Date: March 24, 2007 [EBook #20890]Language: EnglishCharacter set encoding: UTF-8*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BUSSY D'AMBOIS ***Produced byMelissa Er-Raqabi, Ted Garvin, Lisa Reigel,Michael Zeug, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Teamat http://www.pgdp.netTranscriber's Note: Words italicized in the original are surrounded by_underscores_. Wordsin bold in the original are surrounded by =equalsigns=. Greek words may not display properly--in that case, try theplain text version.BUSSY D'AMBOISANDTHE REVENGE OFBUSSY D'AMBOISBY GEORGECHAPMANEDITED BYFREDERICK S. BOAS, M.A.PROFESSOR OF ENGLISH LITERATURE INQUEEN'S COLLEGE, BELFASTBOSTON, U.S.A., AND LONDOND. C. HEATH & CO., PUBLISHERS1905COPYRIGHT, 1905, BYD. C.HEATH & CO.Prefatory NoteIn this volume an attempt is made for the first time to edit _BussyD'Ambois_ and _The Revenge of Bussy D'Ambois_ in a manner suitable tothe requirements of modern scholarship. Of therelations of this editionto its predecessors some details are given in the Notes on the Text ofthe two plays. But in these few prefatory words I should like to callattention to one or two points, and make someacknowledgments.The immediate source of _Bussy D'Ambois_ still remains undiscovered. Butthe episodes in the career of Chapman's hero, vouched for bycontemporaries like BrantÃ´me and Marguerite of Valois, andrelated insome detail in my _Introduction_, are typical of the material which thedramatist worked upon. And an important clue to the spirit in which hehandled it is the identification, here first made, of part ofBussy'sdying speech with lines put by Seneca into the mouth of Hercules in hislast agony on Mount Oeta. The exploits of D'Ambois were in Chapman'simaginative vision those of a semi-mythical hero rather than ofaFrenchman whose life overlapped with his own.On the _provenance_ of _The Revenge of Bussy D'Ambois_ I have beenfortunately able, with valuable assistance from others, to cast much newlight. In an article in _TheAthenÃ¦um_, Jan. 10, 1903, I showed that theimmediate source of many of the episodes in the play was EdwardGrimeston's translation (1607) of Jean de Serres's _Inventaire GÃ©nÃ©ralde l'Histoire de France_. Sincethat date I owe to Mr. H. Richards,Fellow of Wadham College, Oxford, the important discovery that a numberof speeches in the play are borrowed from the _Discourses_ of Epictetus,from whom Chapman drew hisconception of the character of ClermontD'Ambois. My brother-in-law, Mr. S. G. Owen, Student of Christ Church,has given me valuable help in explaining some obscure classicalallusions. Dr. J. A. H. Murray, the editor ofthe _New EnglishDictionary_, has kindly furnished me with the interpretation of adifficult passage in _Bussy D'Ambois_; and Mr. W. J. Craig, editor ofthe _Arden_ Shakespeare, and Mr. Le Gay Brereton, of the UniversityofSidney, have been good enough to proffer helpful suggestions. Finally Iam indebted to Professor George P. Baker, the General Editor of thisSeries, for valuable advice and help on a large number of points, whiletheproofs of this volume were passing through the press.                                                           F. S. B.BiographyGeorge Chapman was probably born in the year after Elizabeth'saccession. Anthony Wood gives 1557 asthe date, but the inscription onhis portrait, prefixed to the edition of _The Whole Works of Homer_ in1616, points to 1559. He was a native of Hitchin in Hertfordshire, as welearn from an allusion in his poem _EuthymiÃ¦Raptus_ or _The Teares ofPeace_, and from W. Browne's reference to him in _Britannia's Pastorals_as "the learned shepheard of faire Hitching Hill." According to Wood "in1574 or thereabouts, he being well grounded inschool learning was sentto the University." Wood is uncertain whether he went first to Oxford orto Cambridge, but he is sure, though he gives no authority for thestatement, that Chapman spent some time at the former"where he wasobserved to be most excellent in the Latin & Greek tongues, but not inlogic or philosophy, and therefore I presume that that was the reasonwhy he took no degree there."His life for almost a couple ofdecades afterwards is a blank, though ithas been conjectured on evidences drawn from _The Shadow of Night_ and_Alphonsus Emperor of Germany_, respectively, that he served in one ofSir F. Vere's campaigns in theNetherlands, and that he travelled inGermany. _The Shadow of Night_, consisting of two "poeticall hymnes"appeared in 1594, and is his first extant work. It was followed in 1595by _Ovid's Banquet of Sence_, _TheAmorous Zodiac_, and other poems.These early compositions, while containing fine passages, are obscureand crabbed in style.[v-1] In 1598 appeared Marlowe's fragmentary _Heroand Leander_ with Chapman'scontinuation. By this year he hadestablished his position as a playwright, for Meres in his _PalladisTamia_ praises him both as a writer of tragedy and of comedy. We knowfrom Henslowe's _Diary_ that his earliest extantcomedy _The BlindeBegger of Alexandria_ was produced on February 12, 1596, and that forthe next two or three years he was working busily for this enterprisingmanager. _An Humerous dayes Myrth_ (pr. 1599), and_All Fooles_ (pr.1605) under the earlier title of _The World Runs on Wheels_,[vi-1] werecomposed during this period.Meanwhile he had begun the work with which his name is most closelylinked, his translation ofHomer. The first instalment, entitled _SeavenBookes of the Iliades of Homere, Prince of Poets_, was published in1598, and was dedicated to the Earl of Essex. After the Earl's executionChapman found a yet morepowerful patron, for, as we learn from theletters printed recently in _The AthenÃ¦um_ (cf. _Bibliography_, sec.III), he was appointed about 1604 "sewer (i. e. cupbearer) in ordinary,"to Prince Henry, eldest son ofJames I. The Prince encouraged him toproceed with his translation, and about 1609 appeared the first twelvebooks of the _Iliad_ (including the seven formerly published) with afine "Epistle Dedicatory," to "thehigh-born Prince of men, Henry." In1611 the version of the _Iliad_ was completed, and that of the _Odyssey_was, at Prince Henry's desire, now taken in hand. But the untimely deathof the Prince, on November 6th,1612, dashed all Chapman's hopes ofreceiving the anticipated reward of his labours. According to a petitionwhich he addressed to the Privy Council, the Prince had promised him onthe conclusion of his translationÂ£300, and "uppon his deathbed a goodpension during my life." Not only were both of these withheld, but hewas deprived of his post of "sewer" by Prince Charles. Nevertheless hecompleted the version of the_Odyssey_ in 1614, and in 1616 he publisheda folio volume entitled _The Whole Works of Homer_. The translation, inspite of its inaccuracies and its "conceits," is, by virtue of itssustained dignity and vigour, one of thenoblest monuments ofElizabethan genius.By 1605, if not earlier, Chapman had resumed his work for the stage. Inthat year he wrote conjointly with Marston and Jonson the comedy of_Eastward Hoe_. On account ofsome passages reflecting on the Scotch,the authors were imprisoned. The details of the affair are obscure.According to Jonson, in his conversation later with Drummond, Chapmanand Marston were responsible for theobnoxious passages, and hevoluntarily imprisoned himself with them. But in one of the recentlyprinted letters, which apparently refers to this episode, Chapmandeclares that he and Jonson lie under the Kingsdispleasure for "twoclawses and both of them not our owne," i. e., apparently, written byMarston.[vii-1] However this may be, the offenders were soon released,and Chapman continued energetically his dramatic work.In 1606 appearedtwo of his most elaborate comedies, _The Gentleman Usher_ and _MonsieurD'Olive_, and in the next year was published his first and mostsuccessful tragedy, _Bussy D'Ambois_. In 1608 wereproduced twoconnected plays, _The Conspiracie and Tragedie of Charles, Duke ofByron_, dealing with recent events in France, and based upon materialsin E. Grimeston's translation (1607) of Jean de Serres' History.AgainChapman found himself in trouble with the authorities, for the Frenchambassador, offended by a scene in which Henry IV's Queen was introducedin unseemly fashion, had the performance of the plays stopped foratime. Chapman had to go into hiding to avoid arrest, and when he cameout, he had great difficulty in getting the plays licensed forpublication, even with the omission of the offending episodes. Hisfourth tragedy basedon French history, _The Revenge of Bussy D'Ambois_,appeared in 1613. It had been preceded by two comedies, _May-Day_(1611), and _The Widdowes' Teares_ (1612). Possibly, as Mr Dobellsuggests (_AthenÃ¦um_,23 March, 1901), the coarse satire of the latterplay may have been due to its author's annoyance at the apparent refusalof his suit by a widow to whom some of the recently printed letters areaddressed. In 1613 heproduced his _Maske of the Middle Temple andLyncolns Inne_, which was one of the series performed in honour of themarriage of the Princess Elizabeth and the Elector Palatine. Anotherhymeneal work, produced on amuch less auspicious occasion, was anallegorical poem, _Andromeda Liberata_, celebrating the marriage of theEarl of Somerset with the divorced Lady Essex in December, 1613.The year 1614, when the _Odyssey_was completed, marks the culminatingpoint of Chapman's literary activity. Henceforward, partly perhaps owingto the disappointment of his hopes through Prince Henry's death, hisproduction was more intermittent.Translations of the _Homeric Hymns_,of the _Georgicks_ of Hesiod, and other classical writings, mainlyoccupy the period till 1631. In that year he printed another tragedy,_CÃ¦sar and Pompey_, which, however, as welearn from the dedication, hadbeen written "long since." The remaining plays with which his name hasbeen connected did not appear during his lifetime. A comedy, _The Ball_,licensed in 1632, but not published till1639, has the names of Chapmanand Shirley on the title-page, but the latter was certainly its mainauthor. Another play, however, issued in the same year, and ascribed tothe same hands, _The Tragedie of Chabot,Admiral of France_ makes theimpression, from its subject-matter and its style, of being chiefly dueto Chapman. In 1654 two tragedies, _Alphonsus Emperour of Germany_ and_The Revenge for Honour_, wereseparately published under Chapman'sname. Their authorship, however, is doubtful. There is nothing in thestyle or diction of _Alphonsus_ which resembles Chapman's undisputedwork, and it is hard to believe that hehad a hand in it. _The Revengefor Honour_ is on an Oriental theme, entirely different from thosehandled by Chapman in his other tragedies, and the versification ismarked by a greater frequency of feminine endingsthan is usual withhim; but phrases and thoughts occur which may be paralleled from hisplays, and the work may be from his hand.On May 12, 1634, he died, and was buried in the churchyard of St.Giles's in the Field,where his friend Inigo Jones erected a monument tohis memory. According to Wood, he was a person of "most reverend aspect,religious and temperate, qualities rarely meeting in a poet." Though hismaterial successseems to have been small, he gained the friendship ofmany of the most illustrious spirits of his time--Essex, Prince Henry,Bacon, Jonson, Webster, among the number--and it has been his goodfortune to draw in afteryears splendid tributes from such successors inthe poetic art as Keats and A. C. Swinburne.FOOTNOTES:[v-1] This Biography was written before the appearance of Mr. Acheson'svolume, _Shakespeare and the RivalPoet_. Without endorsing all hisarguments or conclusions, I hold that Mr. Acheson has proved thatShakespeare in a number of his Sonnets refers to these earlier poems ofChapman's. He has thus brought almostconclusive evidence in support ofMinto's identification of Shakespeare's rival with Chapman--a conjecturewith which I, in 1896, expressed strong sympathy in my _Shakspere andhis Predecessors_.[vi-1] Thisidentification seems established by the entry in Henslowe's_Diary_, under date 2 July 1599. "Lent unto thomas Dowton to paye MrChapman, in full paymente for his boocke called the world rones awhelles, and now allfoolles, but the foolle, some of ______ xxxs."[vii-1] See pp. 158-64, Jonson's _Eastward Hoe and Alchemist_, F. E.Schelling (Belles Lettres Series, 1904).IntroductionThe group of Chapman's plays based upon recentFrench history, to which_Bussy D'Ambois_ and its sequel belong, forms one of the most uniquememorials of the Elizabethan drama. The playwrights of the period wereprofoundly interested in the annals of their owncountry, and exploitedthem for the stage with a magnificent indifference to historicalaccuracy. Gorboduc and Locrine were as real to them as any Lancastrianor Tudor prince, and their reigns were made to furnishsalutary lessonsto sixteenth century "magistrates." Scarcely less interesting were theheroes of republican Greece and Rome: CÃ¦sar, Pompey, and Antony, deckedout in Elizabethan garb, were as familiar to theplaygoers of the timeas their own national heroes, real or legendary. But the contemporaryhistory of continental states had comparatively little attraction forthe dramatists of the period, and when they handled it, theyusually hadsome political or religious end in view. Under a thin veil of allegory,Lyly in _Midas_ gratified his audience with a scathing denunciation ofthe ambition and gold-hunger of Philip II of Spain; and half acenturylater Middleton in a still bolder and more transparent allegory, _TheGame of Chess_, dared to ridicule on the stage Philip's successor, andhis envoy, Gondomar. But both plays were suggested by the elementsoffriction in the relations of England and Spain.French history also supplied material to some of the Londonplaywrights, but almost exclusively as it bore upon the great conflictbetween the forces of Roman Catholicismand Protestantism. The _Masakerof France_, which Henslowe mentions as having been played on January 3,1592-3, may or may not be identical with Marlowe's _The Massacre atParis_, printed towards the close of thesixteenth century, but in allprobability it expressed similarly the burning indignation of ProtestantEngland at the appalling events of the Eve of St. Bartholomew. WhateverMarlowe's religious or irreligious views mayhave been, he acted on thisoccasion as the mouthpiece of the vast majority of his countrymen, andhe founded on recent French history a play which, with all its defects,is of special interest to our present inquiry. ForChapman, who finishedMarlowe's incompleted poem, _Hero and Leander_, must have been familiarwith this drama, which introduced personages and events that were partlyto reappear in the two _Bussy_ plays. A briefexamination of _TheMassacre at Paris_ will, therefore, help to throw into relief thespecial characteristics of Chapman's dramas.It opens with the marriage, in 1572, of Henry of Navarre and Margaret,sister of KingCharles IX, which was intended to assuage the religiousstrife. But the Duke of Guise, the protagonist of the play, isdetermined to counterwork this policy, and with the aid of Catherine deMedicis, the Queen-Mother, andthe Duke of Anjou (afterwards Henry III),he arranges the massacre of the Huguenots. Of the events of the fatalnight we get a number of glimpses, including the murder of aProtestant, Scroune, by Mountsorrell(Chapman's Montsurry), who isrepresented as one of the Guise's most fanatical adherents. Charles soonafterwards dies, and is succeeded by his brother Henry, but "his mindruns on his minions," and Catherine and theGuise wield all real power.But there is one sphere which Guise cannot control--his wife's heart,which is given to Mugeroun, one of the "minions" of the King. Another ofthe minions, Joyeux, is sent against Henry ofNavarre, and is defeatedand slain; but Henry, learning that Guise has raised an army against hissovereign "to plant the Pope and Popelings in the realm," joins forceswith the King against the rebel, who is treacherouslymurdered and diescrying, "_Vive la messe!_ perish Huguenots!" His brother, the Cardinal,meets a similar fate, but the house of Lorraine is speedily revenged bya friar, who stabs King Henry. He dies, vowing vengeanceupon Rome, andsending messages to Queen Elizabeth, "whom God hath bless'd for hatingpapistry."It is easy to see how a play on these lines would have appealed to anElizabethan audience, while Marlowe, whether hisreligious sympathieswere engaged or not, realized the dramatic possibilities of the figureof the Guise, one of the lawlessly aspiring brotherhood that had soirresistible a fascination for his genius. But it is much moredifficultto understand why, soon after the accession of James I, Chapman shouldhave gone back to the same period of French history, and reintroduced anumber of the same prominent figures, Henry III, Guise, hisDuchess, andMountsorrell, not in their relation to great political and religiousoutbreaks, but grouped round a figure who can scarcely have been veryfamiliar to the English theatre-going public--Louis de Clermont,Bussyd'Amboise.[xii-1]This personage was born in 1549, and was the eldest son of Jacques deClermont d'Amboise, seigneur de Bussy et de Saxe-Fontaine, by his firstwife, Catherine de Beauvais. He followed the careerof arms, and in 1568we hear of him as a commandant of a company. He was in Paris during themassacre of St. Bartholomew, and took advantage of it to settle aprivate feud. He had had a prolonged lawsuit with hiscousin Antoine deClermont, a prominent Huguenot, and follower of the King of Navarre.While his rival was fleeing for safety he had the misfortune to fallinto the hands of Bussy, who dispatched him then and there.Heafterwards distinguished himself in various operations against theHuguenots, and by his bravery and accomplishments won the favour of theDuke of Anjou, who, after the accession of Henry III in 1575, was heirtothe throne. The Duke in this year appointed him his _couronell_, andhenceforward he passed into his service. In 1576, as a reward fornegotiating "_la paix de Monsieur_" with the Huguenots, the Dukereceived theterritories of Anjou, Touraine, and Berry, and at onceappointed Bussy governor of Anjou. In November the new governor arrivedat Angers, the capital of the Duchy, and was welcomed by the citizens;but the disordersand exactions of his troops soon aroused the anger ofthe populace, and the King had to interfere in their behalf, though fora time Bussy set his injunctions at defiance. At last he retired fromthe city, and rejoined theDuke, in close intercourse with whom heremained during the following years, accompanying him finally on hisunsuccessful expedition to the Low Countries in the summer of 1578. OnAnjou's return to court in January,1579, Bussy, who seems to havealienated his patron by his presumptuous behaviour, did not go with him,but took up his residence again in the territory of Anjou. He was lessoccupied, however, with his official dutiesthan with his criminalpassion for FranÃ§oise de Maridort, wife of the Comte de Monsoreau, whohad been appointed _grand-veneur_ to the Duke. The favorite mansion ofthe Comte was at La CoutanciÃ¨re, and it washere that Bussy ardentlypursued his intrigue with the Countess. But a jocular letter on thesubject, which he sent to the Duke of Anjou, was shown, according to thehistorian, De Thou, by the Duke to the King, who, inhis turn, passed iton to Montsoreau. The latter thereupon forced his wife to make atreacherous assignation with Bussy at the chÃ¢teau on the night of the18th of August, and on his appearance, with his companion inpleasure,Claude Colasseau, they were both assassinated by the retainers of theinfuriated husband.The tragic close of Bussy's life has given his career an interestdisproportionate to his historical importance. But thedrama of LaCoutanciÃ¨re was only the final episode in a career crowded with romanticincidents. The annalists and memoir-writers of the period prove thatBussy's exploits as a duellist and a gallant had impressed vividlytheimagination of his contemporaries. Margaret of Valois, the wife of HenryIV, BrantÃ´me, who was a relative and friend of D'Ambois, and L'Estoile,the chronicler and journalist, are amongst those who have left us


ï»¿The Project Gutenberg EBook of Anne Of Avonlea, by Lucy Maud MontgomeryThis 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.orgTitle: Anne Of AvonleaAuthor: Lucy Maud MontgomeryRelease Date: March 7, 2006 [EBook#47]Language: English*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ANNE OF AVONLEA ***Produced by An Anonymous Volunteer and David WidgerANNE OF AVONLEAby Lucy Maud MontgomeryTomy formerteacherHATTIE GORDON SMITHin grateful remembrance of hersympathy and encouragement.     Flowers spring to blossom where she walks     The careful ways of duty,     Our hard, stiff lines of life with her     Areflowing curves of beauty.     --WHITTIER     I         An Irate Neighbor     II        Selling in Haste and Repenting at Leisure     III       Mr. Harrison at Home     IV        Different Opinions47     V         A Full-fledgedSchoolma'am     VI        All Sorts and Conditions of Men . . . and women     VII       The Pointing of Duty     VIII      Marilla Adopts Twins     IX        A Question of Color     X         Davy in Search of aSensation     XI        Facts and Fancies     XII       A Jonah Day     XIII      A Golden Picnic     XIV       A Danger Averted     XV        The Beginning of Vacation     XVI       The Substance of Things Hoped For     XVII      AChapter of Accidents     XVIII     An Adventure on the Tory Road     XIX       Just a Happy Day     XX        The Way It Often Happens     XXI       Sweet Miss Lavendar     XXII      Odds and Ends     XXIII     MissLavendar's Romance     XXIV      A Prophet in His Own Country     XXV       An Avonlea Scandal     XXVI      Around the Bend     XXVII     An Afternoon at the Stone House     XXVIII    The Prince Comes Back to theEnchanted Palace     XXIX      Poetry and Prose     XXX       A Wedding at the Stone HouseIAn Irate NeighborA tall, slim girl, "half-past sixteen," with serious gray eyes and hairwhich her friends called auburn, had satdown on the broad red sandstonedoorstep of a Prince Edward Island farmhouse one ripe afternoon inAugust, firmly resolved to construe so many lines of Virgil.But an August afternoon, with blue hazes scarfing theharvest slopes,little winds whispering elfishly in the poplars, and a dancing slendorof red poppies outflaming against the dark coppice of young firs in acorner of the cherry orchard, was fitter for dreams than deadlanguages.The Virgil soon slipped unheeded to the ground, and Anne, her chinpropped on her clasped hands, and her eyes on the splendid mass offluffy clouds that were heaping up just over Mr. J. A. Harrison'shouselike a great white mountain, was far away in a delicious world where acertain schoolteacher was doing a wonderful work, shaping the destiniesof future statesmen, and inspiring youthful minds and hearts withhighand lofty ambitions.To be sure, if you came down to harsh facts . . . which, it must beconfessed, Anne seldom did until she had to . . . it did not seem likelythat there was much promising material for celebrities inAvonleaschool; but you could never tell what might happen if a teacher usedher influence for good. Anne had certain rose-tinted ideals of what ateacher might accomplish if she only went the right way about it; andshewas in the midst of a delightful scene, forty years hence, with afamous personage . . . just exactly what he was to be famous for was leftin convenient haziness, but Anne thought it would be rather nice to havehim acollege president or a Canadian premier . . . bowing low over herwrinkled hand and assuring her that it was she who had first kindled hisambition, and that all his success in life was due to the lessons shehad instilled solong ago in Avonlea school. This pleasant vision wasshattered by a most unpleasant interruption.A demure little Jersey cow came scuttling down the lane and five secondslater Mr. Harrison arrived . . . if "arrived" be nottoo mild a term todescribe the manner of his irruption into the yard.He bounced over the fence without waiting to open the gate, and angrilyconfronted astonished Anne, who had risen to her feet and stood lookingathim in some bewilderment. Mr. Harrison was their new righthandneighbor and she had never met him before, although she had seen himonce or twice.In early April, before Anne had come home from Queen's, Mr.Robert Bell,whose farm adjoined the Cuthbert place on the west, had sold out andmoved to Charlottetown. His farm had been bought by a certain Mr. J. A.Harrison, whose name, and the fact that he was a NewBrunswick man, wereall that was known about him. But before he had been a month in Avonleahe had won the reputation of being an odd person . . . "a crank," Mrs.Rachel Lynde said. Mrs. Rachel was an outspokenlady, as those of youwho may have already made her acquaintance will remember. Mr. Harrisonwas certainly different from other people . . . and that is the essentialcharacteristic of a crank, as everybody knows.In thefirst place he kept house for himself and had publicly statedthat he wanted no fools of women around his diggings. FeminineAvonlea took its revenge by the gruesome tales it related about hishouse-keeping andcooking. He had hired little John Henry Carter ofWhite Sands and John Henry started the stories. For one thing, therewas never any stated time for meals in the Harrison establishment. Mr.Harrison "got a bite" when hefelt hungry, and if John Henry were aroundat the time, he came in for a share, but if he were not, he had to waituntil Mr. Harrison's next hungry spell. John Henry mournfully averredthat he would have starved to deathif it wasn't that he got home onSundays and got a good filling up, and that his mother always gave him abasket of "grub" to take back with him on Monday mornings.As for washing dishes, Mr. Harrison never made anypretence of doing itunless a rainy Sunday came. Then he went to work and washed them all atonce in the rainwater hogshead, and left them to drain dry.Again, Mr. Harrison was "close." When he was asked to subscribeto theRev. Mr. Allan's salary he said he'd wait and see how many dollars'worth of good he got out of his preaching first . . . he didn't believein buying a pig in a poke. And when Mrs. Lynde went to ask for acontributionto missions . . . and incidentally to see the inside ofthe house . . . he told her there were more heathens among the old womangossips in Avonlea than anywhere else he knew of, and he'd cheerfullycontribute to amission for Christianizing them if she'd undertake it.Mrs. Rachel got herself away and said it was a mercy poor Mrs. RobertBell was safe in her grave, for it would have broken her heart to seethe state of her house inwhich she used to take so much pride."Why, she scrubbed the kitchen floor every second day," Mrs. Lynde toldMarilla Cuthbert indignantly, "and if you could see it now! I had tohold up my skirts as I walked acrossit."Finally, Mr. Harrison kept a parrot called Ginger. Nobody in Avonlea hadever kept a parrot before; consequently that proceeding was consideredbarely respectable. And such a parrot! If you took John HenryCarter'sword for it, never was such an unholy bird. It swore terribly. Mrs.Carter would have taken John Henry away at once if she had been sureshe could get another place for him. Besides, Ginger had bitten apieceright out of the back of John Henry's neck one day when he had stoopeddown too near the cage. Mrs. Carter showed everybody the mark when theluckless John Henry went home on Sundays.All these thingsflashed through Anne's mind as Mr. Harrison stood,quite speechless with wrath apparently, before her. In his most amiablemood Mr. Harrison could not have been considered a handsome man; he wasshort and fat andbald; and now, with his round face purple with rageand his prominent blue eyes almost sticking out of his head, Annethought he was really the ugliest person she had ever seen.All at once Mr. Harrison found hisvoice."I'm not going to put up with this," he spluttered, "not a day longer,do you hear, miss. Bless my soul, this is the third time, miss . . .  thethird time! Patience has ceased to be a virtue, miss. I warned your auntthelast time not to let it occur again . . .  and she's let it . . . she'sdone it . . . what does she mean by it, that is what I want to know. Thatis what I'm here about, miss.""Will you explain what the trouble is?" asked Anne, inher mostdignified manner. She had been practicing it considerably of late tohave it in good working order when school began; but it had no apparenteffect on the irate J. A. Harrison."Trouble, is it? Bless my soul, troubleenough, I should think. Thetrouble is, miss, that I found that Jersey cow of your aunt's in my oatsagain, not half an hour ago. The third time, mark you. I found her inlast Tuesday and I found her in yesterday. I camehere and told youraunt not to let it occur again. She has let it occur again. Where's youraunt, miss? I just want to see her for a minute and give her a piece ofmy mind . . . a piece of J. A. Harrison's mind, miss.""If youmean Miss Marilla Cuthbert, she is not my aunt, and she has gonedown to East Grafton to see a distant relative of hers who is very ill,"said Anne, with due increase of dignity at every word. "I am very sorrythat my cowshould have broken into your oats . . .  she is my cow and notMiss Cuthbert's . . . Matthew gave her to me three years ago when she wasa little calf and he bought her from Mr. Bell.""Sorry, miss! Sorry isn't going tohelp matters any. You'd better go andlook at the havoc that animal has made in my oats . . . trampled them fromcenter to circumference, miss.""I am very sorry," repeated Anne firmly, "but perhaps if you keptyourfences in better repair Dolly might not have broken in. It is your partof the line fence that separates your oatfield from our pasture and Inoticed the other day that it was not in very good condition.""My fence is allright," snapped Mr. Harrison, angrier than ever at thiscarrying of the war into the enemy's country. "The jail fence couldn'tkeep a demon of a cow like that out. And I can tell you, you redheadedsnippet, that if the cow isyours, as you say, you'd be better employedin watching her out of other people's grain than in sitting roundreading yellow-covered novels," . . . with a scathing glance at theinnocent tan-colored Virgil by Anne'sfeet.Something at that moment was red besides Anne's hair . . . which hadalways been a tender point with her."I'd rather have red hair than none at all, except a little fringe roundmy ears," she flashed.The shot told,for Mr. Harrison was really very sensitive about his baldhead. His anger choked him up again and he could only glare speechlesslyat Anne, who recovered her temper and followed up her advantage."I can makeallowance for you, Mr. Harrison, because I have animagination. I can easily imagine how very trying it must be to find acow in your oats and I shall not cherish any hard feelings against youfor the things you've said. Ipromise you that Dolly shall never breakinto your oats again. I give you my word of honor on THAT point.""Well, mind you she doesn't," muttered Mr. Harrison in a somewhatsubdued tone; but he stamped off angrilyenough and Anne heard himgrowling to himself until he was out of earshot.Grievously disturbed in mind, Anne marched across the yard and shut thenaughty Jersey up in the milking pen."She can't possibly get out ofthat unless she tears the fence down,"she reflected. "She looks pretty quiet now. I daresay she has sickenedherself on those oats. I wish I'd sold her to Mr. Shearer when he wantedher last week, but I thought it wasjust as well to wait until we hadthe auction of the stock and let them all go together. I believe it istrue about Mr. Harrison being a crank. Certainly there's nothing of thekindred spirit about HIM."Anne had always aweather eye open for kindred spirits.Marilla Cuthbert was driving into the yard as Anne returned from thehouse, and the latter flew to get tea ready. They discussed the matterat the tea table."I'll be glad when theauction is over," said Marilla. "It is too muchresponsibility having so much stock about the place and nobody but thatunreliable Martin to look after them. He has never come back yet and hepromised that he wouldcertainly be back last night if I'd give him theday off to go to his aunt's funeral. I don't know how many aunts he hasgot, I am sure. That's the fourth that's died since he hired here a yearago. I'll be more than thankfulwhen the crop is in and Mr. Barry takesover the farm. We'll have to keep Dolly shut up in the pen till Martincomes, for she must be put in the back pasture and the fences there haveto be fixed. I declare, it is a world oftrouble, as Rachel says. Here'spoor Mary Keith dying and what is to become of those two children ofhers is more than I know. She has a brother in British Columbia and shehas written to him about them, but she hasn'theard from him yet.""What are the children like? How old are they?""Six past . . . they're twins.""Oh, I've always been especially interested in twins ever since Mrs.Hammond had so many," said Anne eagerly. "Are theypretty?""Goodness, you couldn't tell . . . they were too dirty. Davy had beenout making mud pies and Dora went out to call him in. Davy pushed herheadfirst into the biggest pie and then, because she cried, he got intoithimself and wallowed in it to show her it was nothing to cry about.Mary said Dora was really a very good child but that Davy was full ofmischief. He has never had any bringing up you might say. His fatherdied when hewas a baby and Mary has been sick almost ever since.""I'm always sorry for children that have no bringing up," said Annesoberly. "You know _I_ hadn't any till you took me in hand. I hope theiruncle will look afterthem. Just what relation is Mrs. Keith to you?""Mary? None in the world. It was her husband . . . he was our thirdcousin. There's Mrs. Lynde coming through the yard. I thought she'd beup to hear about Mary.""Don't tellher about Mr. Harrison and the cow," implored Anne.Marilla promised; but the promise was quite unnecessary, for Mrs. Lyndewas no sooner fairly seated than she said,"I saw Mr. Harrison chasing your Jersey out of hisoats today when I wascoming home from Carmody. I thought he looked pretty mad. Did he makemuch of a rumpus?"Anne and Marilla furtively exchanged amused smiles. Few things inAvonlea ever escaped Mrs. Lynde.It was only that morning Anne had said,"If you went to your own room at midnight, locked the door, pulled downthe blind, and SNEEZED, Mrs. Lynde would ask you the next day how yourcold was!""I believe he did,"admitted Marilla. "I was away. He gave Anne a pieceof his mind.""I think he is a very disagreeable man," said Anne, with a resentfultoss of her ruddy head."You never said a truer word," said Mrs. Rachel solemnly. "Iknewthere'd be trouble when Robert Bell sold his place to a New Brunswickman, that's what. I don't know what Avonlea is coming to, with so manystrange people rushing into it. It'll soon not be safe to go to sleep inourbeds.""Why, what other strangers are coming in?" asked Marilla."Haven't you heard? Well, there's a family of Donnells, for one thing.They've rented Peter Sloane's old house. Peter has hired the man to runhis mill. Theybelong down east and nobody knows anything about them.Then that shiftless Timothy Cotton family are going to move up fromWhite Sands and they'll simply be a burden on the public. He isin consumption . . . whenhe isn't stealing . . .  and his wife is aslack-twisted creature that can't turn her hand to a thing. She washesher dishes SITTING DOWN. Mrs. George Pye has taken her husband's orphannephew, Anthony Pye. He'll begoing to school to you, Anne, so you mayexpect trouble, that's what. And you'll have another strange pupil, too.Paul Irving is coming from the States to live with his grandmother.You remember his father, Marilla . . .Stephen Irving, him that jiltedLavendar Lewis over at Grafton?""I don't think he jilted her. There was a quarrel . . . I suppose therewas blame on both sides.""Well, anyway, he didn't marry her, and she's been as queeras possibleever since, they say . . . living all by herself in that little stonehouse she calls Echo Lodge. Stephen went off to the States and wentinto business with his uncle and married a Yankee. He's never beenhomesince, though his mother has been up to see him once or twice. His wifedied two years ago and he's sending the boy home to his mother for aspell. He's ten years old and I don't know if he'll be a verydesirablepupil. You can never tell about those Yankees."Mrs Lynde looked upon all people who had the misfortune to be bornor brought up elsewhere than in Prince Edward Island with adecidedcan-any-good-thing-come-out-of-Nazareth air. They MIGHT be good people,of course; but you were on the safe side in doubting it. She had aspecial prejudice against "Yankees." Her husband had been cheatedoutof ten dollars by an employer for whom he had once worked in Boston andneither angels nor principalities nor powers could have convinced Mrs.Rachel that the whole United States was not responsible for it."Avonleaschool won't be the worse for a little new blood," said Marilladrily, "and if this boy is anything like his father he'll be all right.Steve Irving was the nicest boy that was ever raised in these parts,though some people didcall him proud. I should think Mrs. Irving wouldbe very glad to have the child. She has been very lonesome since herhusband died.""Oh, the boy may be well enough, but he'll be different from Avonleachildren," saidMrs. Rachel, as if that clinched the matter. Mrs.Rachel's opinions concerning any person, place, or thing, were alwayswarranted to wear. "What's this I hear about your going to start up aVillage Improvement Society,Anne?""I was just talking it over with some of the girls and boys at the lastDebating Club," said Anne, flushing. "They thought it would be rathernice . . . and so do Mr. and Mrs. Allan. Lots of villages have themnow.""Well, you'll get into no end of hot water if you do. Better leave italone, Anne, that's what. People don't like being improved.""Oh, we are not going to try to improve the PEOPLE. It is Avonleaitself. There are lots ofthings which might be done to make itprettier. For instance, if we could coax Mr. Levi Boulter to pulldown that dreadful old house on his upper farm wouldn't that be animprovement?""It certainly would," admitted Mrs.Rachel. "That old ruin has been aneyesore to the settlement for years. But if you Improvers can coaxLevi Boulter to do anything for the public that he isn't to be paid fordoing, may I be there to see and hear theprocess, that's what. I don'twant to discourage you, Anne, for there may be something in your idea,though I suppose you did get it out of some rubbishy Yankee magazine;but you'll have your hands full with yourschool and I advise you as afriend not to bother with your improvements, that's what. But there,I know you'll go ahead with it if you've set your mind on it. You werealways one to carry a thing throughsomehow."Something about the firm outlines of Anne's lips told that Mrs. Rachelwas not far astray in this estimate. Anne's heart was bent on formingthe Improvement Society. Gilbert Blythe, who was to teach inWhiteSands but would always be home from Friday night to Monday morning, wasenthusiastic about it; and most of the other folks were willing to go infor anything that meant occasional meetings and consequentlysome "fun."As for what the "improvements" were to be, nobody had any very clearidea except Anne and Gilbert. They had talked them over and planned themout until an ideal Avonlea existed in their minds, if nowhereelse.Mrs. Rachel had still another item of news."They've given the Carmody school to a Priscilla Grant. Didn't you go toQueen's with a girl of that name, Anne?""Yes, indeed. Priscilla to teach at Carmody! How perfectlylovely!"exclaimed Anne, her gray eyes lighting up until they looked like eveningstars, causing Mrs. Lynde to wonder anew if she would ever get itsettled to her satisfaction whether Anne Shirley were really a prettygirl ornot.IISelling in Haste and Repenting at LeisureAnne drove over to Carmody on a shopping expedition the next afternoonand took Diana Barry with her. Diana was, of course, a pledged member ofthe ImprovementSociety, and the two girls talked about little else allthe way to Carmody and back."The very first thing we ought to do when we get started is to have thathall painted," said Diana, as they drove past the Avonlea hall, arathershabby building set down in a wooded hollow, with spruce trees hoodingit about on all sides. "It's a disgraceful looking place and we mustattend to it even before we try to get Mr. Levi Boulder to pull hishousedown. Father says we'll never succeed in DOING that. Levi Boulteris too mean to spend the time it would take.""Perhaps he'll let the boys take it down if they promise to haulthe boards and split them up for him for


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                         NINJAASSASSIN                           Written by              Matthew Sand & J. MichaelStraczynski                                      REVISED 2nd DRAFT   6/4/08                                                        FADE IN:    CLOSE ONa Horimono Tattoo as it is being drawn into    flesh. The ink is needled into the surface of the skin,    raw and bloody, the needled brush tapped with the    precision of ritual.    The tattoo is in the style of aKuniyoshi print: Miyamoto    Musashi thrusting his spear into the writhing dragon.    The image has beauty but retains the violence required to    saturate flesh with art.    The skin canvas shifts uncomfortablywith the needle-    work.                             HOLLYWOOD              Fuck!   Fucking-shit-fuck-fucking-              fuck!    PULL BACK to reveal that we're in...1   INT.TATTOO PARLOR - NIGHT                                      1    A place of designer furniture, beautiful girls carrying    towels, tea and cigarettes. Dozens of Yakuza look on as    the process continues, sleevesrolled up or shirts off to    expose the lavish tattoos that cover their torsos.    HOLLYWOOD, the young Yakuza member, is getting his first    tattoo, a relatively small one on his back.    He grabs abottle of sake and suckles it like a baby.                            HOLLYWOOD              Watch it, old man!    The old tattoo artist continues tapping his brush.       Maybe    a littleharder.                               HOLLYWOOD (CONT'D)              What the fuck?     You're doing it              wrong.                            TATTOO ARTIST              The needle is doingwhat the              needle does.                            HOLLYWOOD              What's that supposed tomean?                                                     (CONTINUED)                       GOLDENROD REVISED 2ndDRAFT    6/4/08        2.1   CONTINUED:                                                        1                               TATTOO MASTER                 The irezumi does not hide the                 skin, the tattooreveals the                 nature of the man and illuminates                 the four noble professions in the                 Book of Five Rings: the Warrior,                 the Artist, the Merchant, and the                 farmer. If thereis a conflict                 between the needle and the skin,                 between the mark and the man, then                 perhaps the path you have chosen                 is not the path for which youare                 suited.                               HOLLYWOOD                 What did you just say, old man?    Hollywood whips his gun out and jams it under the old    man'sjaw.                               HOLLYWOOD (CONT'D)                 I know you didn't just disrespect                 me, did you? You that fucking                 stupid? You disrespect me, and                 I'lltattoo this ceiling with your                 fucking brains!    The old man speaks with a kind of deference honed through    years of service to men like Hollywood.                                  TATTOOMASTER                 No disrespect.    Hollywood smiles.                               HOLLYWOOD                 You're lucky. I can't kill you                 'til you finish this thing.Gimme                 that mirror! How's it looking?    Goons and girls all cluck their tongues in chorus.    Hollywood peers at the new tat through the mirror.         He    whistles approval as Yakuza One enterscarrying an    origami envelope.                               HOLLYWOOD (CONT'D)                 Not bad. Not bad. For an old fuck.                               YAKUZA ONE                 Hey,boss. This just came for you.                                  HOLLYWOOD                 What is it?                                                       (CONTINUED)                      GOLDENRODREVISED 2nd DRAFT   6/4/08      3.1   CONTINUED: (2)                                                1                              YAKUZA ONE              Aletter.                            HOLLYWOOD              So open it, dumb ass.    He opens the origami envelope, then hesitates at what he    sees.                             HOLLYWOOD(CONT'D)              What?   What is it?    He pours the contents out into his hand.                            YAKUZA ONE              Looks like sand.    He tastesit.                            YAKUZA ONE (CONT'D)              Yup. Sand. Black Sand.    The tattoo master drops his brush.     It clatters to the    floor.                              TATTOOMASTER              No...                            HOLLYWOOD              You know what this is?    The artist barely nods.                            HOLLYWOOD(CONT'D)              Wanna let us in on the joke?                            TATTOO MASTER              Years ago, I watched a man open an              envelope like that one.    His eyes poolwith fury at the memory.                            TATTOO MASTER (CONT'D)              There were many with him and they              laughed like you laugh now. Then              it came from the shadowsand their              laughter was drowned in blood.              You cannot bargain with what is              coming. You cannot reason with it.              Because it is not a human being.              It is a demon sent straightfrom              hell that will never stop until              you are dead.                                                     (CONTINUED)                     GOLDENROD REVISED 2ndDRAFT   6/4/08   4.1   CONTINUED: (3)                                            1                            HOLLYWOOD              What came out of the shadows?                            TATTOOMASTER              I cannot say the word.                             HOLLYWOOD              What word?    He pulls open his robe, revealing a hauntingly beautiful    tattoo of a Shinobi demonthrusting its blade into a lump    of scar tissue at the center of his heart.                            TATTOO ARTIST              That night, one of their blades              struck here. I should havedied,              but for an accident of birth. My              heart is here, on the other side.    Hollywood peers closer at the dark figure of thedemon.                            HOLLYWOOD              What the fuck is that?                            YAKUZA ONE              Looks like a Ninja,boss.                            HOLLYWOOD              A ninja? Are you kidding me?              That's the word you're afraid to              say? Ninja?    As he starts tolaugh.                            HOLLYWOOD (CONT'D)              Ninja-Ninja-Ninja!    His laughter is infectious.                            HOLLYWOOD (CONT'D)              You oldfuck! You had me going!              Ninja. That's some good shit.    His Lieutenant laughs hard with him until the top of his    head disappears, sliced off from his jaw up, leaving his    tongue wagging inspace.    Lights shatter around the room.    Chaos ensues. The panicked screams of the fleeing    entourage co-mingle in chorus with gruesome death rattles    of Hollywood's foot soldiers as one byone, they are    eviscerated.                                                    (CONTINUED)                     GOLDENROD REVISED 2nd DRAFT   6/4/08    5.1   CONTINUED:(4)                                             1    There's a RUSH of movement, more felt than seen. The    whistle of swords through the air. Cries and screams.    Guns that fire suddenly and are just as suddenlystilled.    STAY on the face of the Tattoo Master, barely visible in    the thin trace of moonlight from a nearby window.    Frozen. Immobile. As the killing continues around him.    Then: silence, brokenby the sound of heavy, desperate    BREATHING, and a MATCH being struck by Hollywood who    looks up --    -- and sees a dark figures standing before him. Everyone    else is dead. Only he and the TattooMaster remain. The    figure regards him with still silence. For perhaps the    first time in his life, Hollywood is terrified.                            HOLLYWOOD (CONT'D)              Listen... you don't have todo              this! Whatever you're getting              paid, I'll triple it! You hear me!              I'll pay you whatever you want!              Just name your price!    Their answer is silence. Hollywood sees his gunsnearby.    With a desperate scream, he THROWS the match in the air    as he DIVES for his guns, grabbing one in each hand.    There is a whistle of metal and suddenly his severed    hands are tumblinggracefully through the air.    The blade swings again, slicing through his body as if it    were barely there, coming out the other side as --    -- Hollywood's body erupts as it falls in twopieces,    splattering the artist with blood.    The match touches the floor and goes out.    The Tattoo Master does not move, has not moved.    Frozen.                            TATTOOARTIST              But you are real, aren't you?    After a moment, the ninja emerges into the moonlight, the    way a shadow coalesces into a panther gliding from the    dark to inspect itskill.    The artist doesn't move, but his eyes widen, his heart    pounding in his ears.                            TATTOO ARTIST (CONT'D)              For fifty-seven-years, I've told              yourstory...                            (MORE)                                                     (CONTINUED)                     GOLDENROD REVISED 2nd DRAFT   6/4/08    6.1   CONTINUED:(5)                                             1                            TATTOO ARTIST (CONT'D)              No one ever believed              me.    The ninja walks towards him, his steps soundless. He    crouchesdown, his eyes taking in the old man's tattoo.                            TATTOO ARTIST (CONT'D)              But you are real, aren't you?    There's the shing of a sword beingunsheathed.    The    artist closes his eyes, anticipating death.    Silence. He waits for the death blow. It does not come.    He finally forces himself to open his eyes.    The ninja is gone, having


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                              "DIE HARD"                                                                                Screenplay                                                                         by                                                            Jeb Stuart                                                                                Revisionsby                                                                                Steven E.DeSouza                                                                                based on the novel                                                  Nothing LastsForever                                                                             by                                                        Roderick Thorp                WITH REVISION #1  (Blue)    WITH REVISION#5  (Goldenrod)        November 2, 1987            November 5, 1987        WITH REVISION #2  (Pink)    WITH REVISION #6  (Salmon)        November 4, 1987            November 17, 1987        WITH REVISION#3  (Green)   WITH REVISION #7  (Blue)        November 4, 1987            November 23, 1987                WITH REVISION #4  (Yellow)  WITH REVISION #8  (Pink)        November 5, 1987            November30, 1987                                                      SECOND REVISED DRAFT                                                      October 2, 1987A Gordon Company/Silver PicturesProduction------------------------------------------------------------------------------                                                            "DIE HARD"        FADE IN1       405 FREEWAY -LOS ANGELES - EARLY EVENING              1         Christmas tinsel on the light poles.  We ARE LOOKING east past        Inglewood INTO the orange grid of L.A. at night when suddenly        we TILT UP TO CATCHthe huge belly of a landing 747 -- the        noise is deafening.2       INT. 747 - PASSENGERS - SAME                           2         The usual moment just after landing when you let out that sigh        of relief thatyou've made it in one piece.  As the plane TAXIS        to its gate, they stir, gather personal belongings.3       ON JOHN MCCLANE                                        3         mid-thirties, good-looking, athletic and tiredfrom his trip.        He sits by the window.  His relief on landing is subtle, but        we NOTICE.  Suddenly, he hears --                                 SALESMAN'S VOICE                  You don't like flying, doyou?        McClane turns, looks at the Babbit clone next to him.  Caught,        he tenses, holds his armrests in exaggerated fear.                                 MCCLANE                  No, no, where'd you get thatidea?                                 SALESMAN                         (smiling)                  Ya wanna know the secret of successful                  air travel?  After you get where you're                  going, ya take off yourshoes and socks.                  Then ya walk around on the rug barefoot                  and make fists with your toes.                                 MCCLANE                  Fists with yourtoes.                                 SALESMAN                  Maybe it's not a fist when it's your                  toes...I mean like this...work out                  that time zonetension.                         (demonstrating)                  Better'n a cup of coffee and a hot                  shower for the old jet lag.  I know                  it sounds crazy.  Trust me.  I've                  been doing it for nineyears.        The plane stops.  Passengers rise, start to take down overhead        luggage.  McClane does this, but as he opens the door above,        the businessman BLANCHES seeing:3-A     HIS P.O.V. -MCCLANE'S BARETTA PISTOL                  3-A         Peeking out from his jacket.3-B     BACK TO SCENE                                          3-B         Recognizing the look, McClane smilesreassuringly.                                 MCCLANE                  It's okay.                         (showing badge)                  I'm a cop.                         (pause)                  Trust me.  I've been doing itfor                  eleven.        The businessman relaxes, moves off.  McClane now wrestles down        the biggest Teddy Bear FAO Schwartz had to offer.  Balancing        this, he moves down to another overhead, takesout a topcoat        and an overnighter.  Barely managing all this, he turns,        COLLIDING WITH:3-C     A PRETTY STEWARDESS                                    3-C         She bumps noses with the bear,gives a look.                                 STEWARDESS                         (smiling, about the bear)                  Maybe you should have bought hera                  ticket.                                 MCCLANE                  Her?        He scrutinizes the nether regions of the bear, shrugs.                                 MCCLANE                  She doesn'tcomplain.                                 STEWARDESS                         (eying him)                  Neither would I.        McClane smiles, with just enough of a sigh to know he's as        wistful aboutthings-that-might-have-been as she is...moves        down the aisle.                                                      CUT TO:4       INT. THE NAKATOMI BUILDING (LOS ANGELES) - EVENING     4         CLOSEON A bottle of Dom Perignon as the cork explodes across        a large office floor decorated for Christmas.  A Japanese man,        mid-fifties standing on a desk holds up the bottle triumphantly        and looks out at anadoring audience of junior executives and        office personnel.  He is JOSEPH TAKAGI, Sr V.P. of Sales for        Nakatomi, a multinational corporation.                                 TAKAGI                  Ladies andgentlemen...I congratulate                  each and every one of you for making                  this one of the greatest days in the                  history of the Nakatomi corporation...        In the b.g., obviously still at work, anattractive BUSINESSWOMAN        in her mid-thirties, studying a computer printout, heads toward        her office.  Falling into step with her is HARRY ELLIS,        thirty-seven, V.P. of Sales.  Well-dressed, withstylish,        slicked-back hair, he looks and acts very smooth.                                 ELLIS                  What about dinner?                                 WOMAN (HOLLY)                  Harry, it's ChristmasEve.  Families...                  Stockings...chestnuts...Rudolph and                  Frosty...those things ring a bell?        She turns into:5       HER OFFICE                                             5         Her name is HOLLYGENNARO MCCLANE, though the nameplate on her        door stops after the first two.  She puts the printout down        on her secretary's desk.                                 ELLIS                         (inreply)                  I was thinking more of roaring                  fireplaces...mulled wine and a nice                  brie...        Holly ignores the come-on, turns to hersecretary.                                 HOLLY                  Ginny, it's 6:40, you're making me                  feel like Ebeneezer Scrooge.  Go on,                  join the party, have some champagne.        Ginny slowlymanipulates herself out of her seat.  She is        enormously pregnant.                                 GINNY                         (grateful)                  Thanks Ms. Gennaro.                         (worried)                  Do youthink the baby can handle                  a little sip?                                 HOLLY                         (eyeing her)                  Ginny, that baby's ready to tendbar.                                 ELLIS                         (not giving up)                  How about tomorrow night?        Holly just points to the door.  He follows Ginny out, clearly        not giving up.  Just then the partyon Holly's phone picks up        and we:                                                      INTERCUT:6       INT. NICE HOUSE IN SANTA MONICA                        6         where a five-year old LUCY MCCLANE racesher YOUNGER BROTHER        to the phone, winsthe wrestling match, and answers with a sense        of importance.  An Xmas tree is in the b.g.                                 LUCY                  McClaneresidence.  Lucy McClane                  speaking.        Holly suddenly smiles.  It is the first time we've seen her        smile and it speaks volumes about the person hidden under a        tough businessexterior.                                 HOLLY                         (with affection)                  Hello, Lucy McClane.  This is your                  mother.        She looks up and watches Ellis leave.  He "shoots" her witha        "catch ya later" wink.                                 LUCY                  Mommy!  When are you coming home?!                                 HOLLY                  Soon.  You'll be in bed when Iget                  there, though.                                 LUCY                  Will you come say 'good night'?                                 HOLLY                  Don't I always, you goose?                         (enjoyingLucy's giggle)                  Now put Paulina on the line, and                  no searching the house for presents!                                 LUCY                         (caught)                  I didn't look in the frontcloset                  under the steps!  Is Daddy coming                  home with you?                                 JOHN, JR.                         (hearing this, jumping up                         anddown)                  Yeah!  Daddy!  Daddy!  Daddy!                         (on second thought)                  And a Captain Power!                                 HOLLY                         (a little tightly)                  Well, we'llsee what Santa and Mommy                  can do.  Goose, put Paulina on, okay?        Lucy hands the phone to a young Salvadorian woman, PAULINA,        thehousekeeper.                                 PAULINA                  Hello, Mrs. Holly.  You coming home                  soon?                                 HOLLY                  I'm working onit.                         (beat)                  Did Mr. McClane call?                               *                                   PAULINA                  No ma'am.        Holly hides a trace ofdisappointment.                                 HOLLY                  Well...maybe there wasn't time before               *                    the flight.  You should probably make                  up the spare room just incase.                                 PAULINA                         (smiling)                  Yes, Mrs. Holly.  I do that already.                *          Holly's smile comes through again.7       INT. LAX -EVENING                                     7         McClane, wearing his wool topcoat and carrying the biggest        stuffed animal FAO Schwartz had in stock and his hangup bag,        comes down the American Airlinesramp and into the terminal.        He avoids one near-collision involving his stuffed animal, an        act which drives him into another fender bender with a CUTE        GIRL who looks like she's ready for high tide at